#and then i’ll have to figure out if i should start tapering down the rest of the way

[mars-ipan]

pleaseeee for the love of god don’t let me be sick…

[hours2hours]

THE HAWKINS PARADOX: CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

TRIGGER WARNINGS IN TAGS

Joel

Waves smash into the cliffside, launching particles of water all the way up to my nose. I look at Miles, back down at the waves, then back to Miles again. The crystal clear decision made last night now fuzzy and unfocused as the rest of my awareness. Can’t decide if I wanted them the job, or if I feel happy to be alive for once. But Miles said feelings come and go, that includes happiness and love.

I was so touched by Miles’s willingness to help me, but in the end I’ll only add to his burdens. Now his eyes are soundly closed while the sun peeks its head over the horizon, illuminating the sky in its orange-yellow glow. I almost feel guilty not waking him up to see, but considering he hadn’t a wink of sleep the preceding night, figured I’d let him rest. That and… he sleeps so peacefully. He looks beautiful.

No, shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

The sun seems to have its own plans, when its light shines on his face his eyes slowly flutter open. “I feel like shit,” he groans.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” I reply softly. “That’s the hangover, you’ll feel better in a few hours.”

He pulls down my plaid overshirt I covered him with, sits up and leans against the railings to watch the sun with me. I only observe my peripheral vision, watching the sun so I don’t blush or accidentally glance at his lips.

“What happened last night?” He asks.

“You don’t remember?” I ask, crossing my fingers. Some part of me wants him to remember, but it’d make things nice and simple.

“Think I just need a minute.”

I hand him a water bottle from the bag, which he downs in no time flat. He swallows a few more pills and stretches his limbs, flinching once aware of the height we’re still at. “I can’t believe I fell asleep all the way up here. Have you been awake all night?”

“More or less, hasn’t been totally boring though.”

Miles realises I’m still playing the same music he started for me last night. 

“I see why ya like it, and I think it told me a bit about you.” 

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush,” he replies with a laugh. But I still don’t look, I don’t say anything. “Shit, what time is it?” He mumbles before checking himself: 7:04. “Oh my god, I work in twenty minutes.”

“Let’s get ya’ home,” I stand shakily and open the trap door.

Neither of us say much on the walk back to Miles’s place, and I’m not sure if it’s for better or for worse. Maybe he wants to pretend it never happened, maybe he doesn’t even remember. It doesn’t matter anyway, I just hope for his sake that it meant nothing. I want to ask him everything, but I don’t want to make this harder than it already is. I make sure to at least take in the sights of downtown Matlock, Miles walking through them. Maybe its the sunrise combined with the street’s emptiness, maybe it’s because I don’t intend to see them ever again. 

Once we turn past the train tracks and through a small dirt path through trees, Miles talks. “We have to tell someone about last night.”

I freeze for a moment, before I realize what he means. “What’s there to tell? I got jumped at a party an’ Aaron probably did it but but there’s no way to prove it.”

“But you’re still in danger! You’re not gonna, I dunno, get back at him? Figure out who sent him?”

“Why bother?”

Miles fumbles over his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it. You’re okay, that's what matters.”

Miles wants to protest, evident by the way he waves his hands in frustration. We stop just short of the treeline that would reveal Miles’s house.

“You should turn back now, my dad might still be home.” 

“Does he hate me or what?” I figured there was a reason he would lie about staying at Annie’s place overnight and not mine.

“He doesn’t hate anyone, he’s just paranoid. Look, can we talk later tonight?” He rubs his arm nervously. “I feel like there’s more from last night we shouldn’t ignore.”

I look into Miles’s eyes again, then off to the side. “Bye Miles.”

“Alright…” He tapers off. “Talk to you later.”

It’s so difficult watching him walk away, he doesn’t know what he’ll hear around town tomorrow. How am I just supposed to leave now and be okay with the fact that this will never be resolved? All I can do is ignore it, because pretty soon none of it will matter, and in some twisted way that fact comforts me.

Everything sucks now. People want me dead, everyone I love is suffering because of me, my life is over just as it was from its beginning. But at least by the end of today none of these problems will exist.

Thankfully, there isn’t a single car in the driveway of the house aside from my own beaten truck. I remember buying this thing as soon as I had a job, and I had so many plans for it. Annie and I were going to go for roadtrips to see concerts in other countries, we were gonna go camping way out in places we’d never seen, and it was just going to be the two of us. I told myself I’d visit the big city all the time, grab coffee and visit record shops every time I had the chance. How did those plans disappear so quickly?

I toss my bike onto its side in the front yard and wiggle the locked handle, but no one ever bothers to lock up the back. The only crime in this town is committed by me, so why bother keeping our own things locked up?

The inside of my childhood home looks so much different than normal, because the things I normally walk past without a second glance all tell a story. The kitchen table our family would share long ago, now left in disarray, every inch covered by unopened bills, wilted roses and two report cards. One for Ruby and one for me, one opened, one closed.

Around the corner is the bathroom door, still cracked at the top from the time Ruby and I fought over the Wii years ago. We were arguing over that thing constantly, until Mom agreed that I’d get an hour, and she’d get an hour. Ruby didn’t care for that rule though, and kept playing since no adults were around. So I ripped the thing from its plugs while she was playing and hid it in the bathroom. We waged war on either side of the door until I inevitably smashed it. We were both in major shit. I wonder why I can remember negative memories like that so vividly, and why they don’t feel so negative anymore. Of course there’s the living room down the hallway, which I haven’t set foot in in months or years. There was a time as kids where the entire family would watch the new episode of some cartoon every Friday night. It was so long ago, but I can still feel what it was like to be in my mother’s arms. A comforting feeling that boils rage in me today.

Why do I hold onto these memories when people will throw them out the window over pointless things? What’s the point of enjoying anything when it’’ll be ruined by idiotic beliefs? Why do I need to suffer because some book said it didn’t like me for things I can’t control?

These happy memories are nothing when covered by an enormous shadow, the fresh memory of scorn. Of mom throwing my things into the back yard while dad watched. I was so scared of what they would say, but they didn’t say a thing. Mom took my key and pointed at the door, she couldn’t even look me in the eye, couldn’t spare me a single word.

“So what the hell was all that for huh?!” I scream to no one. “What’s the point of holding me, saying you love me if some stupid fuckin’ book can take it all away?”

My hands fall, my muscles relax a little, and I walk up the stairs, pushing all of these pointless thoughts out of my head. But they won’t stop. I may not have control over anything anymore, but at least I can choose to stop these thoughts forever.

Why should I stay if I’m miserable, if I just make lives worse by being here? I couldn’t even help the one person I care most about in the entire world, I dragged him into my bullshit and he got hurt. Even before all that, what did I ever once do that helped him?

“Why did I have to be gay? WHY ME?!” 

I open my bedroom door, and pray there’s some weed left in my grinder. Scraping out the excess into my pipe, I finally light the thing but find no solace in smoke. My heart only pounds faster, accelerates these catastrophic thoughts. It’s not like I need to feel out of my body for this, because in the last two days nothing has felt real. It’s only habit at this point.

Once the weed is gone, I stand and search the rubble for my wallet. I take out a crumpled sheet of paper covered in scribblings, smoothing it out and laying on my desk. A half-assed note, even by my standard of writing. It was written months ago, kept hidden just in case an animal attacked and I didn’t have it in me to run.

In the end, the kids in school who tell me that I’m weak, they were all right. Annie would take me aside after class some days of ninth grade, and she would tell me that those assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, that they’re a bunch of idiots and the two of us were all we needed. I scratch my wrist and open the drawer on my nightstand, taking a small plastic bottle and placing it carefully on top. How fucked up is it that they were actually right? I’m sorry Annie, but you were wrong, and you’re better off without me. After all I’m the reason she became a criminal in the first place. I came into her life and made her worse, just as Miles will if I don’t stop myself.

Carefully, I lay down on my bed. Crouching in any capacity still strains my bones. My lungs feel like collapsing on themselves. I was dealt a shit hand, and I wish words could describe how unfair it feels.

I should feel lucky to have a roof over my head, a sister and friends who are alive and well, but knowing that makes me feel even worse. I told myself for so long that I couldn’t feel bad, that I didn’t have reason to hurt myself or want to die because I already have everything I need. I’m fortunate compared to many others, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I don’t know why I can’t just live with these feelings like others. 

So I sit and stare at the bottle in my hand, at the thin silvery scars on my arm and the fresh red ones. It bothers me that I don‘t have any capacity to cry anymore.

Instead of laying on my bed, I curl up into a small ball on the floor in a pile of laundry. An hour passes, I continue to think for the entire time. Despite the fact that I haven’t slept since the rumour, I still can’t sleep. The bottle is in my hand, and though I’ve opened it a few times and weighed its contents, that’s as far as it's gone. I’m so weak that I can’t even do this one thing right. Just unscrew the lid, pour the pills into my hand, toss them into my mouth and swallow. Four actions and it’s done, but I can’t. Every time I think about trying to move my arms they feel weighed down by anchors deep into the ocean. I wish I could just fall into that dark ocean and fall asleep, if I meant I didn’t have to do this.

Finally, I pick up the bottle and unscrew the cap before a sudden ringing blares from across the bed. I reach over to shut the thing off, but the name stops me. A goofy photo of Miles smiling with a mouthful of ramen fills the screen.

“Hey?” My voice croaks into the speaker.

“Hey! I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you did I?”

“Can’t sleep. What’s up?” I wipe my face and try to act normal.

“Uh, ok, I only have a few seconds to talk, but I just wanted to ask you how your face was doing?”

“Aren’t you working?”

“Yeah, I was pretty late though, Michael’s pissed.”

“You called just to check on me, even though you’re already in deep shit?”

“It’s no biggie, promise. I just wanted to make sure you’re icing your face, it’ll bring down the swelling.” In the background of the call, someone shouts. “Miles! We need you at the register!” 

“In a minute!” He calls back.

“Yeah, I can do that. But why’d you really call?” I quickly supress my sniffling face.

“I’m just worried about you is all. Last night was really weird and I think we’re both a little messed up. Please take care of yourself, we’ll talk it out tonight now that I’m sober. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you later.” In fear of bursting open over the phone, I hang up before he can say goodbye. The call ends and I cry into my pillow over the music that Miles showed me. All day I could hardly cry. Why does one phone call change that?

Some things Miles said the night before pop into my head. Laying on my bed with sore red eyes, word after word comes back. He’s been through so much more than I have, but still stays strong. Could I place this pain on someone who has been through enough?

But I can’t live holding this pain inside me.

I don’t deserve a friend like Miles, not in the slightest.

But last night.

He was just drunk.

But he’s shown me time and time again he cares for me.

But I can’t have that, I can’t have any of that. Sooner or later the paradox will come for me, and it will come for him too.

Am I ignoring the truth to make giving up easier?

Is the truth something I deserve?

So many contradictions clouding my mind, veiling that stupid song that I could never play. Thought after thought after thought with nowhere to go. I love Miles, but his advice was so stupid. You can’t just write about your feelings to make them go away.

But then I think about him ranting all night, expressing his deep love for everything around him, climbing that tower with me and the way he kissed me all the way at the top. While going through the most painful time in his life he still somehow finds the good in it all. If he could learn to do it who says I couldn’t too?

I need to decide what’s stupider: trying something stupid, or let it all go without even trying. If it doesn’t work I can do what I meant to do tomorrow, or the day after.

For the first time in hours I pick myself up from the floor, I place the pill bottle back in my drawer and the note in my wallet. The idea of keeping this up for another day is exhausting, but if I’m with Miles I can handle it. I won’t think about that deep dark life waiting for me, instead I’ll wait. And while I wait, I will take out my notepad and write.

***

A few hours later and I’m still jotting down whatever pops into my mind. It’s incoherent, lazy, just an overall wreck. But it’s something. It’s as though a few of these buzzing thoughts have become something else. Not something beautiful like Miles’s paintings, but something. I began writing about why I wanted to end my life, but every train of thought would lead to the same feeling, the same person. Unrelated sentences starting with Something about this, something about that. They aren’t much, but every now and then a nice rhyme pops out, or a memory that makes me feel something again. Something about a night sky, something about fields where Toby used to run, something about Miles and how my foot is thumping to see him after work. 

But there’s still so much to be done before I create anything real. There’s still melodies to write, chords to organize, vocal practice. God this was a dumb idea.

But oddly enough, a few notes peek through the buzzing thoughts. With a small positive thought escaping, I jot it onto paper before it disappears forever. It isn’t the instant fix I wanted it to be, but it isn’t nothing, as I expected. It’s a start.

Ruby clears her throat, I jump. “Shit, how long were you standing there?” Her handmade purse is thrown over an oversized tie-dye shirt, mouth hung open at my appearance. She steps in, picks up a shirt off the ground and tosses it at my bare chest, waiting patiently as I dress myself. Then, before I can ask a thing about what she thinks of me, she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “It’s gonna be okay,” she says. After hours of focus the tears make their return. “C’mon, we’re goin’ for a ride,” she says.

Ruby drives us down the gravel road past all the houses and trees until we reach the highway. From there we continue for more than an hour and a half with little talk. Rows of suburban neighborhoods surround the fields, growing into massive skyscrapers far away. New Matlock makes the beach seem like a puddle next to an ocean. Eventually we make for the nearest fast-food parking lot, where Ruby turns to me. “So, what happened to you?”

“Oh, this,” gesturing vaguely to my face. “I-” Throwing around excuses is second nature at this point, only this time I stop myself. “Miles an’ I got beat up at Annie’s party last night.”

Ruby’s lip twitches, a hint of our angry heritage peering through. “Joel, I heard some rumours floatin’ around. Now I’m gonna just assume rumours are rumours, but know this. If there were ever anything you needed to tell me, you can. You and I have been together since the day we were born, and there’s nothing that could ever make me turn my back on you. Got it?”

The words slip right out of my mouth without a thought. “I’m gay.”

Suddenly my eyes are welling up. A surge of emotions unexpectedly courses through me. Ruby pulls me close and just says, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Why do I feel so much shame for who I am? Why does it feel so conflicting to reveal a secret I’ve wanted to get off my chest for years?

But Ruby’s small touch of acceptance peers through all the embarrassment, all the anger and shame. Just one small glimmer of hope in what feels like an endless night.

“Tried talkin’ with mom and dad, just ended up a fight. I won’t forgive them for how they’re treating you. These ways of thinking can’t be tolerated anymore, ‘cause then shit like this happens!” She gestures back to my face.

“I thought you were religious like them?”

“I’m a christian, not an idiot. You’re still my little brother. Even if you’re gay, or if you were a murderer for all I care. I love you no matter what.”

I wipe my moistening eyes. “By five fuckin’ minutes.” Ruby hugs me.

Despite my parents lack of empathy, the anonymous group of people who hate my guts and the mixed way I feel about myself, Ruby’s acceptance fills me with warmth. A part of me can’t help but imagine a scenario where Ruby came to tell me this and found a body instead.

“So, here’s the plan.” Ruby digs into her colourful crochet purse for her wallet then unfolds a slip of paper scribbled with numbers. “I figure it should only take a year or two to gather enough cash to move out. I’m looking at part-time positions, but you’ll have to pick up more hours after grad if you wanna keep your smoking habits. There’s still utensils to buy, furniture, and whatever else. But we’ll make it work.”

“Are you for real?”

“I convinced them to let you sleep there for now, but we can’t stay in that home forever. So what’s gonna happen is that you an’ I are gonna work like crazy, then we’re gonna move into the city. We can figure our lives out in a place where we’re both accepted and loved. ‘Case you an’ I both know mom and dad won’t ever give that to us.”

“You aren’t kidding.”

“Nope.” Ruby shakes her head with pride.

“I’d hold you back.”

“From what? Haven’t ya noticed I’ve no clue what I’m doing either? We can figure it out together, somewhere else.”

“You’re a shit roommate already though,” I laugh.

“I’m not exactly a fan of livin’ with your nasty butt,” she replies. I lean my head into hers and whisper, “Why would you do all this for me? After what I’ve done?”

Ruby wraps her arm around my shoulder, “‘Cause as much as our parents will try an’ make you think otherwise, you deserve to be happy. Mom’s curse is bullshit, okay? I love you.”

It seems I made the right decision to stand up from the floor today. Ruby takes me into the drive through and buys us a celebratory feast that I devour in minutes. I almost forgot I hadn’t eaten in days. When our wrappers are crumpled into balls Ruby eyes me strangely. “Hey… so,” she begins, twiddling her thumbs.

I eye her suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Ah- nevermind.”

“No, you’re not doin’ that to me now.”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘never mind’ me, spit it out.”

“Fine, you asked for this.” She grabs a few fries from my bag even though she didn’t order any for herself. “Okay, what kind of boys are you into?”

“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Too late, you wanted this.”

“I’m not answerin’ that.”

“You can’t expect me to not be curious, for christ sake I thought you were into girls for the last eighteen years. That’s kind of a big deal.”

“No, it’s not. You never asked what girls I was into before.”

“But now there’s common ground. C’mon, you have to have a type.”

The truth is, I’ve never had a type. I’ve spent so much time ashamed of myself that I never gave it much thought. That isn’t a very interesting answer though, so I say, “Gun to your head, I still wouldn't tell ya.” Then I pull out my phone to try and avoid the conversation.

“Okay, dork. I’ll get my answers eventually.”I type and send a message: “Meet me at the lighthouse at nine.”

[venusiangguk]

hand-picked | jjk (m)

>>pairing: jungkook x reader / famous!jk x sex worker!oc

>>genre: strangers to lovers, smut, pwp, teaser, drabble

>>word count: 2.8k

>>warnings: glory hole au!!!, cocky jk, bad boy jk, stripper oc, sex work, sexual tension, awkward tension, hand job, blowjob, cumshot, cum on tits, pay for play, semi-anonymous sex, dirty talk, dishonesty...  that’s it i think zzz

>>notes: if u don’t like sex workers ur ugly and i hate u 😌 also ty to @wheresmymoniat​ for betaing n helping me out, ily <3 *repost bc tag issues don’t mind me 🙄*

>>summary: glory holes weren’t a real thing... at least until you’re on your knees for a stranger, cock in your face, with nothing but a curtain between you.

Despite your nerves, you grasp the semi-hard cock in front of you, attached to a nameless person behind the curtain. For a moment you wonder what the hell you’re doing, but the soft sigh that you hear brings you back to the present. You stroke up and down, watching as he starts to become fully aroused. The foreskin rolls over the pink tip on every upstroke. You bite your lip. The silence is awkward, but you think maybe the whole situation is.

 “So... what do you do? Like… not specifically of course, but are you an idol? An actor? You can be vague…” 

 Behind the curtain, Jeongguk, whom you don’t know the identity of, stiffens just a bit. Will his voice give him away? Maybe, but he was never one to turn down an opportunity to boast about himself and his achievements.

 “I’ve done it all,” His voice is airy, softer than he would like, but your hand on his cock is speeding up, and so is his breathing. “I’m good at all of it too.”

 You hum at the man’s response. Cocky. “Isn’t saying you’re good at a lot of things just another way of saying you’re not good enough at one thing? So you have to compensate by spreading yourself thin?” You gasp a small giggle when you feel the cock in your hand jump a little at your words. “Did you like that? It wasn’t meant to be degrading, but if that’s what you’re into-“

 “It’s not- that.” He doesn’t know if he’s denying your psychoanalyzation, or your keen interpretation of the way his cock reacted to your psychoanalyzation but one was more inaccurate than the other. He actually was great at most everything he did, no need to overcompensate like you assumed. 

 Your small hand tightens, and you rub your thumb at the underside of the head, you let out a small pleased noise when you see a bead of precum well at the tip. “Really? You’re starting to leak a little.”

 You sound amused and humorous and if Jeongguk had it in him he would be annoyed or even upset at the way you’re talking to him. You were basically hired help, a means to an end. He glances down his torso at his hard cock in your tiny, well-kept manicured hands. Your nails are a dark red, burgundy color. It complements your skin well, he thinks. He can’t see much of you, just your forearms, along with the bottom part of your tummy and your legs. You’re sitting on your knees between his spread out thighs, feet tucked under you. From the tight black leggings you’re wearing and the slim-fit long sleeve white crop top you have on, Jeongguk can tell you have a good figure. Your waist is tapered in, tiny and cinched, and your hips are wide enough to accentuate it, letting him know you’ve got a petite hourglass frame. You aren’t too skinny though, there’s a softness to your body that he likes. It’s not like he needed the tight fitting clothes to know what your body looked like, though. He’s already seen more of it than he is right now. His mind flashes to the club.

 You may be hired help, but you were hand-picked by him. 

 “It’s just-“ He contemplates what to tell you and settles for, “It’s been a while.”

 “Since?” You push. You hear footsteps outside and you hand stops, scared for some reason that you’ll get caught doing something bad. As if the door wasn’t locked and being guarded. Behind the black curtain, his hips lift just barely, urging you to keep going. Don’t stop.

 “Since someone’s helped me.” Jeongguk’s head rolls back when your hand starts moving again. It’s been at least a few months since he’s gotten off with someone, his hand being his only companion. After the situation blew up even more than it had in months prior, his leash was tight. No wiggle room at all. He was suffocating and desperate. He almost cried when his team propositioned this arrangement, embarrassing as it was.

 When he speaks, his voice is soft and everything is said with a sigh. He sounds so relieved, like it feels so good to be in your palm, like he’s been waiting for your hand on his cock forever. You blush, and right your thoughts. You don’t even know who he is or what he looks like. Still, you ask, “Does it feel good, do you like it?” Tone soft to match his.

 Jeongguk nods and swallows thickly. Eyes still closed, letting the pleasure slowly work its way through his veins. Then he remembers you can’t see him. “Yeah.” He breathes.

 You hum and keep up your ministrations. Not slow, but not fast either. You’re not quite sure what he likes yet, but the soft moans that flutter through the curtain at least let you know what you’re doing isn’t wrong. 

 “I like your hands,” He surprises you by saying. “They’re so small; soft,” A more vocal sound falls from his lips when you twist your hand on the upstroke. He’s chuckling when he says, “Kinda strokes my ego a little bit.”

 You glance at the cock in your hand. It’s pretty. Thick and pink. A pleasant kind of heavy in your hand. The veins running over it are subtle enough to not be ugly or intimidating. The only intimidating thing about it is the size. He’s big. And you’re sure he already knows that. 

 You snort. “I don’t think you need that stroked.”

 This makes him laugh a little harder. It’s a nice sound. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” He hums, you think you can hear a smile in his voice. It’s quiet again for just a moment before he says, “Will you- faster? Make your hand a little tighter too- yeah, like that.”

 His hips sink into the chair when you comply with his requests before he’s bringing them back up, subtly thrusting into your palm. You fight back a moan; you shouldn’t be getting hot for someone you don’t even know right? This was strictly business. Still, you can’t help the slight shifting you do, squeezing your legs together for a little bit of pressure on your pussy.

 Jeongguk notices. “Are you turned on?”

 “No!” You squeak.

 “You can touch yourself,” He offers.

 “No!” You insist, “I-I’m fine.Thank you though.” You say dumbly.

 He doesn’t say anything more, focuses on your hand on him, tugging just how he asked. His hand rubs over his stomach, flexing as he teases himself, his own light touches mixed with your strokes brings goosebumps over his skin. “Feels, so good.” He groans, eyes watching your hand under the curtain.

 Encouraged, you bring your other hand up and massage lightly at his balls. They’re hairless, the only hair he has is the small trimmed patch above the base of his cock. He’s well kept and has good hygiene. That alone was attractive to you, stranger or not.

 When you palm his balls, his legs spread as far as they can with his black cargo pants still around his calves, his big black stomper boots keeping them from being shed all the way. “Fuck,” He moans deep and loud for you. One of his hands comes down past the curtain and reaches for you before he quickly pulls it back. You think you saw a flash of ink on it, but you can’t be too sure, mind kind of fuzzy with poorly hidden arousal. The opposite hand comes into view, and your mouth parts in awe as he covers your own hand with his. It’s so much bigger than yours, completely enveloping it as he strokes himself off, using you in a way. Then again the whole arrangement was you both using each other. 

 “You’re mouth- put your mouth on it,” He sighs, pleasure just dripping from his lips. His cock is rock hard in both your hands, and you can tell he’s getting close.

 You hesitate. “Will… will you be able to see me?”

 Jeongguk comes out of his desire induced high a little bit and realizes what he said. He wants it, fuck does he want your mouth, but he probably should have asked. “No, no. I’ll lower the curtain a bit more if you want, and you don’t have to swallow. You don’t even have to suck it if you don’t want- like I know we have a thing going on but I would never like- force you I-“

 He’s rambling a tad so you cut him off. “I want to, I think,” You whisper, taking in his intimidating size again, “I just- if I can’t know who you are, you can’t know who I am.” You blush feeling a little childish.

 Jeongguk keeps the fact that he already knows what you look like and more or less who you are, at least on a surface level, to himself as he moves the curtain to the next lower notch, the bar resting just above his pelvis now. He can’t really see much of you at all anymore. “That’s fair, yeah, just-“ With your confirmation that you do in fact want to suck him off, he can’t keep the lustful neediness out of his voice, “Please.”

 You take a deep breath as you wrap both of your hands around his cock, the tip still poking out the top. Tentatively you lick at his frenulum and the sound that comes from behind the curtain is obscene. His hips twitch and everything. You want to hear his noises, all of them, so you do it again. You flick your tongue fast over the most sensitive underpart of the head, before placing wet sucking kisses to the same area, almost making out with the tip of his cock.

 “Oh my god-“ His body is pulled taut, and his hands are gripping the chair that he’s sitting in. “Fuck that’s- I love that.” He says, head dropping back, mouth open in a silent moan. 

 You moan against the tip of his cock, not able to hold yourself back anymore. Wrapping your lips around it, you take the head all the way into your wet, hot mouth, and suck. You lap up all the precum that leaked out, and point your tongue to play with the slit. The man behind the curtain is loud for you, letting you know just how good you’re making him feel. You get so lost in it that you don’t register him raising the curtain bar just enough for him to slip his hand past and push you off.

 “S-sorry,” He says, panting, “I was about to cum.”

 You make a small sound of confusion. “That’s okay, I can swallow- If you want me to.”

 Jeongguk shakes his head behind the curtain. “No, I- I wanna watch… see your hands stroke me off.” His request is quiet but his cock pulses in your hand, needy and hot. Already begging for release, despite you not being at it for that long.

 Wordlessly, you start stroking again, gathering the spit that’s on his tip to make the slide easier. It doesn’t take much time at all before his thighs are flexing and you can see the lower part of his abs tensing. 

 “Close,” He whispers.

 Jeongguk watches as your tiny hands fly up and down his cock, grip tight just like he showed you. He’s doing his best to not fuck up into your hands, wanting to just rely on you and your movements, but it’s hard. Small eager little thrusts of his hips show you how ruined he is. And it’s just a handjob. He knows. If he was present enough he would probably be embarrassed by how angry and red his cock is, swollen and hot in your palm. And he’s just so wet, leaking all over the place making the strokes of your hand loud in the room. 

 He watches as you hunch over some, to where he can see everything below your neck, and your free hand comes up to your shirt. He sees you struggle a little bit as do your best to get the collar down under your bra, with only one hand before squeezing at your tits. “Do you want to cum on them?” You whisper.

 “Fuck, please.” He whines high pitch and needy, all reservations out the window. 

 You hum, and work your arm faster over his cock, the rapid movements making your tits jiggle. “Do it, cum for me… cum all over my tits.”

 You can’t see him, but Jeongguk’s face is lewd. Pleasure so apparent on his features, it almost looks painful. His eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth open, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes are wet and glassy, so overwhelmed by finally getting help after so long of cumming by himself. He’s chanting soft, pornographic yeah’s and yes’s until his whole body curls in on itself, you can see the way his legs tremble as he moans, “Fuck, I’m cumming.”

 He forces himself to keep his eyes somewhat open, lidded and heavy with arousal, as he shoots all over your chest. You’re moaning with him behind the curtain as you work him through his orgasm, despite no physical pleasure being given to you, and that makes another small shot of cum dribble from his spent cock. You lean forward, careful of your identity, and wipe the leftover milky substance on your already soiled skin and black bra. You slap the slowly softening cock on them for good measure and Jeongguk groans.

 You keep playing with his cock, not sure if he’s the type to like it or the kind that wants you off right after he finishes, but he winces and reaches his hand under after not too long, stopping you.

 “Please,” He whines.

 His voice is fucked out, and your pussy aches, needy and wet in your panties. “Oh, sorry…”

 He laughs lightly. “No, no. Don’t say sorry… You’re like- so good.” Jeongguk sighs to himself out of your view. He’s leaning back in the chair, while running a hand through his sweaty hair. Little tremors of pleasure are still coursing through him, when he closes his eyes, blissed out, dazed and relaxed. Finally, after months of being pent up. “So, so good.” He murmurs softly, distractedly. 

 His hand that reached under the bar to grab yours to stop you, is lazily rubbing over the back of your hand, hold light and subconscious against his thigh. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it and you blush, shyly pulling your hand away. He doesn’t show any sign of even noticing and you both settle into a soft quiet, only your breaths sounding in the room.

 “Um.” You say eloquently.

 “Fuck sorry.” Jeongguk says, scooting the chair back to put his now soft cock away. He rolls his eyes to himself. Way to get stuck in the afterglow by himself with his flaccid cock in some girls face. “Let me get you a towel.”

 “Should I put the blindfold back on?” You ask.

 “Uh- Yeah.” He says stilted. This is weird. You just made him cum so hard he almost knocked out, and now he’s making you cover your eyes so you don’t figure out who he is. 

 You hear the hesitation in the man’s voice and assure him that it’s okay, while grabbing the blindfold you tucked into the waistband of your leggings. You knew how it went, you signed the papers. Patiently you wait until you hear him coming back and sense a soft moist towel being shoved under the bar. You blindly grab it with a soft, “Thanks.”

 “I’ll go wait in the bathroom so you can- I don’t know…? Get ready to go I guess.” You hear his heavy boots retreat to the bathroom, that’s located on his side of the curtain, assuring that he wouldn’t be seeing you on his way.

 With the blindfold off, you go about cleaning yourself. Your knees crack when you stand up after being sat on them for so long. Wincing, you run a hand through your long hair and walk over to the table where you left your bag. You leave the used rag in its place and you shoulder the purse. About to make your way to the door, you pause.

 “I’m uh- leaving?” You yell unsure.

 “Okay,” He yells back through the door. “Did you- did they- your- did they give you the-“ He stutters, not sure how to ask if you got paid.

 The wad of cash in your purse is heavy. Figuratively and literally. “Yeah, they did.” 

 “Okay… Good. I’ll um see you next time?” He sounds hesitant and shy. 

 You laugh. “Yeah I guess so.” And with that, you make your way out of the hotel, thinking that he sounds a whole lot less entitled and cocky than he did when you first got there.

~~~

hiii guysss! thanks for reading this lil drabble! This is kind of like a teaser for a longer fic i have on the back burner (let me know if you like the concept and want me to continue!) but i wanted to post something because i havent for a few weeks bc i have been soo busy with school pls i want to cry 🥲 i should be doing maths as i post this lmao. ANYWAY! thanks again for reading, if u liked it, pls like, comment, reblog, or even send an ask! love talking to u guys n feedback is always lovely <3

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Nymrius

Rating: NSFW Length: 1546 Pairing: Male Drider x Male Reader (both cis)

Pure filth. *Blows kiss* For the spider lovers out there.

xxx

Hanging upside down from a thread of silk wasn’t the first thing I thought would happen on a weekend evening, but I would be lying if I said it was my first time. This instance was significantly less sexy, however, and I was sure the kind of eating that was planned wasn’t the pleasurable sort. “Getting desperate?” I asked, trying to ignore the pressure of the blood rushing to my head in favour of looking up at my captor.

“Shut up,” said the young drider who was dragging me up into his web, thin arms struggling with my weight. Driders always were on the delicate side, and I was anything but; I’d make a few meals for him yet, I reckoned.

“I might have the right to remain silent, but I lack the capacity,” I said, struggling to get a better view of my soon-to-be-murderer. “Afraid for my life and all. You understand.”

“I said, ‘be quiet’!” the drider snapped, though his voice trembled.

“‘Shut up’, actually,” I quipped, letting out an embarrassing squeak when I was heaved the rest of the way up in one unceremonious yank.

“Are all humans this odious?” the drider muttered, chest heaving almost as much as mine was.

“Only the ones who don’t want to die.”

“Well, neither do I,” the drider quavered, stubbornly beginning to wind me up in his silk. “I’m sorry, but I have to feed.”

“Couldn’t hunt something smaller?”

Acid yellow eyes narrowed in my direction, gleaming in the twilight. “If you must know, no. They were too quick for me.”

“You look much too old to be a helpless spiderling. What’s the matter? New management saw you as a threat?”

The drider bristled, hissing at me. “I should bite you just to silence you.”

“But you won’t,” I reasoned, “because you don’t have the venom for it. You’re not a hunter. You’re a weaver.”

“And just what gave you that idea?”

“You’re wasting your silk on me and crying. You’re no hunter.”

Thin hands scrambled up to wipe beneath the drider’s wide, shimmering eyes, his breaths hiccuping sharply in shock. He scowled at me thunderously, and if he’d had the venom, I’m sure he would have bitten me just as he’d threatened.

“Now what?” I asked, looking up into his face from my odd, twisted angle. “You’ve either got to kill me or wait for me to die. Do you have the stomach for either?”

“I don’t have a choice now, do I?” he waspishly replied, crossing his arms over his lithe chest. “Seeing as ‘management’ saw me as a threat for their precious offspring, I now have to fend for myself.”

“And you’ve up and managed to hunt yourself a hunter,” I laughed, helplessly amused. “Let me free and I’ll hunt you all the food you can fit in that pretty belly.” The drider flushed red at my words, which was both exactly what I was expecting and a pleasant surprise. “Oh, so it wasn’t your weaving that was a threat, but your appetite.”

“Bite your tongue!” hissed the drider, jabbing me painfully with one of his hard, slender legs. “What would you know of my ‘appetite’?”

I coughed the air back into my lungs, grinning widely; perhaps the blood rushing to my head was making me more reckless, or maybe it was my own appetite rearing up for one last hoorah before I was put out to pasture for good. Either way, I found myself saying, “Put your sweet cock in my mouth and find out.”

The drider squeaked. Mortified, no doubt, and by the looks of his shimmying against his webbing, aroused. Of course out of all the driders that could have caught me, I’d been caught by a prim and proper little beast.

“Come on,” I wheedled, going breathless at the prospect of what I was suggesting. “Give a man his dying wish to make a pretty thing like you come in his mouth.”

“Oh, gods,” whispered the drider, hiding his face in his hands as his thorax quivered. “It’s a trick. You’ll bite me.”

“Only if you want me to, sweetheart,” I purred, and delighted in the way he shivered from head to spinneret. “What have you got to lose? I’m dead anyway. I might as well rub myself off against this silk of yours before I go.”

The drider swore, eyeing me venomously and shifting closer with something between wariness and anticipation. “I’ll make your death painful if you hurt me,” he warned, and I nodded as he climbed over me, revealing a silvery-pink prick almost as long as my arm. My mouth watered as he pressed the slender, tapered tip to my lips, slipping my tongue out to taste him and groaning as his slickness coated the inside of my mouth with a gentle bittersweetness. He swore again above me as I took him into my mouth, sucking gently and pushing him against the insides of my cheeks as best I could.

“So good,” I whispered when I came up for air, wriggling my own erection up against my bindings as much as possible. “Look at you, so hard for me. Having me all tied up get to you, pretty boy? Like having the power?”

“Oh, gods, shut up,” the drider groaned, though judging by the way his prick twitched and throbbed, I’d hit the nail right on the head. I slipped my tongue into the little opening at the head of his cock and swirled it about, trying to hide my surprise at the way he cried out and ground down against the roof of my mouth. The next time, I applied a touch of teeth, nibbling at the opening and being rewarded by a healthy spurt of pre over my hungry tongue. We both moaned when I slurped him back into my mouth and lifted my head to have him grind against the back of my throat, his long, slender fingers spearing into my hair as he slid further and deeper into me.

Watching him was a madman’s wet dream. He bit at his fingers to quiet himself and gyrated his hips, rocking himself into my throat and teasing his body with his small, dexterous hands. Figures that I’d find a new passion on my last night on earth, but I was determined to see this whole thing through to the end, whatever end that may be. I redoubled my efforts and relished in his twitches and moans, losing myself to the breathless rhythm of riding him with my throat until he pulled away, leaving a string of pre and saliva joining my lips with his cock.

“What’re you doing?” I slurred, but he didn’t answer, instead moving around me and shifting me around until I was on my front, knees glued to my chest with silk and ass in the air. I twitched when I felt him cut away the silk and fabric of my trousers covering my aforementioned ass, then squeaked in my own right when I felt his cock grinding against my taint and balls. “Easy,” I gasped, cheek stuck to the silk beneath me. “Easy, baby, you haven’t even—“

“Hush,” the drider hissed, pushing insistently against my entrance and making a high noise of triumph when he made his way in, slick and persistent.

“Fuck,” I wheezed, tightening around him reflexively and finding that the intrusion barely bothered me more than my own fingers.

“Oh, I intend to,” the drider purred, pushing into me with tight, shallow thrusts that slicked up my insides and eased more of his dick inside me as he went. It was tapered at the end but broadened considerably as the length trailed on, and it wasn’t long before I was sobbing for mercy beneath my unruly lover. I was going to be gaping if I survived this, and I must have said so, because he laughed above me, grinding his thorax against my back and making me moan pitifully. “I’ve changed my mind about killing you,” he whispered as he fucked me, speaking between my wanton groans and the lewd noises coming from our slippery union.

“You might kill me yet,” I managed to choke out, though my traitorous body was already starting to push back against his cock, greedy for the fullness he offered. “Oh, fuck, at least tell me your name.”

“Nymrius,” he answered, soft and sibilant, and dug his nails into my skin when I echoed it a moment later when he thrust deep into my ass.

“Nymrius,” I said over and again, a prayer and a plea all at once. “Nymrius! Fuck me. Please fuck me. Not going anywhere. I’m yours. Trapped. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nymrius snarled, pistoning his hips into me hard enough to make me see stars, over and over again until I came hard enough that I wasn’t sure he hadn’t bitten me to make my insides liquid in the first place. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that,” he muttered somewhere above me after several moments spent catching our breaths, and I laughed.

“I’ll hunt you a damn bear if that’s what you want. Just don’t stop fucking me tonight.”

The drider sucked his teeth. “Are all humans this obnoxious?”

“Only the ones who want to live.”

[akingdomofswordsandstories]

Unrequited pt. 2

azriel (acotar) x reader

*this is part 2! Sorry for the wait guys! I really struggled with this and low-key I don’t like it but I hope y'all do! I wanna write the scenes after this but idk how im gonna make it work lol. anyway, enjoy!

word count: 3193

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

What you hadn’t realized was that Azriel left a few minutes later, walking to your apartment to make sure you had gotten home safe.

All of a sudden he heard whimpers and labored breathing coming from the alley.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you laying on the ground and bleeding out. He felt a tug in his chest. A click. Panic instilled in him as he gently but swiftly picked you up and flew you to Madja.

“Hang on y/n, you’re so strong” he whispered

In those moments, he feared for you. Fear that was so strong. Something he had never felt before.

He rushed into the house laying you on the bed gently before he was shoved out by the Madja so she could try to save you.

Azriel alerted the others and then collapsed into a chair, sitting in silence. A tear slipped out of his eye at the thought he may have been too late to save you.

You. His mate.

Why, of all the times did the bond have to click while you were on the brink of death. In a situation where you may not make it out alive. It wasn’t fair.

He wondered if you had known. Could that be the reason why you had been distancing yourself from him? Because you didn’t expect or want him to be your mate? But if you had known you would’ve said something, right? You wouldn’t keep it a secret? So many thoughts kept racing through his head.

Could it have been because of Elain? He knew the inner circle wasn’t stupid, they all saw him drifting more and more to Elain. Could that have been why you had distanced yourself? He would be lying if he said he didn’t like Elain, but he would also be lying if he said he didn’t like you.

Your stubbornness. Your generosity. Your sense of adventure. The way you could get lost in the things you did.

Suddenly the door swung open and the others came into the room, worry written all over their faces.

Azriel could tell that Cassian and Mor had been crying on the way there.

“How bad is it?” Mor shook as she spoke. You could see the pain in her eyes. The worry she had for someone who was basically her sister.

Azriel’s expression was unreadable and he didn’t respond.

“Do you think she will make it?” Feyre asked, grief evident in her posture. “I- I don’t know” Azriel answered, “It was pretty bad,” he said quietly.

Just as he answered, Madja appeared from the other room. “She’s in rough shape, I don’t know if she’s gonna make it through the night. She lost a lot of blood.”

The room grew eerily quiet

“She’s stable for now, but I will stay here and notify you if any changes occur.”

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

Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Elain went back to the townhouse to try and get as much rest as they could. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel decided to stay in your room with you.

Tears started slipping from Cassian’s eyes once he saw your fraile body lying in bed, barely hanging on.

“Oh mother” Mor sobbed out, a hand slipping over her mouth. She went over to the bed you were on, gently sitting on it and grabbing to hold your hand. She leaned against the headboard and watched as your chest heaved.

The trio sat in silence for some time, watching your every move, your breathes, whimpers, and shifts.

Azriel broke the silence.

“She’s my mate. All this time and I never knew.”, the sentence coming out as a whisper.

Shock was painted on Mor’s face. “Y/n’s your mate? How di-? When?”

“It clicked when I saw her body lying there.” his voice started breaking “Why did it have to happen right now. Of all the times. Why couldn’t it have happened months ago. I could’ve had more time. This never would have happened. How do I move on from this?” his voice ending on a whisper.

“All you can do is hope to mother that she has the strength to pull through.” Cassian replied softly. “You know, this whole situation is so ironic.”, he said softly to himself, lightly shaking his head.

Azriel gave Cassian a look of confusion, wondering what he was talking about, but decided to drop it for now.

“Anyway, let’s try to get some sleep and pray the morning holds better news”

Mor had dozed off, back against the headboard and hand still holding yours. Cassian was sitting in the chair, head resting on the palm of his head, it still took him a few hours to fall asleep completely. Azriel, however, couldn’t sleep. The thought of sleeping while you laid like this. He felt guilty, the feeling that he may have been too late. For the rest of the night, Azriel sat in a chair next to your bed, shrouded in darkness, hoping you would be ok.

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

Sunlight peeked through the sheer blinds over the balcony door. The faint sound of birds singing flowed through the air. Light shined onto your face, causing you to groan. Groggily, you opened your eyes, blinking to adjust to the light filling the room. Your head pounded and you winced as you shifted in bed.

“Y/n?” you heard a whisper. You mumbled in response. “Oh! Thank mother you’re alright! We were all so worried for you. Wait, let me call Madja now that you’re up.” Mor rambled on causing you to smile slightly. “CASSIAN!” she squealed “Wake up! Look! Y/n is awake!”

Cassian jumped to his feet at her shout. “Oh my god!” he ran over to your side “I was so worried, I’m so glad you’re alright” he said, taking your hand into his. “Let me go call the others, they’ve been waiting for an update.”

Soon after, the rest of the inner circle came over to your room to check in and Madja came to see how you were healing.

“That was quite the wound you had. Make sure to rest for the next two weeks. No buts, we don’t want this opening back up from stress or straining activity.”. You groaned at the thought.

“But I feel fine now, it’s not a big deal! I can go back to doing my duties in 2 days. I’ll be good as new.” you pleaded, trying to convince Madja and yourself. Before she could respond, Rhys cut in.

“You will do nothing of the sort. You just got stabbed for cauldrons sake, if i catch you trying to do anything remotely straining, i’ll lock you in your room and have Cassian stand guard in front of it”

“Fine” you grumbled out

“Now that everything is settled, i’ll be coming to check on you every few days.” Madja states before leaving

After a little more small talk was exchanged, the inner circle decided to leave you to rest a bit more, but promised they would visit you as frequently as they could.

Except, one person stayed behind.

Azriel.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Is something wrong?” you asked

After a hesitant pause his voice rang out. “We’re mates.”

You felt a blow to your chest. When did he find this out? As if Azriel had read your thoughts, he responded “Last night. After I found you.”

“Oh”

“But, Cassian said something, how it was ironic, and I can’t help but wonder how long you’ve known”

“I-, I told Cassian that we were mates yester-”

“But how long have you known y/n.” his voice quiet and sharp as a knife, as if tendrils of anger were waiting to escape

“Since the diplomatic mission Rhys sent us on”, you whispered. You could feel the tears threatening to fall from your eyes

“That was months ago and you didn’t think to tell me?” You could feel the anger in his voice

“I thought you would have figured it out sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry” tears started falling from your eyes

“You knew and said nothing. Why didn’t you say anything? You should have said something” he seethed. His anger was unhinged, a drastic change for the usually calm and collected shadowsinger.

“If you didn’t want to be my mate just tell me. I’d be glad to be rid of the bond.”. As soon as he said it, he regretted it. His anger dissipated. He looked up and saw your face, tears streaming down.

“I see the way you look at Elain, Azriel. I’m not some stupid fucking female. How do you think it feels to see your mate all over someone else. I wanted to give you a chance to find your own happiness without me burdening you with this. And if we’re being honest, if you had to choose between me or her, you would choose her. I knew you would be disappointed by me. I knew you wouldn’t want to be my mate, that's why I didn’t tell you.” your anger started boiling up. “Do you think it feels good to be rejected, especially by someone you’ve loved for a long time? I didn’t want you to be disappointed that I was your mate, the person you’ve waited so long for.” your voice tapered off at the end. “Can you leave please” you said softly

“No, wait, I’m sorry I-“

“Azriel. Get out.” your voice boomed through the room.

He left reluctantly, softly shutting the door behind him. Just as the door shut, the sobs that you had been desperately trying to hold back broke free. Your body shuddered as you hugged yourself, crying yourself back to sleep.

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

During the following weeks, you avoided Azriel at all costs. As soon as he walked into the room, you would walk out. Any required conversations were kept short. You did anything you could to keep your mind off of him, cleaning, errands, hell you did it all. It certainly didn’t help your recovery, but you did what you could to keep your mind busy and off of Azriel.

“Y/n stop please. You need to rest, how many times do we have to tell you. You’re only making the healing process longer” Mor ranted on.

“I’m fine, I doubt a wound, which is almost healed by the way, would be damaged by me doing chores” you emphasized as you rolled your eyes

“Maybe not by chores, but it is affected by your stress”

A moment of silence passed.

“He feels terrible, you know, he didn’t mean to say it. He just wants to talk to you.”. Mor didn’t risk saying his name because she knew it would only anger you more.

“Well I don’t want to talk to him, or deal with him, or see him, or think about him. At all.”. You grumbled. Your heart clenched, but you brushed it aside.

“Y/n, please. I love you two and it hurts to see our family like this right now.”

“Please, can we drop it, I-“ your voice cracked

“Yeah, of course. Just… keep an open mind, maybe?”

“Yeah, ok” you looked down.

“I’ll see you later tonight then, for Rhys and Feyre’s dinner party.”

“Sounds good.”. You pressed your lips into a tight smile as you watched Mor walk off. You had definitely contemplated not going today. All of the inner circle certainly knew what happened, maybe not all the details, but still enough, which made you feel exposed. You weren’t use to having your emotions splayed out to everyone like that, and it made you too vulnerable. However, Mor had threatened to pull you to the party herself if you refused to go, so being complicit seemed like the best option.

It was just one night. You would be fine… right?

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

It was nearing 8 as you finished getting ready for the party, which started at 8:30. You were wearing an olive green silk midi dress. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but it was still very elegant. And comfortable. You were touching up as Mor arrived.

“Ah, there she is, beautiful as ever.”

“I could say the same about you, darling” you emphasized

“Are you ready to go, I heard the party is getting started, and you know I wouldn’t want to miss all the cocktails”

A laugh mused on your face. You grabbed your purse before the pair of you winnowed to the house.

You arrived at the front door, scanning the scene when you got there. It was a cozy ballroom with french doors which opened up to a huge balcony leading to the gardens. There was a huge dining table in the center with plenty of space to mingle in clusters.

You hadn’t spotted Azriel yet, a sigh of relief leaving your body. You strutted in, arms linked with Mor, grabbing a drink off the platter. You weren’t even sure who or what this party was for, but you realized you had downplayed it after spotting Helion and Tarquin. The high lords in Velaris. But that was the least of your concerns, the only thing you were focused on was avoiding Azriel.

Spotting Feyre near Helion, you breezed over to say hi.

“Ah! Y/n! Helion, i’m sure the two of you have met a few times before!” Feyre smiled out

“Yes, I do remember you! I heard about what happened, how are you feeling?” He asked

“Much better than the last few weeks, that’s for sure. Although I must say, this alcohol is certainly helping” you giggled. “Well I just wanted to pop over and say hi, but I think I’m gonna go find Cassian now. It was so nice to see you again Lord Helion, enjoy your evening.”

“You too Miss Y/L/N”

You dipped your head towards the both of them before making your way through the room to find Cassian. Where was he for caldrons sake. You hadn’t seen him in a week because he had to go up to the illyrian war camps again. Pushing your way through the crowd, you bumped into a hard chest, spilling your champagne. Cursing to yourself, you started to apologize.

“Oh mother, I’m so so sorry, clums-“. Looking up your y/e/c eyes met strong hazel ones, which were burning into your soul. You felt your throat close up, starting to feel trapped in the crowed room

No no no no. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you would have to talk to him, but you couldn’t do it now. Before he could say a word, you pushed past him and bolted out to the balcony to get some fresh air. You had run to the corner, near the steps to the garden, out of sight from others. Taking deep breaths, you calmed your nerves. You would be ok, everything was fine. It would be fine. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

You decided to quickly go grab another drink before returning to the serenity outside. Leaning against the balcony, you stared out at the stars and the gardens. They were so beautiful, even in the winter, you thought to yourself. You basked in the silence, your thoughts drowning you.

Some time had passed before you heard footsteps approaching you on the balcony. You knew who it was without having to turn around, but you still couldn’t bear to be around him. You turned to leave but his hand caught your wrist, holding it firmly. You could feel the scars from his hands against your skin.

“Please. I just want to talk”

“What’s there to talk about Azriel, you made your feelings clear that day.”

“Just listen, please, and then i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you wish”

You sighed, nodding your head in defeat. You couldn’t keep balling up your emotions.

He led you back to the railing of the balcony before his grasp left your wrist. You tilted your head down looking at your feet and fiddling with your thumb.

“I spent 500 years pining after Mor because I was so afraid of maybe having a chance at love. I thought it was best to love someone who would never love me back so I wouldn’t get hurt. Then I met Elain. She helped me to open up more, and helped me to believe that happiness would be possible for me, with someone. I had given up on the idea of having a mate. I didn’t think I deserved one. I was ok with that and had accepted that.”

He let out a breath as he ran his hand through his hair, light curls falling onto his forehead. “When I saw you lying there and the bond clicked, I was so mad at myself. I shut out the possibility of having a mate for so long. You were my mate. My mate. I never thought I would be able to say those words.”

He paused.

“I was mad that you may not make it. I was mad that I didn’t find you soon enough. I was mad that we didn’t have more time. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. I Just wanted you to be ok. And then when you told me that you had known for so long, I was angry. Angry that I hadn’t realized sooner, and angry that you kept it from me because you may not have wanted me or expected me to be your mate. And I snapped. Then you said the thing that I had least expected. You said you had loved me” He chuckled dryly. “I am so sorry, y/n, so very sorry.”.

His hand reached down to cup your face. He jerked your head up so you were looking at him. “What i’m trying to say is that I love you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way anymore”.

The air had been knocked from your lungs. Your heart swelled and your eyes watered. Before you had realized what you were doing, your lips crashed into his. His mouth fit perfectly against yours. He was a breath of fresh air with a hint of mint. Azriel’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you into his body and he smiled against your lips. It felt so right. Everything about it. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you both pulled away, breathless. Your forehead rested against his.

You whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I love you too”. As soon as the words left your mouth, he pulled you in for another kiss, his wings forming a cocoon around you. This one was more demanding. Passionate. A promise. You pulled away from his mouth and leaned against him, his arms wrapping around you.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Azriel said. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small black box. “It’s your Solstice gift, I was trying to find a good time to give it to you.”, he scratched the back of his head.

You gently took it from his hand. The box had a red ribbon wrapped around. Undoing the ribbon, You opened the box to find one of the beautiful necklaces you had been admiring with Mor. “Oh my Az. Its so beautiful. I love it. How did you know?”

“I may have had my shadows follow everyone around to find out what they wanted.” he laughed out.

You smiled. “Will you help me put it on?”. Handing the dainty chain to Azriel, you brushed you hair aside. Baring your neck to him. His fingers ghosted the soft skin, clasping the necklace together. He tenderly placed a kiss next to your ear, causing butterflies to erupt.

You cleared your throat. “I think we’ve been gone long enough. Would you like to get some food, Azriel?” you smiled.

“I would love to, my darling mate.” he paused before darkly saying “I am especially excited for the part that comes after I eat.”. You lightly smacked his shoulder before the two of you made your way inside, beaming.

taglist ---

@minnie-mitzel @itsbebeyyy @preciousbabymuffins @kexrtiz @vicisbookishblog @peneflop @millianec @agentsofsheilds 

[demoneyesanddamagedsouls]

One Way Or Another

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x F!Reader

Warnings: Helmut Zemo (He needs his own warning), canon typical violence, weapons, smutttt, unprotected sex, piv sex, FATWS spoilers

Summary: Helmut Zemo is someone you just can’t seem to figure out. But is this mysterious man more than meets the eye? What happens when the two of you are thrown into close quarters...

A/N: Ok this is my first Zemo fic I hope y’all enjoy! Let me know if you want me to make this more than one part I feel like I could definitely make more chapters if anyone is interested!

Word Count: 4.2k 

|| Writing Masterlist ||

Get added to my Taglist!

Kätzchen – kitten (german)

The evening was cool, the breeze from the water surrounding the island of Madripoor whipped through your hair as your cheeks and ears blushed red at the sharp sting of the frigid air. You leaned lightly on the cool steel railing of the large balcony admiring the incredible view from Sharon’s apartment in the heart of the island. The whole city was alight in an incredible neon glow, every building shining a different colour, the reflections of light bouncing off the water surrounding the island making the whole metropolis glitter against the deep black of the night sky. 

The breathtaking scene in front of you easily rivalled some of the incredible stolen art which resided inside the apartment in amongst the clamour of the party. Music drifting from the boom of the speakers out of the ajar door that led to the outside space, the thin glass muffling the heavy noise but not barring the gentle vibrations of the bass that ran through the floor and up your legs.

It had been a long day, the five of you had managed to extract some information about Karli from the elusive Dr Nagel and you were all ready to set out the next day, excluding Sharon of course due to the price on her head. So tonight, they had decided to enjoy themselves. Sharon had already had a party to auction off some of the art planned weeks in advance, so the timing lined up perfectly, giving you all the opportunity to let go and enjoy yourselves before you were thrown into the heat of battle once more. 

You certainly had been enjoying Sharon’s extensive liquor stash, letting the boys pour you drinks throughout the evening, enough that you were feeling a soft buzz of alcohol running through your veins, while your belly warmed itself with the final dregs of a dark spiced liquor which swirled around the glass you held in your fingers that you couldn’t quite remember the name of. You sighed softly, your breath puffing out in front of you in the cool night air, as you simply enjoy the stillness of the moment.

Not a second later, as if you had summoned him purely through the power of thought, you hear the door behind you creak slightly as more of the muffled music begins to pour out of the opened door frame. You hear him walk up to you, the heels of his boots clicking on the crisp stone tiles of the balcony as he approaches you. Feeling the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch as he traces the outline of your form with his eyes, moving up the thin stiletto of your patent black heels, up the exposed skin of your calves, your thighs, the soft curve of your ass hidden underneath the short black skirt of your skin tight dress, finally landing his gaze on the soft plush of your cheek as he stands next to you, mirroring your same stance, leaning across the balcony railing. 

You turn to look at him, Helmut Zemo, the man who had been working with you and the boys to help take down the super soldier Flag Smashers. He was wrapped in a lucious black fur trimmed coat; the luxurious fabric draped over his strong shoulders broadening his physique making him look more imposing. All you could think was how broad he would look caging you in underneath his torso in the soft plush of his bedsheets. Beneath the striking coat rested a maroon turtleneck which adorned his torso tapering down to the silver buckle of his belt which secured the slim black slacks which hugged the strong muscle of his legs. You can’t help but envision his strong thighs pressed against the back of yours as he rails you from behind. Fuck. You shake your head attempting to break your train of thought, a hard task when all you can feel is his warm breath tickling the exposed skin of your neck.

You shudder gently at the feeling, which he mistakes for a shiver against the brisk wind, quickly moving to remove his jacket and place it over your shoulders. Suddenly your senses are full of him all at once, the warmth of his body heat that he had created in the jacket, the delicious smell of his cologne filling your nostrils. The gesture is sweet and caring only serving to further confuse you. You had no idea what to make of this man beside you. You couldn’t decide if you should hate him after all the terrible things he’d done, the people he had killed, the violence he had inflicted or, if you should look at him with fresh eyes, as a man who had changed and learnt from his mistakes. The man you had witnessed firsthand here in Madripoor. You knew you couldn’t trust him. Not completely. But something about him lured you in, a burning curiosity to find out what his mysterious persona hid beneath the surface.

Not a single word had passed between you in the minutes that he had come to stand beside you. The air crackled around you both with an unsaid tension thickening the space between you like a fog descending across a field in the early morning. You knew you were staring but you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away from the soft expression that rested in the features of his face, a mixture of concern and curiosity as he looked you over. His gaze rested on yours, holding eye contact with you, as he waited for you to say something, his eyes darting down to the soft plush of your lips as you finally managed to form some words to break the silence. Your filter substantially diluted by the strength of the alcohol you had consumed.

“I just can’t seem to figure you out Zemo.” You say, eyebrows quirked in a questioning manner as you analyse the features of his face. Trying to read his expression as he looks back up catching your gaze in his.

“What’s there to figure out Kätzchen?” He smirks, a teasing quality to his voice as he looks down at you.

You sigh in frustration, narrowing your eyes as if to articulate how you were studying him and his reactions as you spoke, lips moving slowly as you dragged out your words, giving them emphasis, “This whole broody mysterious but sweet thing you have going is not fooling me… I can’t decide if I should hate you or like you.”

He pauses, mulling over your words, “Why not a bit of both?” Quirking his eyebrow as he responds, a close-lipped lopsided grin spreading across his cheeks as you roll your eyes at his retort.

Resigning to the fact that you weren’t going to learn anything by talking his ear off with these probing questions. You lean back removing your elbows from the railing, standing upright once more, still not quite as tall as Zemo even in your reasonably high heels. Pulling Zemo’s warm coat off your shoulders, you grip the gorgeous fur trim as you pass it back to him, shivering slightly at the briskness of the outside air as the soft wool leaves your skin.

“Shall we go back inside and join the party then?” You say eyebrows raised, determined to enjoy the rest of your evening, trying to move past your complete inability to read the man in front of you.

“Let’s, little one. I’ll make you another drink.” He says smiling softly, slipping his coat back on and gesturing to the door with an extended arm.

You pass him your empty glass and strut forward past him and back into the electric energy of the party. Moving through the crowds of people socialising and looking over the beautiful artworks, you make your way through the dim blue light of the room to the illuminated tiles of the dance floor. The space was teeming with people moving to the music swaying in the strobe lights as the upbeat rhythm of a sultry song permeated the air. Washing over you like wave of movement, your body starts to move to the music, the familiar melody causing you to break out into a blissed out smile as you sway your hips to the passion filled lyrics.

Looking around the space as you gyrate to the music, you catch a glimpse of Zemo from behind the bar pouring a semi clear liquid into lovely matching crystal glasses resting on the bench top. He must have felt you watching him because in that moment he flicks his gaze up directly at you, catching you watching him. For some reason you feel drawn to him, knowing how much trouble he is, how dangerous he is. You’ve seen him kill with your own eyes. And yet you can’t help the strong attraction to him, his danger mixed with the softness he showed you. You didn’t even know if he was interested in you like that. But fuck were you interested in him. Throwing your inhibitions to the wind thanks to the bit of liquid courage you had been consuming you hold his gaze, continuing to dance, moving seductively as you sway your hips to the music running your hands over your body.

Tracing your own form with gentle fingertips, you close your eyes for a moment as you bite your bottom lip, enjoying the sensation of your caresses. Blinking as the light of the dance floor floods your vision once more you realise that Zemo had disappeared into the chaos of the crowd. You spin around looking for him, worried that you’d scared him away with your forwardness, suddenly coming face to face with that very grin you had been searching out. Zemo looked down at you, watching your lips form a small ‘o’ in surprise at his proximity as he extended his hand, the drink he had made you resting in his calloused palm. A broad smile breaks across your face as you take the crystal glass out of his hand brushing your fingers purposefully across his skin.

“Turkish Delight,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear, “Irresistible.” A quiet confidence lingering in the air around him as it always did.

You pull the glass up to your lips, closing your eyes once more as you take a deep sip relishing in the delicious taste of rosewater and sugar mixed with the sharp tang of vodka flooding your taste buds. You let out a satisfied moan as you pull the glass away from your lips, looking back up at Zemo through your dark lashes and you catch him tense up slightly at the sound that had just escaped your lips.

The mood shifts as the next song starts to play, a slower melody with a deep baritone voice filling your ears from the speakers. You turn towards the speakers, trying to focus on recognising the song which sounded so familiar, when suddenly you feel an arm wrap around your waist pulling you swiftly into the warmth of the body behind you. Zemo had pulled you flush against him, your back resting against his warm torso, as he gently sipped his matching drink. You are swept up in the feeling of him against your back the feel of his arm over your waist, his splayed hand pressing against your lower stomach, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin through the thin material of your dress, making your cheeks flush a bright red at the effect he was having on you. The two of you sway slowly to the rhythm, your hips resting against his as your ass gently rocked against his thighs, his warm breaths ghosting the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle as he began to softly whisper the lyrics of the song into your ear.

“What's your name?... Who's your daddy?... Is he rich like me?... Has he taken… Any time… To show you what you need to live?” His sultry voice echoes through your head and desire begins to pool in your lower belly. The flush on your cheeks only growing redder as the words resonate with you. Your eyes drift closed as you soak up every part of the moment, letting it fill your senses, the scent of him, the heat radiating off his strong chest, the suggestive words he had whispered into your ear echoing and reverberating as you become lost in that moment in time. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, everything was him.

Your eyes are jarred open quickly as you hear the smash of glass nearby as one of Sharon’s drunk guests decides to pick a fight with another and a brawl breaks out on the dance floor. So quickly that you can barely register what is happening. In a state of shock, you look around trying to figure out what to do when Zemo quickly pushes you out of the way of a fist flying towards your face. He grunts slightly at the effort and you hear both of your crystal glasses smashing against the hard tiled floor as he rushes you into a small room just out of reach of the commotion. Still in a state of shock your finally register what was happening. You had been swiftly pulled out of harm’s way and into the small butler’s kitchen tucked away behind the main living space where the party that you had been attending, which had broken out into a full-on brawl, had been located. You suddenly take in the situation you were in, pressed up against the wall behind the door frame caged in behind the broad body of Zemo. He was crowding his body in front of yours out of instinct as he heard guns fire in the adjacent room.

All you can feel is his body pressed against you, protecting you from harm. You watch him as he eyes the doorway listening to the commotion outside, his features strained in focus as he listened out for any action moving in your direction. All you could think in that moment was that this man who was supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be evil, supposed to be the bad guy, had probably just saved your life and was determined to protect you even if it meant him getting hurt or even killed in the process. That was entirely evident in the way he had pulled you out of the crossfire and was currently using his own body to shield you from any impending damage. And fuck if that didn’t make your body heat up with desire and arousal flood your panties.

The attraction that had been mounting between you had just culminated in the ultimate grand gesture and you realised you could not bring yourself to tear your eyes away from him, half of his face illuminated by the soft moonlight streaming in through the door frame as you gazed at him completely entranced.

“Zemo…” you whisper as you trace the sharp angle of his jaw with a delicate finger.

“Kätzchen?” He whips around suddenly at the sound of your voice, panic riddled across his features. “Is something wrong little one? Are you hurt?”

“No no… but you are.” You whisper as you continue tracing his jaw to the place where you realise the man’s fist had collided with his face. The one he had pushed you out of the way of and instead, he had received the blow that probably would have cracked your nose. He winces slightly under your touch and you pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, pulling him down to your eye line to analyse the small bruise that was forming at the base of his jawline. He watches you from the corner of his eye as his breathing hitches, scarcely moving as you caress his skin. Tracing the gentle outline of a forming bruise as you feel his searing gaze burn into you, watching your pursed lips and your worried eyes. You run a soothing hand over the bruise, holding his cheek and his jaw in your soft palm as you look back into his eyes.

“Thank you for protecting me.” You whisper with bated breath as you hold his gaze.

His eyes flicking down to your lips as you speak, unable to stop himself. Entranced by the proximity and the way you were touching him, the way your chest heaved in front of him just brushing against his torso. Suddenly he was on you, lips slanting over yours tentative at first, questioning, but as soon as you responded in kind, melting into his touch, the kiss became more bruising, desperate, ravenous. You moaned into his mouth as he ran a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer. He took this as an opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. The two of you tangling together as you both explored the warmth behind each other’s lips. His other hand running down the small of your back to grab at the luscious curve of your backside as you ran your hands across the firmness of his chest.

You both pulled apart gasping for breath. Small plumes of air mingling together in the dark of the room. You shouldn’t be doing this, you knew who Zemo was and yet you couldn’t help yourself, you were so excited, turned on even, by the danger, the mystery of the man.

He shook his head at you and whispered breathily, “I’m trouble little one…”

You look into his warm brown eyes slowly turning as black as the shadow of the room. Smirking back at him, the glint of mischief in your pupils evident as you respond, “I like trouble.”

His gaze becomes predatory as your words sink in. Removing the hand from your neck he quickly slams the door closed and locks it behind him taking all the light out of the room apart from a small sliver of moonlight coming in through a skylight above. He pushes you against the wall once more and hungrily slants his lips across yours, capturing you in a delicious but messy kiss, filled with passion and craving. He moves slowly from your lips, down across your jaw and then attaches himself to the pulse point of your neck, biting gently at the soft skin as you moan out in pleasure at the small sharp pain. He wraps his hands around your thighs and lifts you up, holding you against the wall. You respond in kind, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around the crook of his neck, pulling his lips to yours with a sharp tug of his hair. Holding you carefully, his hands wrapped around the muscle of your thighs, he walks you over to the kitchen counter on the other side of the room, sliding you gently onto the cool marble.

He pulls away once more, admiring your already dishevelled state, chest heaving as you catch your breath, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts, your slightly mussed hair falling across the glistening skin of your cheek, the skirt of your dress which had ridden up to reveal a glimpse of your lacy black panties. Fuck you were gorgeous.

“Are you sure you want this Kätzchen?” he says as he regains his own breath.

“Fuck yes I do.” Any inhibition you may have had earlier disappeared, as quick as the sound of the outside world had as soon as the door closed.

Moving slowly towards your figure, he reaches out to the silver press studs that run down your dress, starting at the top of your chest. You let out a small gasp as he touches the visible skin, slowly exposing the matching black lace bra beneath as he undoes the clasps slowly, the metallic clicks the only noise in the room apart from your shallow breathing. He grins up at you completely enthralled by how you were responding to him. He undoes enough clasps to fully reveal your bra and your chest. His movements are that of a man possessed as he traces the swell of your breasts with delicate fingers, leaving prickles of heat in the wake of their touch.

“So delicate, like a rose in full bloom.” He murmured, voice silken as he followed the trail of his fingers with his gaze.

He brings his hands to the front of your dress and pulls it open, one button at a time, the rhythmic click of the clasps bursting was a melody to your ears. Slowly exposing the rest of your body to him as your dress falls off your shoulders, you swiftly pull the rest of the fabric off your wrists, letting it pool around you on the kitchen counter. He slowly makes his way to the crook of your back to unclasp your bra. He makes quick work of the hooks and pulls the thin piece of fabric off you, exposing your chest completely to him. Massaging and squeezing at your breasts, his warm palms feeling exquisite on your nipples, hard in the cold air of the evening and from his ravenous attentions. 

Moving his hands lower, he grips onto your hips with a bruising force, moving his head down to your chest, taking one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking languidly on your pebbled nipple, dragging his teeth across it nibbling lightly making you arch yourself into him, desperate for more. You wanted his mouth all over your skin, everywhere he could reach, his attentions are ravenous as he places a particularly cutting bite to your nipple then swiftly switching his attentions to your other breast, leaving a trail of delicate bites across your collarbone in his wake. You keen into his caresses as he begins to move slowly upwards, marking up your chest, your collarbone, and finally your neck with small red bruises made by his teeth. You revelled in the delicious pain of it, the arousal in your panties starting to drip down your thighs at the feeling of his teeth dragging over your skin.

“You look so beautiful like this, all marked up, showing everyone that you’re mine…” he whispers against your skin, “I wonder how your boys would feel about that…” confidence and lust dripping from his words as he watches you react to him. 

You whimper as he moves his hand down to your cunt, pressing against you with two fingers against the thin lace material, feeling how you had soaked through the fabric.

“It seems you like it too, Kätzchen.” His tongue languishing over every syllable of the little nickname he’d given you as he tugged your soaking panties down your thighs so that they dropped onto the cool stone floor.

You were now completely exposed to him as he stood in front of you fully clothed. You paw at his chest, feeling his strong torso beneath the fabric as you tugged at the lapel of the jacket, slowly dragging it over his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor to join your panties. Understanding your silent plea he pulls the top beneath over his head, revealing his toned yet soft torso to your eager hands. You run your fingers over his skin, tracing the small outlines of his figure with light caresses as you make your way down to the silver buckle of his belt. Deft fingers making quick work of the clasp then making your way to the buttons of his pants with just as much eagerness.

“Zemo… please.” You whine needily. Your craving getting the better of you. You needed him to touch you, needed him to fuck you, needed him to fill up every one of your senses.

He loved the sound of you begging, mesmerised by your desperate touches as you yank the fabric of his slacks along with his boxers down his legs, his member springing free and resting against his stomach.

You lean forward, watching him as you wrap your fingers experimentally around his shaft, swiping your thumb over the tip, red and leaking with small beads of precome.

He batted your hand away, his gaze burning into yours, “I want to feel you Prinzessin.” You nod your head trying to communicate how much you want that as well, unable to form the words under his devouring gaze. Gripping the backs of your thighs, he pulls you to the edge of the kitchen bench, letting the fabric of your dress drop to the floor amongst the other discarded garments. Your bare skin tingles against the cool marble and you draw in a sharp breath at the change in temperature which touches your most sensitive areas. Spreading your legs with exploratory fingers, he admires your form, taking in your soft skin dappled in the small red marks littered across your body.

“All mine…” He whispers as he slots himself between your thighs. Lining himself up at your dripping entrance. 

“Zemo please… please fuck me.” You whimper, desperate to feel more of him. 

Gripping onto your hips with bruising fingers he pushes into you, slowly and carefully. You gasp out as you feel every ridge and vein as he thrusts into you. He starts at a gentle pace, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around his length. He fills you up incredibly and you can’t help the noises that escape your throat. 

“Fuck Z-Zemo you feel so fucking good.” You moan out.

You wrap your thighs around his waist begging with your body language for him to go faster, to fuck you until you cant think. He moans at your words and the feeling of your soft skin wrapped around him. The deep guttural noise that had fallen from his lips mixed with the obscene sound of flesh smacking together was intoxicating. 

He moves his hand, pulling at the crook of your knee, changing the angle of your body so he can reach an even deeper spot inside you as he increases his pace to a more intense rhythm. The new position makes you throw your head back in ecstasy as he thrusts into you, giving him the opportunity to lean down and pull your nipple into his mouth with his teeth. You arch your back into his touch, moaning as he assaults your senses with the feeling of him deep inside you and his warm mouth on your skin.

He holds your hip with bruising fingers as he palms at your breast with the other hand. You slowly pull his hand further up wanting him to replicate the grip he had on your hip around your throat. He groaned as you placed his fingers around your throat giving it an experimental squeeze under your guidance. You felt your walls clench around him as his fingers sunk gently into your neck cutting off your breathing ever so slightly.

“Fuck that made you even wetter Kätzchen…” he murmured, entranced by you and the way you reacted to him, “I want you to come for me little one, come all over my cock. I want to feel you come undone for me. SIng for me, little songbird.” He whispered, warm breath fanning the side of your cheek as he tightened his grip on your throat while his other hand snaked down in between the two of you, thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit. 

You relished in the feeling of his fingers, completely overwhelmed by the incredible sensations as you gripped onto the muscles of his back and his bicep, digging your nails in harshly as he plunged into you with bruising force. 

His filthy words ringing in your ear, his cock hitting the back of your cervix just at the right spot, his thumb working continuously on your clit as black spots started to form behind your eyes from his tight grip around the column of your throat. All of it together makes you completely fall apart beneath him, crying out as you ride out the earth shattering orgasm. He moves his hands to your back, tightly holding you upright as he fucks you through your aftershocks, hitting you deep and making you cry out at the oversensitivity. His hips start to stutter as he feels your velvet walls flutter around him, holding his cock in a vice like grip as your whimpers reach his ears. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your shoulder as his orgasm hits him, thrusting slowly as he comes hard, painting your walls with his release. His moans echo in your ears as he fills you up deliciously and all you can feel is him. His body pressed against yours, chest heaving as you both attempt to regain your breath.

Zemo pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss. Looking down at you, skin slick with a light sheen of sweat as you gazed up at him with hazy eyes, you were slowly coming back down to earth from your high. Gently pushing a stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, he smiles, expression soft and warm as he smiles down at you. 

As your vision slowly clears Zemo’s handsome face comes back into focus and you return his soft smile with your own. He has a small flick of stray hair resting on his forehead, his usual clean cut presentation ruined by your roaming hands. You spot some of the fingernail marks you had left across his upper arms and bite your lip, excited by the idea of leaving your own marks on him. 

“I think hate and like make a pretty good combination, don’t you agree little one?” He says as he traces the plethora of marks across your warm skin, running gentle fingers across the small bruises forming across your chest and around your neck. 

You blush at his words as he repeats your earlier sentiment, suddenly becoming shy under his fervent gaze. Helping you off the kitchen counter slowly he holds you gently, keeping you upright as you regain your balance on shaky legs. Zemo grabs a small wash cloth from the other side of the kitchen, soaking it in warm water and quickly bringing it over to clean up the mess between your legs. You smile at the gentle, caring nature he was displaying. 

After cleaning himself up he pulls on his boxers and trousers, looking over at you as he sees you reach for your lacy undergarments. Reaching out, he grabs your wrist as you clutch your panties and bra. 

“Don’t put these back on Kätzchen… I-I want you to walk out of here without them.” He murmurs with lust blown eyes as he pulls your dress off the floor and begins to dress you in it, “I want to be the only one to know that all you wear underneath that tight fabric are... my marks…”

You shiver under his touch as he buttons up the front of your dress. Picking up his coat he gently wraps it around your shoulders, letting the fur rest around the soft skin of your neck as the soft outlines of his grip begin to appear on your throat. “There we go, my little songbird. hidden... only for me…” he says as he strokes the lapel next to your cheek, straightening the fabric.

 You watch him as he pulls the top back over his head and combs his hair back into position out of his face. Grinning up at him you say, voice sultry and warm, “Maybe I’ll see you later Zemo.”

“If that is what you wish little one��� how could I say no to such a good girl...” He whispers in your ear as he suddenly disappears out the door, smirking with a confidence only he could pull off. 

You feel desire lick up in your belly again at his quiet promise. This man would be the death of you… one way or another...

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[its-deputy-caleb]

would u possibly do some NSFW morbell? where they're up in colter ( i loved ur original morbell post on them ) pls do more as i love ur blog 💛

this is an absolute mess oml i literally have no idea how to write anything smutty but here we go i guess. I love this pair but i kinda went off topic and centred this on a praise kink for micah. ANYWAY this is probably terrible since i'm melting, its literally 40 degrees and the aircon is broken so its unedited af and i wont look at it again until i have a cold drink. but pls enjoy some morbell <333

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

‘Cold up in Colter’

Fuck, what a mess Blackwater had been. The Pinkertons were on them faster than ever and they found themselves fleeing from a blood bath.

That was almost three days ago and Micah hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. He’d been sent out with John to scout ahead, having found a homestead which ended up burning at the hand of O’Driscoll’s. Okay maybe house burning down was his fault but he tends to make stupid decisions when he’s had little to know sleep. And it was so fucking cold.

That didn’t stop heat rising to his face when he felt Arthur’s hands on his shoulder, pushing him back with a roughness he could only wish for in another way. Damn Arthur Morgan and his ability to have Micah curling in on himself and blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of a hand on his shoulder.

He should hate Arthur, really the two are nothing more than rivals, competing for the spot of Dutch Van Der Linde’s right hand. At the beginning, almost six months ago now, Micah couldn’t stand the sight of the man but somehow that anger tapered off into something more akin to admiration and that admiration slowly turned to desire.

He’ll never admit to how badly he wants Arthur but he won’t deny however that he’s pushed the man’s buttons more than once just to have an interaction with him. All he had to do start a silly argument over camp earnings or a bet at five finger fillet to have the man shaking him by the collar and threatening to break his nose.

It almost always ended with Micah sneaking off into the woods with half a bottle of whiskey and his pants bunched around his ankles as he thought of the way Arthur roughed him up by his shirt collar. Fuck he was pathetic sometimes.

There were other occasions where the two had actually managed to get along and that’s what pissed Micah off more than any threats of violence. Arthur just had to go and bring him a beer as he grabbed one for himself, letting their fingers touch accidentally. Or he went and offered him a seat by the fireplace where they ended up much to close for his comfort. Damn Arthur for always leaving him short of breath with a hole in his heart.

Despite what Micah did to impress Dutch, Arthur was still the camp’s favourite by a mile and he never failed to outcompete him in the eyes of the gang. Micah never minded much, not looking for anyone’s approval, but the thought of proving himself to Arthur, of being worthy of his praise is enough to have his wild side reined in.

Naturally that didn’t stop Micah from losing it from time to time and wasn’t surprised when his jealousy shot up again as Miss Grimshaw announced Arthur got his own cabin while he shared with the rest of the fellers. And he’d be damned if he had to share a room with Williamson who didn’t stop snoring.

That’s why he found himself huddled in the makeshift stables, choosing instead to wrap himself in his coat and down a bottle of whiskey to wait the night out. He cold planks he was sitting on offered little comfort and the draft in the room had his lip shaking. But at least he wouldn’t have anyone in his hair and he’d be left alone, just the way he liked it.

Of course that didn’t last long when the cranky wooden door was barged open, spooking some of the horses in the opposite end of the room. A broad figure entered the room, blocking most of the door way but that didn’t stop to whoosh of cold air flood into the room, draining even more colour from his face.

It wasn’t until the door was closed and the man stepped closer when he realised it was Arthur.

“Micah? What the hell are you doing in here?”

Arthur sounded surprised, with only a hint of concern in his voice.

“Sleepin’— what the hell ya doing here Morgan?”

There wasn’t much of a response from Arthur, only a quiet noise which was barely heard over the whistle of the wind between the planks. He walked over to the horses, checking over them and ensuring none of them were freezing to death. Micah watched in silence, scared to disturb the man as he patted along Taima’s neck.

It wasn’t until after Arthur had checked over all the horses did he turn his attention to Micah.

Micah watched as Arthur’s gloved hand extended out and offered itself to him, he hesitated before taking before taking it and being pulled to his feet. Arthur’s hand draped over his shoulder which he didn’t realise had shaking in an effort to keep warm, having drunk the remaining whiskey from the bottle.

“Common now, yer gonna freeze in here alone.”

Micah dug his heels into the ground, not allowing Arthur to pull him any further to the door as he tried to hold his voice steady. He’d be damned if he ever let Arthur know just how much he affected him.

“I ain’t sharing a bunk with Williams—“

Arthur tutted, pulling Micah out the door as he pushed him towards his cabin in the snow storm.

“Quit yer yapping, you’re sharing with me and I ain’t having any more folk die tonight. Now let’s go.”

Arthur didn’t utter another word until they were well and truely in his room, wrapped in a blanket that was barely big enough for the two of them. The bed wasn’t much bigger, having been made for one person which was evident by Arthur pressing against Micah’s back in efforts for them to fit. The only thing that kept them apart was the fabric of their jackets, otherwise Arthur would probably hear Micah’s heartbeat which was beating much to fast for his liking.

The uncomfortable silence was broken when Micah cursed under his breath which caused his teeth to chatter and Arthur spoke up.

“Yer still cold, c'mere”

Micah’s breath fell short as Arthur’s hands slid under his coat, resting his hands on his tummy to use his body heat as a source of warmth. In doing so Arthur had moved even closer, ensuring Micah’s back was flush against his chest.

Despite that Micah wanted to protest, to go straight to his default of arguing he couldn’t help but feel as he began to warm up and he slowly relaxed under his hands.

A blush rose high on his cheeks as Arthur also relaxed into their embrace, accidentally letting his hands drift lower until he felt the hard press of Micah’s straining erection against his knuckle.

Micah instantly sucked in a breath, panicking and trying to push his way out of Arthur’s hold.

“Shit Arthur I—“

Micah froze as Arthur gently pulled him back to the bed and rubbed slow circles along his stomach.

“S’alright Micah, I’m not mad…”

Arthur held him close, letting him relax before talking again before he whispered right into the shell of his ear.

“…This what you want? Is this why you’re always staring at me from across camp, why yer always picking fights and asking me to robberies?”

A high pitched noise left Micah as he shivered, feeling Arthur’s hot breath against his ear. His blush deepened as he pushed back slightly into him, whimpering at the feel of Arthur’s own erection pressed against his ass.

Fuck it, he thought as heat pooled in his abdomen and he finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’d been craving for months. He nodded frantically, grinding back onto Arthur’s clothed dick and squirming in his grip.

“Relax boy, gonna give you everything you’ve been waiting for— just be good and you’ll get it”

Micah nodded in agreement, a needy, desperate sound leaving him at the promise of praise. He wanted, no needed to be praised by the man so badly that he’d do anything for an ounce of it from the man.

“Oh god Arthur! I need it, need you. Fuck I can be good I promise.”

He knew he was probably being too loud but apart of him didn’t have it in him to care. He moaned softly as Arthur moved him to roll onto his back, towering over him but ensuring they were still kept under the blanket.

Arthur spent the next ten minutes undressing him without exposing much of his skin to the cold. He unbuttoned the lower buttons of his leather jacket, enough for Arthur to work his fly down and pull one pant leg off. He whined pitifully, grabbing at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in a silent plea for him to undress him properly.

Micah mentally scolded himself at just how desperate he was for Arthur to rip his clothes off and fuck him like a bitch in heat but he knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. Arthur however caught on pretty quickly to what he wanted, it seemed the man knew just what made him tick.

“I know sweetheart, once we’re well and truly outta here I’ll get us a room and we can do this properly.”

Micah’s eyes beamed at the thought of Arthur taking him to a hotel in the future, panting as his mind raced with images of Morgan making him fall apart on his cock for hours on end.

While Micah was busy in his mind, Arthur took the opportunity to retrieve the gun oil from his satchel. It certainly wasn’t the best option but it was their only choice with their limited supplies.

Arthur draped himself back over Micah’s body, kissing at his jaw and nibbling as he coated his fingers. The air was cold, only making the oil feel colder as he slowly dipped his index finger past Micah’s rim.

A devilish grin came to Arthur’s face as he heard Micah sigh and take his finger easily, deciding to work his way up to two sooner than he was expecting.

“You’ve wanted this for a long time haven’t you? I saw you once, bout a week ago. Head down, ass up with three of yer fingers inside you while you cried out for me to fuck you. It all clicked in my head then when you started acting different around me at camp.”

Micah flushed a deep red, coughing on air as he realised Arthur knew about his little crush. He tried to think of an excuse, to weasel his way out of it but his thoughts died in his head when Arthur twisted his fingers, scissoring and stretching him open before adding a third.

Arthur dragged a lip along Micah’s cheek to his lip, ghosting his lips over his before kissing him properly. This time Micah didn’t even try to fight for dominance, opening his mouth instantly for Arthur’s tongue to enter. Instead he sighed into it, pulling his legs to wrap around his waist as his hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.

It went on like that until Arthur was satisfied that Micah was well prepped enough, simultaneously rubbing against Micah’s prostate while he kissed him deeply. He only pulled away to pull his own leaking member out, bunching his pants around his thighs so he had enough room to move but could stay warm. He coated the rest of the oil onto his member, jerking slowly as he stared down at the sight of Micah below him.

Micah looked like an absolute mess against the pillows already, his face was flush and the scarf around his head had unwrapped slightly, revealing his disheveled blond hair. His chest was heaving as he panted and his thighs shook from pleasure as the weakly wrapped around his waist.

“You look so pretty like this sweetheart”

To say that Micah hated the pet name was a lie, one that he didn’t try deny as he moaned softly. His back arched and he gripped Arthur’s coat tightly as he felt his cock slide between his cheeks and over his hole. He’s wanted this for so long now and yet somehow it still didn’t quite feel real as his mind was clouded with arousal.

Micah’s toes curled and he moaned when he felt Arthur push into him, slowly inching forward until he felt him bottom out.

“Ah— ah! Oh Arthur fuck! Please fuck me, I’ll be good I swear.”

Micah practically sobbed with pleasure as Arthur set up a fast pace, pulling almost all the way out till just the tip was left inside his tight hole before pushing back in quickly, brushing his prostate in the process. His cock twitched from where it rested against his tummy, pinned between Arthur’s jacket which caused a string of moans to fall from his mouth.

“Look at you, so good for me— fucking perfect Micah. Such a good boy”

Arthur’s hands came to hold onto Micah’s hips for leverage, pulling on his slight muffin top under the jacket to help pull him back to meet his thrusts. Beneath him he heard Micah whine and whimper at the praise so desperately needed to hear.

Micah bought a finger up to his mouth, biting on his knuckle to silence any more noises he deemed to be pathetic from slipping out of him. He hated how close he already was just from being praised by Arthur.

It seemed Arthur wasn’t having any of it when he pulled his finger away from his mouth before kissing him like he had done not that long ago. He swallowed every one of Micah’s noises, mindful of Dutch sleeping next door and slowing his thrusts to something deeper and slower.

His hands roamed all over Micah’s clothed body, breaking away for air and whispering praises down his ear.

“That’s it, make those pretty noises for me sweetheart.”

Micah eye’s rolled into his head as he cried out.

“You’re mine, all for me— my good boy.”

More moans slipped from his lips.

“Atta boy— taking me so well, so good.”

His back arched and he withered in his embrace

“So eager to please aren’t you? I’ll take care of you now boy.”

“—Arthur! I’m close— Ah, I’m gonna—“

“Go on sweetheart cum for me…that’s it good boy.”

Micah’s whole body when rigid as he finally came. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out as his orgasm dragged out with each thrust Arthur delivered, eager to chase his own.

He collapsed into the pillow, thighs shaking as he whined at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long before Arthur’s thrusts changed pace to something more erratic, picking up the pace as he spilled his load inside him.

Arthur groaned into his neck, pulling him close and collapsing into him as he regained his breath.

He pulled out slowly with a wet and obscene pop, sitting up and helping Micah put his clothes back on. Micah only weakly managed to fiddle with the button on his jacket while Arthur gently manhandled his jelly-like limbs to fit back into his pant leg. He used the blanket to wipe the cum off his tummy, a weak attempt at cleaning up and something they would both no doubt regret come tomorrow morning but for now they were keen to sleep after such a horrific and chaotic few days.

Arthur pulled Micah into their original position for the night, the only difference being that his face was now tucked into his chest. Arthur rested his chin of Micah’s head, littering his hair with kisses as he played with his hair between his rough fingers.

Micah was the first to fall asleep, curled up with his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wasn’t far behind him either, finally letting himself get some much needed rest but not before he pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.

[cuddlepilefics]

Poltergeist

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregiver: Seungmin

Jeongin wakes up sick in the middle of the night, making quite some noise on his mission to find medicine.

Jeongin’s POV.:

I had already felt a little off all day, so I had decided to go to bed early, thinking whatever the odd feeling was, it would be gone by the morning. However, when I woke up again only an hour later, I felt like I had gotten hit by a train. My head was pounding and it took me a moment to figure out where I was. I was alone in the room, so I figured, my roommate Jisung hadn’t come back from the studio yet. Shuddering with cold, I sat up and cringed when my clothes stuck to me. How could I sweat so much to soak through my clothes in less than an hour? The shaky breath I drew in, caught in my throat, sending me into a wet coughing fit, that just didn’t seem to end. I felt like I was drowning, when did I get so congested? By the time the fit tapered off, my head spun, making me feel faint. Even worse was that the lack of oxygen made my head pound more ferociously. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep with the amount of pain I was in, I wanted to take a painkiller. If my hyung had been here, I would have woken him and asked for help because I didn’t really trust my legs with how lightheaded I was but he wasn’t back yet and I didn’t feel like waiting for someone to find me.

My skin pricked with goosebumps, when I threw off my blanket and struggled out of my damp shirt. Getting up on shaky legs, I stumbled over to my closet and picked out my thickest hoodie. I almost lost my balance when pulling it over my head but the warmth was totally worth it. Alright, next would be painkillers. Muffling another painful cough into my sleeve, I staggered over to the door. Of course, I managed to trip over my own feet, loosing my balance and crashing into the wood with a heavy thud. I couldn’t suppress a whimper when I reached up for the door handle to open it. When it swung open, I pulled myself back onto my feet and continued on my mission to the bathroom. Though it was only a short distance, I tripped multiple times as my legs just didn’t seem to follow my brain’s instructions. I heavily relied on the walls to support my weak body as my eyes kept closing on the way. How could I possibly be so slow? Would I even get there before the morning? My legs grew more and more jelly-like and I had to take a break in the middle of the hallway, afraid I’d fall again. Sinking down with my back against the wall, I heaved a shuddering breath. It was even colder out here than it was in my room and my hoodie did nothing to help with that. The thought of curling back up in my bed gave me the necessary energy to get back up, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, so I could go back to bed. Surprisingly, I made it to the bathroom not that long after but I stumbled. Loosing my balance again, I fell against the cabinet under the sink. My ears were ringing so loudly that I didn’t even hear the loud noise I caused, closing my eyes and giving in to the darkness.

Seungmin’s POV.:

I had come home about twenty minutes ago, getting ready to go to bed as I was exhausted from a long day at the company. Just when I pulled the blanket over my tired body, I heard weird noises somewhere around the dorm. The clanging stopped after a few minutes and I relaxed, thinking I could finally go to sleep. Just when I was about to doze off, the noise continued followed by a muffled crash. Did a poltergeist move into the dorm while I was gone for work? I knew that this was exactly how horror movies started. Somebody hearing a weird noise and going to investigate. If I was wise, I would stay in bed and ignore it but I was starting to get annoyed, just wanting to get some peaceful rest. Sighing, I got out of bed again. It didn’t matter if it was a poltergeist or some other monster out there, I was going to put it in his place and tell it to be quiet, so we can all sleep. Those ghosts really had no regards for the rest of hardworking people. Believe me, I could be scary if I wanted to, so I doubted whatever monster that was wanted to mess with me while I was tired. Debating whether I should get some kind of weapon to defend myself, I made my way down the hallway and found the door to Jisung and Jeongin’s room open. It was empty, so the poltergeist had probably eaten both of my friends already. Did poltergeists even eat people? I had mentally prepared myself to get the crap scared out of me, yet my heart still stopped when I passed the bathroom and found two legs protruding through the door.

No one’s POV.:

Turning on the bathroom light, Seungmin panicked as he found Jeongin laying unconscious on his side. The vocalist cursed, crouching next to his dongsaeng, patting his cheek. Feeling the heat on his flushed cheek, Seungmin felt the younger’s forehead and sighed in relieve when the boy groaned at the touch. Jeongin slowly came to, whimpering as the bright ceiling light burned his eyes. “Can you hear me, Innie?”, the older frowned worriedly. Giving a tired nod, the maknae choked out a cough and weakly tried to sit up, so he wouldn’t drown in his lungs again. Seungmin cringed at the wet sound and wrapped his arm around his dongsaeng’s shoulders to pull him into a sitting position. Struggling to catch his breath, Jeongin held on to the older’s arm for support. Tears of pain and exhaustion pooled in his eyes and it wasn’t long till they spilled over. When the cough finally tapered off, he laid limply against Seungmin’s side, who hummed: “Can you tell me when you started feeling bad? You seemed okay earlier today.” – “Woke up like this”, Jeongin whimpered hoarsely, “Went to bed because I felt off and then suddenly woke up like this not much later.” – “Oh, Innie”, the older sighed, gently running his hand through his dongsaeng’s sweaty hair. “M-My head hurts so bad. I wanted to get medicine but didn’t make it”, Jeongin admitted shakily, breaking off into a painful cough. Rubbing his back through the thick hoodie, Seungmin whispered: “You’re running a pretty bad fever, so I’m not surprised your head hurts. Let me get you medicine.” Carefully propping the younger up against the cabinet, Seungmin stood up and went to search the cabinet over the sink. His heart clenched when he realized that they had run out.

Kneeling back down, Seungmin thought his dongsaeng had fallen asleep but when he gently put a hand under his chin to lift his head, Jeongin’s glossy and unfocused eyes met his. “Innie, I’m so sorry but it seems like we’ve run out”, he whispered sadly. Eyes stinging with more tears, Jeongin choked out a sob. It had taken him so long to walk here and now it was all for nothing. Why hadn’t he just stayed in bed and saved himself the struggle. Almost tearing up himself, Seungmin cooed: “It’s okay. Ssh, you’ll be okay. Why don’t we get you back to bed, hm?” – “H-Hyung, I -I ca-can’t”, the maknae cried, clutching the other’s sleeve, “I feel s-so bad.” – “I know, Innie, I know. I’ll help you, okay?”, the older promised, helping his friend to his feet before picking him up.

Seungmin carried his dongsaeng to his room, gently laying him down on his bed. He fetched a thin t-shirt from the still open closed and asked: “Do you need help changing your shirt? Your fever is really high, so you can’t keep that hoodie on.” Jeongin frowned and hugged himself, still feeling cold and not wanting to take his hoodie off. “I know you’re cold but we really need to bring your temperature down. Your head will hurt less if we do”, Seungmin promised, “If you get changed, I’m going to get a few things to make you feel better, deal?” The maknae whined, making himself cough. Rubbing his back, Seungmin sighed: “I know it sucks. Just breathe, you’re okay.” When Jeongin was finally able to catch his breath, he defeatedly reached for the t-shirt to change. He knew the older was right, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Whispering a quiet praise, Seungmin hurried off, while the other changed his shirt and crawled under his blanket, shivering violently, emotional tears trailing down his flushed cheeks.

When the vocalist returned, he felt his heart break. Placing the cup of tea, he had prepared and the bowl of cold water onto the nightstand, he walked over to the desk to switch on the little lamp there. He needed to see something but was well aware of his dongsaeng’s headache. Sitting down on the side of the bed, Seungmin pealed back the blanket just enough to see the younger’s face. He frowned, the blanket was way too thick to keep Jeongin from overheating. “Innie, I’m sorry but I’ll have to take this blanket away too. You’re burning. I’ll get you a thinner sheet, we can cover you with”, the vocalist cooed, earning a hoarse whine and more tears as the maknae desperately tried to hold on to the blanket. Jeongin was trembling with chills, failing to get a tight grip on the blanket before his hyung took it away. It was soon replaced by something much thinner, that didn’t provide him any warmth. While Seungmin kept apologizing over and over again, his dongsaeng cried miserably, triggering another coughing fit. The older helped him sit up and rubbed his back till it tapered off. Then he fluffed up the pillows, stacking them, so Jeongin would be propped up a little, hopefully making it a bit easier to breathe. Easing the maknae back into the pillows, Seungmin hummed: “This might be a bit uncomfortable at first but it’ll help your headache and get that nasty fever down.” Fishing the washcloth from the bowl of water, the vocalist squeezed it out and dabbed it under his dongsaeng’s eyes to clean away the tears before folding it and draping it across the maknae’s burning forehead.

Jeongin huffed a breath trying to suppress the chills, that just wouldn’t stop shaking him. His hyung had been right, the cold cloth did feel nice on his head, if only he wasn’t freezing. “Can you scoot over a bit for me?”, Seungmin asked quietly, lifting up the thin fabric to get in next to his dongsaeng. Sitting against the headboard, he situated Jeongin in his arms and hoped the younger would feel a bit warmer from the shared body heat. If he didn’t, it might provide some comfort at least. Whimpering pitifully, the maknae clutched Seungmin’s shirt, his tears dripping freely as the older stroked his back before picking up the washcloth to run it down the younger’s trembling arms. Though Jeongin was so drained that it didn’t take long for him to fall into a restless slumber, the congestion in his chest didn’t fail to wake him back up just to be thrown into another breathless coughing fit. Despite his own exhaustion, Seungmin never left his friend’s side. Even after 3racha had returned from the studio and Jisung joined them, the vocalist kept Jeongin in his arms, comforting him through every coughing fit and feverish nightmare, of which there were many. Jisung went to change the water in the bowl as it had gotten warm over time and turned the aircon in their room down, even if that meant he himself had to sleep in thick sweatpants and under two blankets. Though Seungmin’s heart ached for his dongsaeng, the younger surely was the cutest poltergeist the vocalist had ever seen.

[fruitcoops]

Hey so umm in your Talker pov fic it had a line where it said these pics made him sick so I had an idea! If you could do you think you could do a pic where the pics make loops physically sick or something?

Oof, it’s been a hot minute since I wrote legitimate angst. Someone else asked for prompt 22 from the mixed prompt list, so I incorporated that as well. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Prompt 22: “Everything is okay”

TW for throwing up/ dry heaving, forced outing, and lots of crying

Remus broke down just before they reached the car, crumpling against James’ side with a strangled cry as he unlocked the door. “Woah, hang on, buddy,” James muttered, pulling him back upright and opening the passenger side.

“They know,” Remus whispered as tears coursed down his face. “They know, they know, they all know.”

“I’m so sorry, Remus.” He pressed their foreheads together and handed him the seatbelt buckle. “Just—just hang on for me, yeah? I’m going to take you home now.”

James could feel people’s stares prickling the back of his neck as he started the car and drove out of the parking garage, doing his very best to ignore the horrible, gulping sobs coming from one of his best friends. “Everyone knows and he left me.” A fresh wave of tears slammed into Remus and he slumped against the window, burying his face in his hands. “He left me, oh, god.”

And I’m going to kill him for it. James ground his teeth. After I find him and make sure he’s alright, I’m going to chew him out for ditching you without a word. Then I’m going to hug him and never let go again. “Everything is okay, Remus.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not going to be okay, I’m gonna get fired and—and my parents are going to hate me and Sirius is going to hate me—”

“Sirius is not going to hate you,” James interrupted, taking Remus’ hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Then why did he leave?” Remus choked out.

“He got scared. That’s what he does when he’s scared.” I thought he was going to a girlfriend when it was you all along. “I’m so sorry.”

Remus didn’t appear to have heard him. “This is all my fault.”

“What? How?”

“I should’ve been more careful. It was my idea to meet up on New Year’s, and it was so stupid to think we could get away with it. Any of it.”

“Hey. Hey.” James glanced over for a half second before turning back to the road. “Remus, none of this is on you. You and Sirius should be free to kiss on New Year’s like everybody else without some asshole sticking their nose in your business. This is not your fault.”

“He trusted me, James.” Remus sounded fragile and sharp, like broken glass. “I told him I’d be careful. He trusted me with everything.”

“I know he did.” How could I have been so blind? “Did anyone else know?”

Remus shook his head, then paused and nodded. “Leo figured it out. Logan knows. Talker almost walked in once. Dumo—” he faltered. “Dumo was the one who got us together.”

“When?”

“November.” His lower lip wobbled. “Sirius’ birthday dinner.”

Months. They’ve been together for literal months and I never knew. “Jesus.”

His desperate clutch on James’ hand loosened and he looked over, pale and shivering. He swallowed once, twice, staring at James in sudden and paralyzing terror. “Are you—are you disappointed?”

“About what?”

“That I’m…that Sirius is—” He couldn’t even get the word out and James felt like he was going to throw up.

“No. No, Remus, I am not disappointed.” He fought the lump in his throat, lacing their fingers together tighter. “This changes nothing, okay? Sirius is still my best friend. You’re still my best friend. I am so proud of you for finding happiness with him and I will personally fight anyone who says differently.”

Remus’ whole body shook with silent tears as he gripped James’ hand like a lifeline. His palm was cold and sweaty, but James kept his grip and turned off the freeway.

“What this person did was wrong, plain and simple. The only thing I’m disappointed in is that I didn’t do enough to make you feel safe coming out to me, and that is not your fault either.” He took a side road to avoid the main streets of Gryffindor, following the path to Remus’ apartment building through muscle memory.

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the drive, but Remus’ gasping, cut off breaths filled the silence well enough. James parked on the street and got out of the car after a quick look around—from what he could tell, nobody else was watching. He had to practically carry Remus up the main steps and into the elevator, slamming the button for his floor as hard as he could, like that would make it move faster.

“Do you have a key?” he asked as they hurried down the hallway. Remus nodded and pressed it into his hand with trembling fingers; it opened, and they all but collapsed inside as James shut and locked the door.

“Excuse me for a second,” Remus said, eyes glazed over and face as pale as the moon. He walked steadily to the bathroom and closed the door; not three seconds later, the muffled sound of dry heaving came through the thin wood.

James grabbed a half-drunk waterbottle from the kitchen and knit blanket off the back of the sofa, then knocked gently. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” his miserable voice replied. James closed the door behind him—it wasn’t like anyone could follow them in, but it was the thought that counted. Tears continued to streak down his cheeks as his shoulders lurched, though nothing came up.

“Deep breaths, Re,” James murmured, rubbing his back in slow circles. “Deep breaths. You’re going to be alright.”

“It hurts so much.”

“What does?”

“Everything.” Remus’ voice was louder than before and transitioned into a cracking sob as he leaned against the bathtub and wrapped his arms around himself. “Everything hurts so much and I don’t know why.”

James scooted over and sat next to him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders; Remus curled into his side, dampening his shirt with tears and snot. James could see his phone lighting up every half-second out of the corner of his eye and resolutely ignored it. There was one person and one person only whom he wanted to talk to right now.

“You should go see him,” Remus croaked, as if he read James’ mind. “Sirius—he needs you. He doesn’t say it often but he needs you.”

“I’m going to call Lily and have her come over. Are you cool with that?” When Remus nodded, he took his phone out and swiped past all his notifications until he reached the one labeled Lils.

At Re’s apt, going to see Pads. Pls come over and keep an eye on him asap. Love you

Mere seconds later, a response pinged: on my way.

He ran his hand up Remus’ arm to get his attention. The uncontrollable sobbing had tapered off into a vacant stare and the occasional wracking shudder. “Lily will be here in a few. I’ll stay here until she—”

“No. No, you have to go see him.” Remus blinked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Please, James, just keep him safe for me. I can be alone for a bit.”

After a moment of deliberation, he sighed and rose into a crouch, taking Remus’ icy hands in his own and making eye contact with him. “Everything is going to be okay, Remus. Trust me on that.” He kissed the top of his head as he stood up, then hesitated at the bathroom door.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” James repeated once more before walking back out and heading for the door. It’s going to be okay. They’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s not.

[dp-marvel94]

Face to Face- Chapter 35

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last -> Next

Word Count: 5,122

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: I'm back with a new chapter, luckily a little faster than last time. XD Since I posted the last chapter, I also posted my Invisobang story so I hope you check out that story if you're interest. After reading this update though, of course ;) Happy Reading!

In the lab, Fenton paced back and forth, anxiety buzzing in his veins. This was turning into the most stressful ten minutes of his life. Err...no, the accident was more stressful. Or telling his parents about Phantom. Or getting lost in the Ghost Zone just an hour ago. Or...actually he’d been under a lot of stress recently.

“Danny.” Jazz interrupted his frantic activity. “Is everything okay?”

The boy froze, turning to look at his sister. He bit his lip. Things weren’t okay but…. Fenton closed his eyes, slightly pushing his perception away from the lab to…. His breath hitched. Neon green bloomed in his mind’s eyes. A flash of blue and...the image was fuzzy, from a distance but...there in front of him were two ghosts on a motorcycle and out of the corner of his eye...Mom! His heart fluttered, beating faster in a mix of relief and anxiety. Phantom’s lips were moving but the exchange of words felt far away. Fenton couldn’t pick them up, nor those of the other three people. Finally, the other two ghosts left and...tears... Mom was crying. She was hugging him. She-

“Son?”

Fenton pulled back, gasping. His eyes blinked open. The...lab? Right, he was here in the lab, waiting for Phantom to come back with Mom. Mom….His heart ached, even as he let out a breath of relief. “We found her. Mom’s okay.”

“She is?” Dad asked, eyes widening hopefully.

Fenton nodded. “Phantom’s got her. They’re flying back now.”

The large man visibly sagged in his seat, tension easing. Jazz let out a sigh of relief. The human Danny let out a breath as well before flopping down onto one of the stools. The trio sat in silence for a small eternity, held in eager and somewhat nervous anticipation. Fenton’s eyes flickered to the portal, searching for any sign of movement. Then….the green mist rippled; he could almost feel the cold dampness on his skin. Fenton blinked and two figures slipped through the portal. The boy’s shoulders relaxed, face softening with relief.

“Mom.” He breathed, as Jazz exclaimed the word. 

At the same time, Dad stood. “Maddie!”

The large man barreled forward, just as Phantom was moving to help Mom to her feet. Dad swept the woman and the ghost boy up in a hug.

“Jack.” The woman gasped, slightly surprised.

At the same time, the ghost boy let out a startled squeak. Fenton winced in sympathy. 

“You’re both okay.” Dad continued, undeterred.

“Yeah.” Phantom breathed, squirming slightly in the hold. For just a moment, the ghost flickered intangible. Then he stumbled away from the pair of adults. 

Both parents pulled out of their hug and turned to face Phantom. At the same time, Fenton stepped forward to stand beside his other half.

“Sorry.” Phantom blushed, looking down. “Didn’t mean to do...that.”

“It’s alright, son.” Dad soothed. “I got a little excited there.” A small smile graced his face. “I’m just so happy everyone’s here and safe.”

“Me too.” Jazz stepped forward, joining the rest of the family. She wrapped her arms around her mother in a hug. “You’re alright? Right Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie. I’m fine.” The woman nodded. “Your brother found me.” Mom looked up, her eyes meeting Phantom’s over Jazz’s shoulder. Her expression softened before her gaze flickered to the human Danny.

Fenton swallowed, feeling his stomach flop even as he held the gaze. After a long pause, the woman gave Jazz a pat on the shoulder and pulled out of the embrace. She then stepped around her daughter, approaching both versions of Danny. Her wide, misty eyes glanced between the two.

“Danny, baby.” Worry creased her forehead. “After you...after Phantom flew off...I thought...I didn’t know… if that would affect your other half but….” Her lips quivered. “Are you both okay?”

The human boy winced at the question, wrapping his arms around his waist. He glanced at his other half before answering. “We’re fine… at least physically.” His voice tapered to a whisper at the last word.

Guilt flickered across Mom’s face. “We have...we have a lot to talk about. But…” Her eyes shone with affection. “I’m so happy you came looking for me. And you came home.”

Phantom shrugged, trying to look casual. “I wasn’t gonna just leave you there.” He muttered.

The woman opened her mouth, thinking to reply. Her mouth closed and then she sighed. “Still...I was so scared, when you ran off. I’m...I’m just so happy you’re safe.”

Fenton looked down, guilt swirling through him. He remained still, even as his mom stepped forward, wrapping one arm around him and the other around his ghost half. “I love both of you so much.” She whispered.

A sense of deja vu overtook the human Danny as he couldn’t find it in him to reply. This had happened just minutes ago with Phantom, hadn’t it? And yet...the memory of that interaction passed through his mind, with the same conflicting emotions. He wanted to believe Mom’s words, he really did. But… ‘if Mom doesn't love you, then she doesn't really love me.’ Mom could say the words but if she didn’t really mean them...if she still didn’t accept Phantom….

The ghost boy pulled away and a moment later, his human followed. Both boys looked down, unable to look at their mother. Then there was a cough to the side. “Let’s go upstairs.” Dad said surprisingly softly. “Your mother’s right. We need to talk about things.”

Fenton looked up. He swallowed nervously, even as he nodded. The group of five trudged up the stairs, Dad first, followed by Jazz, then Mom, and finally the Dannys with Phantom coming last. The ghost glanced back at the lab, his eyes flickering to the portal. Fenton paused, brows furrowing as he noticed the action. Then he gently grabbed his other self’s arm and pulled him up the stairs. 

No words were said; none were necessary, but emotions were shared through the touch. Anxiety, fear, relief, hope, pain. So many feelings. Fenton didn’t know how to handle them. Everything hurt but...he hoped. Mom had said she was sorry earlier to Phantom, hadn’t she? She was acting like she was sorry but…

Fenton looked up to find his mother sitting in the armchair, looking uncomfortable. In front of him, Dad placed his hand gently on his sister’s arm. “Jazz, please go upstairs. Your mother and I need to talk to your brother.” The words were serious and melancholic but said gently.

The other teen frowned, starting to argue. “But...I can help. Danny...he needs me-”

“Jazz, honey.” Mom interrupted. “Please. I...we can handle this. I know...I know I made mistakes.” Again, her cheeks reddened with guilt. “But… It will be okay; we can fix this.”

Jazz’s brow wrinkled, a severe look flashing across her face. Then her expression softened. She turned to look at both versions of her brother, who were still hovering nervously at the threshold between the kitchen and living room. “Danny, do you...want me here for this?” Her eyes flickered to their mother before her voice quieted. “I told you earlier, I’d go with you to talk to her if you wanted.” She frowned, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

Phantom blushed, his face turning green as he shifted nervously in the air. “No. It’s...it’s okay. Dad’ll be here.” 

Jazz’s frown deepened, her eyes meeting Fenton’s. “Are you sure?”

The human boy nodded. “Yeah. It’s...you should go upstairs.”

His sister stayed staring for a long moment, still looking very much displeased. Then she heaved a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.” She turned back towards the stairs, her deeply worried expression changing into something severe and maybe even judgmental as her eyes passed over their mom. Then Jazz walked across the run and up the stairs. Soon, she disappeared down the hall and the sound of a door closing rang through the quiet house.

More tense silence froze Fenton in his spot, his heart pounding anxiously in his chest. His eyes carefully avoided the adults who were both now sitting. 

Dad spoke up first, from his seat in the recliner. “Come on and sit down, son.” He leaned forward, patting the couch.

The pair of Dannys glanced at each other before Fenton started forward with his ghost half following after. Both sat side by side on the couch, shoulders tense and heads hung low. Fenton balled his fists in his lap. Now that his relief about Mom being safe had drained out of him… the pain, every word of that argument came flooding back. The human felt his ghost half shift in his seat beside him and so he looked to his side. Phantom opened his mouth briefly, looking like he wanted to speak, but then his jaw snapped closed. Fenton bit his own lip. He understood the feeling; neither of them knew what to say, how to start.

Mom made the decision for them. “Danny.” She started softly and Fenton looked up. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have said any of what I said. I...I promised I would listen to you but... but I didn’t and…” She sniffled. “I just...I just yelled at you and…” Her voice shook with emotion. “You said...you thought I didn’t love Phantom. I...I made you think that but… I swear, I love you so much. You’re my baby and...I… I’d do anything for you. I love… I love you so-”

“Stop.” Phantom cut her off, voice pained. Fenton could feel his heart aching as the emotional dam broke. “You...you say that but… you said...you said I’m not supposed to be a ghost. You keep...you keep acting like there’s something wrong with me. And you wouldn’t even… even admit it. That...that you treat me different from Fenton or…” Mom winced at the words but they kept pouring out of the ghost. “Or barely look at me...or touch me… or…” Phantom sniffled, eyes watering. “I can’t...I can’t be what you want. I can’t be...be normal. I...I tried and this is what happened. All that horrible stuff you think...think about ghosts...you still think that about me. And…” His voice cracked, no more words able to come through as he started crying.

Fenton was crying too, feeling every single word in his heart even if they hadn’t been said with his mouth. He cried too, wrapping one arm around Phantom in a useless attempt at self-soothing. Even after Mom’s attempted apologies, even after she’d ventured into the Ghost Zone without a plan to find him, even after everything, the fears welled up. He felt sick with it, his insides churning.

The human boy barely registered when the couch shifted. “Danny. Danny baby, I’m… I’m so sorry.” Fenton looked to the side, following the sound of his mother’s voice. He winced. The woman had moved to sit beside Phantom, her arms wrapped around him. The ghost didn’t react, helpless in his tears. Mom pulled him closer. “No. I don’t...I don’t think that about you. I know you’re...you’re good. You’re not a...a monster. I never... never should have said that. I was wrong.”

Fenton whined, low in his throat. “Then why… why do you treat us… us differently? Why wouldn’t… wouldn’t you admit it?”

One of the woman’s hands moved to grab the human’s shoulder. “I hadn’t even realized it but… you’re right about… everything you… Phantom accused me of. I was treating you two differently. You were right about me… about me.... Hesi… hesitating to touch you… or look at you.”

“Why?” Phantom whimpered.

There was a pause, a sniffle. Then the woman answered. “I’ve been...I’ve just been so afraid.”

The ghost flinched, briefly flickering invisible. “Of...me?” The words were so quiet, so broken.

Mom shook her head vigorously. “No. No. Never. I’ve just...I’m...I’m so afraid of hurting you again.”

That made Phantom pull out of the hug. “What?” He frowned, Fenton copying the action.

“I’ve...I’ve already hurt you so much. The...the accident...the portal...my portal, my invention already hurt you. And...and I split you in half and…”

“Maddie.” Dad finally interrupted the words. “Both of us did that, not just you. That...this is both of our faults.”

The woman looked up, shaking her head. “No. But I’m...I’m the one that shot him, Jack. I...I shot you…” Her eyes flickered to Phantom. “I...I shot you and I’m...I’ve been so scared of hurting you again. I’ve been… been trying to keep you at an arm’s length to protect you. But I didn’t realize I was still hurting you.”

Fenton pursed his lips, at a loss of what to say. His ghost half had no such problem, anger briefly flashing across his face. “Yeah, well...you still did. You still….you still said I’m wrong and unnatural. You still said I’m supposed to be alive, like I have any control over that. You still said I wasn’t supposed to be a ghost.”

Mom glanced down, guilt darkening her checks before she looked up again. “You’re right I did say those things. I shouldn’t...have wanted you to be something you can’t be. It’s just…” She sighed, eyes watering again. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Ghost Danny grimaced, eyes narrowing harshly. “Really?”

The woman swallowed, looking even more guilty. “At least...that’s not what I intended. I meant...none of this was supposed to happen. The accident… it shouldn’t have happened. You...you shouldn’t have been hurt...you shouldn’t...shouldn’t have d...died because of my...my invention. But…” She gasped, voice trembling. “It was my negligence, my carelessness that did this to you. It was...it was my fault. You never should have been down there. I never should have made you clean the lab. It never should have been your responsibility.” She took a shaky breath. “But when...when I found you down in the basement after the accident..you weren’t...you weren’t breathing.”

Fenton gasped. “Really? I didn’t… I didn’t know that.”

Mom didn’t directly reply, pinching her eyes closed. “That was the worst five minutes of my life. I’d thought...I thought I’d lost you.” The grief was enough to bring new tears to both boy’s eyes. “But...your heart restarted and you seemed miraculously okay after the hospital and then...and then I learned about this…” Her eyes opened, looking at Phantom. “The portal...my portal killed you. It killed you. And...I’m so scared of losing you again. There’s so much I don’t know about ghosts. And-”

“No. Mom, that’s not…” Phantom interrupted. “You didn’t...you didn’t lose me. You’re not going to lose...to lose me.”

“I know that. I know that now.” Mom replied with conviction, looking at the ghost. “You’re still here. And that...that makes me so happy.” One hand moved to cup Phantom’s check. “I’m so happy you’re still here.” Her eyes moved to Fenton, her other hand touching his face. “I’m so happy that you survived. You’re still alive...at least partially.”

The words were not as comforting as she likely intended. The human Danny bit his lip. “But...what if...what if I wasn't?”

“What if I was just Phantom?” His ghost half continued the thought. “What if I was just a ghost?”

For just a brief moment, Mom’s eyes widened in surprise. A complicated mix of emotions crossed her face- wariness, uncertainty, fear, sorrow. Then she swallowed, a new determination passing her features. “Then...it would...it would still hurt but...I’d be happy to still have my son here, even if he was different.”

Ghost Danny didn’t pull away, even as hurt flashed across his features. Instead, his hand reached up to grab the woman’s other arm, the one that was reaching for Fenton’s face. The action drew his mother’s eyes. “But Mom…” He bit his lip. “I’m already different. That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to understand. I’m a ghost...a real ghost. And I don’t... I don’t want to be an exception just because I’m part human or because I’m your son. I just…” Tears ran down his face. “I just want you to accept me for who I am, ghostliness included.”

Mom’s eyes widened again, her hands pulling away. She studied Phantom’s face, before her eyes flickered to Fenton. “You...all of you thinks that.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. Then the woman shook her head. “Of course you think that. You keep telling me that and…” An understanding passed over her face. “I’m still not listening. I...I really need to do better, don’t I?”

Fenton and Phantom didn’t say anything. What could they say? It was true and all of them knew it.

“Both of us should do better, Maddie.” Dad spoke, making both boys gasp softly. They’d forgotten that he was here. The man blushed, looking guilty. “I should have noticed what was happening and pushed to talk about things sooner.”

The human felt his heart clinch. Oh how differently things could have gone if they’d tried to have this conversation as the four of them first, instead of Mom and Phantom alone.

Mom shook her head. “That might be true. But… this is on me. I should have noticed.” Her eyes flickered between the two Dannys again. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like this. I was too caught up in my own grief and fear. I haven’t been the Mom that you’ve needed.” She paused, conviction shining in her eyes alongside the guilt. “I should have noticed you were hurting and... it was because of my behavior. I messed up but I want to do better.” She took a breath. “How can I do that? How can I make this up to you?”

For a long moment, both Dannys were silent, processing the apology. Fenton bit his lip. It...it sounded authentic. That conviction, admitting to mistakes, the willingness to take responsibility. And they’d...they had wanted this apology so badly. But...should they trust it? Maybe, start with….

The two Danny shared a glance, contemplating how to reply to the question. Finally Phantom sighed. “We don’t...we don’t know. Maybe…” He wrung his hands in his lap. “Don’t freak out if I use my powers or...you know...talk about being a ghost.”

“Yeah.” Fenton agreed, mustering all the confidence he could. “It’s not like it’s a bad word. It’s just...how I am now and...I’m okay with it.” The boy said the words and for once, no guilt accompanied them. They were...they were the truth.

The same could not be said of their parents. Mom’s lip turned down, her face reddening with guilt. “Sweetie...That...that should go without saying.”

“But,” Phantom softly argued. “You have freaked out….or…” He blushed. “You….well...you’ve looked at me weird, like you’re...un...uncomfortable.” Getting out the words was so hard. “So...so….I don’t feel like I can use my powers or talk about...stuff.”

“Hey, Danny-boy. It’s okay.” Dad said. “We talked about this, remember? You can talk to your Mom and me about anything. I want you to come to us if something’s bothering you. Or if you just want to talk. Or not talk, just hangout. We’re here for you.”

For just a brief moment, the guilt returned. Dad had said that last night. But...both Dannys were still hesitant.

“But you are right.” Mom continued. “This is your home. You’re supposed to feel comfortable here, like you can be completely yourself. And I have not been making you feel that way. And…” She took a breath. “You are a ghost and you have ghost powers. They're your powers.” The words were said with only the slightest hesitance, like they still hurt at some level but...Mom was trying. The woman put hands together, looking more determined. “So how about this? I gave my full permission to train your powers.”

Phantom blinked, startled. “What?” At the same time, Fenton asked more excitedly. “Really?!”

“Yes.” Mom confirmed with a nod of her head. She held up a finger. “In the lab with us and…” She glanced at the other adult, whose eyes shone with a hint of excitement. “We’ll have a training session in the next few days, before we finish with the Ghost Catcher. If that’s alright with you.”

The ghost boy looked at his counterpart before answering tentatively. “Yeah. We can do that but...what about just...general ghost power use?”

Fenton didn’t say anything, pleasantly surprised by the bluntness.

“Danny. They’re your powers.” Mom continued after a pause. “You said...it feels natural to use them. I meant what I said before, it would be cruel to forbid you from flying and… I do trust you.” She vowed. 

There was a pause as both Dannys took in the words, again surprised. Phantom bit his lip. “You do? But…”

Mom reached out to touch his arm. “Yes, Danny. I trust you. And I should have never let that waver, not with this.” She comfortingly squeezed, eyes flickering to Fenton. “I know that having ghost powers hasn’t changed you deep down, not where it counts. You’re still my son who’s responsible and knows to be reasonably careful.”

“And to fess up if you’ve messed up or accidentally broken something.” Dad added with wide affectionate eyes. “Which you probably will. You’ve got my clumsiness.” The corner of his lip turned up. “And those powers are tricky. So, it’ll be alright, right son?”

“Um...yeah.” Fenton replied, with a slight blush as a warm feeling rose in his chest. Did that...was he actually starting to feel better?

“And speaking of fessing up…” Mom said. “I am so proud of you for talking about this with us now. And earlier...it took a while but you told us about your powers and you told us what the ghost catcher really did. And I’m proud of you for that.” The woman offered a slight smile. Then her lips turned down again, more serious. “You trusted me with the truth. And I know I’ve broken that trust. I want to earn it back. So...do you think we can work on that?”

Fenton’s heart squeezed. He glanced at Phantom and… “Yeah. We can...we can try.” And he would try. Both parts of him would but there was a lot of trust that needed to be rebuilt. 

Mom gave a nod. “Alright. We can start with what we talked about, the training and freely using your powers. And…” Her eyes focused on Phantom, eyes again wide with conviction. “From now on, if you’re uncomfortable, tell me. This is your house; you’re supposed to feel like you can be yourself.”

The ghost’s lip twitch. “O...Okay.” Beside him, Fenton swallowed. Well...that was a tall order. He couldn’t...he couldn’t promise that.

Dad seemed to notice the discomfort. “Or tell me.” The man added. “Just don’t keep bottling it all up, son. Your mother and I just want to help you. We want you to be happy and safe.”

“And we’ll do everything we can to do that.” Mom continued. “Is there anything else you need us to do?”

The human Danny bit his lip and glanced at his ghost. Okay...they could consider being more willing to talk to Mom and Dad. And training and using their powers freely was exciting. But still, there was more.

Fenton sighed. “About your theories about ghosts….uhh….” The boy trailed off, unsure where to exactly start on the problems there.

“Your mom and I already talked about rethinking them.” Dad started.

“Or rather, throwing out the old hypotheses all together.” The woman frowned. “We need to look at everything with fresh eyes. And gather more information. Like I said...there’s so much we don’t know.”

“But what we do know is, we can’t assume any ghost we find will be thoughtless or emotionless.” Dad added with a nodd.

“Or malevolent.” Mom said. “We’ll proceed with an open mind and hope for the best. We do want to go through the portal at some point and observe ghosts in their native environment.” The corner of her lip turned up. “Maybe we can find some other humanoid ghosts to talk to...just talk to.” Her expression then shifted, turning more serious. “But...this won’t be until after we get you re-fused. As we’ve said, you’re our priority, Danny.”

Both Dannys nodded, considering the statement. Then Phantom agreed, biting his lip. “That sounds good. I’m...uh...glad you’re gonna rethink studying ghosts. Just talking’s good.”

From his seat in the recliner, Dad’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, speaking of talking to ghosts…” A hint of excitement lit in his eyes. “You said that you talked to a ghost who helped you find a portal back home. You said he was called...Sidney?”

Mom’s eyes widened, flickered to her husband and then to Phantom. “What?!”

“Uhh...yeah…” The ghost boy rubbed the back of his neck. “His name’s Sidney.” His eyes met Mom’s. “So...long story short, there’s like...a metaphysical line between me and Fenton because...same person. So I...uh...followed it to find him and the line led me to a portal that’s actually in Sidney’s lair and opens up into one of the locker’s at school.”

The woman blinked. “So… you found a portal...inside this ghost’s...lair?” Phantom nodded. “And it leads to...a locker in your school?” This time, Fenton nodded. “And this portal...you got back home through it?” Both Fenton and Phantom nodded. “Which means...you went back through our portal to find me.” Mom blew out a sigh, her voice a mix of surprise, amazement, and a little worry.

“Yeah.” Phantom shrugged, though his cheeks flushed green. “I wasn’t gonna leave you.”

The adult’s face softened. “Oh sweetie…” She shook her head. “So this ghost...you talked to him?”

The ghost boy nodded. “Yeah. He actually taught me some stuff about the Ghost Zone and uhh...ghost etiquette, I guess. And apparently...the ghosts have a word of people like me. We’re called halfas.”

Both adults blinked, taking in the words for a long moment. Then Dad’s eyes lit up. “Halfa! Human you said that earlier, in the Fenton GAV. What else did you learn?!”

Fenton slumped slightly, overwhelmed by the sudden excitement. “Can we...uh..maybe talk about this later?”

Dad’s expression fell, disappointed. A hurt look flashed across Mom’s face. “Danny sweetie...whatever happened, you can tell us. I promise we’ll keep an open mind.”

The human boy’s eyes widened slightly, guilt briefly flaring in him at the reaction. “No Mom, it’s not that. It’s just...there’s a lot.”

Phantom nodded. “I learned a lot. Tons. It’ll be...a long conversation and…”

“I’m tired.” Fenton continued, sudden weariness overtaking him as he yawned. “I heard...I saw everything that happened...in the lab.” He paused briefly, stomach only slightly flopping at the memory.  “And...I got kinda pulled to Phantom when we ran off…” Mom and Dad both looked confused so he clarified. “My part of our mind...It’s like...I wasn’t aware of what our human body was doing because...I was with Phantom.”

Dad frowned. “So...like two people in one body? But...you’re the same person?”

Phantom shrugged. “Yeah it’s confusing. It didn’t last very long but...a lot happened and...I’m tired too...like mentally and emotionally so…” He trailed off, unsure.

Mom’s expression softened. “I understand, Danny. We can talk about that later. You can go upstairs and take a nap if you want to.” She moved from where she was stilling to crouch in front of both boys on the couch. “I’m so happy you’re back and you’re safe.” She leaned forward to kiss Phantom’s head... “And I love you so much. Phantom and Fenton.” And then Fenton’s. “Ghost and Human.” Neither boy flinched at the kiss, nor did they shy away as her eyes met Phantom’s before flickering to Fenton’s. “Thank you for talking to me and giving me another chance.”

“Yeah. Mom. We love you too.” Both Dannys said in synch.

And they did; that had never changed. Everything that had happened before, all the words and actions, all the pain, all of that hurt badly, so badly. But...that was because they loved their parents.

Mom stood and stepped to the side and Dad moved to kneel in her place. His big arms wrapped around the pair. “I’m happy you’re safe too. And...I know it was hard but...I’m glad all of that’s in the open now. Now we can start dealing with it and getting better.”

Fenton squeezed back, returning the hug. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“You’re right. Thanks Dad.” Phantom squeezed as well.

The man pulled away, his eyes watering. He enthusiastically patted both boys' knees. “Now go take that nap. I want you bright-eyed and bushy tailed to tell me all about your adventure in the Ghost Zone.”

That earned a chuckle from Phantom even as he blushed. “Yeah. That’s a word for it.”

Fenton shook his head, the corner of his own lip turning up. He glanced up, catching a slight glimpse of Mom’s subtle smile as Dad stood and stepped back. The human boy rose to his feet. “Come on, Phantom.”

“I’m coming.” The ghost also rose and floated beside his human as the pair went up to their room.

[ningningsplushie]

Bookstore Rivals

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Word count: 2171

Genre: Used bookstore, cold to clueless to cocky Joon, rivals but in a cutesy way, strangers to lovers, meet cute, reader likes to tease Joon

Summary: Walking into your favourite bookstore, you don’t anticipate to come across the new, handsome cashier. To say the least, the two of you don’t kick it off right away

Warning: minor descriptions of blood, nothing intense.

Y/N’s Wednesday schedule was planned out to a tee. Wake up, attend class, work for four hours, and visit Mr. Kim’s bookstore. As organized and strict as her Wednesdays were, the rest of the week was fairly inconsistent, which was precisely why she enjoyed the middle of the week most as it allowed her to take control for once, not to mention that going to the bookstore was like attending weekly Mass, an occurrence that excited her without fail. 

Before the doors of the bus could fully open, with the energy of a thousand men, Y/N leaps through, almost getting her bag caught on the handles during the process. Y/N paused on the sidewalk, tilting her head up towards the high buildings of apartments and stores in the downtown area of Seoul, she closes her eyes and takes a deep to inhale, relishing the smell of the air right after it had rained. The walk from the bus stop to Mr. Kim’s store was only ten minutes but during the ten-minute expedition, she was skipping, flinging her arms back and forth. 

In about no time, she arrives, already pushing open the glass door and grinning upon hearing the chime of bells signaling her entrance. 

“Per Aspera ad Libros!” Y/N yells out, spreading both of her arms wide. She wasn’t sure why but she greeted the shop like this every time and it just felt right. Through hardships to the books. “Mr. Kiiiiiiim! It’s me, Y/N!” she calls out, peering through the endless rows of brown, nearly rotten shelves.

  “Y/N you come here every week like clockwork yet I never tire of your presence,” he greets, exiting from the back room, “how have you been, dear?” 

“Oh, I’ve been great, sir. Classes are interesting, I meet new people at work, and my brain is still sucking up thousands of words,” she replies, clasping both of her hands atop her head. 

The Fifty-something-year-old man chuckles, the deep-set lines of his mouth accentuating when he reveals his grin, his crow's feet growing stronger as his eyes close in joy. “Good, good, I’m glad you’re enjoying life.”

“I try my best to, but, you know, it can get hard at times.”

“That’s true enough. Just keep your head high and the things you love near.”

“That’s what I’m planning on. Oh, I nearly forgot! The store didn’t have any strawberry smoothies so I got you a mango one. I know those are your second favourite,” she acknowledges, shrugging off her backpack, bringing out two small bottles of smoothies, one for Mr. Kim and one for herself. 

“Thank you, dear. Let me just put a few more books away and we’ll get to talking.” 

Not even a minute later, he returns, and the two stand by the large window next to the entrance, talking as they usually do about books, life, and Y/N’s school. 

“I’m really glad I switched majors. Business was such a bore and-” Y/N stops in her tracks, eyes glued to the cash register when she spots a tall man sitting while reading a book with brown hair that was pushed back, revealing his forehead. She couldn’t quite tell if he was good-looking or not as his face was impassive, too engrossed in his book. From what she saw, he was easy on the eyes. Y/N frequented this bookstore on many occasions and she had never seen this guy before and she was worried that he was a suspicious character, attempting to steal. “Uhhhhh Mr. Kim,” Y/N says at a low frequency, making sure the stranger doesn’t hear, “I think that guy at the cash register is trying to steal.” 

Mr. Kim’s eyes go wide and whips his head toward the counter. He's about to yell out but then rests his eyes on the sitting figure and begins to laugh. “You had me worried for a second.” he croaks out, chest heaving from laughing too much. “He isn’t stealing or anything like that. Y/N, meet my nephew Kim Namjoon. He’s just moved here from Ilsan and started working with me while he attends university.” 

Now it was Y/N turn to laugh, hand slapping her forehead as she leans forward, shoulders vibrating. “Oh wow, I’m really stupid.” She composes herself and straightens her back, offering a bow to the tall man. “Hi, I’m really sorry about that. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

She expected the guy to close his book and smile, introduce himself, or even offer a small nod, but definitely not, “It’s Per Aspera ad Astra, not per Aspera ad Libros.” 

Mouth hanging open in shock, she finally takes a nice look at Mr. Kim’s nephew. As handsome as this guy was, he certainly wasn’t nice. He had a heart-shaped face of some sort, his cheeks being his widest features before tapering down to his chin. His eyes, best described as puffy monolids, were wide-set and made him look intelligent. If he’s trying to correct my Latin then he certainly is, she thought. Y/N tries to detect any sign of him joking but is only met with the limp rest of his plump lips. 

“Namjoon!” Mr. Kim gasps in shock. “We don’t treat customers like that.”

Y/N recovers from...whatever that was and simply questions, “Oh? Is that so?”

“Yeah, I should know.”

Nodding, Y/N takes a look at the book he was reading and ignores his answer, replying with, “How disappointing. Have fun with Fitzgerald.” Y/N then turns to Mr. Kim and says, “Alright, I won’t be here too long, I’ll just see if you have anything of interest.”

Walking towards her favourite section, she hears, “What is wrong with you, Namjoon? You choose now, of all times, to be a smartass?” This was followed by a sharp thump, which Y/N assumed was from Mr. Kim’s hand meeting with Namjoon’s head. 

Y/N browses a few sections for ten minutes before noticing Namjoon standing on a ladder from the other side of the shelf. Hearing him grunt, obviously struggling with something, she peers up from between the shelf and cracks of old books and sees him trying to push a book between a tight crevice. Y/N stifles a giggle at how different this guy looks, from the cold, impassive face at the counter to the one with brows furrowed and cheeks puffed up. He was...kinda cute. She keeps watching him from the other side of the shelf and he finally succeeds in nudging the book on the shelf. That, however, came at a price. When he forcefully pushed the novel between two other ones, it came in contact with one on Y/N’s side, sending it tumbling down, hitting Y/N on the forehead. 

“OW!” Y/N’s eyes close in pain and her jaw clenches at the sharp and immediate pain. Namjoon, meanwhile, jumps from the top of the ladder and rushes to her side. 

“Oh god, I’m so so sorry. Please, I really didn’t mean to hit your head I was just-”

Wanting to tease him, she interrupts him, whining out, “I didn’t know you hated me this much. First you criticize my Latin now you hit me with…” she bends down to pick up the fallen book and does everything in her power to not laugh at the coincidence. “Fitzgerald! You hit me with Fitzgerald! Unbelievable. I’ve been here for thirty minutes and you already have a personal vendetta against me. And here I was thinking that the two of us could be great friends.”

Namjoon tilts his head back and groans. “Great, I’ll never live up to this. I really didn’t intend to hit your head. Are you alright though?”

Y/N playfully nudges his shoulder. “Relax, I’m fine. I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?”

She wasn’t. Blood dripped down from her forehead onto her nose. “What-” Y/N crosses her eyes to inspect the drop and says, “Oh wow, I guess I’m not. You got a tissue?”

This only urged Namjoon to panic even more. “I'M SO SORRY!”

“Hey, it’s fine.”

“It hardly isn’t,” he yelps back, eyes shooting up. “My uncle’s gonna kill me.”

Faking dejection, she hangs her head down and looks up at him through her lashes. “So you’re more worried about your uncle and not me?”

“What?!” Realizing his mistake, he winces, given himself a facepalm. “Just ignore me, please. Let’s get you fixed up before he comes back,” he murmurs, gently pushing Y/N to sit on the counter. 

Y/N dangles her legs off the counter, swinging them around like a restless child as Namjoon goes to the backroom, trying to find the first-aid kit as fast as he can. A few seconds later he returns to Y/N, fumbling with the latch of the kit with his large hands before Y/N snatches the white box from him and opens it. 

“Don’t be so nervous, Doc, it isn’t life and death. Or…” she tracks off, suddenly grabbing her chest with one hand and holding Namjoon’s shoulder with the other. “Namjoon… I don’t feel so good. What did you do to me?”

“Stop that! Don’t worry me even more.” He sputtered, glaring at Y/N.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Just do your thing.” 

Namjoon starts with cleaning up her wound with alcohol, carefully applying pressure so as not to hurt her even further. Y/N winces at the burn on her forehead, causing Namjoon to flinch. “Sorry if I hurt you,” he apologizes, offering her a sheepish grin, revealing the dimples she hadn’t seen up until now. Wow...he’s really handsome. 

All the confidence that Y/N flies out the window, becoming increasingly flustered at his adorable features. “It’s alright,” she mumbled, drawing her eyes to the ground. 

Namjoon resumes wiping her wound clean and Y/N decides to tease him even further. “Did my comment about Fitzgerald sting you that bad that you had to throw one of his books at me? Or was my Latin that bad?”

Namjoon groans, clearly embarrassed at his own actions. “Can we pleaaassseeee not bring this up again? I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?” 

“Hmmmmm,” she considers for a while. “No. My Latin wasn’t wrong, by the way. It was 100 percent correct.”

“But the phrase is-”

“I know what the phrase is. I changed it because I’m talking to the books, not the stars. Through hardships to the books. No matter what I go through, I always find myself with a book or at your uncle’s store. It’s always been that way. You’re not the only smart one here, wiseass,” she finishes, trying to contain her grin. 

Namjoon clamps his mouth shut, opens it, and closes it again, all before spitting out, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“It’s alright, Joonie.” He pauses his actions upon hearing this. “Hmmm, Joonie. That’s a cute nickname. I’ll call you that from now on.”

“Oh...alright. That’s-that’s cool.” He’s done with cleaning her forehead, now rummaging through the kit for a band-aid. “Wait. What do you have against Fitzgerald?” He questions, finally finding one of the appropriate size for the cut. 

Here’s the kicker. “Absolutely nothing. I quite enjoyed Tender is the Night and The Great Gatsby. I just wanted to get a rile out of you. That’s what you get for trying to correct my Latin.” She taunts, sticking her tongue out at him. 

He applies the band-aid and smirks. Now it was Namjoon’s turn to tease her.  “And look where it got you.”

“Hey! You said...wait,” she sidetracks, hopping off the counter. “Go out for coffee with me.” 

“What? Where’s this coming from?” Namjoon asks, bewildered. 

“You said, and I quote, ‘what more do you want from me?’ I’d like to go get coffee together.”

“You really are smooth, huh?” he muses, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, I try my best. So what do you say...Joonie?”

“I’m not sure. You could be a psycho murderer for all I know.”

Y/N drops her mouth open and scoffs. “Are you kidding me? You’re the one who almost killed me. Listen, You’re new in the city, I can show you around and guess what? I’ll let you pay for the drinks. As an apology for my gorgeous new bump. How’s that sound?”

 Namjoon stares at her for a few beats, basking in her features. “You’re really cute when you’re defending your case.”

“Uhhhhh, I know I am, now please, stop beating around the bush. Would you, or would you not like to buy me coffee and allow me to show you the hottest spots in Seoul?

He considers his answer and asks, “Promise not to kill me?”

“I can’t protect you from my good looks, Joonie,” Y/N quips, twirling a strand of her hair with her finger, causing Namjoon to let out a cackle.

“Alright, I’m down. Just make it worth my while, Y/N.”

“Oh, I promise.”

[infinitegalahad]

WIFE

Summary: You and Dick, after years of indefinite separation and depression, have finally reunited. Dick can’t wait to start a family with you. You love Dick, but you soon realize that you cannot bear him a son, a daughter, or a child.

Word Count: 10.9k (i’m being generous)

Warnings: Infertility, period typical sexism, Loneliness, based off of a mitski song what did you expect, here comes the angst train *sad choo choo*

Notes: Female reader. and title (literally) taken from Wife By Mitski, which I rec listening too for the extra painful experience. So I’m back from the dead...ish. I wanna apologize for going AWOL for two-three months, guess Iw anted to focus on other works and I feel like x readers are not my strong suit. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna write them! I can’t promise anything, but I am planning some stories. Not as long or as painful as this is, of course!

I’m not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. Not only because it’s Mitski, but infertility is something that hit’s close to home for me and my family. Was this story just me projecting my generational trauma into this fic? Never! Anyways, hopefully I won’t go AWOL again, atleast not for that long. It’s really hard to find the motivation to write, but I’ll do it. For you guys ;)

Taglist: @easy-company-tradition​ 

When Dick Winters had left for the war five years ago, he had made a promise to you the night before he was drafted. You were nineteen and naive, planned for college and he was twenty-seven, a post-graduate and Business Major. Your father was his professor and one of his best students. You would see Dick every Friday Night. As you would pick at the leftover peas on your plate, he would turn to look at your father to talk about something business-related. His eyes, you could never tell if they were a light shade of blue or green, would meet yours. It would be for a brief second. Those brief seconds would make you drop your fork and your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

You had a small crush on Dick Winter’s.

It took you a few weeks to catch onto his eye color. They were a beautiful mixture of blue and green, reflecting a mint color. The taper candles would always lighten his eyes up. The reason you finally found out this eye color was because each dinner, you’d catch Dick staring at you. You were naturally oblivious to it, keeping your head down as your father talked a business deal. But whenever he mentioned Dick’s name, you would look up, see Dick’s dilated mint pupils looking right into your eyes before he swiftly turned his head to your father, acting like he was listening to every little word he was saying.

Dick had become a family friend. Instead of dinners once a week, he would come by your house more frequently in the summer months. The summer you had met Dick, there was a three-month-long heatwave. From what you understood, Dick had been doing an internship with your father along with extra studies, extracurriculars, and even more. It sounded like a lot for a young man. He was over three times a week, always in your father’s studies or the porch, drinking lemonade as he and your father discussed business. You’d sit on top of the porch, lazily slumped in a chair in your floral dirndl, reading And Both Were Young as you watched Dick Winters, in shorts and a tight white shirt with his strawberry blonde hair a little messy. Every time he spoke, your heart would skip a beat.

“Two jobs?” You cried, skipping ahead of him in your flats that you had slipped on in a rush, the heels hanging out of the back. “And an internship? How do you do it all?”

Dick looked down at your tiner figure, his lips curving into a subtle smile at your question. Whenever he smiled, his cheeks would wrinkle. It was a small detail you caught into about Dick that you adored. “I don’t go to parties a lot. Not worth the time that I’ve got. I work these jobs so I can get through school and support my family.”  

“That’s very admirable, Dick. Not a lot of guys my age would even consider that.” You remarked with a compliment. Dick walked beside you, hands behind your back with a straight back. His gaze lingered in you as he scanned your figure. Now that Dick was around more often, you always made sure to wear your best outfits. You wouldn’t have considered yourself very vain, but with Dick, something had changed. You started wearing the pretty pastel dresses your mother approved off, fine pearls, expensive cologne, and even the short rompers that your mother didn’t approve of. When wearing makeup, you felt like a woman more than a girl, which is what you wanted Dick to see you as.

“Thank you, y/n.” The strawberry blonde politely thanked with a curt nod. The two of you had a little routine now. While your mother would make dinner and your father would smoke a cigar in the back with the dogs, you’d take Dick into your backyard and down a little cobblestone trail to a hidden lake. You liked to go there to read to escape, and Dick needed a small break from working in the burning heat. So it was idle. “Do you have plans now that you’ve graduated?”

“Yes. I’m starting classes at Franklin and Marshall since they’ve allowed women. My mother prefers I stay home and learn how to be a lady instead of reading,” You explained with a sigh. The only woman in a class full for men. Times were changing, and nothing was going to stop you from working. “She cares more about her grandchildren then her daughter’s desires.”

“Well, it is your choice? Not your mother or father’s. As long as you were happy, then they should be happy for you. I think you’ll like it,” Dick kindly reassured, “You’re a very nice young lady, y/n. I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

The two of you arrived at the lake. The sun was setting over the sky as it shined on the lake. There was an orange and pink hue in the sky. Dick and you stood besides each other. The strawberry blonde shut his eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling a small breeze in the night. The air got colder in the nights, which felt like a refreshing treat after a long day of work and unbearable heat. The sun made his strawberry blonde hair and skin glow like he was some kind of god.

You admired Dick as he stood there, biting your lip and hands playing with the belt fabric on your skirt.

“Dick?” You managed to choke, your voice cracking.

He opened one eye and looked at you, worried. “Is everything okay, y/n?”

“Can you please kiss me?”

Dick looked bewildered. It took him a second to process the question. His expression was that of a high school student stumped on an equation in math class. He hadn’t been outside much, maybe the heat was getting to him. “I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

“Can you please kiss me?” You reiterated, biting your lip in vexation. “I haven’t met a man like you, Dick. None of the boys my mother is setting me up with are like. They aren’t as intelligent, hardworking, cordial. When I tell these boys I want to read and live my life, they put me down-call me insane and ill. But you don’t do those things. You just stand there and listen to me. I may not make sense since I am probably just some young immature girl who knows nothing about being a proper lady. You even give me kind words of advice. No other boy would do that. Only a man would do such a thing.” You vented, letting your words spill out like vomit.

Dick wasn’t reacting at all. At Least it wasn’t obvious. He turned his figure towards you, eyes glued as his lips puckered against each other’s. He seemed taken aback by your honesty since you were someone who was reserved, only speaking when necessary. That didn’t mean adding your opinion to one of your father’s at dinner. Dick wasn’t obvious to your “rebellious” nature. Your mother would always scold you for interrupting the men. Your father didn’t mind your info if, and so didn’t Dick. He was interested in your perspective, and would always ask for further intake since it was the gentlemen thing to do.

You looked at him and shook your head, turning to walk back. “Forget it,” You sighed as you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his. Dick got a smell of your perfume, a lavender and vanilla, it was definitely expensive. He liked y/n’s armora, especially after a long day of being in a stuffy room full of whiskey and burning cigars. “You probably think I’m just a mad woman-“

Dick thought about his decision for a second. He had to think thinkly. When he made up his mind, he sped walk towards you. “Wait,” He called. He saw you turn around with your silky (y/h/c) (y/h/t) spring right behind you. He scrunched up a fist feeling a lump grow in his throat as he looked a few slow steps towards you.

“You’re not a mad woman. I think you’re wonderful to be around. I always enjoy our conversations and our midnight walks,” Dick commented. He was at a loss of words for the kiss. When you had asked, you sounded like you were begging, but hid it.

It took him a while to realize that the two’s of you had a fair amount in common. You both were soft spoken souls, friendly but quiet. You distanced yourself from large crowds and were usually confident in each other since you both had a trust. You know how eachother worked like nobody else did-a small, intimate detail that only the two of you would watch into.

“You’re also growing into a beautiful young woman each day. Being a lady doesn’t mean being all prim and proper, it means being mature, kind, and respectful to others. That’s what you are.” Dick was only a few steps away. You listened to every word he said, your hands restraining themselves from touching his chest. He could once again smell the cologne and see the moonlight shine on your eyes and hair-the gloss you wore sparkled as well.

“But I couldn’t kiss you. You’re father wouldn’t approve of it.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back. Your hands met his chest. You were so caught up in the heat of it that you didn’t realize that your hands rested on Dick’s Ivory collared shirt. Dick, however, didn’t protest at all.

You gently scrunched the fabric, “He’s not here. Just one. Before my mom tries to marry me off. Just one kiss and I won’t ask for anything else of you, Dick.”

Dick put his bigger hands onto yours as his thumb finessed the small part of your soft, [y/s/c] skin in between your index and thumb. “I…”

You gave him those eyes. They were begging. One kiss from a real man and you would be content.

Dick let out a defeated sigh, “...will. Just one. For you.”

So he did. In the moonlight, Dick Winters held you close and became your first kiss. Your lips were like a sweet treat. It felt miraculous after a long day of work. It was meant to be quick, but he was obsessed with your cushion lips and sweet lip gloss. His hands firmly rested on your lower back as his fingers scrunched with the material. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was yours, so he made sure to be gentle with you, even though he struggled. The whiff of your perfume, your shirt showing off your abdomen, the silliness of your hair. It was hard just for it to be one kiss.

Dick walked to you, your arm slung in the hole of his elbow. The two of you didn’t speak any words once you arrived back for dinner. It was a typical dinner. Your mother always made Salmon, rice, and peas on Saturdays, which occurred to be Dick’s favourite meal. Your mother raved about boys who could “tame” you, your father spoke of a new business deal in the news, you picked at the leftover peas, and Dick looked at your father with his weary king eyes, attempting to look interested in the conversation.

What kept him away in the dinner as your bare ankle, brushing against his trousers. It was a little bit distracting. Thank god he was a good pretender. It felt so wrong to be doing this, yet so right. You were unlike a lot of women Dick had met. You always caught his attention, watching you each day as you grow into a young, educated woman.

To tame your foot, Dick wrapped his ankle around yours, tenderly holding it down until the meal was over. After dinner was over, Dick wished your family a goodnight.. He gave your mother who adored him a kiss on the cheek, your father a firm handshake,  and you apart on the shoulder. His fingers struggled on your bare shoulder for what seemed like forever, brushing against the edge of your neck.

And with that, Dick was gone into the night. You headed to bed and changed, not washing your lips. You had a smile on your face as you twisted and turned. It was a one time occurance, but it felt like your fantasy had come to life.

But before you knew it, it would all be over. Dick would be back on Tuesday, and the two of you would act like nothing had ever happened.

But what Dick and you didn’t know is that it wouldn't be the first time of hushed kisses, lingering fingers, and limbs grazing passionately against each other.

————

The US had entered the war overseas. Most of the boys in your class were putting a pause on their lives to go fight in Africa, The Pacific, or Europe. Anybody who was over the age of eighteen was required to draft, so town was a shit show of crying mothers, lanky boys who could possibly never come home, and military trucks. You wanted to apply to be a combat nurse, but you weren’t of the age requirement.

Dick was going to war.

Ever since the night at the lake, you and Dick kept a closted relationship. He still came over in the Summers. Some days you wouldn’t even see him. But the small moments you had together, whether that be watching the twinkling stars on your walk on the lake hand in hand or cuddled reading books on a rainy day in your isolated greenhouse porch, mattered so much. If you had a bad day, he'd sit there and listen. He wouldn’t judge or give any advice. You didn’t know if he understood your struggles, but it made you happy to know that someone would sit there and listen. For comfort, he would take the book out of your hands and bookmark it, slide off your dangling flats, and pull you into his chest.

Dick’s language of romance wasn’t grand or romantic. Although reticent, his tranquil actions were nothing but idyllic. It was the little things that counted, whether it was fresh perennial’s picked from the field or even a hug. Your relationship didn’t have to be based on gifts and what others thought of you. It was the little things that counted.

The night before he was drafted, Dick invited your family over to his farm. It was at the edge of town and down a long dirt road, leading to a little white house and large red barn. It was picturesque, a cornfield and trees for miles on end. There was no constant chatter, horns blaring, or pressure-it was just quiet.

When your parents and Dick’s parents were distracted in conversation, Dick requested to take a walk with you. As much as you enjoyed talking to the bubbly Anne, you needed a small escape. You followed Dick to the back of his tiny kitchen. Being the gentleman he was, he held the door open and let you walk ahead of him. The only noise that could be heard were the chirps of crickets and the wind gently blowing. You held a hand down on a dress your mother forced you to wear. It was a Jade summer frock, but Dick had complimented you. So it made the frock somewhat bearable.

The two of you walked in his backyard. You had no clue where he was leading you. You turned to Dick to ask. He didn’t respond with words. His fingers edged on your as you unruled your fingers, letting his hand sink into yours. His hands were worked, and you felt awful so you gently caressed the upper skin with your thumb.

“Where are we going?” You questioned as you looked left and right, clinging onto the shawl that hung from your shoulders.

Dick looked down at you. He had a subtle smile on his lips as he looked down at you. All of the anxiety he had felt about being drafted, work, and the war faded away when he looked at you. Dick didn’t need to kiss you to know that you loved him; he could tell from the gentle look of your stunning (y/e/c) eyes. He watched you look into the never ending field ahead of you, the wind blowing loose strands of your updo. You wore a little bit of makeup. It was always subtle. He knew you hated wearing makeup and did you want to do it to look “presentable”. Dick didn’t care what you looked like, whether it be in overalls or a dress, he was infatuated with you.

He should have known from day one that y/n, the mischievous daughter of his Economics professor, had been yearning for him. He attempted to get lost in the papers and speeches of your father in his regal office with the shades closed and the whiff of smoke, earth paper, and Whiskey. Even when he was trapped in the office, you were still on his mind with your elegant perfume and book in hand.

“Here.” He announced, overlooking the cornfield. The colossal, green plants waved in the wind, in front of a hazy smoky dull sunset. You didn’t respond and simply looked into the sunset, slowly watching the shining sun set into the ground. “The cornfields, they remind me of you.”

A smirk curved on your gloss lips as you squeezed his bigger, worked hand with your tinier one. “Is that so?”

“They're wild. No matter the season, they are always growing. They're not the easiest plant to manage, there...unruly.” Dick explained, still a gentle smile on his tringale face.

“Are you comparing me to a bunch of crops?” You teased as your head landed on his shoulder. “Not a lot of women find that very romantic.”

Dick leaned his head on top of yours as he, your thighs brushing against each other.

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” You broke the silence.

Dick didn’t move and had an eerie stoic expression. He tightened his grip on your hand before looking down to let out a soft sigh.

The sun didn’t shine anymore, the corn had stopped moving in the wind, and the stars didn’t sprinkle. You felt your stomach drop as goose bumps appeared on your exposed arms and legs. You froze and looked down at the grass, seeing your feet nestled right next to Dick’s.

The possibility that this could be the last time you saw Dick, held him, read with him, and kissed him haunted you. As a child, you had made it official that love was off the table. But when the giant gentle with red hair and mint eyes waltzed into your kitchen on that fateful night, your world had been turned upside down. Trying to be logical, you could live if Dick died. He was far too old to marry you, and most likely showed no interest. You could've been just a pretty face for him to silently hold before acting like you never shared tender moments in the moonlight. If he died, you would move on, marry someone your mother chose out for you, and start a mundane life of cooking, folding laundry, and having children.

But emotionally, if Dick didn’t come back to Lancaster, something would be missing from your life. Something important.

“I can’t promise anything. You know that, sweetheart.” Dick cautioned you, whispering into your hair. At Least he was being honest-better than sugar coating a sensitive subject. He tried to make you look at him, but you refused. You were being stubborn, pushing away the emotions and trying to think logically. But in all honesty, it was catching up to you know. Tears stung at your eyes as your mouth quivered.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me, ” You sniffled, “I’m not an idiot. I prefer it if you be straightforward with me.” Dick looked at you with his thin eyebrows knit together and narrowed eyes. After sharing such a kind moment, he most likely wouldn't wanna break news that would tear your heart to pieces.

You preferred if he’d just spit out the words and get it over with. Make it easier for both of you to handle.

He moved on his hands to your cheek to wipe the incoming tears, but you refused. You turned your head and swiped the tears with your shaky palm, red lipstick and mascara staining your skin.

You scoffed in frustration, “Just say you want me to break up with me. It’s for the better. I’ll go to school, you go to war. We act like nothing ever happened. For the greater good. It was fun while it lasted..But I...nevermind.” You looked down at the ground, refusing to look at Dick. One glance and the next thing you would know, tears would be streaming down your face as you ran into the night.

Dick turned and followed after you as your footsteps increased with a few mumbled sniffles. “That’s not what I wanted to say-”

A pained sob escaped your mouth as you walked forward, a red face with tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please, for the better of us. It’s better to use your mind over your heart and not worry about some young, naive girl who had a crush on her father’s best student!”

“Y/n...”

You continued to walk forward and ignore Dick’s pleas, but your stomping slowed down.

“Y/n...”

Dick was creeping up behind your. Your speed walking slowly turned into slow, sluggish steps. Tears streamed down your face as your hands slung at your sides. Dick was now right behind you, watching you as you sniffled. You slowly turned your head to look at him with mascara running down your face.

“Oh, Sweetheart..” Dick softly sighed. Your whole body turned around as you fell into his arms, letting out a loud sob. Small sniffles turned into wails as you cried into his chest, staining the ivory collared shirt. He stroked your hair as he ran reassuring circles on your back. He wanted you to get all of those pestering emotions out. After a few minutes of sobbing and Dick comfortingly holding you close, he broke the silence.

“That’s not why I brought you here,” Dick cooed into your hair as he traced mindless figures into your lower back.

You looked up with your big (e/y/c) orbs, letting out a little sniffle. He had a soft smile on his face as he wiped a stray hair from your face, slowly tucking it behind your hair. “Then...why did you bring me here..?”

“This cornfield holds a special place in my heart. I come here a lot. It’s peaceful, but lonely.” Dick explained as he grabbed your hand, holding your tiny one in his own. He looked down at you, “After working with your father, I’d come home and run here. I’d stop midway to look at the wind and the way it moved the corn. It was so relaxing, so that’s why I brought you here.”

“To not feel lonely?”

“Yes. I felt alone, until I met you.” He admired, “I was surrounded by people, but I still felt alone. But when I spent time with you, I didn’t feel alone at all. It was a highlight to see you, even if it was sitting across from each other at a table or seeing you, laying on the porch. I looked at you and I got happy.”

“Dick, I…” You were speechless. His words wanted your heart, but his message baffled you. “Appreciate your kindness, but what do you mean?”

The gentle strawberry blonde held your hand. He didn’t hold it tight, but used both his hands to hold them up. He slowly backed up and lowered himself on one knee. From the books you had read, you knew what this way. Initiatively, you would’ve said no and ran away. But Dick had courted you with his gentle hold, reassuring words, and sheer presence.

“I couldn’t keep it any longer. I know there’s a chance that this will be the last time you see me for a while or at all. I said I couldn’t promise anything, but I..can’t hide it. I love you, y/n. I don’t care if you want to start school and make your own money, I don’t care if you wear pants, I don’t care what you do. I care about your happiness. I want you to live a long and happy life. You’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met. I understand you’re young, and you can turn this down if it’s too much. Dick announced as he pulled a velvet box from the back of his pants, he opened the box to reveal a golden Celtic band. You put a hand on your mouth in joyous disabelif. “I want to be with you, but only if you want to be with me. You’d never be alone...Will you marry me, y/n?”

“Dick, this is…” You chuckled in disbelief. One minute you were crying, now you were laughing. Dick in one hand held a beautiful ring, and the other hand your delicate hand. “Wonderful. But my parents...they…”

“I talked to your father. He said pick out a white dress you want.” Dick replied. “You’re mother cried. I thought she was upset, but she was beyond happy. She told me she knew you had an eye on me since I started coming over for dinner. They approved...but if you don’t want this, I understand. I just couldn’t hold it in, even if I don’t come ba-“

“Yes, Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Your words started low, but then turned to loud cheers. You squealed, nodding enthusiastically. “I will, Dick. I’ll marry you. I don’t care. If something does happen, I'll be happy knowing that I’m yours. Even if you don’t…” the three lettered words struggled to come out your mouth. It was such a rough word. Unable to bring yourself to say it, you chose to leave your pessimistic side for something more optimistic. “I won’t be alone, even if you’re in Europe, The Pacific, wherever. I’ll just know you’re here, in my heart and dreams.”

It turned out that this whole dinner was a setup by your family and the Winters. It just had to be Anne Winters that she found about your relationship with Winters. Being sixteen and sassy, she casually shrugged it off and stated that “Dick was a horrible liar”. It should have been obvious with Dick’s favourite meal, the fact that you were placed right next to time, Anne’s teasing, and your mother pestering for you to look presentable. It all made sense now.

But there was one ball in the air-the ceremony. Dick would be leaving for Toccoa the next day, the afternoon. Your parents wanted a big ceremony for the morning. The Winters didn’t care-they just wanted the two of you to be happy considering that Dick was going to be away for a long time or forever.

You and Dick had to come to an agreement. You announced at the end of dessert that you would wait to be married until Dick came back from the war.

Obviously, this caused a bit of uproar. But with Dick leaving tomorrow, they chose not to make a big deal of it. As long as you and Dick were happy, your families could be nothing but be happy for you. Even if it was a short amount of time.

After the storm that settled, you and Dick had left his house. You hopped in his truck and drove to the local chapel Dick had attended with his family every Sunday. In the middle of the night, the two of you eloped. He made sure to pull over and pick out a group of Perennials, all kinds of your favorites. You even stuffed some into your messy updo which had turned into a half updo.

After your quiet ceremony, the two of you drove back to your estate. There, the two of you spent your first, and poetically final, night together in your childhood bedroom; making love, cuddling, and cherishing every moment you shared with each other.

The variety of perennials’s Dick had picked out were placed into a blue and white ginger jar. It was meant to be a memory of Dick. He wouldn’t be there psychically, but spiritually, he would be right there.

Dick was surprised to learn that you weren’t a virgin. He was raised a Mennonite, waiting for marriage. You, being a curious young woman, had experimented. It was once, and an unpleasant experience. Before, you had felt indifferent about sex. It was something that women were meant to desire. You were told to be a virgin and wait for a man to take control of you. Hating those words, you chose to do the opposite. Nobody knew of your little secret, besides Dick-your husband.

Dick was nothing like the boy you had lost your virginity to. Unlike that boy, he was a man. Not because he was masculine and tough, but because he treated you like his equal. He never treated you any differently from your father. Dick had morals and integrity, he was compassionate, quiet but polite, open-minded, and used his brain and heart. That was what you defined a real man as.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. He didn’t care about his feelings, he only cared about yours. He wanted to make sure that you were enjoying yourself. You aided him in some areas, but the two of you were on a ride after a rocky start. Dick always asked how you were doing, if you wanted him to stop, go slower, or if you needed to break. He left sloppy kisses all over your body and had his hands wrapped around you like a young child with a bear. Dick didn’t let go of you once.

That night, the two of you held each other close as you chatted for hours on end. That was what you had looked forward to, not the sex. Sex was still a big piece in your marriage, but it wasn’t the most important. You looked forward to the long and mindless conversations the two of you had. Dick held you in his warm arms, toned and muscles from the workout’s he did year round. He would hold you close to his body as the two of you discussed life after the war.

It didn’t matter what the future held. If Dick was gone for one year, ten years, or forever. What mattered was the two of you had each other in your little moment of peace before all hell would break loose.

You and Dick had chatted the whole night away. The next thing you knew, you would go from the bedroom to the train station. It was a moment you dreaded, but it had to be done. Dick once again had a stoic expression. He kissed his mother, your mother, and sister, shook his father's and your father’s hand, and gave you a long sweet kiss on the lips. Dick struggled to pull away, but he knew it was for the best. Before climbing onto the train, he promised to write to you at every opportunity he got and tell you about Europe, the war, and anything he desired to tell you.

The next thing you knew, you were alone again.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your shoes and walked up the stairs. Your mother asked if you were okay, to which you silently nodded your head. Your father had noticed your unusual silence. He had offered to take you shopping, thinking that money would make you happy. All you did was politely decline and retreat to your bedroom.

Your room was stuck in time. The sheets were all over the floor and Dick’s tall figure that had been imprinted on the left side of your bed. The dress your mother forced you to wear laid on the floor, along with your flats and pearls.

The sun shined through the curtains as you crawled onto the side where Dick had laid. You closed your eyes and sunk into his pillow, holding onto the disappearing scent of your husband.

On Top of the books, you had been reading were the perennials; lavender, daylilies, and stonecrops. You looked up from the pillow, your nose buried into the pillow and a blanket loosely covering your legs.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel that so alone anymore.

———

One year turned into two, two turned into three, and three turned into four. You kept the calendar’s from over the years in your room, neatly stored under your bed. You found it funny how time flew by. You could remember the first day of walking in your classroom and the day you walked off the podium with your diploma. The pretty perennials that Dick had given you from what seemed like a decade ago had died. They were withered and derived of the bright colors they once had, hanging on the side of the blue and white ginger jar. The perennials reminded you of yourself. Once you had been a fiery young girl, and now you were an exhausted graduate student who was bound to become a widow.

Around the time you had found work at Lancaster, BBC announced that the war was over in Europe. That should have phased you and made you jump up with glee, but in all reality, it didn’t. The optimistic side you once had was long gone, turning into a pessimistic bitterness. The war was over in Europe, but not in The Pacific. Dick still wouldn’t be coming home, and you learned to accept that.

Sure, he had sent you letters in the beginning. Lots of them. He would talk about his adventures in training, his dreadful drill sergeant, his friend who was a “one of those city folk”, and so many more things. He expressed his boyish pride in being a patriot for his country. His little letters used to make your day. But as the leaves fell from the trees and the years passed, his letters would slow down. The last one you had received in January, written in December. It was short and sweet. The letter rested  in your drawer. As the days passed on, a small part of you broke. You had been married for five years, yet you felt like you weren’t even married. No Dick kissing you, holding you in your arms, or comforting you in your darkest moments.

When the flowers had slowly withered, so did your hope.

But that all changed on a warm September day. Your mother had called you from your room, not specifying what was awaiting for you at the door. You grumbled and got up, taking off your glasses as you walked down the stairs, expecting to see another colleague trying to woo you.

You didn’t expect to see a tall man with a soft smile, strawberry hair, and a neat military uniform. Your husband-Dick Winters.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You dropped everything, running right into his arms. You buried your face in his chest as he pulled you in close, his worked hands resting on your lower back and hair. He smelt amazing, and his uniform was soft. You missed his tender touch and soft words. It had been forever since you had seen him. In that moment, nothing mattered. No words needed to be spoken. In all honesty, you never wanted or needed pity from others. You just wanted someone-Dick-to be close. You thought of yourself as a coward, but all you wanted to feel was alright.

“Sweetheart, I missed you. I’m so sorry,” He apologized, stroking your embrace. His voice was stoic, as usual. It really was Dick. He was home and in your arms, at last.

“Don’t. Just stay. Please.” You softly cooed into his chest. No, you couldn’t let go now.

Dick let out a soft chuckle and stayed in the embrace. War was a strange beast. It stripped families of their children and caused mass discussion. Dick thought he wouldn’t come home and see his wife who had married the night before he was drafted. As the years had gone by, Dick began to regret his choice. What if he had left you a widow?

But that was the past. It was gone-nothing to waste tears on. In your extended embrace, the future didn’t matter, it wasn’t worth stressing. Dick and you lived in the present moment and made it beautiful.

-----------

Nothing had changed after Dick had come home. Life was still the same, except you weren’t as alone. Dick was still his stoic self. He was a doting husband. You expected him to struggle when he returned to civilian life. He wasn't used to homemade dinners and a bed much-the flashes of exploding limbs and artillery flashing through his eyes. Both you and Dick were independent. It wasn’t a bad thing. You could spend hours reading as he did a puzzle in another. On some days, the two of you would do activities together. You’d lay your head in his lap as he’d did his puzzle. On other days, Dick would be needier. Originally, he wasn’t vocal about it. It took you a while to catch onto it. He held your hand more in public, pulled you closer as you slept, and whenever he was in a mood-he’d come right to you and just give you a look. You knew the look all too well-and knew how to cure it. Dick would wrap his arms as you snuggled into his chest and talk about anything your minds came to. Sometimes you’d talk, but other times the two of you would close yours and fall asleep. Dick wouldn’t have any nightmares if held you close for comfort.

Without you, Dick didn’t know what he would do. How he could return to the simplicity of life.

Somehow, he returned. And every day he made sure to thank you for making him feel like a human and not a machine-whether that be through a gentle peck, a cuddle, or even a literal “thank you”. He loved you more than anything in the world.

----------

Shortly after Dick returned, the two of you moved out to New Jersey. His “city-boy” friend (his name was Lewis Nixon, but Dick called him Lew) had offered him a job at his parent’s nutrition company. So off the two of you drove from Lancaster to the suburbs of Haddonfield. Haddonfield and Lancester were virtually the same; small country bumpkin towns isolated from the big cities.

You and Dick had bought your first house (which was given by Nixon was a “late honeymoon gift). It was a small colonial house in a tiny suburb, pristine white with red doors. The decorations in the house were limited, a few photos of your and his family with elegant furniture gifted from your parents. It was a little big for your liking. It was a nice gift, but in Nixon’s words, it was for the “incoming armada of redheads”.

Babies. Children. Of your kin.

Dick had mentioned having children. When he was still adjusting, he’d hold you close as he talked about his plans for the future. Buy a farm in Pennsylvania, build his own business, and start a family of his own. He had told you that anywhere you would go, he would go. Anything you wanted, he wanted. He was about thirty two and you were close to turning twenty-five. It was expected at your age to have young children, but with no husband around and a job, it was difficult to settle down. You would gulp and smile, looking down as you held his hand.

Dick didn’t want to pressure you. He knew that were siginactiatly younger. Times were changing, you had a job and life of your own. He never wanted to interfere with it. When you would get insecure about not being the “ideal wife”, he’d reassure you that you were his wife and didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want. Dick wasn’t a man who put fear into others to get what he wanted. He was a patient and gentle soul.

You had tried a few times here and there. As much as you tried to enjoy something that was pleasurable, it was painful. You hid it from Dick, but Dick wasn’t an idiot. Dick wanted you to enjoy it. You could his mint eyes, hungry yet soft, as he laid on top of you, both of your hands restricted as you did the deed.

You weren’t making any noises, looking to the side. Something was wrong, you knew it. But you couldn’t break it to Dick. How would he react?

Dick catched onto his. He pulled himself together and pulled out. You looked at him and gave him a stubble style as he scooted closer to you, his breath heavy and gelled hair a mess.

“Hey,” You smiled awkwardly, clenching at the sheets.

Dick looked at you, a smile curving as his lips as his hand caressed your cheek. “How is my wife doing?”

It was a private nickname. He called you it after the war, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. Sometimes it was “my little wife”, which could be sweet or driven by lust. The little nickname made your heart skip a beat. You were proud to be his.

“Good. I’m tired,” You yawned as you held his hand close, playing with his big fingers.

Dick looked at your face as he admired your natural beauty, a pearly smile, your hair loose on the pillow, and your figure covered by a thin sheet. His hand moved from your cheek, your nape, and eventually your stomach. He drew slow, soft circles around your tummy.

“My little wife with our baby,” Dick remarked, his fingers dancing across your bare skin. Any girl would’ve fallen head over heels if a man had said that. You should have been happy, you wanted a family.

But how could you tell him?

There was a long silence between the two of you. All you did was look into his mint orbs, stroking his hair out of his face.

“I hope he, or she, looks like you. So they get their mother’s beauty.” Dick looked down at your stomach and planted a kiss.

You gulped, thinking of a response. A pretty white lie. “And there’s dad’s redhead and kindness. If you’re a little guy, I’ll tell you that it’s hard to find a man like your day.”

“And it’s hard to find a woman like your mother. She’s a firecracker,” Dick jabbed as he playfully ruffled his hair.

“Dick…” Your words were low as you held back a sob. You plastered a smile, it hurt to lie. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl. I don’t even know if I have a baby there…”

“Well…” Dick laid his head on your stomach, gently finessing the skin under your breast. “If It was a girl, what would her name be?”

You hated the feeling-naming a baby that wasn’t in your stomach. Dick believed that you were pregnant, or at least he believed you were. In response, you bit your lips-looking like you were deep in thought.

“Margaret,” You announced, “Molly for short. After my grandmother, in her memory.”

Dick tilted his head up and nodded, “For your grandma,” He planted another kiss and rested his head once again, “A boy?”

“Lewis? You like that fellow a lot.”

Dick shook his head, “No. I can’t look at him and our child the same way.”

You let out a chuckle before shaking your head. An image of a little baby flashed between your eyes. Mint eyes, dimples, and soft red hair. You wished it would occur.

“I can’t think of a name. You?”

Dick was silent for a minute as he laid on your stomach, your fingers entangled in his locks.

“Thomas. His name could be Thomas,” Dick proposed.

“Why is that?” You questioned.

Dick let out a sigh before crawling up to you, pulling you into his arms,“He was a C.O, to replace Sobel. I didn’t know him for long since his plane was hit. He’s listed as missing in action...but,” He froze on the words, unable to say it. You looked up at him Dick, who looked to the side with guilt tugging at his heart. You planted a kiss on his chin.

“He was twenty-two years old, just married. He sent a letter out to his wife to tell her that he was coming home. She still believes he’s out there, lost in some forest, finding his way home..” Dick looked down at you. Just like Meehan, he had been freshly married, sending out a letter. While Dick had kept his short and sweet (he didn’t want to promise anything), Meehan was too big for his britches. He didn’t show his fear, confidence in the face of adversity.

“Okay, Thomas it is. I like that name” You expressed.

Dick saw your face glow up, and so did his. He smiled, nodding along. “Thomas and Margaret,” He looked at your stomach once more, running his hand across your flat stomach. “I like that too.”

You nuzzled into his chest as he planted little kisses on the nape of your neck, holding you close for warmth. The two of you remained there, the only noise being your breathing.

Pulling your head back, Dick moved his hands down to your lower back to pull you up, closer to his face. “Y/n?”

“Yes, Dick?” You looked into his mint eyes, the candle in the room glittering in his orbs.

Dick held your cheek as he admired your face, “I love you, my little wife.”

You looked down before looking at your husband, moving slowly up to his face.

“And I love you two, my big husband.”

Maybe time stopped when Dick’s lips had met yours, but the flutter only intensified. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees went numb. You could only focus on how soft Dick felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all of your senses.

It wasn’t clear if you had dreamed this all, but the raw emotion in the way Dick’s fingers curled against yours. Dick kept his eyes open, sneaking a guilt peak every time you took a breath for air, just to make sure you weren’t a product of his imagination.

You weren’t sure if nature rooted for this moment, but it distracted you from everything. You just laid there with Dick, draped each other's arms as you sloppily kissed. Dick pulled you in once again, gently placing his lips onto yours until your knees had once again gone numb, overpowered by his. His other hand rested on your stomach as he murmured Margaret and Thomas, talking about how excellent of a mother you would be to your babies.

By the time you became aware of this, you froze, letting Dick kiss your body. You looked at the ceiling, hands in his hair as he decorated your skin.

It was like a car had run into you, throwing you down to the side-a rude awakening. As much as you denied it, it was creeping up on you.

There was no Thomas. There was no Magaret. There was never going to be a Thomas or Margaret.

Your stomach was flat, nothing moved. There was no life in your stomach ever. No matter how many times you tried, wished, prayed, there was only one conclusion.

There would never be a son or a daughter in your stomach-ever.

From that point on, life was slow. You woke up, gave Dick a kiss goodbye, worked from home, cooked dinner, read with Dick, fell asleep at an ungodly hour, and repeated the mundae routine everyday. With Dick being a general manager, he would work late hours. At some points, the only time you would see him is late at night when he’d crawl into bed giving you a kiss or early in the morning. Still, in his weary and stressed state, he’d always kiss your stomach every night and morning.

With your irregular cycles, constant negative tests, and pelvic pain becoming more evident in your marriage, you decided it was best to see your Doctor. As much as you didn’t want to know the possibility of what could be wrong, at least you would have an idea of what it was and how to make it better.

It turned out you couldn’t make your problem better. The doctor had a sympathetic look in your eyes as he listed off possibilities. You just sat there and looked at your stomach; your cold hands pressing against your stomach.

You were infertile.

There was never a Margaret growing in your stomach, nor was there a Thomas. There was nothing in your stomach.

How the hell were you going to tell your doting husband this?

---------

It was another Friday night in September. The leaves fell from the trees, the radio softly played in the back, it was peaceful in your little white house. Dick still hadn’t come home yet. You attempted to act like everything was normal as you put on a nice dress, pearls, and a fake pearly smile. It was all fine.

Nothing was fine.

You stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the haunting abyss. This feeling of dread and tightness became background noise as if it were traffic on an unseen road. There were times where you could handle it, and times where you could not. This was a day where you couldn’t handle it. Each day passed, and the more you repressed it-it hurt. It hurt even more than it was supposed to.

You were faced with a dead-end, a terrifying one, with thoughts of temptation and contemplation. You felt even lost in your own home and marriage, feeling helpless and scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen. In the partial society you lived in, a woman’s identity revolved around the ability to convenience. As a girl, you laughed it off, saying you’d do what you’d please. But you were no longer a fiery girl, but a broken and bitter woman. Bitter at the world for forcing the idea that women were baby machines. You, as you typically did, pushed it away.

Stuffed it into a closet, but it was now pouring out. All the baggage that you had repressed was right in front of you. You never felt like you belonged in the parthricaral society you lived in with their white picket fences and predictable lifestyles. That didn’t mean you didn’t want a family of your own. You had a husband, a job, a house, everything seemed perfect. But one thing was missing-a baby.

The older you had gotten, the more it affected you. Going to those parties for Dick’s job and seeing all the wives with their babies and fumbling toddlers. You didn’t feel anything towards them at first, but they eventually grew on you. Dick’s first few days home contained long conversations about what your lives would be after the way. You would chat with him for hours about it to distract from the nightmares that flooded his mind, holding his hand.

“A nice little farm near Lancaster, one or two kids, my own business, and the most important thing...you ” Dick would say, his words full of love. “My wonderful little wife, Margaret, Thomas, and me, on our farm. We’ll have each other.”

The kettle boiled in the water, the loud noise screeching in the kitchen. You dropped the knife and heard it clack onto the ground. All you did was stand there with wide eyes and shaky legs, looking down at the ground as your nails dug into the counter.

You couldn’t bear him children-you tried and tried and tried but to no avail. If you were not Dick’s, then what were you?

---------

Dick had taken off his trench coat, sliding his shoes off as he neatly put them right next to yours. He let out a sigh as he loosened his tie. Work had been stressful once again. All he could think about was seeing you and his growing little babies. Of course, he never told anybody. But knowing the thought was between you and him made it special-something so personal and beautiful. He couldn’t wait to see your face and hold you close, talking for hours on end. Anything you said or did made him head over heels, just like it had done to you five years ago. You had been distant and not your usual self, and Dick was worried. He knew of the insecurities you had, feeling like you never had fit into a certain mold.  

He had walked into the kitchen and instead of finding you, he found a dropped knife and kettle that was overflowing with boiling water. It looked like you had left in a hurry. He made sure to check all of the doors to see if you had left, in which you had no. In a calm manner, Dick cleaned up the kettle and put the knife back where it was. He wanted to help so you wouldn’t stress.

The pitter-patter of the shower coming from upstairs alerted Dick. He walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway, seeing the bathroom light creak from the bathroom. Creaking the door open, the all to familiar noise hit his ears. The bathroom was foggy as the shower ran. Looking down, Dick saw the water come to his feet, staining his wet socks. Your flats were spread on the ground along with your knit cardigan, soggy from the water. Inside of the shower was you, clothed with your makeup running, hugging your knees as you looked down.

Dick let out a soft sigh as he looked at you, his shoulder slouching down. It was paining him to see you in this state, “Oh honey..”

You didn’t move, only your eyes did. He walked towards you, into the shower. He wore a white suit and dress pants, which were now we're stuck to his skin. He put himself right next to you as the hot water warmed his cold skin. You adjusted yourself to lean on his wet shoulder. Dick said there as you leaned on him for comfort, listening to the white noise of the shower.

“I tried,” You mumbled as your fingers ran circles in his arm.

Dick looked down at you with his strawberry hair sticking to his forehead and drips of water rushing down his face. He frowned, tiping his head to the side.

“I tried and tried, time after time. I tried so hard and I…” You lamented, grasping onto Dick’s arm. It was hard to spit out the words. You had already said the first half of it, you needed to say more. “I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Dick questioned, his fingers lifting your chin. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your mascara coming down along with it. His thumb wiped away the incoming hot tears. He was too kind to you. His mere presence reassured you. “Don’t cry, my little wife. Let me help you. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I-”

“I can’t have children. Not now, or ever.” The words came out your mouth. It felt like you were spitting fire. It felt strange like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. Even though it was gone, it still lingered. “I went to the doctor last week. I’m infertile, Dick.”

Dick just sat with a frown on his face. You couldn’t tell what was going through his head. His free arm had wrapped around your shoulder was slowly falling as he let go of your chin, making an “oh” noise.

You looked at him and let out a sob as your face fell into your hands. “I didn’t wanna tell you. I know you’ve wanted children, every man wants that for their wife. You want a son who looks like you, and a wife who can provide that for you. I can’t. I wanted it too, but I watched my dream break. I’m supposed to give you a baby like a normal wife should...” Through the sniffling and sobs, you refused to look at Dick. He seemed disappointed, but you could never tell what he was feeling. “If you want a wife who can give you a child, then, by all means, do so. I’m worthless.”

You could feel it. Your relationship was over. Maybe it was for the better. Dick could start his family, and you could work a job in Philadelphia. They did have an opening in Philadelphia. It was better to have nobody-so you couldn’t get hurt and hurt others around you.

“No,”

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you turned to Dick. You scooted back, not able to tell if he was upset at you. “No?”

“No. You’re not worthless, y/n.” Dick attested, “What would make you think such a thing?”

“We’ve always wanted a family down the line. You would kiss my stomach every night, talking to the...” You looked down at your flat stomach, your hand gently squeezing the skin. It broke your heart even more just feeling what Dick assumed was Margaret and Thomas. “Just didn’t want you to get mad at me. I know you're upset with me.”

“Don’t give me that malarkey,” He growled, crawled closer to you as he grabbed your cheeks with your foreheads nuzzling towards each other. You could feel the warmth on the top of your forehead, “I’m not upset. You didn’t have to hide this from me. I should’ve known, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

Dick tenderly grabbed your shoulders and leaned you back on the white subway wall. He was gentle as he wiped the sticky hair from your face for a clearer view. He had a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with you leaning into it.

“But if I can’t give you children, what good use am I?”

“The reason I married you wasn’t that I wanted a family. At that moment, in that cornfield, I wanted you to be my wife. If I didn’t tell you, I don’t know if I would’ve died content with my life,” Dick complimented with a kiss to your wet hand. “You're not just a pawn used for children-my little wife. Just because you can’t have children doesn’t mean I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t even consider the thought. It’d be hard to find someone like you, y/n. Nobody as hardworking, beautiful, and fiery”

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Like a cornfield?”

“Like a cornfield,” He assured. “I don’t care about children, the past, the future, anything. I married you because I was in love with the beautiful, growing woman five years ago, and I still am. All I care about is my little wife, y/n-you. I love you.”

You nuzzled into his shoulder, “I..love you too, Dick.”

Silent communication was your and Dick’s form of romance. You didn’t need big gestures and materialistic gifts to feel comforted, sometimes you just needed someone right next to you, or in your arms. The silence was nice and the warmth was needed. Dick’s warmth felt like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. You wished that you could extend the night just so you could stay in his comforting embrace, relived in his hold. In his hold, you believed that there is nothing to fear, that there is all sunshine and love. Dick was the cure you needed, a lone star in an otherwise empty sky, he was the morningstar that you prayed wouldn’t disappear.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Dick said as he got up. “I’ll even run you a bath. Does that sound good, my little wife?”

Your fingers held the tip of his hands. Your (y/c/e)‘s met with his mint ones that shined in the pristine light. He gently helped you up with a hand resting on your waist.

Resting a hand on his chin, you looked down and shook your head. “I want to make dinner with you. I feel clean.”

“Are you sure?” Dick questioned, pulling you closer to his body. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Well I’m not tired. I haven’t felt like we’ve talked lately. You’ve been gone and I’ve been distant.” You confessed. The brutally honest was needed now. You tipped your head to look at Dick. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand.”

“Fine, if you insist,” He placed his hand on your upper back and swept you off your fear. You let out a little chuckle as you snaked an arm around his shoulder for stability, “You said you needed a helping hand.”

Once you and Dick changed out of your wet clothes and into your matching silk robes (gifted by Lew, the man even had your initials engraved into the pocket), the two of you headed down to the kitchen to cook. The radio played in the back and the kettle silently brewed as you sautéed the chicken and Dick set the small table in the tiny dining space.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You looked behind you as you washed your hands of the greasy oils and spices.

“Did you grow up with dogs?”

You nodded as you dried your hands, “Two-a Westie and Cairn terrier. Your point?”

Dick came over the counter as he leaned on it with a smirk. It wasn’t condescending, but it looked like an idea had popped in his head. You loved it when he smirked or smiled; the dimples on his cheeks would show.

“I know you get lonely when I’m not around. Lew knows a lot of good breeders in the area. How do two dogs sound?”

You were lonely. Loneliness was a feeling you knew all too well. It haunted you as a child and adult. Except when you were a child, you thought it would disappear. But in truth, it did not.

“Two dogs sound nice, Dick,” You confessed. The kettle began to make a shrieking noise. Walking over, you grabbed two cups and poured hot water into them. The water from clear to a darkish brown. You let the bags settle for a few minutes before taking the two cups over and handing one to your strawberry blonde husband.

“There breed? Are we sure Lew won’t try and steal them?”

“Well, Lew wouldn’t steal them. He and Grace already have enough animals to take care of,” Dick put his two big hands around the mug. “Two terriers, a boy, and girl. Just like the ones you grew up with.”

“Ok,” You smiled, raising your eyebrows. “And their names?”

Dick took a sip of his tea before smacking his thin lips. “I was thinking of Margaret and Thomas. Do you like that?”

You finally knew the answer to why Dick was asking about getting dogs. Not that you were in protest. Dogs were like children-just easier to take care of.

“Yeah, I like that a lot.”

Dick put a hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeezed. He smiled at you, and you smiled back.

Within the week, Lew had come over with the cutest puppies you had ever seen. He had also brought over all of the necessary supplies for two puppies, and even two sweaters with their names. One was a feisty and quiet Westie named Thomas and the other was a sweetheart with a sour side named Margaret. You and Dick loved them more than anything in the world. They were fed Filet Mignon from the table, slept in between you and Dick, and always for what they wanted. Even Dick gave into their puppy eyes whenever they got into trouble. The reason he wanted dogs in the first place was for his little wife; y/n-you. Not only did he want to make you feel a little less lonely in your little colonial house, but protected. Dick wasn’t always there to look out for you, even though he knew you could handle yourself just fine. Still, it was the thought that counted. Knowing that you would have two little balls of energy to keep you entertained made Dick content, and so did you.

Lewis Nixon was right all along. He never saw you and Dick having children. In his wise words, dogs were “far superior” than children. Dogs didn’t cry as much, they weren’t as needy, and they didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night. Mostly.

You would see the way the dogs would interact with Dick, and how Dick would interact with them. He’d treat them like children. From rocking Margaret in his arms to having long conversations with Thomas about why he shouldn’t bite you his mother while you peacefully sleep, it made your heart skip a beat, seeing Dick be so gentle with the two puppies.

Every night before you would head to bed, Dick would always remind you that his dream had finally come true; buying the little patch of land in Lancaster for the farm was within reach. He’d give you a kiss and pull you close as the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms.

You broke away from the terrifying cliff that you had looked down, heading towards your morning star, Dick, with hope that it wouldn’t disappear.

[eyayah-oya]

Carry You With Me Always

Buckle up everyone, because I have three prompts today!

Cloneship Week 2021 - Tattoos - @cloneshipweek

Rex/Echo

Rating: G

Warnings: very vague references to something bad happening to Tup and Dogma in the past

Ao3 link--Ao3 has some world building notes about Tup, Dogma, and Mom Echo if you want to check those out!

           Lazy days were Echo’s favorite.  They always had been.  Especially the days when Rex didn’t have to be a commander masquerading as a captain.  (Echo still didn’t understand how hard it was to sign off on a promotion for Rex. Skywalker knew how to sign his own name.)  It was the third day of leave on Coruscant, just when the duties required of the commanding officers tapered off to allow them time off just like their men.

           Rex entered the officer barracks with two cups of caf and a datapad tucked under his arm.  He must have recently taken a water shower, as he looked cleaner than the sonics were able to achieve.  For a moment, Echo mourned the opportunity to shower with Rex but they figured there would be plenty of opportunities in the future.

           “Morning,” Echo called, their voice deep and raspy from sleep.

           He looked up, though Echo noted he didn’t actual startle. Rex only got that jumpy when he hadn’t been sleeping, so he at least got some rest since the 501st arrived on Coruscant.  That was good.  Echo had been worried when Rex hadn’t shown up the past two nights to the bunk they shared when not on the Resolute.

           A warm smile, reserved just for Echo, softened Rex’s face and filled Echo with happiness.  “Morning, Echo,” he responded.  With ease, he set the two caf cups down on his desk without spilling a drop, the datapad following immediately after.  Then, with slumped shoulders and tired eyes, he fell onto the bed beside Echo and nuzzled their shoulder.

           “Meetings go badly?” they mused as ran their fingers across the closely cropped blonde hair.

           “Eh, not too bad.  Just long.  General Mundi preached about the value of life again and Gree got into an argument with General Fisto over some obscure plant the 41st found on their last campaign.  I think if they’d been in the same room, it would have become a physical fight.”

           Echo snorted.  “That would definitely be interesting to watch.  What did General Unduli do?”

           “I’m 90% sure she was either sleeping standing up, or talking to General Kenobi telepathically.  Kenobi kept snickering every once in a while, so I wouldn’t put it past them.”  Rex shook his head as best as he could from where his face was smooshed against Echo’s shoulder.  “Anything big happen with the boys?”

           “Denal and Attie got arrested again.  I’m pretty sure they’re trying to court the intake officer in the Corrie’s brig.  I escorted Dogma and Tup around the city the first day and ended up taking them to Tatta. You know, the vod who gives the best tattoos?”

           Rex hummed in acknowledgment.  “Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure, but I’ve heard he’s one of the best on Coruscant.  Did Tup and Dogma end up getting any tattoos?”

           “Tup got a little tear below his eye and Dogma got a really cool one over his face.  Kix is gonna have a conniption when he sees that; you know how he is with large facial tattoos,” Echo said with amusement.  “Dogma struggled a bit at first, but Tup talked him through his anxiety and held his hand.”

           “That’s good.  I’ll make sure to pair them up on campaigns.  Aren’t they twins?”

           Echo nodded.  While not numerous, there were several sets of twins in the GAR.  Commanders Thire and Thorn in the Corrie Guard, Kix and Captain Keeli, Tup and Dogma, Lupis and Canis in the Wolfpack, and of course Echo and their twin Fives. Commanding officers tried to keep twins together as much as possible, though it doesn’t always happen, like with Kix and Keeli.

           “You could have warned me they were former Corries,” Echo grumbled.  “Technically I was escorting them, but it was mostly them dragging me all over the city. Although, they did take me to this diner with the most amazing nerf burgers.  I’ll have to take you sometime.  They’re sweet kids, but they also could use a lot more support than the average vod. Something happened to them when they were with the Guard.”

           Rex sighed.  “I know. Fox briefed me on their situation. I won’t tell you what happened exactly—they should do that themselves—but it was bad.  We’ll take care of them, I promise.”

           “Good.”  Echo nodded once and wrapped their left arm around Rex’s shoulder and pulled him in closer. Rex flung his own arm back over Echo. Immediately they hissed as their right pec flared with a stinging pain.

           Immediately, Rex sat up in concern.  “Echo?  What’s wrong?”

           Echo grinned sheepishly.  “Well, Tup and Dogma were really nervous to get tattoos since the Guard isn’t allowed to have tattoos.  And I might have gotten a tattoo to help them be more comfortable.”

           “Really?” Rex grinned.  Without hesitation, he gently placed his hand over Echo’s pec, exactly in the same spot he had left a handprint on their first set of armor. He didn’t have to guess what tattoo they had decided to get.  Echo arched into the touch, the sting sharp and pointed and somehow exactly perfect.  “Can I see it?” Rex asked softly.

           “Help me get the shirt off, and yes,” Echo answered. They surged upwards, ignoring the pain from his tattoo, so they could press a heated and soft kiss to Rex’s lips.

With far more reverence than they usually have time for, Rex slid his fingers under the hem of their loose shirt, trailing over the firm muscles and warm skin. Echo shivered deliciously and lightly sucked on his lower lip, rather than help their boyfriend in any way. Inch by inch, more skin was revealed until Rex pulled away to tug the shirt over Echo’s head.  They helped, lifting their arms over their head to allow the shirt to slide free.

           In the exact same placement as their armor, a handprint had been tattooed completely in a darker blue than they used for their armor. The dark blue color the Rishi eel’s blood had been.  The permanent mark on their skin was a bold proclamation of who Echo belonged to.  A way to inform everyone who they went home to and who they would always go back for.  That day on Rishi was life-changing for both of them for more than one reason. It was the day Echo had lost their batchmates, save for Fives, and the day they had both joined the 501st. It was the day Echo had first met Rex, a young shiny who was in awe of the legendary captain.  And it was the day that began Echo’s journey of falling completely in love with the man behind the legend.

           Rex traced the edges of the tattoo gently, barely ghosting over the skin.  It was still swollen and red from the needle, but that would go away in a couple more days. Echo didn’t mind a little bit of pain if it meant they could wear Rex’s mark in his skin as well as their armor.

           “Do you like it?” they asked cheekily, already knowing the answer.

           “I love it.  They did a really good job.  Does it hurt a lot?” Rex asked.

           Echo wobbled his head from side to side.  “A little, but it’s not bad.  Barely noticeable, really.”

           “Good.”  And with that, Rex pressed his hand against the mark and pushed Echo back onto the bed until he was leaning directly over them.  “Because I need to show you exactly how much I like it.”

           They eagerly reached up and wrapped their arms around Rex’s neck, pulling him down against them, though they both were careful not to dislodge his hand from its place on Echo’s chest.  Echo pressed their forehead against Rex’s, letting them bask in the peaceful moment instead of the hurried seconds they only managed to snatch while out on the front.  Eventually, the keldabe shifted to the more traditional type of kissing, their tongues tangling together languidly.  They had all day and the rest of the tenday to relax and enjoy.  They could take their time, and Echo couldn’t be happier.

           “I love you,” they whispered between kisses.

           “I love you, my eyayah.  My Echo with my mark,” Rex answered before diving back into their mouth and showing them exactly how much he needed and loved them.

           Echo shivered with delight, the intimacy of the moment barricading everything else from the Captain’s quarters.  For a time, they existed in a bubble, cut off from the galaxy and perfectly at peace together.

           Then, the bubble popped.

           “Does the Captain really have to know?  I mean, it’s not like he’d be surprised.”

           “Fives, don’t be an idiot.  You know he always needs to know when we brawl with the Wolfpack so he can keep Commander Wolffe from killing us.”

           “But if we go in there, Echo will kill us.”

           “I’d rather die by Echo’s hand than by Commander Wolffe’s! He’s scary!”

           “Oh, lighten up, Jesse!  I wouldn’t mind fighting with the Commander!”

           “ . . . Hardcase . . . “

           “What?  It’s true!”

           “I’m gonna tell him!”

           “Fives, don’t you dare!”

           With matching, heavy sighs, Echo and Rex broke apart and turned to the door.  Yes, Echo loved lazy days.  But those days never lasted long, and they loved their brothers just as much.

           “I’ll go deal with Hardcase’s unacknowledged romantic feelings for Commander Wolffe.  You need to get some sleep,” Echo said, giving Rex a soft kiss on the cheek as they grabbed their t-shirt.  “Think I can make Jesse prefer he’d faced the Commander?”

           Rex smirked and flopped down by Echo’s side instead of on top of them.  “I know you will.  I’ll be here when they’re all suitably punished.  Come back and we can finish what we started.”  His eyes were dark with hunger and love, sending a shiver through Echo.  That was a promise they wouldn’t pass up for anything.

           “I’ll be back after I finish wrangling the children.  I’ll probably drag Dogma and Tup along so they can laugh at Fives, Jesse, and Hardcase,” Echo said with a grin.  They pulled their shirt over their head and climbed over Rex to stand up.  “They could use the enrichment.”

           Rex only laughed.  Lazy days really were the best.

[echoghost1]

Cast Into Obsidian

Word Count: 2530

For: @lexiepiper and @sapphireswimming

Summary: The accident sent Danny to the hospital due to the damage to his eyes.

You can read on AO3 or down below the cut

Danny idly moved his hand back and forth over the blanket on his lap. He was trying not to be impatient, but he really wanted the doctor to hurry up already.

“Okay Danny, I’m going to take the blindfold off now. I’m going to need you to lean forward just a little bit, okay?” he asked and Danny complied, eager to be freed from his prison of gauze and darkness.

As the gauze made its final orbit, Danny took a steadying breath before opening his eyes.

He only found more darkness.

“Are the lights off?” he asked, hoping it was that or maybe his eyes were taking a bit to adjust.

“Yes, we didn’t want to overstimulate you.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and leaned back against the pillows. “I was kind of looking forward to seeing something.”

“Is it too dark?” the doctor asked. Something about his tone seemed off. It seemed almost worried.

“Yeah. Is there a way to turn on one light or something?”

He heard something being written down, “We can try that. Just a moment.”

Danny heard the doctor walk away so he turned in the general direction and waited for the click of the switch.

“This light is on a dimmer and I’m going to gradually turn it up. Just let me know if it’s too much and I’ll turn it back down.”

“Okay,” Danny nodded.

He waited for the light to come on.

He waited.

Waited.

Why was it taking so long?

“Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“I don’t know? Maybe turn the light on and I can tell you?”

There was the click of several switches and Danny could hear the buzz of fluorescent lights above him.

But there was nothing but darkness.

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s not something he wanted his doctor to say.

He thought it was bad enough that a stupid accident in his parent’s lab had him in the hospital overnight.

But this? It was so much worse.

“But I can’t be blind.” His voice hitched as he tried to keep his composure, “I want to be an astronaut. You got to get your pilot’s license first. I can’t be blind. I can’t!”

He couldn’t keep it together any longer so he asked the doctor to go away. He didn’t want to cry in front of them.

Why did his future have to rely so heavily on sight? You can’t touch stars. You can’t hear them either.

Why did the thing he loved the most have to go away?

He was only trying to be helpful and now it felt like his whole life was over.

He felt so stupid for crying about this. He wasn’t dead. He should just be thankful he wasn’t dead.

There were tons of people in the world who were blind and they got along just fine. This was just something he’d have to get used to. Something new to learn.

He thought he had it all out of his system but he lost it all over again when his parents found out. The second he heard his mom sniffle he was back at it with the waterworks.

The best the doctors could figure, and there were definitely multiple doctors that had come to poke and prod him once they figured out what happened, was that the light from the machine his parents made was just so bright it fried his eyes.

They all agreed that it was permanent.

Part of him hoped they were wrong about that. Part of him wondered if maybe it was just temporary. Maybe his vision would come back, but not all at once? Maybe he’d have to wear glasses like Tucker for a while. Heck, maybe they’d have the same prescription.

He wasn’t really sure how glasses worked, but he wouldn’t mind finding out if it would get him out of the dark.

He didn’t like how he had to stay in the hospital to relearn how to walk. He knew he was clumsy before, but without his eyes, he was even worse.

They got him a cane so he could waggle that around instead of flailing his arms. He hadn’t realized that it was so obvious.

He also had to get used to people just suddenly being nearby. Sometimes he’d just be sitting and zoning out and someone would just start talking to him, or worse, touch him, and he’d freak out because he didn’t know they were there.

Thankfully, his family learned pretty quickly not to scare him like that. His Dad sometimes forgot to announce himself, but he made so much noise just existing that it didn’t really matter. His mom sometimes forgot to say hello, but she always made sure to warn him before touching him. Jazz was the best at it.

At first, she sometimes went a little overboard by announcing literally everything, even the movement of others, but he did appreciate it.

===============================================

It was his last day in the hospital that his friends were finally able to visit him.

“Now remember you have to tell him where you are or if you want to touch him before you do it.” Jazz whispered to someone at the doorway.

“Jazz you’re supposed to say hello first.” he teased knowing she was just about to.

“I was!” she pouted with a little huff. “Anyway, Hello Danny.”

He stuck his tongue out in her general direction as he waved.

“No fair! I can’t stick my tongue out at you.”

“Sure you can! Just make a lot of noise when you do it!” he gave his best example by humming loudly with his tongue out.

Jazz snorted.

Or maybe that wasn’t her?

“Who’s here?” he asked and wondered why he didn’t just wait for her to introduce them before he teased her.

“Sam and Tucker,” she answered. “You can go sit in the chairs over there if you want,” she said to his friends who were still awfully quiet.

“You know you can talk to me right?” he said once he heard them take their seats. “I’m blind, not deaf.”

“You’re taking this rather well,” Sam said, sounding oddly timid.

“I have had a week to deal with it. Plus you know me? I don’t like being bummed out.”

“No one likes being bummed out, Danny.” she retorted sounding more like her usual self.

“Says the goth.” He teased right back.

Something hit him in the arm and he tensed.

“Oh shoot! I’m sorry! I forgot!” Sam quickly apologized.

“You forgot?! Dude, we’ve been in here for barely a minute!” Tucker yelled through what sounded like clenched teeth.

“Guys!” He really didn’t want them fighting. Not now. And definitely not over him. “I’m fine. She just surprised me, is all. Plus, I did kind of deserve it, so there’s that.” he shrugged it off with a smile and just hoped they relaxed.

It was quiet for a few moments.

Then a couple more.

“Could you let me know if we’re good or not? I am literally in the dark over here.”

Both his friends quickly reassured him that they were fine.

Then Tucker snickered, “Wait, did you just make a pun?”

“Of course!” Danny laughed. He was even happier when they laughed along with him.

With the tension finally broken the trio slipped back into their normal rhythm. It was easy for Danny to imagine that they were just hanging out in his room at home.

There was a knock on the door and Danny turned to the sound, “Who is it?”

“Dude, who are you talking to?” Tucker asked.

“Someone knocked on the door.”

“Who did?”

Danny sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know, Tucker, that’s why I asked, who is it.”

“Well, I didn’t hear a knock.” Tucker retorted.

“Boys!” Sam interrupted, “Danny do you want me to go check?”

“Yes! Thank you.”

Danny heard the creak of the chair as Sam got up and he followed the sound of her boots as they made their way to the door.

The door opened.

After a few moments, it closed again before Sam made her way back over to Danny’s bedside. “I didn’t see anyone. Maybe you just mistook one of the nurse carts rolling past.”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows in frustration, “I know what a cart sounds like and that wasn’t a cart!”

“Geez sorry.” Sam apologized sarcastically as she dropped back into her chair.

Danny sighed, “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

He pulled his knees in and just hoped he didn’t piss off one of his only two friends. It’s not like making new friends was going to happen.

He was only frustrated because that wasn’t the first time that had happened. He’d been hearing knocks at his door only for no one to be there all week. It was just often enough to be annoying but not so frequent for him to ignore it.

He thought about telling them about it. Or maybe even ask them to leave the door open in case it really was the cart sounding odd when it passed.

He almost did.

But the knock came again.

“That’s it!” Danny got off his bed in a huff and walked straight to the door, or the general approximation of where he was thinking the door was, anyway. He hadn’t exactly memorized the room yet.

His hip bumped the tray next to his bed, but it was on wheels so it rolled out of the way as he course-corrected.

His friends called for him, both to come back and to be careful, but he didn’t care right now. He needed to find out who was at the door. To prove that he wasn’t hearing things.

He hit the door a bit sooner than he was expecting and it took him a moment of feeling around to find the door handle, but he did it. He took a step back as he opened it to make sure he didn’t bean himself with the thing.

Then he just stopped and stared because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Mostly it was because he was seeing.

Everything was still dark, like he existed in a void with no discernable up or down, but now there was something else. A woman.

Something about her was off, besides the fact that he shouldn’t be able to see her. At first, he thought she was standing on her toes, but then he realized she didn’t actually have feet. Her legs just sort of morphed together into a long wispy tail as it tapered down towards the ground. He looked back up and noticed her short red hair that defied gravity along with the rest of her. He also couldn’t help but notice that the edges of her seemed blurry like she wasn’t really there.

She wasn’t facing him so he had no idea what her face looked like. She was currently knocking on the door across the hall from his.

He slowly closed his door and leaned against it.

There was a soft rhythmic tapping on the door behind him. Like someone was drumming their fingers against it one at a time.

“I knew you could hear me,” whispered a voice from the other side of the door. “Poor little thing. All alone in the dark.” her sugary-sweet voice sent shivers up his spine. “I could help you, you know? All you have to do is let me in.”

His legs shook so bad he slid down the door until he was sitting. Somehow he just knew she wasn’t asking permission to enter the room. She could come in anytime she wanted, he wouldn’t even need to open the door.

No, she was asking for entry into something else. Something much more important.

This was the sort of thing his parents had warned him about all his life.

For once something they taught him was finally paying off.

He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes tight. He had to be firm. He couldn’t let her, it, trick him into agreeing. “No.” he opened his eyes and the darkness didn’t seem so dark now, “I don’t need you.”

She hissed and scratched at the door. “You can’t get rid of me that easily!”

“Go away!”

The door rattled in its frame in response to his outburst and he frantically crawled away from it.

He bumped his head into something and he screamed because everything was just too much.

“Danny! Danny! It’s just me! Sam! I got you!” Sam pulled him into her arms and he clung to her as he shook.

“Hey, I’m coming over too, man,” Tucker said as he came next to Danny and hugged him too.

The trio sat on the floor huddled together until Danny finally stopped shaking and could breathe regularly.

He relaxed his death grip and leaned back with a sigh.

“What the heck was that?” Tucker braved and Danny could hear the click of his phone being unlocked. “I mean, I already didn’t trust this place, but that was something else.”

“Wait,” Danny turned towards Tucker and tilted his head in confusion, “What was that like for you?”

“Well at first I thought you were about to flip out over nothing.”

“Gee thanks.”

“So I pulled out my phone to see if I could catch something funny.”

“You recorded that?!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to send it to anybody.”

Danny crossed his arms and huffed in annoyance, “Well?”

“It’s just that once you started talking, things got weird.”

“Weird how?”

Danny heard his own voice through the tiny speakers of Tucker’s phone, but Tucker just talked over it, “Well I thought I was seeing things at first, but I could have sworn your eyes changed color.”

“You saw it too?” Sam asked as she shifted, presumably to get closer to Tucker and watch the video. “Yeah, right there! Pause it!”

Tucker tapped the screen right as past Danny was yelling at the ghost to go away. “Whoa, they just turned green.”

“And they are glowing,” Sam added.

Which to Danny, her addition was a tad more alarming than a slight hue shift, “Glowing?”

“Who were you talking to anyway?” Sam asked, ignoring Danny’s worry.

“I don’t know.” Danny stammered, “There was this woman. I think it was a ghost.”

“Why do you think it was a ghost?” Tucker asked as he set his phone on the floor.

“Because she was floating?”

“You saw her?” Sam asked in awe.

Danny nodded.

“That’s crazy,” Tucker whispered just as awestruck.

That only made Danny more self-conscious. Did they not believe him? Did they think he was nuts now? Had they always thought he was crazy?

“I can’t believe you can see ghosts! That’s so cool! What’d she look like?” Sam asked eagerly as her hands slapped onto the tile and he assumed she must be leaning towards him.

“You believe me?”

“Of course we do!” She answered quickly, “isn’t that right?”

The sound of something, or someone, nudging into someone else was followed by a grunt from Tucker, “Yeah.”

He was so lucky to have such good friends.

[adam-memeleri]

Imperfections

it may not be foreign affairs anymore, but its still ayna day in my heart 😔❤️. thanks @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton for the prompt again, i threw in some angst this time cuz i like pain :) kinky

no idea when anything takes place, but im aiming for during the fake relationship i think ?? who knows tbh

-

tagging -@bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @alccaddsccup @cardinalnuggets

if you do or do not wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (uhhhh i think hurt/comfort? primarily? idk man)

Ayna x MC (Kennedy, they/them)

~2k words unedited but thats nothing new now is it?

-

Ayna’s fingers fasten a necklace clasp behind her neck, every movement careful and precise as she readies herself. They move to her hair, fixing it for the nth time, just to assure it’s perfect.

It has to be perfect, all of it. Every hair, every pore, every fine detail - it’s all been carefully thought through for weeks now, for this one specific date.

Valentine’s Day.

The end all be all, at least this year. She’s never given it much thought before, but she’s never really had a reason to. Until this year. Until this crazy, wild, borderline disastrous year. Until the day Kennedy stumbled into her class, all smiles and longing looks.

Until she spent days looking forward to coffee house meetups, until short texts could make her whole day, until every class was an excuse to share a small smile. And, unfortunately, until those meetups were forced to end, until those texts stopped coming, until class was just a reminder that even smiles were dangerous.

But not today. She had a plan today, a foolproof, perfect plan. No planned meetups, no trackable texts, nothing too out in the open. And she’d be damned if it failed.

She turns from the hanging mirror, shrugging on a jacket and tugging on a nice pair of shoes before straightening. Her reflection stares back at her, carefully done makeup and slightly askew glasses. She quickly adjusts them, tucking back one last strand of hair.

With one last glimpse at herself, she grabs the bouquet of roses she picked out earlier in the day, bright red petals resting on her table. And with that she leaves, exiting her building and venturing onto Vancross campus.

She eventually steps out onto one of the many winding paths leading through the school’s grounds, carefully making her way to the expansive library settled in one corner of campus. It’s familiar warmth shines through the windows, yellow lights on even in the darkening night for cramming and over enthusiastic students.

Ayna’s fingers tighten over the door’s handle, tugging it open as a small, excited grin overtakes her lips. She steps inside, flowers poised in her hands regardless of how cheesy they may be, and scans for

They’re with her. Sitting with her, talking with her, laughing with her. They’ve been doing everything with her, and today’s no different. Today’s not special, not exempt, not reserved for Ayna.

Huddled close at a table, books spread before the pair as they whisper, heads so close. Arms touching, smiles wide, chairs so close. They’re so close, that’s all Ayna can think about as she simply stands there, all her previous excitement evaporating from her body.

And they don’t even notice her. Kennedy’s gaze doesn’t flicker in her direction in the way it always does. Their cheeks don’t flush when they’re caught like they always do in the lecture hall. Their hands don’t fidget with barely contained nerves, atop the table, a pen twirling between anxious fingers.

Their gaze is glued to Evelyn’s features, their cheeks dust in a blush from her words, their hands are relaxed as they lean against her shoulder. They don’t even notice Ayna.

She turns on her heel, quickly rushing out the library’s front doors and into the dusk settled around campus. Her heels clack with some strange anger, some swirling in the pit of her gut as her fist clenches, crushing the bouquet she spent so long picking out.

And all for naught. This is all for naught, that’s the worst part. The outfit, the shoes, the hair and makeup - all for absolutely nothing.

She stalks to a trash can resting beside the pavement, glaring down at it with pale knuckles and a furrow in her brow. She breaks, like a glass hitting concrete. She breaks, stuffing the ridiculous flowers into the bin over and over again, until she’s just needlessly exerting herself, needlessly scratching herself on discarded thorns.

Little nicks on her skin, tiny imperfections to ruin it all. A visual of her failings, a marking to remind her of this disastrous night. A brand forged without fire, one that’ll remain in the morning, even after she’s washed off the rest of tonight. Even when the mascara and curls and jacket are discarded in the next few hours, the cuts will stay, at least for a few days.

She breaks once more, from the trash bin as an angry and hurt tear slips down her cheek. A crumpled fist hurriedly wipes it away, before she’s stamping down the paved path once more, shoulders tight and expression pinched.

“Hey! Ayna!” a voice rings behind her, out of breath as quick footsteps draw closer and closer. “Hey,” a hand softly grasps her sleeve, a smiling face slipping into her line of sight.

“Hey,” she mumbles back, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, feet that haven’t once halted.

Kennedy slows by her side, falling into step with her easily. “Tatum said he saw you come into the library then leave, what’s up?”

Ayna’s shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug, slumping with an exhale. “Nothing.”

“You sure? You seem kinda… distant.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, okay,” Kennedy relents, head swiveling as they search for something to occupy her attention. “Um, happy Valentine’s!” Their hands clap together excitedly, expression alight with a beaming smile. “I wanted to call you or something earlier, but Winston was hovering over me all day and I don’t know… You’re usually busy this time of night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Ayna shrugs again, her hands fisted in her pockets. “I’m not busy.”

“Really? Then let’s do something!”

Her gaze snaps up, shock sparking throughout her mind. “What?” she blanks, stopping in her tracks to further scrutinise Kennedy.

“Yeah!” Kennedy’s grin is brilliant, even in the low light, before they glance about the quad. Their hands slip into Ayna’s, fingers tangling with hers, before they’re tugging her along, away from the light posts and travelled paths.

She’s led past the bushes, to a secluded bench, empty branches hanging above it, stretching from a large tree. A soft breeze stirs them, whistling through the leafless wood.

“Okay,” Kennedy starts, sucking in a deep breath. “So I know this is super late, and I don’t really know how to go about this, but…” they meet her eyes, hope glimmering within, “would you, Ayna Seth, do me the honour of being my Valentine?”

She blinks. Not a single other muscle moves, her breath halts in her lungs, her brain malfunctions entirely, and the only thing she can do is blink. Again. And again.

“...Ayna?” Kennedy squeezes her hands where they still rest in theirs.

“You really… Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been trying to find a good time for ages, so I figured… Are you bleeding?”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding! Your hands!” they grip her forearm, tugging her down to the bench, where they carefully cradle her hands in their lap. Their fingers hover over her skin, not sure what to do as they send uneasy glances up to Ayna’s eyes.

She inspects the scratches now, all of them shallow and mostly painless. “It’s just a few cuts,” she mumbles, Kennedy’s panicked gaze quieting her.

“What happened?” they whisper, as if worried the volume of their voice could inflict further damage.

“I, um -” Ayna steals her hands back, folding them in her lap to hide them. “The flowers,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, “They had thorns.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Okay,” she nods, still biting her lip.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask me out?” They speak at the same time, concern brimming in Kennedy’s eyes and disbelief in Ayna’s.

A grin quirks Kennedy’s lips as they settle against the bench, arm draped over the back. “I asked first.”

“Barely,” Ayna chuckles lighty.

“Still got there first.”

Ayna shakes her head in exasperation, a fond smile lifting her lips. Before it all falls away, replaced by a crease between her brows. “I, um,” she shifts in her seat awkwardly, struggling for the words. “I don’t think I’m as comfortable with the fake relationship as I thought I was…”

“Okay,” Kennedy answers quickly, easily.

“What?” she balks, jaw working for words. “Are you sure?” is all she manages.

“Of course,” they chime, just as quickly, as easily. “If you’re jealous or uncomfortable, I’ll do whatever I can to put a stop to it.”

Ayna’s jaw snaps shut, a frown curving her mouth, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh really?” Kennedy’s voice hums, a teasing lilt to it.

“I’m not,” Ayna’s frown deepens.

“Okay…” they hum again, leaning closer as their voice lowers. “So you’d have no problem with me, say, asking out Evelyn for real?” Their eyebrow raises, head cocking to the side. “Or what about Blaine? Maybe Zaira…?” they tap their chin thoughtfully.

Ayna starts, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” her voice tapers off, replaced by the bouncing of her leg and the picking of a nail.

“You’re jealous?” Kennedy supplies with an amused smile.

Ayna deflates, sighing heavily, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being… jealous,” she almost spits the word, distaste heavy on her tongue and sloshing in her stomach.

Kennedy shifts closer, their body warm against Ayna’s in the cool night air. “Don’t be. It’s normal, it’s fine,” they take her hand, their palm covering tiny cuts, tiny imperfections with warmth and comfort. “I’d get jealous if you were walking around with someone too.”

“You’re not weirded out by it?”

“No, it’s normal,” They squeeze Ayna’s hand, thumb brushing lightly on her skin. “It’s human. You’re human.”

“I still don’t like it,” she scowls, eliciting a nudge and smirk from Kennedy.

“That’s fine, too,” they reassure, a more serious expression taking over. “So what happened with the thorns?”

“I got you roses,” Ayna’s cheeks flush dark, “Even though I know it’s lame, and then I kinda, uh, threw them out.”

A wide grin breaks across Kennedy’s face as they sidle up against Ayna, throwing their arm over her shoulder. “One:” they count off on the hand resting over her shoulder, “that’s adorable, and two: why’d you toss them?”

She doesn’t move beneath their arm, sitting stiff and rigid, her voice the same, “I got jealous and ruined them. I wanted tonight to be perfect, it was supposed to be perfect, and I ruined it.”

“Stop that. You didn’t ruin anything,” Kennedy scolds. “I told you, jealousy’s human. And I tend to like the things about you that make you human. It’d be weird if my Valentine was a robot,” they tease, nudging Ayna until she joins them in smiling.

She finally faces them fully, her own eyebrow jutting upwards, “I never said I’d be your Valentine.”

“You didn’t, did you?” Their arm retracts, leg folding on the bench as their body rotates towards hers. Their palms clasp in their lap as they lean forward, a smirk on their lips. “So what’ll it be, Ayna? Be my Valentine? My perfectly imperfect Valentine?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally relaxes, the teasing familiar. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she smiles softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, unbothered by it.

“It does if you turn off the robot brain,” Kennedy lightly taps Ayna on the nose, laughing when her face scrunches.

“The robot brain is a part of the Valentine’s package.”

Kennedy squints, eyes roving over Ayna’s features. The askew glasses, the smudged lipstick, the flyaway hairs. “Are the roses also a part of it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then I’m all in,” they grin, just as infectious and brilliant as always. “So? Valentines?” they prod, wiggling their eyebrows playfully.

Ayna smiles softly back, scratched hands rising to cup Kennedy’s cheeks and close the already shrinking distance between them. “Valentines,” she murmurs against their lips, a whispered promise. Before they meet, light and soft and full of the light that’s held beyond the bushes.