#and then when i was on the bus they had like news headlines on the monitors

[lunatic-fandom-space]

merry us-election to those who celebrate, lets hope that third assassination attempt is actually sucessful eh

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 NOBODY KNOWS kim minji x reader

👛★ ͘ ⴰ ever since summer 2022 new jeans has been at the top of the world surpassing and creating records and getting biggger and better every month but then SM Entertainment drops a new girl group stardom out of knowhere on everyone’s heads “surpassing and creating records” just like a certain group, causing a rivalry in the media and between the groups behind closed doors.

in which behind the secret of rivalry between stardom and new jeans, there’s an even bigger secret between their leaders.

PARING — kim minji x idol!reader

last. masterlist. next

★ ͘ PAGE#1 nobody knows — ❝tonight let’s start a masquerade, I’m coming over but nobody knows my little secret ❞

“the rising sensation, stardom, is adding yet another major endorsement to their growing portfolio, now becoming ambassadors for Sony. they’re set to release a special line of headphones with the iconic brand, already racking up over 100,000 pre-orders—and counting.”

a groan came from beside minji, drawing her amused gaze toward the source of irritation.

“we’re listening to the radio! since when did radio news start caring about stardom’s endorsements?” hanni muttered, rolling her eyes. “that’s not news.”

stardom's name had been everywhere lately, dominating headlines as they skyrocketed to fame.

“they’re still not bigger than us,” minji said, patting hanni’s shoulder as she adjusted her seatbelt. “so why does it matter?”

“they have their own sony headphones, minji.”

“ahh, they have it in purple ,” hyein murmured from the seat behind, eyes glued to her phone.

hanni shot her a sharp glare, haerin pinched her arm, and danielle threw her a disapproving look.

“sorry,” hyein mumbled, shrinking back.

“i just want one day where i don’t have to hear about them,” hanni sighed, her frustration clear as the other girls nodded in agreement. “it’s bad enough they’re performing tomorrow, too.”

“how about see them everywhere,” minji chuckled, gesturing out the window at a bus stopped next to their van. plastered along the side was an ad for pocari sweat, featuring stardom smiling brightly for yet another endorsement.

“ugh”

“rate how shady you think they’re gonna be tomorrow, out of ten ,” summer asked, turning to face the rest of the girls lounging in the back of the van, while eunjin quietly flipped through the pages of her book beside her.

“eight point five ,” yuri replied, lifting her head from yn’s shoulder, causing the van to erupt in laughter.

“I was gonna say nine, but I’m bumping it to ten,” hana chimed in, mischievously kicking the back of eunjin’s seat, sending the girl jolting forward. “i don’t trust that hyein girl. she’s always staring at me.”

“oh, you wanna talk about staring? let’s talk about their leader, who’s always staring at our leader,” yuri said, rolling her eyes. “sometimes, i feel like she’s just gonna jump and eat yn, it’s probably all that jealousy.”

yn playfully rolled her eyes at yuri’s comment. “i’ll go with a seven. that sunshine girl can’t do any harm,” she said, finally answering summer’s question.

“i dare them to say something slick,” summer added, turning back to the front with a smirk. “what do you think?” she nudged eunjin, who sighed in response.

all eyes shifted to eunjin—whenever she spoke, the girls paid attention. she didn’t say much, so when she did, they hung onto every word.

“jealousy is a nasty thing. it eats away at you. and they’ve definitely got it,” eunjin replied, calm and thoughtful. “so yeah, i’m with yuri—eight point five.”

a slow clap broke the silence. “bravo, the wise words of eunjin unnie,” yuri teased, making the others chuckle.

the sound of screams and clapping filled the air as minji watched stardom walk onto the stage to receive their award. both newjeans and stardom had been up for artist of the year in japan, and while everyone kind of knew stardom would win— even though it was just a year into their career the girls had been dominating asia—it didn’t stop the girls from feeling a bit salty

"at least we still have the western market," danielle muttered quietly, just loud enough for the girls to hear. they all watched as stardom struggled to start their speech over the deafening cheers and applause.

"they're probably coming for that too," hanni replied, trying to keep her face neutral, fully aware of the cameras trained on them. with the ongoing internet war between newjeans and stardom, their reactions would undoubtedly make headlines. "right, minji?"

hanni glanced at their leader, expecting a response, but minji was silent. her gaze was locked on the stage, fixed on stardom's leader, yn, who was the last to deliver her thank you. yn's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, like crystals catching the stage lights—so captivating, it was impossible to look away. yuri gently wrapped an arm around yn’s waist, offering quiet comfort, which caused minji to slightly clench her jaw, while the other members leaned in supportively as yn spoke.

"thank you to our fans, to everyone who's believed in us," yn's voice trembled slightly, thick with emotion. "we wouldn't be here without you. this award means the world to us... and we promise to keep working harder."

as she finished her speech, the cheers erupted again, louder than ever, but minji hardly noticed. she was still mesmerized, completely taken by yn’s beauty and the way she seemed to glow under the stage lights. hanni glanced at minji again and saw the way she stared, almost hypnotized by stardom's leader.

"dude, are you okay?" hanni asked, raising an eyebrow.

minji blinked, snapping out of her daze, her face suddenly flushing. "what—uh, yeah, i'm fine," she stammered, her voice a little too quick.

hanni narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced but chose to let it slide. "okay..." she mumbled, though her suspicion lingered as she turned back toward the stage. minji's weirdness wasn’t something she was going to ignore forever.

yn linked her arm with yuri’s as they strolled through the hallway, trying to track down their managers. “leave it to us to get lost,” she sighed, glancing around with a hint of amusement.

“who cares that we’re lost? we just won artist of the year! everybody celebrate!” hana exclaimed, jumping onto eunjin’s back, earning a startled yelp from the quieter girl.

"we’re going to a sushi restaurant and eating everything," yuri chimed in, her tone playful as she squeezed yn's arm.

the girls were so caught up in their laughter and excitement that they didn’t notice another group walking toward them from the opposite direction.

summer, still laughing at hana almost slipping off eunjin's back, wasn’t paying attention and kept walking backward—until she crashed into someone with a hard thud. the hallway suddenly fell silent as everyone froze.

“ow!”

“oh, i’m so sor—” summer started to apologize, but her words faltered the moment she realized who she’d bumped into. “—ry,” she finished awkwardly, eyes locking with hyein from newjeans.

hyein’s eyes flashed with recognition, but she quickly masked it, shrugging off summer’s apology as if it were nothing. her gaze briefly flickered to hana, who had slid off eunjin’s back under the weight of the tense moment, though she averted her eyes as hana shot her an icy glare.

hanni stepped forward, her expression hardening as she glared at the five girls. her eyes locked onto summer. “you should be sorry. maybe watch where you’re going. hyein’s already had an injury—we don’t need another.”

summer’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not liking the tone. she glanced behind her, almost in disbelief, as if confirming hanni had really spoken to her like that. a dry laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. “i know you’re not serious—”

eunjin gently placed a hand on summer’s shoulder, a silent plea to drop it. “leave it alone.”

yn stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “summer unnie, just let it go.”

but hanni wasn’t done. “what? i was just reminding your member to watch where she’s going. what’s the problem?” she snapped back, the situation wasn’t serious but she couldn’t hold back her resentment towards the girl group so she used this as an opportunity.

hanni didn’t back down, her focus now shifting to yn. “maybe your leader can explain it, so you understand better.” she said coolly, her challenge clear.

yn did exactly what summer had done—looked behind herself in disbelief—before she took a step forward, but yuri’s arm quickly wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. "leave it.” yuri whispered, though yn’s eyes were still locked on hanni's, before switching to minji’s who looks away.

“you’re right.” yn said her voice calm, “they’re just bitter.” she says her eyes still on minji before walking straight past the rest of the group the rest of the girls following behind her.

“you two,” yuri muttered, shaking her head as she pointed at yn and summer, “need serious anger management.”

yn cursed under her breath as her phone buzzed softly, hoping it didn’t wake yuri, who was fast asleep beside her in the hotel bed. glancing at the screen, she saw the message

she looked at the message.

“I’m near your hotel.”

she sighed quietly, running a hand through her hair before carefully sliding out of bed, moving cautiously so as not to disturb hana, who was sprawled out in a starfish position on the other bed.

with a quick glance around to make sure no one stirred, yn slipped out of the hotel room as quietly as possible and made her way down to the street outside, her heart racing with anticipation.

"hey."

minji looked up from her phone to find yn standing in front of her, a juicy couture cap pulled low over her head. minji couldn’t help but smile. "hey."

"you texted," yn said softly, her eyes scanning minji's face as if searching for something.

"i did."

"so..."

"i missed you," minji admitted, gently pulling yn closer by the arm. yn’s eyes dropped, her cheeks flushing as she looked away, clearly flustered.

"same," yn mumbled, clearly embarrassed. after a pause, she added, "your member really wanted to pick a fight today, huh?"

minji groaned, rolling her eyes as she tugged yn even closer, until there was almost no space left between them. "yeah..." she trailed off, unsure what to say. it wasn’t like she fully agreed with her group's dislike toward stardom, but she understood the frustration. stardom had come out of nowhere, sweeping up all the attention.

"let’s not talk about that," minji murmured, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the gold “s” necklace hanging around yn's neck. all of the stardom girls had one, each in either silver or gold.

minji’s tone shifted as she changed the subject. "there’s this 24 hour ramen place..." she started, watching as a smile slowly spread across yn’s face. "if you want to…"

"of course i do," yn replied, her smile now fully blooming, the tension between them melting away.

[ashwhowrites]

Can you please write Older! Eddie x reader, where Eddie presents Reader with Wayne or his friends but they don't trust in reader, but then she proves them wrong, and they're like, she's good for Eddie or something like that? (Maybe Wayne will be more interesting to me personally bc he's Eddie's uncle, but I can completely see the Hellfire Club and Wayne all being like, we don't trust her!)

-🩷

I had most of this written in the beginning of the month but couldn't find the motivation to write the perfect ending. But! I just finished it and hopefully it's an ending that made the story worth it. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy it 🫶🏻

Young girls and trust don't mix

Eddie was in his 40s and struggled to find anyone. He'd been single for years and never found out what falling in love was. He slept around and never had an empty bed, but there wasn't a spark or anything. He was a rockstar and his life was on the road. He prepared to never be tied down.

It was a shock to everyone when Eddie released to the world that he had a girlfriend, and more of a shock when they learned she was in her twenties. The headlines went crazy and girls were filled with envy. The most wanted bachelor was now off the roaster. And when Wayne heard the news, he was immediately concerned.

He wanted Eddie to find a nice girl and have a family. A young girl? Wayne didn't believe she was going to lead him into a marriage. She was too young for that and Wayne feared she was around for the fame and fun.

~~~

"Wayne, I don't want to talk about this again!" Eddie groaned, he sat on the small couch in his tour bus. Y/N's head rested on his lap as she skimmed through a magazine.

"Eddie, I'm just telling you! Dating a girl that young doesn't seem logical. Look into the future, like five years, do you think she'll still be around?"

"Yes," Eddie said without missing a beat.

"Edward, you met her after your show, right? She's a fan and you know how dangerous and manipulative a fangirl can be." Wayne warned. A conversation both men had over and over. Yet, none of it changed Eddie's mind.

"Night Wayne." Eddie sighed and hung up. He took a deep breath to calm his anger and chucked the phone across the bus.

"Still doesn't like me, huh?" Y/N said as she skimmed the magazine, but her eyes looked up to meet his.

She couldn't lie, it pained her that the most important person in Eddie's life didn't have positive thoughts about her. She understood Wayne's worries and she wished she found a way to prove him wrong. She knew she was young, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she'd walk down the aisle to Eddie. She wanted his hand in hers forever.

"I just don't get it! I've been with you for almost a year and he still fights me on it. He thinks you are a groupie since you go to all the shows with me."

"I know, babe," Y/N sighed, she sat up and cuddled into his lap. "but! He hasn't met me yet. Your last show is in Hawkins, then we'll have a few months for me to win him over. He might need to meet me to trust me. All he has is tabloids, of course, he's skeptical."

"But why isn't my word good enough?" Eddie groaned, his face in her neck as he breathed in her sweet scent.

"Because only idiots fall in love." She teased as she poked his side. "He just thinks you blinded, love."

"I'm going to make him love you. Just like I do." Eddie promised.

"Maybe not like you do is a good idea." She joked.

"Haha." Eddie faked a laugh as he nibbled at her neck. She giggled and squirmed.

Y/N vowed to make Wayne accept her.

~~~

After a few more days of sold-out shows and arguments over the phone with Wayne, Eddie's show in Hawkins arrived. Eddie was extra nervous about the show since Wayne would be there and Y/N was supposed to be meeting him. Eddie wasn't sure what he'd do if Wayne didn't change his mind about her. He didn't want to break up but he didn't want to live with the pit in his stomach of the two most important people in his life not getting along.

Y/N was focusing on Eddie's eyes as she applied the black eyeliner when Wayne was escorted into the dressing room.

"There the big rockstar!" Wayne joked, Y/N stepped back to allow Eddie to stand up and embrace the older man in a tight hug. She smiled at the moment as both refused to let go first. Y/N knew how important it was for Eddie to have Wayne here. To see him perform after years and years of not making it. Tonight was the first night Wayne would see Eddie as the rockstar he finally was.

Wayne pulled back with a smile, his eyes never looked to the right to see Y/N.

"I can't wait to see ya perform!" Wayne said the anxiety in Eddie's stomach tightened.

"This is the biggest crowd of the tour. I think I might barf." Eddie admitted. He was terrified. He hated coming back to Hawkins, to a town where he was nothing but scum. The rest of the world loved him, but what if home still didn't? What if he went out there and everyone hated him?

"Baby, you will do amazing," Y/N reassured him, her words caused their heads to turn. Both Wayne and Eddie looked at her with two different expressions. Eddie, who looked grateful and soft. Wayne, looked like he wished she didn't speak.

"Wayne, this is my girlfriend, Y/N." Eddie proudly said as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She smiled and held out her hand, Wayne stepped forward and shook it.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sir." She said as their hands released each other.

"Right, so Eddie! Where will I be sitting?"

"Next to my girl," Eddie said with a big smile

~

Y/N walked silently with Wayne as they were escorted into the front row of the stadium. People screaming as she passed through. She waved and smiled, being as polite as she could. Wayne tried to not roll his eyes as she soaked in the fame. Another thing Wayne was always telling Eddie about.

"So we'll sit and he gets about half an hour to do his vocal exercises then he'll be out," Y/N said, sitting down in the small chair. She tried to ignore how awkward the air felt. She took a minute to look at the crowd, and it truly was the biggest crowd she'd ever seen.

She and Wayne sat in silence as they waited for Eddie to come on. But Y/N couldn't help but notice the clock struck 8, and Eddie still wasn't on the stage. She tried not to worry and figured the stage management was running behind.

She stood up when Eddie's manager came rushing towards her.

"Y/N? Eddie is asking for you." Eddie's manager said as he whispered into her ear, she nodded and turned to Wayne. "I'll be right back!" And raced after his manager. Wayne didn't think twice about standing up and following behind her.

~

Eddie was panicking. He made the mistake of looking at the crowd, and now he couldn't feel his legs. He sat on the floor, hurdled up, and ate at his fingernails.

"Eds?" He heard Y/N call from outside the door, and she softly knocked. She waited a second before she opened the door, her heart cracked seeing a nervous Eddie huddled on the floor.

"What's wrong?" She asked as she sat on the floor. Eddie didn't speak but moved to be in her arms. It was like their bodies communicated as Eddie began to relax.

"It's okay to be nervous, but trust me, they will love you. They are your fans and here to support you." She encouraged them as she rubbed his hand.

"What if I'm not good enough to be something good in this town," Eddie confessed. He was too ashamed to look up at her and to see Wayne.

"Nonsense. You were always something good. They never learned who you were, because if they did, they'd love you. They'd see how sweet, creative, and funny you are. But this is their chance to treat you the way you always deserved. Go show them what they missed out on."

Wayne watched as Eddie jumped up with a new confidence, the atmosphere of the room lifting as he threw his guitar over his shoulder. He felt ashamed of the way he acted, it was easy to tell Y/N was the best thing that ever happened to Eddie. In a shitty town that only gave him hell and a family that was filled with betrayal. He still managed to find someone to bring his spirits up.

Maybe she deserved more credit than Wayne thought.

~

Wayne watched as Eddie performed his life. And he couldn't help but embrace the energetic energy Y/N brought. She sang every song, knew every lyric, and danced perfectly to every beat. It was clear that she had every part of his songs memorized. He also noticed how much Eddie looked back to her, his eyes landed on her every few minutes. Then a small smile appeared before his eyes moved on.

There was something really special about the relationship Wayne was seeing, and he knew he accepted it right then and there.

~~~

After the show, Wayne apologized for his actions and words. But Y/N didn't hold it against him. She understood where he came from and was happy to have changed his mind.

Eddie was grateful Wayne gave her the chance because the sight of them getting along was the best thing Eddie got to experience.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger

[yazmarina]

super trouper

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"part of a success that never ends, still i'm thinking about you only " (super trouper by abba)

charles leclerc (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: exes to ?, hint of second chance romance

a/n: short and sweet on my return. i hope all the charles girlies and non-girlies like this <3

You really shouldn't be here. You had no reason to turn up at this race weekend, save for the fact that your friend was also going and she urged you to go for her sake.

Right. You're doing this for her. No one else. Certainly not for the hometown hero.

His face is everywhere and so are the eyes that seem to gape at you. People's eyes follow you with curiosity, double takes and soft gasps when they realize who you are.

It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes under the heat of their stares. Are they not aware that I live literally a bus ride away? I spend half of my time in Monaco, anyway. Why is everyone freaked out that I'm here?

You can already read the gossip headlines in your mind.

"Do you want to grab some lunch first?" Your friend asks, gesturing to the huge hospitality building that overlooked the pitlane.

You nod, wanting nothing more than to be indoors and away from prying eyes. "Sure."

The two of you make your way inside and you're relieved to see that people are sparse here, not a single one of them giving you any mind. You settle in a booth at the very end of the floor, letting your friend have a go first at the buffet of food laid out.

You idle with your phone for a bit, already seeing your inbox count tick upward. You've been here for an hour and it seems as if the whole paddock has already seen you.

You lock your phone in frustration.

You really shouldn't have come. Not when the breakup barely six months ago was shrouded in so much speculation and drama. It's not as if your relationship with Charles exploded into a world-stopping mess. It just slowly but surely crumbled, all the gossip chipping away at the love you once shared. You know all this was part of it—the dedicated pages to scrutinizing you, your looks, your behavior, the news about you and your ex still coming out half a year after you split, the constant barrage of questions about Charles, Charles, always about Charles.

But it was indeed always about Charles.

Even you being here, in Monte Carlo today, was about him.

You promised you'd see him race at home when you were still together. It wasn't your fault the relationship would be that short-lived.

But, still. You promised.

You unlock your phone once more, opening up the message thread you had with Charles. The last text was from him, asking if you'd be in France this week. You never answered back.

'Hi Charles.'

You cringe at the formality but with a deep breath, you continue to type.

'Yes, I'm still here. I'll be watching today with a friend. Wishing you all the luck :)'

-

The grip you had on your seat could have been enough to crush someone's hand.

The wide-screen TV in hospitality flashed the bright red Ferrari of your ex-boyfriend, leading the race, five laps away from victory. A victory at his home race, with his dream team, his people cheering him on.

Your heart hammers against your chest and you feel rigid all over, nerves and anticipation taking ahold of you. Your friend looks over and you meet her eyes, and you know at that moment what she's thinking. She smiles, reaching for your hand, and squeezes.

Regardless of what became of you and Charles, it's hard not to feel as if this was your dream too. All the late nights and missed dates and the pain and scrutiny were for this. For him to achieve this very dream.

You feel tears start to well in your eyes as Charles enters his final lap. The people around you are already jumping out of their seats, egging him on, closer and closer to the chequered flag.

As Charles drives past the finish line, the whole world seems to erupt in cheers but it's all tuned out as your tears start to finally fall. You don't notice the gentle shake of your shoulders as hundreds of emotions crash down on you.

You let your friend pull you into a hug, hiding your tear-streaked face from the world.

The podium celebrations right after didn't help much with your attempt at keeping a casual, level-headed facade. Your nose is stuffy and you haven't stopped crying since the race ended. The slow recognition from the people around you isn't lost on you, either.

But it's hard to care when Charles stands on the top step of the podium, beaming as his national anthem blares. It's more difficult yet, fighting the urge to run to wherever he is just so you could jump into his arms and tell him how proud of him you are, how much you miss him, how much you still love him.

Instead, you turn to your friend, hicupping through your tears as you ask if they can come with you back to the paddock.

-

"You're here."

You smile sheepishly as Charles stops just as he's about to enter the Ferrari motorhome. The calls of his name and murmur from the fans around you tailing him through the paddock are drowned out, your whole body seemingly rooted in place as the familiar green eyes look into yours.

"Yes," you respond plainly, suddenly at a loss for words. Clearing your throat, you step closer and Charles automatically opens his arms for a hug.

"Congratulations, Cha," you say, voice muffled into his shoulder as he pulls you against his chest.

"Thank you." Charles beams at you as he pulls away. The smell of champagne is still strong on him but you pay it no mind, wanting nothing more than for everyone to disappear so you could share even a fraction of a moment with him. Just him.

"Did you cry, mon cœur?" Charles asks, looking at you closely. Your jaw drops open at his use of your old pet name and he, too, pauses and blinks as he realizes what he's done.

Charles laughs, a hint of nervousness in his voice, and you can't help but giggle along. It's awkward and it's not ideal, but being this close to him brings a certain ache in your heart, more sweet than painful.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Charles declares, gently taking hold of your arm. "Promise. I'll see you."

You nod, smiling up at him. Tears prickle in your eyes again and you quickly blink them away, mortified at what everyone would think about you crying in front of your ex after his home race win.

Charles leans in and delivers a peck on your cheek, quickly rubbing your back before turning to finally enter the motorhome. He gives you one last wave before disappearing behind the glass doors.

[izvmimi]

cw: minors dni. breeding kink but not in the sexy way. family life with lots of kids. domestic. goofy.

"izuku, hah- izuku... izuku!"

the last call of his name is shrill, and izuku finally stops grinding against you, pulling the weight of his large, muscled body from yours. the two of you acknowledge that he can't move very far away due to the tight dimensions of the small closet, and you pull at the collar of your blouse ever so slightly as the heat in your neck - especially where he just kissed - starts to slowly dissipate.

izuku frowns, looking down at you in the dim lighting and twists his mouth to the side. he frowns, yes, but he isn't upset, because your reservations just now do make sense - 1. that your kids will be home from school any second and 2. you have enough kids.

but he disagrees with the latter. yes, your family is large and there's already 8 of you total after 5 pregnancies including twins, but you look oh so pretty when you're pregnant, and the two of you can afford it, and you take pregnancy like a champ - your quirk makes recovery easy - so why not make another little midoriya with tiny feet and your big, bright eyes? it's not his fault that you're so cute and breedable!

but he can't force you, obviously.

you sigh and run your hands through your hair and look up at him. you hate that he's unfairly attractive and you hate that he's laying traps like this for you. you try to button up the rest of your blouse and adjust your bra, still thinking about the sting of his hickeys. there's already a wet spot in your panties that you should probably change quickly, and you can see him waist-banding his boner semi-grumpily.

"we ran out of condoms," you remind him.

"they're stupid. let me cum inside." he grumbles just as quickly.

"i'm tired of your babies, midoriya. this isn't even climate friendly!"

he sighs. "you know what's not climate friendly? latex."

"izuku."

he bites his lip.

"you don't even know if you'll get pregnant this time. your tubes are tied, remember?"

you give him a long look.

"my tubes were tied before we had the twins." you say flatly. he laughs for a minute but you look dead serious and he immediately returns his expression to neutral.

"you had a revision though... so?"

you narrow your eyes, then attempt to walk past him, but he's blocking the door, albeit now with a playful look on his face. you give him a look like you'll shove him out of the way if he doesn't move it soon.

"i'm not risking it, midoriya."

he pouts.

"but they look so pretty," he whines. "and you look so pretty-"

"you're not fucking me raw with that demon semen, and that's that."

he groans and moves to the side but doesn't follow you out.

you make exactly three steps, just to the door of your bedroom where you can lock it, and then come right back into the closet.

he blinks, and you give him an irritated look before lowering your panties.

"make sure you pull out."

---

exactly 4 months later.

"did you see the new headline, rabbits?" katsuki says at the school bus stop, both hands occupied holding his just two, well-behaved children's hands. you glare daggers at him and don't bother answering, and then at izuku who smiles down at you.

a protective hand rests on your belly.

"can't stand you," you whisper to him through your teeth. he pats your back as your line of nearly identical curly green haired kids make their way onto the bus.

"you don't have to stand, i'll carry you."

"what the hell do you know about carrying?" you murmur under your breath. he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"you're right. you know much better than i do."

[steddieas-shegoes]

maybe forever

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'on the road again'

rated t | 689 words | no cw | tags: bisexual gareth, good friend eddie munson, future fic, super famous corroded coffin

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Gareth stared out the window of the bus, watching as trees passed in a blur as the sun sunk low in the sky. They'd been on the road for four hours and had roughly 81 days to go.

They'd all agreed no girlfriends or boyfriends on the first leg of the tour. This was just for them, for their hard work, for their passion.

Gareth had agreed. He hadn't really thought much about it. He figured they'd be so busy writing music, playing shows, and sleeping it all off, they wouldn't even have time to miss them. But after the initial celebration with drinks on the bus, they all went to their bunks, or in Gareth's case, the table by the long window.

He was lonely.

He was surrounded by his closest friends, and doing his favorite thing in the world, and got to live a life he only dreamed of.

But he was lonely.

"Gare? Probably should get some rest. We've gotta do souncheck as soon as we get there in a few hours," Eddie said to him from next to the bunk beds.

"Yeah. In a minute," he sighed.

But Eddie wasn't the type to leave him alone if he sensed something was wrong. Gareth wasn't the type to be able to hide when something was wrong.

"What's goin' on?" Eddie asked as he sat down next to him, looking out the window too.

"Just miss him," Gareth admitted.

Eddie was the only one who really knew what was going on with him and Sam. Everyone had their suspicions and Frankie even made a joke about him being sad without his boyfriend, but he hadn't officially told any of them except Eddie that that's what he was.

It was still pretty new, but they'd gone head first into something more serious than Gareth had ever expected of what was supposed to be a hookup at a bar.

"Yeah. I miss Steve," Eddie agreed. He put his arm around Gareth and tugged him into his side. "We didn't have to worry about boyfriends on the last tour. Kinda think we made a mistake not having them here."

"Maybe. Might just be something we have to get used to," Gareth leaned his head against Eddie's shoulder. "Do you think i'll have time to call Sam when we get there?"

"I could distract the guys for a few minutes. As long as you promise to let me have the phone after the show to call Steve."

"Deal."

"You really like him, huh?" Eddie nudged Gareth's cheek with his thumb.

"Yeah, he's pretty great."

"Think you might love him?"

Gareth paused. He'd never had a serious relationship. A couple short-term girlfriends in high school, one guy who he thought was cool because he was five years older, but was actually just an asshole who liked fucking younger guys. One guy who was never an official boyfriend, but they met up any time he was in New York and always had fun.

Sam was different.

Sam was maybe forever for him.

It wasn't as scary a thought as it may have been back before Corroded Coffin got famous enough to headline their own world tour.

"Yeah, I think so."

Eddie squeezed him in his arms before letting go. "Then you should tell the guys. Might make it easier if they know. I know it did when I first realized how I felt about Steve."

"They know I'm into both, though."

"But they don't know that you've found someone who means a lot to you, not really. That's the part they need. It's easier when you can talk about him. I promise," Eddie stood up. "I'm taking a nap. You should too."

"In a minute."

Gareth watched as they passed a sign for some small town that they'd probably never see again.

He thought about being on the road, how much fun he always had with the guys, how having Sam here later on would feel.

He smiled to himself as he stood up.

He was ready for this tour, but he was even more ready to show Sam what tour was like someday.

[wirtzed]

"I desire violently— and I wait." • wusiala

Synopsis: quiet aches, poppies and distance.

A tabby cat to the left and a coffee shop next door.

These were things that Jamal loved, and Flo knew it.

Flo bent down, yesterdays training still thrumming in his muscles a small wince leaving his lips, hand outstretched to pet the tabby cat sitting quietly by the door, his fingers grazing the soft fur atop its head. The cat, a boy, looked up at him with curious green eyes body subtly purring with content. Fumbling for a moment he pulled out his phone, wanting to capture the moment, but before he could press the shutter, the cat darted away, leaving only a blur in the frame. A small sigh escaped Flo’s as he watched the cat disappear into the distance.

“Jamu would’ve loved to see a close-up photo of that cat,” he murmured to himself.

He straightened up and turned toward the café next door. The scent of freshly baked pastries greeted him as he stepped inside. He ordered the prettiest pastries he could find, along with two separate beverages—one for himself, and one for Jamal—as if somehow it would bring him closer. It wasn’t his proudest moment and he felt stupid for breaking his special diet to fill a lovesick craving he had. But oh well.

Taking a seat by the window, he felt the warmth of the setting sun on his skin. The golden light cast a gentle glow over the room, but it did little to ease the ache in his chest.

The ache had been there for months now, sitting heavy in his ribs, dull and persistent. Sometimes it was worse—after matches or late at night, when the reality of Jamal’s absence hit him the hardest.

Flo missed him.

So. Very. Much.

The media didn’t help. Fans speculated about them constantly, and news articles painted their relationship as effortless—two players balancing “friendship” and football with ease, always finding time to be together. “Jamal and Flo: Germanys future” one headline had read just a few weeks ago. Flo remembered staring at it bitterly, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. If only they knew.

In truth, the absences stretched over long, unforgiving periods. There were no cozy evenings together after matches, no early morning coffees before training. Their schedules were relentless, pulling them apart just when they needed each other most. Flo wished the media’s stories were true—that they lived in a world where their days were intertwined as closely as the articles suggested. But they didn’t. Time was cruel, stretching and bending as if mocking them for daring to miss each other.

Flo sipped his drink slowly, feeling the ache intensify and run the blood in his veins cold.

It wasn’t just the distance; it was everything the distance stole from them. Jamal was in Munich, playing for Bayern. Flo was in Leverkusen. Two cities apart, but it felt like an entire ocean stretched between them. Jamal’s days were packed—training, press, matches—his schedule woven into the demands of one of Europe’s biggest clubs. Flo’s life was no different; his days in Leverkusen were spent chasing fitness, perfection, and form, leaving them only scraps of time to snatch what little of each other they could.

Calls were brief, texts sporadic. Flo had memorized the exact tone of Jamal’s voice over the phone, the hum of background noise whenever Jamal was on the bus after an away game or walking back to the flat from training. “You’re so quiet today, Flo,” Jamal would say, teasingly. Flo could never tell him it wasn’t silence—it was listening. Listening to Jamal breathe, talk, exist in a moment Flo couldn’t share.

And then there were the international breaks. Flo had once held onto them like lifelines, but they weren’t enough. A few days back together felt like a trick—a fleeting taste of what they used to have before it was ripped away again. He remembered the last break vividly: Jamal waiting for him by the arrivals gate at the airport, his grin lighting up the entire room. They spent three perfect days in each other’s arms, laughing quietly over late breakfasts and holding hands like teenagers on walks where no one would recognize them.

And then Jamal was gone. Back to Munich, back to Bayern. Flo had cried for the first time in months that night, curling into his empty bed with Jamal’s hoodie pressed to his face.

The ache never really left.

Flo’s phone buzzed against the table, pulling him back to reality. Jamal’s name lit up the screen.

Flo couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as he quickly grabbed his phone, glancing at the flower shop as he walked home. Without thinking, he stepped inside, unable to resist the pull of its warm glow. He bought a bouquet of pink and red poppies—Jamal’s favorite colors. The florist handed him the flowers with a smile, and Flo managed a quiet “thank you” before his phone buzzed again.

He quickly pulled his phone out and saw Jamal’s name on the screen, asking about his day. Without skipping a beat, he sent Jamal the photos he had taken throughout the day—pictures from work, the cat, and the coffee he had. Seconds later, his phone began to ring—a video call.

“Hey, looks like you had a great day, baby,” Jamal’s voice was warm, comforting.

“I did. I really wish you were here though,” Flo replied, his voice tinged with longing.

He turned the camera to show the bouquet of pink poppies in his hand. “Look, I just got these.”

“How pretty,” Jamal said, his voice softening.

“They reminded me of you.”

“Aw. How cheesy, you miss me a lot, don’t you?”

“More than words can explain.”

Jamal chuckled, but it was followed by a sigh. “I wish I could talk to you longer, but I have to go. I gotta catch the train.”

Flo forced a smile, trying to hide his disappointment. “It’s alright! I’ll call you when you get home, then?”

“I can’t make any promises you know how late kompany makes us stay,” Jamal pouted at the screen. “I’ll talk to you some other time. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Flo whispered, his heart swelling as he watched Jamal’s face light up with a smile before disappearing when the call-ended message appeared on the screen.

Another clash. More moments wasted. Training schedules. Matches. Managers. How annoying.

Flo slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued his walk home. The weather was perfect, but the emptiness inside him felt almost nauseating. He didn’t want to return to the apartment, knowing it would only remind him of Jamal’s absence. Missing his boyfriend so deeply made his feet feel heavy, and he found himself dragging them home.

Without even realizing it, the bouquet in his hand and the coffee cup he was holding were already on the floor; and the sidewalk was now marked with the coffee’s scent and dark stain.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of it all.

He picked up the bouquet and the coffee cup, quickly disposing of them in the nearest bin.

When he arrived home, he immediately lay down on the sofa, so exhausted from a long day at work, but somehow, his boyfriend being miles away was far more devastating than the number of reports he needed to get done.

He found himself sighing as he stared at their photo hanging on the apartment wall. It was taken during preseason—Flo still in his Leverkusen training kit, Jamal in his Bayern tracksuit, both grinning like fools. And now the overwhelming silence of his apartment is flooding into his awareness and everything starts to feel a little bit too real. He was so depleted, and not having Jamal next to him to reassure him that things would be alright made it even worse. A simple pat on the back from his boyfriend was enough to wash away all his tiredness.

But there he sat, in their living room, alone.

Within seconds, his exhaustion got the best of him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

[whatitsdecending]

Chokehold: Pt. X

Vessel x Reader x Noah Sebastian

Word Count: 3.3k

After touring with Bad Omens for a few weeks, you begin to feel the effects of being around Noah for so long. Eventually everything comes crashing down the first night of their headlining tour, leaving you stranded with your feelings.

Content warning: angst, emotional distress, extreme use of language

A/N: hi all :) one more chapter after this one, apologies ahead of time for the ending! I will be doing an alternate ending and that will be uploaded along with the final chapter :)

—————————

You stared out the window at the trees passing by as the bus drove to the hotel in Germany. It was all a blur of white and brown as the snow had layered itself on the ground and the branches of trees, letting them shine in the morning sun.

It was a beautiful sight. Snow, the thing you loved so deeply and that held wonderful memories from your life within its own. It brought a smile to your face and was comforting to see after the last few weeks of your life.

They weren’t easy, but not exactly difficult either. You were busy most of the day with Matt, learning all you could from him was the most important part of it. He was great at teaching and made everything so simple that you barely asked questions. Every show you’ve done has become easier as you learned the routine. You and Matt rotated songs, him watching over your shoulder as you worked while you did the same for him.

Despite that excitement every day, you faced the reality of dealing with the part of your life where Noah was a concern. You hated yourself for caring so much about how he might be feeling about your relationship with Vessel. Was he as hurt as he had been coming across as? Or is he simply figuring it out on his own, not wanting to get in the way of your happiness?

You do not know and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

But that small part of your heart ached to tell Noah everything, to tell him all about your time with Vessel and how the relationship blossomed. You wanted your best friend more than anything, but you weren’t sure if that same ache would be reciprocated.

“God, this song is going nuts.” Jolly’s voice cut through your thoughts from behind you. It prompted enough of your attention to get you to turn around, noticing his laptop was propped open and on YouTube. The music video for their latest single V.A.N was up and he was skimming through the comments, stopping every so often to fully read one and chuckling at it.

“It’s sick as fuck, of course it’s going nuts.” You say as you stretch.

He nodded. “Always a little nerve racking when you release a new song.”

You shrugged. “Wouldn’t know the struggle.” He pushed your arm playfully and went back to the comments.

The rustle of the curtains that closed off the hallway of bunks piqued your attention and you watched as Noah sauntered out. He was on his phone, probably doing the same as Jolly was. You watched from the small distance as he sat across from you, crossing one leg over the other and huffed a deep sigh.

“You’d think these people would get a grip.” He ran a hand through his hair as Jolly glanced at him. “Won’t stop shitting on Poppy and getting pissy that I didn’t sing on the track.”

“Weirdos.” You mumbled, earning a nod of agreement from Jolly.

Noah sighed again. “You’d think mixing something up for a fresh sound would be okay, until you actually do it and people shit on it. Fucking frustrating.” You stared at him while he kept his head leaned back and his eyes shut, deep breaths making his chest rise and fall like waves on an ocean.

“It’ll be alright, Noah,” Jolly started. “Once they hear it live I think they’ll take all those comments and shove it up their asses.”

“Hopefully.” Noah breathed out, peeking one eye open and noticing you staring at him. “Did you like it?” Your stomach flipped when you realized he actually was speaking to you and suddenly you were nervous.

“I did.” You smile, hiding that nervousness that tried to overwhelm you.

He smiled back. “Good. I’ve always appreciated your opinion.” That ache in your heart grew again at the earnest look in his eyes as they stayed in line with yours. He cut the contact as he put his attention back to whatever was on his phone, you glanced every so often back at him to see his face scrunched as he read.

You finally turned back around to the window, finding your AirPods that you’d placed on the table next to you and putting them in your ears. You let the relaxing sound of Vessel’s voice take you back into your small dream world as the snow-covered trees turned into a blur.

————

You gathered your suitcase from the undercarriage of the bus, struggling a little to pull it out as its weight seemed to increase each time you had to get it out. This time around you’ll be able to have it out longer, since everyone would be staying in this hotel for a few days until the show. It will be much needed, a few nights of sleep in a bed that isn’t your bunk on the bus.

“Alright,” Matt said as he began walking over to everyone with room keys in hand. “We got extremely lucky with this place, everyone gets their own room.” Cheers sounded around you as he handed them out to everyone, the biggest sigh leaving your body when you realized you can take the longest bath of your life without someone nagging at you to get out.

You knew you weren’t alone in the relief as everyone practically ran to their rooms, clearly being surrounded by people constantly and rarely having any good alone time was a shared pet peeve.

You made it to your room and waltzed your way in, observing the simplicity of it but grew happy when you noticed that the bed was king sized and you weren’t sharing with anyone. It was soft as you sat down and ran your hand along the threads of the comforter, embracing the feeling of a nicer comforter rather than the cheaper one in the bus.

You stared at the cream colored walls as your body settled into the space, observing the little art pieces of flowers hanging on them. It was so simple but it gave you a break from how stressed you’ve felt recently.

It was a rough tour. Even if you were having the time of your life, every night when you climbed into your bunk you felt the weight of everything crushing down on your chest and it made it hard to breathe to the point where you’ve lost sleep from it. Just a few more weeks, you told yourself. A few more weeks and then you’ll be back home.

You sighed and pushed your palms into your eyes, the overwhelming feeling to cry was pulsing through you again, but the tears wouldn’t come. It’d been like this since the night Noah had come to talk to you, ever since you cried your eyes out and did not sleep at all. It was difficult to figure out how you felt about the situation with him. Were you mad? Sad? Frustrated?

You could not figure your emotions out for the life of you.

The buzz of your phone next to you took you away from your mind, placing that cream colored wall back in front of you and steadying you once more when you saw the name on the screen.

“Hey.” You said, a little more hoarsely than you’d like.

“Hi my love.” Vessel’s voice echoed through the small speakers of your phone, a smile tugging at your mouth at the nickname. “You alright?”

Your leg bounced against the bed as you picked at the skin around your nails. “Not really.” You heard the sound of rustling, presumably him getting more comfortable in bed or on the couch.

“Want to talk about it?” That was enough for the dam to burst and every little thing that had been bothering you these last few weeks flew out of your mouth. Even the message you’d seen Noah send to Jolly, that had rushed out before you could even think. The tears came as well, stopping to take a deep breath because you could not fully breathe at some points and Vessel made you stop so you could breathe.

“It just sucks.” You said, sniffling as you held your arms tight against your chest. “I wish I had the guy who’d always been my best friend, but it feels like he’s just gone and now replaced with this other man I don’t know.”

He was silent for a while on the other line, the only sound in the room was your sniffing as your crying slowed down. “Y/N, I’m sorry it’s been like this for you. I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“It’s okay, Ves. A few more weeks, I can manage that.” You say.

“A few weeks might not sound like a long time, but with what you’re going through it may feel like ages. I don’t want you to feel so alone.”

You closed your eyes and pursed your lips. “I’m thinking this is just a punishment the universe is giving me.”

“For what, Y/N? For getting out of an endless cycle of a feeling you thought was never going to be reciprocated and finally finding the person who gave it to you?” His words were sharp but you knew he meant well by them, his honesty was something you adored and needed. “You know damn well you were going to be trapped in that cycle forever if Noah never acted upon his little fantasy. I love you so much Y/N, and I thank Noah daily for bringing us together. Even if he’s a fucking dick right now, he’s brought you true happiness by introducing us.” Your heart swelled at his words, clutching at your chest as it raced wildly.

“I love you too, Ves. And you’re right,” you brushed another tear away from your cheek. “Noah might be a piece of shit, but he gave me you.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “That’s my girl.”

————

You stood in the sound booth with Matt, the energy of the room filling you with excitement as the time drew closer to when the boys went on stage. It was their first headlining show for the European leg and with a new song to perform, you could not wait to see the crowd’s reaction.

Matt started signaling to you as you got to your spot next to him, readying to get the opening video to play before Artificial Suicide. Each movement you made had become part of your muscle memory, each button you hit and every step of the show flowed through you like water in a river. It had all become so easy, so normal that you felt at ease doing it.

The show was going amazing. The first performance of V.A.N took your breath away as you watched Poppy grace the stage alongside Noah. You and Matt bounced along in the booth each time Noah told the crowd to jump, laughing at each other as you did so.

“Now,” Noah said into the mic after they finished Limits. “Tonight is a special night, only because we’re debuting two songs. One you’ve heard already and the second one…. Well I hope y’all know the words, this is Somebody else.”

Confusion racked your body as you looked over at Matt, his focus clearly on the mix for the song. You glanced down at the setlist on your side and not seeing the song anywhere on it. What the fuck?

Noah started singing and the room seemed to shrink in size, leaving just the two of you.

“You said enough, you never loved the thought of us. You’re too good to be true, yeah. I gotta go, gotta run, you don’t want me the way I want you, no.”

A pit opened in your stomach and you felt your heart sink into it, especially when you could see Noah looking at where you were standing. He was singing about you. Out of anyone he’s ever been with, he chose to debut this song to you.

You nervously glanced around at everyone in the crowd near you, the faces of those excited to hear this song played live for the first time and recording every second that they could, singing along loudly to Noah. You felt like throwing up.

Noah stepped up onto the elevated platforms on the stage in front of where Ruffilo stood, his eyes focused on where you were and a finger pointing toward your direction as he sang; “I know we said that sex isn’t love, but it seems like enough for us. I know we said that we’re having fun, but I’m getting too numb to your touch.” Your heart shattered and you gripped the ledge in front of you, waiting for the song to end and the misery you felt with it.

As it ended and the cheers of the crowd rang out around you, you grabbed at Matt’s arm. “When did they say they were gonna fucking play that?”

Matt stared at you with a confused expression. “They told us yesterday? Noah specifically said it was a song he wanted to do live, you didn’t know?”

“No! When the fuck was it rehearsed? I wasn’t told shit about anything.” Rage flowed through your body as the misery left it, now all you could see was red.

“Noah said-”

“I don’t give a fuck what Noah said!” You shouted, luckily the crowd was still loud enough that no one turned to stare at you. “I had no clue that was going to happen.” Matt looked you in the eye and you watched as it finally clicked in his mind.

“Shit…” he braced himself against the ledge and stared at the stage. “I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t realize what he was doing.”

“It’s okay. I’m just,” you bit at your lip as you prepared to get the next song going. “Really fucking pissed at him.”

Matt nodded and took a step back as you began to work. “You gonna talk to him?”

“Yep.”

“Gonna rip his head off?”

You purse your lips. “Yep.”

He patted your shoulder. “Atta girl.”

————

You sat outside the bus again. It had become too cramped in there, the atmosphere was stifling as the guys were happy and riled up about the success of debuting the two songs tonight and the show itself.

Noah was nowhere to be found, he’d told Ruffilo that he needed to take a walk and left… It’s been about an hour since then.

All you wanted was to talk to him, hopefully a civil conversation about the stunt he pulled tonight. Each passing moment made your anxiety spike higher and higher, not knowing when you’d be able to speak to him was driving you crazy.

You got up after the building anticipation of waiting for Noah to come around that corner finally died down, and you decided that you needed to take a walk as well. It was cold outside but nothing unbearable, your hoodie, jeans and rage that burned in you was enough to keep you warm.

You walked to wherever your heart desired, passing by pubs full of people getting wasted and having a time with their companions. Restaurants where people dining inside eyed you as you walked past, keeping your eyes ahead of you so your anger didn’t accidentally lash out at random strangers.

After ten minutes of walking, you found yourself at a bridge overlooking the creek below you. The water rushed a little more than it normally would due to some of the melting snow around you, but you liked the noise that came from the extra water in the creek.

You felt the person before you heard them, and turned around swiftly in case you needed to defend yourself. But when you did, your eyes landed on Noah as he stood a few feet from you, his focus also on the creek.

His face was soft as he stared ahead, his hands shaking slightly as he waited. He was waiting for you.

“Noah.” You said, a rasp coming from you as you hadn't spoken since the show. He turned his gaze to you and a clear, broken expression was now on his face. And that just about set you off. “How can you look at me like that after the stunt you pulled earlier?”

“What stunt?” His voice was raspy too, but in a different way… like he’d been screaming.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Noah. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” You stared into his eyes that were shadowed by the night. “Why the fuck did you play that song without letting me in on the fact you guys were gonna play it, leaving me confused and fucking hurt especially when I could tell it was directed towards me.”

He shifted on his feet, your words were working, but he didn’t respond.

“Noah.” You snapped at him, waiting for his answer.

He shoved your hand down. “What the fuck do you want me to say, Y/N?” He didn’t yell, but his voice was full of every emotion he felt.

“I just want you to tell me why you would do that to me.” Your voice became quiet as you wrapped your arms around your body and hugged yourself tight.

He stared at you for a long while, waiting for you to speak again. Once he realized you weren’t going to, he wiped at his face and spoke. “I miss everything we were, Y/N. And I’m angry that you’re with someone else.”

“Everything that we were?” You questioned. “And what were ‘we’ exactly, Noah? Because the last time I checked we were only fucking each other for pleasure, not for love.” At that moment you saw your knives twist in his heart, the way his whole body language changed… you hit the mark.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered, his voice quivering as he took a small step towards you. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, I just never knew how to approach you about it because I only ever thought you saw me as a friend.” You let him come to you, his hand resting gently on your cheek as tears began to roll down them. “I never wanted to cause you pain. I’ve only ever wanted to give you the love you deserve.”

You shook your head. “Noah…” His brown eyes were glossy as he stared down at you, waiting for you to say something as his thumb brushed the tears from your face.

As you stared into his eyes, the same ones you’d grown to love as your friendship with him blossomed, you couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heart. But not for him.

“Noah… I’m in love with Vessel.” Your voice shook, the words you’ve been needing to tell him finally coming out but not in the situation you had imagined. “What we had is no longer there. I’m happy with him, happy with my life and that’s all I want for you.”

His hand retracted from your cheek and he took a small step back, keeping his eyes that now leaked with tears on yours. You stared at each other for a while, waiting for something to be said or done.

After a long, long time you finally turned to head back to the bus, but Noah’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Did you ever love me, Y/N?” You stood there with your back facing him, debating if you should tell the truth or not.

“I did,” you finally said over your shoulder. “I waited, but you were too late. Goodbye, Noah.”

[spiderlandry]

upbraid — ethan landry

Description: Upbraid—To upbraid someone is to speak to them in an angry or critical way in response to something they have done wrong—in other words, to scold them.

Or: You hate that Ethan has been careless while wearing the mask.

Pairing: Spider-Man!Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Warnings/Tags: descriptions of wounds/bruises, some angst

Word Count: 1.9k

Author’s Note: a little writing exercise for me, i took merriam webster’s september 3rd word of the day (upbraid) and built a plot out of it :] finished it about a month later LMAO

It was after a night out with some friends that you discovered that your best friend since high-school, Ethan, was the same man dressing up in red and blue and patrolling the streets every night. You came home slightly drunk, and the vigilante was passed out on your fire escape, battered and bruised. You hadn’t known it was him yet. It was when you had to stitch him up—while he was unconscious—and you saw a birthmark on his side that you got suspicious. When he took off the mask right in front of you was the confirmation.

You’d been taking care of him since then. He insisted that you didn’t have to, but sometimes you figured that patching him up was more for you than him.

Things didn’t change much after that incident except for that Ethan comes to you every night for his wounds. Outside of that secret shared between you two, there was no change in your relationship whatsoever.

Working regular shifts at a local coffee shop ensured you heard whatever the news stations were saying about Spider-Man that week due to the television always playing, albeit at a low volume. Over the last few months, you learned how yo tune it out in fear that you’ll one day hear that Ethan was dead.

But your coworkers couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Which, at first, you didn’t care, but now that you knew it Ethan, you shut down any words about Spider-Man.

All it took was one day, on your break.

There were no customers, so you lounged in the main sitting area scrolling through your phone.

“Holy shit,” Mindy, the only coworker you considered a friend, grabbed the nearby remote and turned up the TV volume. “Look.”

Seeing as she wasn’t usually the type to care about Spider-Man, your instincts trusted that whatever was on the screen wasn’t about him. But you were so, so wrong.

It happened quickly.

The headline caught your eye first:

LIVE: SPIDER-MAN FIGHTS GREEN GOBLIN

The green goblin. That’s what the media had been calling the bad guy of the week. Well, more like two weeks. Ethan assured you that he had it under control.

It was clear as day that he, in fact, did not have it under control.

Your spine went rigid.

The camera zoomed in on Spider-Man, a large gash on his calf and holding his arm close to his chest, assessing the situation while civilians ran for their lives.

You grabbed the remote from Mindy’s hand, turning off the TV and earning you an irked ‘Hey!’; however you didn’t hear much more than that because you were bolting out the door in the next second.

You waited about an hour in anticipation at your apartment, med kit on the counter, sitting there blankly and watching if your phone got any texts from Ethan. You repeatedly ignored the texts from Mindy or your manager asking where you had gone—none of that was important now—Ethan had to be your priority.

The loud bang on your window finally signalled his arrival, and you hated that you were relieved. The pit in your chest grew deeper every time, and yet every time, it meant he was alive.

The room was eerily quiet.

Ethan winced as you wrapped up his arm. Whenever you patched him up like this, it was always quiet. But this time—this time was different, somehow. It was tense. Something hung in the room and it left a tense note, an unfinished symphony; he was in the dark.

It hit him that it was the look on your face which made him fill with dread.

Your furrowed brows accompanied a seemingly permanent frown on your face, and your eyes were everywhere but his own.

He knew how much he worried you. You said so on the first day he landed on that fire escape, but you always started every visit with an, ‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ or at least some variation of it.

This wasn’t that. At all.

“Can you at least talk to me?” He broke the silence, a glass shattered.

You looked up at him, “No.”

The air left his lungs. “What?” Maybe it was the end. “What—what do you mean?”

“You wanna talk?” You haphazardly shoved things in the med kit, zipping it up and walking away with it to put it back where it belonged.

Ethan only nodded hesitantly.

“I’ll talk.” When you came back to face him, you looked down. “You’re fucking careless.”

He could only part his lips in hopes that words will come. Maybe they will. But nothing did, he didn’t know if he truly could’ve spoken at that moment because you were elaborating what you meant soon enough.

“You just—you come in here and expect me to fix you every single time,” he heard your heart beat faster with every word. “And then you go out there and do it again.”

“I told—“

“No!” his jaw shut tight when you raised your voice. “I’m tired, Ethan. I really am. I see you getting hurt every day—I have to see that, Ethan, because you’re everywhere! Then you come to me and I have to pretend like thinking about you dying doesn’t keep me up at night.”

Ethan’s heart plummeted into the abyss. He wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole along with it, as the shame and disgust at himself hit him all at once. He had nothing else to say. There were no words for you, because you were right. And that’s what hurt the most.

He had nothing else to say except, “I didn’t know I hurt you like that.”

“Ethan—”

“I told you that you didn’t have to do that for me.”

“If I don’t do it, nobody else will,” you sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Ethan had been so lost in protecting others that he lost sight of protecting you. In turn, he hurt you—used you. “I’ll go.”

He stood up in haste, shuffling past you with his eyes glued to the ground.

“Ethan,” God, even the way you say his name wounded him. So much that he’d already forgotten about his physical state. He winced as he put his mask back on and opened up the window. “Don’t.”

But that was a good sign. Don’t meant you wanted him to stay. Nonetheless, he still had to protect you. Protecting you was his priority.

“I can’t—” he coughed. “This isn’t…good. I’ll go.”

There was a beat of silence when he looked back before leaving.

“You know what?” You added. “You’re right. Just leave.”

And so he left.

Days passed.

You ignored the screens, though it always made its way back to you.

SPIDER-MAN: ABANDONED NEW YORK?

Spider-Man was gone. For three days, at least. Yet the world felt his absence. Your world, however, was at a complete standstill. Waiting with bated breath in anticipation of either hearing about the death of your Ethan or his resurfacing. You hoped it was the latter.

Your mutual friends even sensed your unease, but because of college and finals, it was really only Tara who took note of the blankness in your eyes when someone brought up Ethan.

Thankfully, Spider-Man showed up. The city rejoiced in being protected once again. But you were still missing Ethan in your life. Through Chad, you checked on his state, who always responded that his roommate rarely spoke to him these days. It seemed that Ethan was letting you have your pick of friends, almost as if it were a divorce and you got what he had. Even if the idea of you and Ethan getting ‘divorced’ made you laugh at its absurdity, in some ways it did feel like that.

Weeks passed. It was days before finals. You had dealt somewhat well with Ethan’s absence by losing yourself in your day-to-day life. You studied harder, even picked up extra shifts which made Mindy question your motive. You hated work.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though the all-nighters finally caught up to you.

It was dawn. You hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, and you knew Ethan would be out patrolling at this moment. You banged on the door of his dorm, waking up an angry Chad, but you couldn’t think about that now as you headed straight for Ethan’s room and sat on his bed.

You figured it was too long. Weeks too long. You should have talked to him the day after, but his insistence on leaving your apartment that day made your heart constrict in ways you didn’t think possible. Maybe you hurt him too much with what you said.

The sleep came easily.

A light touch of your arm woke you up.

Upon rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you were faced with Ethan. Your Ethan. His mask was off.

The instinct to stand up to wrap your arms around him was as easy as the sleep that came to you hours before. It was long overdue.

It took a few seconds for him to reciprocate, and you sighed when you finally felt him release his breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

He pulled back to your dismay, keeping you at arms length.

“You—you shouldn’t be here.”

You almost flinched. “What?”

“No,” he shook his head incessantly. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

That was not what you expected. “Ethan, what—”

“Please, just—just leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

Same like that day, his eyes didn’t leave the ground. Anywhere but your eyes.

“Answer me, at least.” You sounded desperate.

“I can’t hurt you like that again. So, leave.” His voice tapered off, shaken.

“Look me in the eyes when you say that.” You mustered up all the strength you could despite having woke up mere minutes ago. “Tell me that I’m safer without you.”

He shook his head instinctively, “You’re not without me.”

“What?” You whispered, lungs out of air.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been watching me, aren’t you?”

His silence said everything.

You reached to brush his messy curls out of his eyes. His mask had messed them up. He finally turned his head to you, curious.

Yet, you couldn’t look him in his eyes as you said it.

“You hurt me when you’re careless,” you declared. “But it hurts more when you—you…think I don’t want you to be around me. I feel safe with you, Ethan. If you really don’t want to hurt me then…then just—please stay in my life. As Ethan.”

He pulled you closer, and you rested your head against his shoulder.

“What you’re doing as Spider-Man is good. You have to protect people. But you’re Ethan. I fell in love with him first and—and I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“You’re in love with me?”

He lifted your chin up to face him, the contact surging through your being.

You nodded wordlessly.

He finally smiled, “I think I’ve been in love with you for longer.”

“Nuh uh,” you flashed him a grin back. “I knew when I met you.”

“Then we’re even.”

He kept his hands on your chin, subconsciously pulling you closer. He desperately searched your eyes for unease, but found something he’d always known was there: love.

“Prove it.”

And so he kissed you like his life depended on it.

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 10.1k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣ Chapter 1: Memento Mori ❣

Have you ever thought about death?

How many times have you asked yourself, “What will happen to us next?” “Is there something on the other side?” “Will we see the shining light at the end of the tunnel and the white-winged angels, or is it just darkness waiting for us?”

We constantly reflect on this, sitting in the noisy company of friends, frozen for a moment in cold numbness; late at night, when there is no sleep and gloomy thoughts creep into your head; on the subway, bus, or taxi returning home from work or school, desperately understanding the desperation of their situation; recurring days in endless solitude.

We should stop doing that. When the time comes, we will ask ourselves other, more important questions.

Nevertheless, we tirelessly continue to be interested in it. Again and again, until our clock stops.

Sometimes I think all we have after we die are flowers and regrets. In our soul, heart, and mind, every second, there are many events that do not obey any rules of formal logic. All that we lose at death. There is no longer the privilege of choice that we had in life; now we have to settle for small, choking on despair and memories, staring into our own reflection on a silver epitaph.

“Our love will stay with her forever.” It would sound like a dream if it weren’t such a dirty lie.

I don’t think love exists. It’s like a sweetener: we feel sweetness, but the brain realizes it's fake, sending out red signals warning of deception. But we still desperately crave this feeling, however painful it may be.

And yet, after death, our lives go on, and in some special cases, we find ourselves more alive than ever before.

It's our time to watch as the new story unfolds, and the usual roles are played by other actors. New names appear on the waiting list, and celebratory ribbons are given to the new queens. See how fake diamonds sparkle in their luxurious crowns. Despite that, you’re the star of this show. Your name is in the news, in the bold headlines on the front pages of newspapers, and every casual passer-by claims to have known you personally while you still existed in a small, closed time period called life.

So what does it feel like to be the only spectator in the front row? The main subject of general regret.

In our cooled consciousness, a sharp conviction of our own uselessness is born and settles. Friends we used to call the best put your stuff in boxes with ribbons of tape. A family that tears the remnants of your life apart, erasing your name from the family register with a sickeningly straight line of black ink. Acquaintances and colleagues, always smiling with an astringent sweetness that glues their teeth, easily remove your number from the contact list and open their palms in a welcoming gesture to those who came to take your place.

All of them, all these people close to us, express their false regrets about your untimely departure, putting a tick in front of the memorized phrase: “Ah, we are so sorry. She was young and beautiful.” Is that what they usually say?

That’s all; our race for popularity is over. The rules of good manners and standards of appearance no longer matter. Your thoughts, actions, and preferences belong only to you, and at this very moment, we feel freedom. Short time, but still freedom.

It is only a short moment until the lid of the coffin closes completely over us. And here we are, face to face with our past, alone.

As hard as it may be for us to admit it, it's true. All that remains for us after death is regret.

Each of us has our own. Someone feels regret for the love that he could not protect and the loved ones that he has lost forever. We regret the things we’ve done and the words we haven’t said, but most of all, we regret the time we’ll never get back.

The dead mourn more than the living.

Besides regrets, we’re taking flowers with us. Yes, these beautiful creatures are leaving with us to one day wrap around our bones, sever the grayish subtlety of our skin, and grow again above the ground, eating us like a parasite. 

The flowers also symbolize the grand finale of our celebration. When the music dies down and the curtain falls, they will be the only ones who will stay side by side while the guests leave the lavishly decorated hall one by one.

Have you noticed how many bouquets are brought to cemeteries?

I like to think of it as a peculiar payment for our rest. Maybe death is as in love with these deliciously fragile things as we are, and that’s why they’re leaving with us. Silent companions who hold our hand as we go into the darkness.

The path to the origins of the great Sanzu River is paved with bloody lycoris and mournful lilies. Truly a magnificent sight. Ugly and beautiful are two sides of the same coin.

When I was little, Mina told me many different stories. Some warmed my cheeks and stretched my lips in a happy smile; others were gray, like days with incessant downpours. I wrapped myself in blankets and warmed my palms with warm cups of herbal tea, but there were other stories that I didn't want to remember until now.

They were sinister, like a spider hovering on a web waiting to be sacrificed. The words were sharp; they pierced the skin, leaving long, stinging wounds. Meaning has always been terrible; like a blade in the tongue, it could not be swallowed and understood. I was afraid. I was scared to death. I could not sleep in the light of a bright day or in the mist of a starry night; in the coziness of the blankets, there was no warmth or protection, and the mocking laughter of Mina made it worse.

My grandmother scolded her and assured me that all this was nonsense, empty words, and legends formed from idleness, but I knew better. There was truth in Mina's stories, and the realization of this only made them scarier.

The most terrible of them was the story of a young man in black silk robes. Beneath the black veil was a sensual smile, and the fox's heterochromic eyes were alluring and sparkling like stars.

Was he a nine-tailed kumiho? A black reaper holding death itself on a leash? He may have been a vampire, desperate and thirsty, but personally, I was sure he was a ghost. A past woven into a single canvas, thread by thread, stitch by stitch. I think I saw him once, during the Lunar Festival. He was the center of my little universe, the otherworldly and inexplicable, his long black clothes flowing to the ground like a waterfall, and the diffused light of the treacherous moon embraced his silhouette like a caring mother’s embrace.

I thought the world was dancing around him. The children were running around laughing and circling like butterflies in the round dance; the couple were whispering nicely, their palms intertwined tightly, as if it would save them from the inevitable parting; and the others were simply enjoying the festival time, waiting for the sheaves of colorful fireworks to explode in the sky.

His eyes pierced my figure so greedily and sharply. I saw hunger in them. A thirst. A goal. 

And then I screamed. So loud and disgusting in a childish way. With a shrill screech, I rushed into the crowd, hoping to find Mina. The colorful ribbons in my hair rushed into the air, and the wind bore me the echoes of his sweet laughter.

He was mocking me. I could have run, but he could have caught me in a second if he wanted to. For a moment, I looked back to make sure that he was still standing there, covered with moonlight and a myriad of stars, but the long, flowing silk of his black robes melted like a mist in the night without leaving a trace.

Mina laughed mockingly as I clung to the lush skirts of her violaceous hanbok, sobbing, choking with tears, and pointing my finger in the direction where I saw the young man with the fox’s eyes.

After that incident, I didn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat, and was afraid of every noise.

From that night on, I began to believe in ghosts. They are among us. We can see them, reach them, and hear their whispering voices. Science cannot explain them; they are not subject to it. They are mistakenly called fictions, twisted forms of memories that acquire real outlines and are indistinguishable from the real world.

Science calls it imagination; I call it another form of life. Ghosts exist. They’re always there.

The line between the dead and the living is thin and fragile. If you push it a little harder, it’ll shatter.

It’s true—life after death exists.

I was told once that death is like being submerged in water. First, the lungs start to burn from a lack of oxygen; the body gets heavier; the eyes are baking, but we’re still conscious; and the brain continues to function. Then comes the next step. Our body desperately clings to life, continuing to contract the heart muscle. Bam, bam, bam. Deaf blows on the rib. If you start acting now, there is little hope of salvation. No more than a minute. And then, after that, there’s the final stage. Clinical death. Smooth stripe on the monitor.

Our sinking is over. We have reached the bottom. We have met eternity in the muddy depths, blended with the muddy sand and pearls.

That may be true, but for me, death is no more than a moment—until the last flowers on the grave fade.

I never thought about dying. Until it happens to Mina.

The first time I met death, it was with my first breath. I was born with silence—too small, too fragile, and painfully quiet.

Then there were the piercing sounds of medical devices and the screams of doctors and assistants. I was taken away instantly and carried far into the sterile, transparent box. Death retreated, but it didn’t go away.

I was only three when my parents died. Mina was squeezing my hands and talking about a long journey. Grandma took us to her old country house, where secrets were hidden and hyacinths blossomed. At the time, the very concept of grief was not clear and tangible to me; rather, the feeling was like frostbite, when the skin was already dead, but the pain was absent.

So I knew death before I even knew it.

My grandmother died suddenly. Her life was cut short in an instant, like a thread brought to the flame. I knew it; it seemed long before it happened. That summer, I was going to be at a ballet camp, and Mina was the star of the school, and she was planning on spending time with her cheerleading friends. Just one call changed all our plans. Short skirts and ballet points replaced chrysanthemums and black ribbons. Mina was grieving, taking condolences, while I watched from the sidelines. Grandma's leaving seemed like a dull pain from an old injury rather than a sharp cut, and it was easier to deal with than I thought.

This was the third time I'd known death.

And then Mina happened.

The passionate, bloody, grandiose Mina's death. By closing my eyes, I could see her face again. White, sun-drenched, and blood roses, her long fluttering eyelashes, and scattered carmine strands of hair.

She was not at all afraid to die, as if this scenario had been memorized by her. Isn't it an innate instinct, a fear of the unknown, of death? We are frightened by monsters under the bed and horrors lurking in dark corners. We must be afraid of death. We are obliged to do this from the very moment we are born.

Mina was not afraid. She was never afraid of anything, unlike me.

Spiders, darkness, roses…

The list goes on.

When she died, I realized two things: one, nothing lasts forever, and two, I wanted to know what happened to my sister and what became her trigger. Big red button. At my request, an autopsy was conducted to rule out a drug-induced hypothesis that could have caused mental and emotional distress. Forensics found nothing in her lungs except rose petals. Mina literally breathed flowers. It sounded almost fantastical to me. Even her death was beautiful. Forever the first violin in the orchestra. 

The case of her mysterious disappearance was closed. There was no point in looking for someone who was already dead. I asked the detectives to continue the investigation, but despite my desperate pleas, the police were adamant. My sister’s once-radiant life was packaged in a pair of cardboard boxes with a large-scale signature in black marker. “An Mina, case 117”. With each passing day, everything about Mina sank into darkness, but the mysteries and secrets around her only grew larger.

Once upon a time, I could call Mina an open book. It was easy to read—all the emotions, character traits, and habits—everything in it was exaggerated; there was no middle. Her love was never a simple hobby; it was always sharp, risky, and passionate.

Perhaps that is why she so easily fell into an obsession with roses; her feelings took a dangerous path.

I wanted to know who gave her these fabulous roses, who sent her candy and little sweet notes. There was something wrong with all of this, and not just the fact that the lush pink buds didn’t fade. No. It was a feeling, something very ominous, like a calm before a hurricane. A frightening, unnatural silence when all is silent and the air is gathering in front of the thunder's stunning storms.

There’s a long, unrequited tranquility on the other side of the phone line.

In the Japanese language, there is the expression “koi no yokan,” which literally means the feeling of inevitable love for the person you first met. This is not love at first sight, but a premonition of future love. So it was with these roses; they were not evil as such, but they were the inevitable omen of his coming.

True evil does not come in the form of a little red man with sharp horns and a long tail. Evil is beautiful—almost religiously magnificent. His appearance is divine and seductive, attracting the sweetness of the forbidden. Of course, the Devil himself was once an angel. And not just anyone; he was God’s favorite.

So are these flowers. I’ve never heard of people falling in love with soft petals and spiny stems. No one ever sings strange prayers for roses and dedicates his life to them without a trace. Those roses were bigger than they looked.

I think that Mina’s death was not accidental; it wasn’t suicide. Something broke her, violated her mind, and eventually destroyed her. Whether they were roses or people who gave them, that was my question. It was a secret hidden in the white folds of her lace dress, the dreamy smiles, and the names she spoke with such awe.

During Mina's funeral, I was approached by one of the lawyers who handled her legal affairs. I had to sort out the property rights and the lots of pages with numbers, dates, and places. Mina left me not only secrets but also a great legacy. As it turned out, in addition to our common apartment, she had several other assets in her possession, including her grandmother's mansion, which at one time she received as a sole inheritance, shares in various companies, and investments abroad.

I am now the sole owner of all this.

I had no idea where to start looking for answers or where to find the keys to the secret locks. Maybe I can find something in her files between the lines and the capital letters, or maybe it’s all dry formalities. So, going to the lawyer sounded like a good start to me.

How many can hide from those who command our last will?

Even so, I didn't want to be alone with Mina's secrets if I could find something in her belongings. I decided to call Soomin, who was once Mina’s best friend, the closest, to be exact. She was always there, having fun and crying with Mina, supporting and comforting when needed. Soomin was an integral part of her life. My life.

After the incident with the roses, they split up, not on the best of terms. Their conversation completely ended, but I still continued to spend time with her, and we often went to brunch at various gourmet cafés that Soomin loved so much. She was an elite restaurateur and had great taste, not only in the interior but also in food.

In a way, she completely replaced my sister. Soomin always told me, “No orgasm can ever match a stunningly cooked fondant au chocolat”. Yeah, I could totally agree with her on that.

After dialing her number, I waited for an answer. The wait was not too long, and after the second tone, I heard the melodic voice of Soomin on the other side. “Hello” “Soomin, I'm sorry to distract you from work; can you give me a few minutes?

“Sarang? I can’t believe you finally called me. How are you feeling, honey? I’ve been really worried about you, you haven’t spoken to any of us all this time.” In her voice, there was a sincere concern that resembled a mother's. 

Soo has always been so caring and gentle. In her was the same fascinating brightness that Mina possessed, which brought them very close and became the strong foundation of their friendship, but unlike Mina, who resembled a raging forest fire, Soomin was a comforting flame of home. One was ready to destroy everything around her; the other collected ashes in beautiful vases and kept them as precious memories.

After Mina died, she was there for me when I especially needed support.

“Sorry, Soomin, I’m still trying to get over it." I sounded exhausted, even to myself. The days spent in voluntary isolation completely drained me emotionally and physically. I was the alarm of danger light for my friends. “You know, when she went missing, it was hard for me, but I was still hoping she’d come back. I convinced myself that Mina was fine and that she was enjoying life surrounded by her favorite roses.” It was the first time I had spoken openly about my feelings since Mina’s death. “I never imagined that my sister would slit her throat in front of me. I still have nightmares, Soomin, but I’m calling you for another reason, I have a little favor to ask you.”

“Sarang, you should feel like this; it’s okay. What happened to Mina traumatized you; damn it, it would have traumatized anyone if they were you. We agreed to give you time to get over it at your own pace, but when you didn’t answer our messages and calls, we started to worry. Eun Jung even offered to come to you several times; you know how she is.” She was anxious, and I understood why. “I’ll help with everything I need; just tell me how I can do it.”

“You agree too quickly, Soo.”

“Sarang, please stop. The only thing I can offer you now is my help. I can’t imagine how you’re handling all this, and if you need my help, I’ll be there for you. So stop denying me and tell me what you wanted to ask.”

“Do you remember Mina’s lawyer who approached me at the funeral? I think it’s time I met him. It’s all about inheritance and property, but there’s something else.” I started off insecure. “I want to find out who sent her those stupid roses.”

“Why?” in her voice sounded like sincere surprise. “If you were me, would you want to know how it all started?”

“Probably, but aren't you afraid? Judging by how it turned out for Mina,” she stammered for a second. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“No, you’re right. Absolutely. I’m scared, and if things weren’t so messed up, maybe I would have done something different, but listen, Soomin, I have a strong feeling that I’m always missing something, and it’s bothering me.” “People don't change so dramatically, and certainly not because of the roses. You've been friends with her for so long, so you know her as well as I do, and we both understand that it's crazy to give up everything in your life for roses like that. Especially for Mina.” When I spoke my thoughts out loud, I was even more convinced that I needed answers. It really was crazy. “ She left so many secrets that I want to find a clue. I haven't told anyone, but the roses are still being sent. I received a call from the cemetery administration saying that her grave was littered with flowers, and they needed to figure out what to do with them. Not only that, but I also received several bouquets.” There was no point in hiding it anymore. If I want Soomin to help me, she needs to know about those roses that were sent to me.

“My God, Sarang, you should have told me right away. Did you talk to JiHo? This is an abnormal situation. What if you’re being chased, Sarang? I don’t know, it’s all so scary.”

“You have no idea, but I don’t think we should talk about stalking.”

“Why? Maybe it’s a stalker or serial killer; you should be careful. Please tell me JiHo is living with you now.” “First, I don’t think anyone in their right mind is going to come after me, and second, JiHo and I took a pause.”

“Did you break up?” she asked with an incredulous echo.

“I'm not sure if you can call it a breakup.”

“God, the bastard left you. I always told you he was a rare asshole and would run away at the first opportunity.”

“Soomin, let’s not talk about it, but if you want to hear it, yeah, you were right about him.” The memories of our conversation with my ex were still fresh and festering in my mind like a ball of worms.

It’s very convenient to hide behind phrases like “let’s take a break,” “you need time to figure things out,” “emotional vacation,” etcetera. No one wants to be a part of your grief. At this party, the cake belongs entirely to you.

“Okay, let’s close the JiHo thing. Tell me, do you know anything about who sent the roses? Any ideas?”

“Absolutely nothing; I’m stuck. There’s nothing that can help. No address, no sender’s name, Maybe we can find something in her files or stuff; I don’t know.”

“Yes, it’s possible. When do you want to go to a lawyer?”

“This Friday, if you’re free?”

“Give me a minute,” the papers rustled on the other side, Soomin clearly trying to find the day she needed in her diary. Knowing the nature of Soo, it was difficult to make out anything there; her records were always chaotic, and careful planning was not her forte. In this, too, she was similar to Mina.

“I’m totally free. How about going to brunch first and then to the lawyer?

You could use some fun, and I’ve always wanted to go to this new trending place. I hear they serve incredible fondant au chocolate, and the owner looks like God cut him out. How does that sound? “First, tell me, are we going there for the fondant or the owner?”

“You can’t judge me; everyone’s talking about how attractive this man is; I just want to see.” Soo softly dissipated.

“Have you betrayed your love of chocolate for a man? Kim Soomin is something new. Anyway, everything sounds great. Let’s go and see if those rumors are true, but if I were going there solely for the chocolate,” I smiled at that thought. I’ve really been lacking in communication lately. We should start coming back to the real world. “Do you know the address?” “Sure, I’ll pick you up at 11:00. Please wear something prettier than a black dress.” “It’s a classic, and thank you again, Soo.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Sarang. Finally, I can call you like that, you know, Rosa, it doesn’t suit you. I’ll see you Friday, baby.”

“I think so, too. Until Friday.” I put the phone aside, taking a deep breath. The long stems of white roses had folded in half in the cramped bin. A luxurious wrapping in a rare shade of Solferino and embroidered topaz ribbons lay next to the bulky pile, and a small note was shrunk into a perfect ball that was also lying in the trash.

Whoever sent those flowers should have stopped doing that. I’m not Mina. I don’t like roses.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

How quickly does the waiting time pass? We count the days, the hours, and the minutes until the exciting event we’re expecting, circled by a thick red line in the calendar, but is it really worth our time, which life has measured for us?

It's so strange; the days are like bottles of sand thrown by a restless ocean onto a flickering glass bank. I remember this one, crystal blue—it smells like strawberry cheesecake and summer heat. And this one, made of gloss and pearls, is full to the brim with grave earth and chrysanthemum petals. I like the one that sparkles with diamonds from the royal frosted glass; it smells like a lover’s pillow, and there are memories of the first love. There is another, very ordinary, and therefore the most precious—empty and at the same time full. If you open it, you can hear the gentle wind whispering your name.

My life is all about memories now. I’m just trying to keep what’s left.

The rest of the week passed unnoticed by me. Time, like the rapid trains at the station, rushed by, and I kept waiting to see the stop I needed in this incessant turmoil.

Existing in space is very simple when it belongs only to you. I did actions that were memorized to the finest detail, simple mechanisms that gradually brought me back to my normal state. Feed the neighbor’s cat. Do the cleaning. Go for a walk. Check the mail. Cook dinner. Ordinary things to take your mind off the colorful bottles on the shelves of consciousness and the endless cycle of nightmares.

And I also noticed that at night, time flows more slowly. Second by second, replace the glowing dial until dawn. And so on until the ruthless rays of the sun insidiously penetrate between the tightly woven threads of heavy boudoir curtains, and the golden shadow spills over the pampered skin like boiling water.

I think I'm allergic to the sun and, therefore, to the stars.

Maybe the whole world.

Today I woke up earlier than usual. Somewhere below the horizon, the sun splashed in the golden ichor of the predawn twilight. Yoru stretched out at the foot of the bed, warmed by tiny drops of warm light that seeped into the room through the window. Last night, she refused to leave, stubbornly ignoring my presence and my tender pleas to return home to her mistress.

Yoru was my neighbor’s cat, perfectly embodying all its best features: a slightly aggressive, capricious, and having a little bit of arrogance. Despite this, she had a strange affection for me and often stayed at my house if she was in the mood.

Other tenants avoided Yoru, considering her a bad omen, and it was not only the polished glossiness of her black fur; she always appeared where death later came. I didn't care; I've always loved cats, and having one of them in my house was a bit of comfort. I wasn't alone.

Sensing my awakening, her almond-shaped eyes flashed with the sharp color of precious stones in the slits of the eyelids—a thick amber glow, not yet warmed by curiosity or playfulness. Yoru tossed and turned, clearly unhappy that someone had disturbed her sleep, arched her back and closed her eyes again.

We could lie like this all day long, in silence and some strange harmonization. I’m sure she’ll get close to me a little bit later, calculating her every move, until he presses on his heart with a peaceful, relaxed purr. Unfortunately, today was not the day I could afford it. Soomin will soon be here, and I need to get a little tidy.

Shower. Food. Simple things. Jars of creams and neatly arranged lipsticks Are there certain rules of appearance when you go to a lawyer? What dress should I wear—a deep neckline or open legs? How decent?

Should I still look mournful? Should I wear a veil? Two months have passed; are other colors acceptable? What will he think of me?

So many questions were spinning in my head while I was going, and it seems to me that whatever I choose, it will still be inappropriate. The story of Mina was not a passing affair; probably everyone in the city had fleetingly heard about her death. One of my friends told me she was called “Queen of Roses” because of the flowers in her hair, and I saw the headlines of the “exquisite death” articles.

The black color dripped venomously to the floor with the long hems of the dresses in my wardrobe; the gray, like a mist, settled in the loops of cardigans and oversized sweaters; and the ghostly white terrified me with thin transparent lace and ruffles, just like on Mina's dress. The choice was not too large.

A jacket dress on a naked body made of thick matte silk, a little pearl, and a high choker collar with long falling threads, It was one of the old jewels I bought in a small antique shop. Vintage trinket in the style of Queen Marie-Antoinette. I had a whole collection of such chokers—some studded with precious stones made of expensive jewelry metals, others woven with the finest threads, like a skillfully woven web. Hard made of steel and leather, and soft, like angelic kisses, made of organza and velour. JiHo once said I had a choke kink if I liked things like that; maybe I did, but my ex was too “vanilla” to close his hands around my neck.

After getting dressed and styling my hair, I sat down on the couch and waited for Soomin to arrive. What should I do now? I was lost. Turn on the TV or read a book? Look at the news feed on Instagram; be sure to look at JiHo's profile to see his new photo. Does he miss me or not? Is someone else warming up his bed now that I'm not around? Is JiHo still wearing the same perfume as before, or has he found something different?

Anyway, I never liked his perfume; it was salty like tears and distant ocean breezes and rancid like decaying wood in the dense Amazon. He called them gourmet; I could only agree if they were worn by someone else, say someone more dominant and powerful. Maybe I would even find this strange, gloomy mixture of aromas attractive, inhaling it from someone else's hot skin and feeling with the touch of my lips a steadily beating pulse in the swollen veins on a strong neck.

How long does love last? Three years or more? For me, it's a moment; for others, it's an eternity. I loved him. It's true. Very strong and very long ago. My love did not resemble the indomitable elements or the explosions of colored fireworks; rather, it was the fragrant bloom of wildflowers and the scattering of stars in the sky. She was comforting, not passionate, and I wanted to see someone like me, someone who could comfort my heart and give me tenderness.

Tenderness and comfort alone were enough for me, but deep inside, I wanted something dangerous, something forbidden. I was devout, one of those people who are called “good girls,” but was it really me or the role that Mina gave me?

Maybe in the far corners of my mind, my thoughts weren’t as good and right as they should be. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, but sometimes when I woke up from another nightmare, I was glad she was dead. Dark, reckless emotions made their way through my cracks; they were moments of despair as my anger lifted its ugly head and oozed poison and blood. My cruelty and hatred had the color of roses and smelled like chocolate. She had fox eyes and a seductive smile; desire flowed in her veins, and strangled thirst was heard in her voice.

In my nightmares, I saw not only Mina and bloody roses; sometimes there was a young man in long silk robes and a veil hiding his face. He's just a ghost; I met mine years ago, but somehow he seems more real to me night by night when he comes into my dreams without permission. He crept into them like a serpent-tempter into the Garden of Eden, slipping away at dawn like the shadow of two moons, hiding behind a door I could never open.

Unreal in my reality.

I felt the arrival of Soomin even before her long nails methodically began to knock on my door. It was as if the spell had been removed and all the sounds of the world had rained down on me in an instant. Yoru shook off her sleep and whirled around at the front door, waiting for an unknown guest. The clatter of high heels echoed in my apartment, slipping through the cracks of the door locks, and the thick smell of ambergris and blooming jasmine at night walked ahead of her, warning every one of her approaches. If I didn’t know better, I could easily have mistaken her for Mina. That was my sister once.

The whole world was just a part of her life; she was not part of the world. To be ordinary—what a bad form!

“Sarang! Sarang, open up. I’m here.” and in fact, her long nails caught on the dark wood of my front door, causing Yoru to bristle and hiss.

I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t get along.

“Are you awfully loud? Someone told you this, Soo?” I opened the front door wide, smiling softly. “I missed you, Soomin.”

“Don’t tell me about it; I missed that pretty face.” She hugged me, which made Yoru hiss again, attracting Soo’s attention. “When did you get a cat?”

“That’s not my, Yoru cat, my neighbor from apartment 1366, that door.” I waved my hand to the far end of the corridor, where Mrs. Lee’s apartment was located. “I like her; I don’t mind having the baby stay with me sometimes.”

“I see.” There was an awkward pause between us until Soo broke it. “You want to talk about… you know what.” She was worried about this topic; I could see it from the way she shifted from foot to foot, or was it from high heels? In the light of the electric lamps, the steel studs glittered like sharpened spindles from the tale of The Sleeping Beauty.

“Not now. Better tell me about this restaurant we’re going to.” Soomin was easily distracted if you changed the topic of conversation in the direction of a subject of interest to her.

I walked out of the house, taking one last look at Yoru. The cat didn't even think about leaving my space; he was already ensconced in a pile of pillows on the sofa in the living room. If she wasn't going to leave, I wouldn't force her.

“Don’t you need to return the cat to the mistress? She looks expensive.” asked Soo

“She’s a purebred Persian cat, and no, Mrs. Lee won’t worry about it; Yoru can stay with me for weeks before she comes home. This has happened before.”

“All right, if you say so.”

I shut the front door and turned the key, permanently cutting off my escape routes. Today. I have to do this today or my resolve will wear thin, and I will once again voluntarily isolate myself in the comfort of blankets and tightly closed curtains.

"And so, the restaurant..." This was the beginning of a long story that interested no more than random passersby in a faceless crowd.

“You’re going to love this place, I promise. Everything I’ve seen on their Instagram profile is so fascinating, but you know what makes this place really attractive? It’s the owner. Eun Jung was there last week, and she couldn’t shut up about…”

For the next 30 minutes, I heard about this trending establishment. “ Angels' Share” is the most requested boutique café in the last 3 months on all search engines. A luxurious café with exquisite dishes and a magnificent concept.

But most importantly, it is, of course, divine, and Soomin, the owner, was absolutely sure of this. Hundreds of girls lined up in endless lines from dawn to dusk, hoping to see him, at least for a moment.

On your first visit, the owner of “Angels' Share” personally serves you throughout your interruption there. Your name is inscribed in the book of exclusive customers in gold ink. Their main specialty is gourmet desserts, and if you are not seduced by the angelic face of the magnificent man who runs this place, then the sweets melting on your lips will do it instantly.

Full berries of scarlet strawberries in white Belgian chocolate. Mille-feuille with fresh wild berries. The devil's food is the most chocolate of all chocolate cakes, and, of course, the angel cake has the most delicate silk cream of exotic fruits.

As Soomin told me about it, she was clearly having an emotional orgasm. Her arousal was obvious, but I could not understand what she craved more: exquisite desserts or the sweet kiss of the owner.

“I think he's a real angel,” Soo finished her rant after giving a fiery speech about the unique beauty of a man she had never met in her life.

“I'm not sure if it's all true, Soomin, but you'll be able to see for yourself when we get there. You should not trust everything they say. You're too impressionable and trusting.”

We spent the rest of the journey in peaceful silence. This is the type of silence when there are a lot of questions in the air, but each side is not sure when to start asking them. I know she wanted to ask me a lot of things, and in response, I wanted to finally share my experiences and feelings that I had been desperately hiding for the past two months. Nevertheless, each of us remained silent, as if afraid to destroy fragile comfort with uncomfortable words.

When the car stopped, Soomin smiled approvingly at me, as if to say, “Go ahead, my girl!” She was good at it because she was also a cheerleader like Mina.

“Angels' Share” was impressive at first sight, and not only because of the long line of girls lined up in a perfect line and dressed in intricate clothes like collectible dolls on the shelf.

A myriad of flowers, lace, and feathers, pastel shades, and delicate ruffles—all of them looked like animated sugar fantasies. Their cheeks were dusted with pink blush, and their inflated lips were accentuated by a thick layer of transparent sticky gloss with a fine sprinkle of glitter.

Perfectly well-groomed hair is arranged in children’s cute curls or intricate hairstyles with hundreds of sparkling hairpins and velvet bows. The variety of their images was amazing, as was the height of their heels. This place was definitely something special if the girls were willing to sacrifice their comfort for a couple of desserts.

Or it wasn’t about desserts.

At such moments, I especially understood how much we needed someone else's approval. The list of items seems endless: he likes cute girls, girls with an athletic figure, pale skin, and big eyes; she should not be boring; my friends like her; she has long legs and a thin waist; and she is a certain height. I wonder if he'll use a ruler to measure me. Big boobs or a nice ass—which turns him on more? What will our first date be like? That's right; should I call him Oppa or not? Tell me what you want, and I will fulfill whatever you want. I will fulfill every one of your fantasies. Tell me about your desires.

Seduce me. Surprise me. Love me!

I don’t want to live like this. I want to be who I really am, with all my flaws and imperfections. I want to be sharp and rude; I want to be cruel and honest; I want to look as I want, without colorful tinsel and layers of makeup, with cellulite, stretch marks, and a little overweight. That may be so, but it will be me. Just me. 

The voice of Soomin ripped me out of my mind.

“I told you so,” said Soo smugly, purposefully heading for the entrance, circumventing a string of discharged girls. She was a lioness on a hunt, while they were stranded in colorful piles like scared rabbits.

If you do not pay attention to the girls, the exterior is fascinating. Gold, flowers, and crystal resembled the frame of a precious box. “Angels' Share” was positioned in such a way that the sun flooded it from all sides, creating around it a mysterious golden haze of sunlight and a dazzling iridescent play of crystals.

Everything was so beautiful, I won't deny it, but didn't the gingerbread house beckon the children deep into the dark forest where the wicked witch lived? Everything beautiful always has a downside, and someone knows how to mask it better than others.

While I was looking at the details, Soomin dragged me inside and was already talking to the host girl, who was checking the records for a long list of names. She also, like the girls on the street, looked like a doll. Her hair was long and shiny, tucked away from her face with an embroidered rim with Swarovski crystals, and her eyelashes were so lush that they touched her cheeks when she blinked. I would call her beautiful; she licked to perfection, which made it almost unnatural. She had a sweet, high-pitched voice and an overly friendly smile. Annoyingly friendly. 

“Please follow me; I'll show you your table. Since you have visited us for the first time, Mr. Yoon will personally take care of you today. Please enjoy your stay at “Angels' Share.”

YooA—that was the name of this girl—led us up the spiral staircase to the second floor. It seemed that everything around was carved from pale golden marble, with the addition of luxurious interior items and thousands of flowers—or, to be more precise, thousands of roses. Snow-white, cream, pastel pink, and soft peach—the whole space breathed rose buds that stood in tall transparent vases.

The sight took my breath away, and I was inwardly tense. It's okay; it's just a café, not Mina's apartment. You need to relax and not start panicking; it will not benefit anyone.

As if sensing my growing panic, Soomin squeezed my palm.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

“Yes, it’s all right; there are too many roses for my taste; you know, it brings back memories.” I smiled tortuously in response to her words. I didn’t want to ruin her day; she was so excited and happy when we came here.

“We can leave if you are not comfortable, Sarang.” Soo still held my hand, gently walking her thumb over my palm in a comforting circular motion. “If you want to go somewhere else, this is fine. I can always come back here later.”

“No!” came out too loud. “No, I’m fine. I can’t wait to try their chocolate fondant. You know I’m here only for chocolate.” She said the last part with me in one voice.

YooA showed us our table, although it was more like a small loggia separated by airy chiffon tulle and pearl threads from the common room. I could easily fall in love with this place if not for the languid, enveloping smell of roses and the beauty of their lush, perfect buds.

“Do you think the rumors are true, and we'll see an angel appearance today?” Soomin leaned across the table to talk about the owner, not so obviously?

“I think you'll find out about it now, anyway.” I couldn't finish my thoughts, interrupted by Soo's enthusiastic sigh. It was a sound of undisguised admiration that she couldn't hold back, even if she tried.

The reason for her excitement was right behind me, and I had to look back a little to see what it could have been.

Of course, all the sounds of delight belonged to none other than Mr. Yoon. In part, I could understand why he was called angel-like. His beauty was painfully perfect, to the point where it became almost terrible. His face was beautiful—almost obsessively beautiful, like the face of a stone goddess on a grave. Surreal. The skin seemed to glow from the inside, like molten silver flowing through the veins. He had long hair—ashes, platinum, mother-of-pearl—everything mixed on a diamond cloth. One silvery strand fell delicately over his face.

Are the melodies of an angelic choir in the air, or does it just seem that way to me?

The more I looked at him, the more his appearance disgusted me.

I felt flawed and unsuitable, like a puzzle that did not fit the picture; my heart did not beat faster with excitement or sweet agony; I did not burn and did not desire it as it should. Between us, it was possible to draw thousands of parallels in a myriad of universes, and none of them ever intersected. Beauty is deceptive, like a serpent promising forgiveness. It’s the pain of a bittersweet injection entering our nervous tissue.

What do we know about them—angels? White-winged light bearers, without flaws and ignorant of evil and vicious desires, are submissive and faithful to their ideals and purposes. Silent watchers who look after our virtue. But there are those who are chained and silken, whose wings are torn out with bloody flesh, for they are sinners.

Their name is the fallen. Unforgiven. 

He was not an angel. He was one of them who traded the vaults of heaven for the flames and steel of the nine circles.

His presence was heavy, stifling, and sharp. Goosebumps ran through my skin as an omen of the imminent end.

I could have sworn that the second our eyes met in his eyes, the color of dark bitter chocolate, anger, and disgust thickened. So everything that is perfect collapses, falls, beats, and crumbles like the great walls of Babylon, kissing the transcendental peak of heaven. Like a Venus flytrap, his appearance was a clever disguise of vice and rot in a velvet cage of flesh, and this place is the very gingerbread house that beckons to certain death.

 “Welcome to “Angels' Share”. My name is Yoon Sung Hoon; I own this place, and today I will make sure your stay here is unforgettable.” The voice flowed like honey smoothly and gently, I could melt at this tone.

“I am Soomin, and this is Sarang; we have heard a lot about this place.” Soo’s cheeks were pink from a shy blush, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was embarrassed. This man was clearly something special, if he could make Soomin behave like a schoolgirl in love with just his presence.

His eyes rested on my figure for a second, and I wanted to shrink into a ball under this appraising gaze, as if he was trying to probe me and understand how dangerous I could be. It was only a moment, and then a smile shone again on his angelic face.

“I hope you’ve only heard nice things about us. What do you want today?” I wonder what he is used to hearing in response. I want you and your love, and I will accept everything you would not give me. Will you be my boyfriend? My husband? Will you give me eternal love? Judging by the expression on Soomin's face, this is exactly what she wanted to ask him, but she pulled herself up in time.

“I want to taste your best dessert.” As they say, kill them with your sweetness. Where has my self-sufficiency and t.” As they say, “kill them with your sweetness.” Where has my self-sufficient and confident self gone? Soo, this blushing mess was nothing like hers.

“Of course, only the best is for you. And what do you want?” All his attention was now drawn to me, and I had no pleasure. Yoon Sung Hoon is clearly not used to girls not falling at his feet like moths hitting the glass. Our dislike was mutual. Our dislike was mutual. “What do you want, Sarang? I would recommend one of our most special desserts: a white chocolate soufflé with candied scarlet roses.” Sung Hoon was smiling, but not at all benevolent; there was something mocking in the exquisite curve of his lips, as if he were challenging me: “Come on, try me.”

Roses. Those damn roses again. It always came down to these flowers. Were they my path leading away from the dark forest, or would they lead me straight to the crystal coffin in the tallest tower of the castle?

Instead of politely refusing, as a true lady should, I have given a crude, hoarse, and utterly evil speech:

“I hate roses.”

For me, flowers are as beautiful as the pain of a broken heart. You can call me a heartbreaker. What will your heart taste like? I'm so eager to try it. 

“My apologies.” Sung Hoon bowed his head, hiding his gaze in the lace of fluttering eyelashes and platinum bangs. With this simple action, Soomin once again made a barely audible, enthusiastic sound. “In this case, I offer you our signature chocolate fondant with raspberry jam and glass caramel glaze. Our clients say that he has a heavenly taste, so celestial that he can be sinful.”

Sung Hoon—there was something about him that disgusted me. His way of speaking, his appearance, his behavior—in general, every detail of it The most beautiful apple on the branch will always be wormy. I couldn't understand how he could charm girls in a split second, without any effort, as if it were in his blood—to cause desire and awe.

During our short conversation, Soo did not look at me once, inseparably studying every detail of the angelic man. If I make an incision in his skin, will the gold pour as befits angels, or will it be the viscous and black acid that Pandora once shed from her eyes?

I didn’t like it here. I didn’t like Yoon Sung Hoon, and he probably didn’t like me. How was I in his eyes—insignificant, puny, ordinary? Our dislike was mutual but totally unfounded; I just knew I didn’t want to be in the same space with him. I can’t breathe.

Guests always leave after dessert. I didn't want to linger, so I agreed to fondant. “Okay, I'll take fondant and cappuccino.” I looked at Soomin again; her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, judging by the bitten lower lip and flushed cheeks. “And matcha latte, please.”

“Of course, ladies…” With this phrase, he finally left us, and I sighed deeply.

“I think I'm in love, Sarang.” Apparently, with his passing, Soo’s brain has resumed active activity. “He absolutely justifies all the rumors about him.”

“Yeah, I can agree with that; he’s definitely something very special.”

After Sung Hoon served desserts and another 10 minutes of heated discussion of his appearance, our conversation took its normal course. It’s like ping-pong; the rules are very simple: move from one question to another, follow the theme, and don’t miss your turn. “How's the work?” “Everything is fine.” “How’s your boyfriend?” “You remember I told you we broke up?” “What have you been doing lately?” “Too much to do; I can’t remember, but recently I came back from Japan”, “Did you like it there?” “Great seats and great cuisine.” “How do you feel, Sarang?” Say it again; I didn’t hear you.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” Once again, you speak unclearly.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” It's so loud here, I can't hear you.

“Sarang?!” Can I skip my turn? I’m tired of this game.

I took a deep, slow breath.

“What do you want me to say, Soo? Something that will calm you down or something that should comfort me? ”

“Truth, Sarang. I want to hear the truth from you.” Soomin looked at me so carefully that it seemed as though she was looking straight into my soul.

My mind moved from one thought to another, not knowing what it would focus on. Truth. What is it like, this truth? She is like a beautiful, spiritually disheveled monster with a lesbian couple of black widows in an aquarium; she exists in an endless eternity of joyful decadence and an ecstatic nightmare.

It’s no big deal to tell someone the truth, but are you ready to see your own reflection in someone else’s eyes? They say alcohol is a liquid truth, but I think it's nothing more than a road strewn with bread crumbs, straight into a dense, dark forest. The more you drink, the deeper you go. Sometimes, through the intricately woven stems of condemnation and bitterness, subtle rays of understanding break through, like the light shed by the dual face of the moon. But this happens so rarely that the eyes themselves become accustomed to the surrounding darkness.

I’m still afraid of the dark and, therefore, of the truth. Now I’m sure I’m allergic to the world.

When I looked at the café, I noticed that there were many more people. Bunny girls with colorful barrettes occupied small transparent tables filled with all sorts of desserts; others, similar to porcelain dolls, put their palms to their cheeks, flushed with embarrassment, and laughed loudly, sitting in the same loggias as ours. The sounds of clicks from selfies and aesthetic Instagram photos did not subside for a second, as did the high play of voices merging with soft background music.

This probably wasn’t the best place for such a serious conversation, but was it ever the perfect place to have a heart-to-heart?

“Honestly, I don't know. Really?” I began, stirring the thick, fragrant foam from the cappuccino. It tasted like a first kiss—a little bitter, a little sweet—something that I would like to repeat again and again. “Secrets, secrets, and more secrets—everywhere I look, no matter what I ask, they only get bigger. Everything is as usual: Mina died, and the world is still spinning around her. Remember, I told you that they still send roses? I can say that soon the cemetery will start selling bouquets because there is simply nowhere to put them. Every day there are fresh flowers on the grave.” Maybe I sounded a little petty and annoyed, but I didn't care. “I may not seem like the best person on this planet, but sometimes I feel absolutely happy that I finally managed to bury her in the ground.”  Yes, this is exactly the right moment; you are not mistaken. That was my truth, like salt and pepper, like ashes, like burned dreams.

Soomin shook her head negatively.

“You shouldn't talk about yourself like that, Sarang; you're not a bad person, and we both know it; everyone around you knows it; and even that bastard JiHo knows it. You have gone through a lot, and if I were you, I would have gone crazy long ago, but look at yourself: you are here with me, in the noise of the metropolis, and you have your whole life ahead of you.” She put her hand on top of mine, and the warmth of her body penetrated mine. “Mina was who she was, and neither you nor me nor anyone else could change her. So don't let her ghost poison your life. I'm not a fan of this entire Nancy Drew thing, but I won't dissuade you. If you want my help, I'm on board.”

I laughed bitterly, taking a sip of the coffee that had already cooled. There was something special about it—sweet, ice-cold coffee, like long-cooled love.

“Yeah, you’re right; she was who she was, but I guess we were wrong about that because those flowers broke her in half. In fact, that’s the whole point of the question: where did the roses come from? She was interested in nothing but flowers and some strange prayers. She frightened me. You know, at first it looked like another love of hers; everything was as usual—she talked incessantly about flowers and admired them, but the more roses they sent us, the less she was interested in the rest of the world. Mina withered and languished while the roses bloomed. I've never seen anyone come to our house or meet someone. Nothing, just roses—hundreds of roses. You just can't imagine how many there were.”

“You know, I don’t really want to imagine it. Okay, let’s say you find something in her files. What’s next? You really need this? Maybe we should just let go, you know, scatter the ashes to the wind.” Breaking off a slice of angel cake, Soo mooed in satisfaction as the dessert was in her mouth. “Mmm, I love sweets. Who handled her legal affairs? If this is one of the free lawyers, we should hurry; the queues in these cantors are worse than here.”

“No, no, we're not going to a free advocacy team. Wait a minute.” I pulled out of my purse a small card from a thick black cardboard and handed it to Soomin. Transparent gloss on a soft matt surface looked refined and very expensive, just like the business card itself. “Silver & Black LTD” was the name of the law firm that handled Mina’s affairs.

“You’re kidding me!” She exclaimed, almost burying her face in her business card. “That’s “Silver and Black.” How did she manage to work with them? They’re one of the most elite law practitioners in all of Seoul, and I’d say across Asia. Their lawyers are real sharks in their cases; for the existence of their practice, they have not lost a single case, and the bills for their services are simply cosmic. How does she have so much money? Sarang, did you inherit her sugar daddy too? If that's the case, ask for more; you're much more expensive than a cheerleader, and nerds are always sexier and more desirable.”

“Stop saying that like I’m a whore. I don’t know where she got the money, but are their services so expensive?” My surprise was obvious. Our family was not poor, but we were not rich; we occupied that golden layer in the class hierarchy where we could just live without any worries about tomorrow. Mina and I were well provided for, but judging by Soomin’s reaction, “Silver and Black” could afford only filthy rich and influential people.

“If I were to be offered the opportunity to trade my virginity for cooperation with them, I would have done it without hesitation. Are you sure we have an appointment with them?”

“Soomin!” Frankness was always such a simple thing for her that I felt awkward at such moments. “Of course, I called them yesterday to confirm the details.”

“What? The cult of virginity is overrated anyway, but now I'm much more interested in it.”

“Let me think, more amazing men?” “How did you guess?” Soo smiled sweetly, shoving another piece of dessert into her mouth. I snorted; I couldn’t help it. "Hey, don’t laugh! You should also consider new options, since you and JiHo have broken up. Listen to me, little Sarang, nothing will warm your bed better than a hot big boy."

"Ew, Soomin." She just laughed back.

[vivianbernadetteaurora]

Elizabeth Taylor 🦋🧚🏼‍♀️🚬💊💟👩🏻🐠🌹🥀🍿🥃🌟✨️💄♓️

,Elizabeth was one and breathtaking beauty, for many years she got married very young to get away from under her mother’s clothes and to be a free woman but this to her demise led to even worse behavior by her first husband Conrad Murray who was allegedly very abusive to her.

she admits that she was probably addicted to marriage, I think back then a lot of people married many times because you did it out of love if you were gonna be with someone you had to marry them especially in the early ages of the golden era of Hollywood the 1920s to the mid 1960s, her true love though were Mike Todd and Richard Burton Todd however died in an airplane accident in on the one night they spent away from each other on his aeroplane which he called the lucky Liz. unfortunately it wasn't so lucky she said there were the two great loves of her life so much so that she married Richard Barton twice.

many women would make fun of her I think they were a little jealous and she came off as a certain way and they looked at her with a certain demise and being easy I suppose and if she turned down roles it makes you wonder and think about what she really did because that was unheard of back then how close were her family with Hollywood producers and such was she abused like Marilyn,, it doesn’t strike me as you say but then you gotta think of this. Did the women like Marilyn because she was vulnerable and dislike Liz because she wasn’t as vulnerable my mom said that as a straight woman. That Marilyn has just got the factor I love her don't get me wrong but I love them both.

.,,However often left innocent third parties under the bus in shocking ways so who were these old Hollywood actresses infamous for sleeping around join us as we take a deep dive into these famous actresses their raunchy ways and the often damaging aftermath of their actions., Elizabeth Taylor possibly the most famous name on this list Elizabeth Taylor claimed the love of fans around the world with her unique beauty and dramatic talent not only that she was also known for being one of the most notorious seductresses in Hollywood she claimed her most scandalous prize when she fraternized with singer actor Eddie Fisher what was most controversial was Fisher was then married to Taylor’s best friend.. Debbie Reynolds but it turned out to not just be a one off hookup as Taylor and Fisher later wed but ultimately divorced Taylor apologized to Reynolds years later and the two once again became friends Taylor had seven husbands throughout her life but married who she believed to be the love of her life actor Richard Burton twice after her final divorce in 1996 to construction worker Larry fortensky. Taylor claimed to have had enough of men and remained single until her death in 2011,,.. Diana doors English singer and actress Diana doors first came to public notice as a blonde bombshell much in the style of Marilyn Monroe she made tabloid headlines with the parties reportedly held at her house later she showed a genuine talent as a performer on TV and gained new public popularity as a regular chat show guest.. with her ostentatious mansion kitchy decadence and debauched parties Doris was the definition of notorious she married three times had numerous lovers and was even called a wayward Hussey by the Archbishop of Canterbury it wasn’t just her roles and low budget films she was famous for but filming people having sex in her house doris’s guest would watch grainy footage, of an unsuspecting couple who had chosen to cavort in one of the dimly lit upstairs bedrooms.

[toomanyfandoms11]

Background on the Tim hiring Deathstroke thing in this https://www.tumblr.com/toomanyfandoms11/749474013724721152/toomanyfandoms

In my little universe that I like to maladaptive daydream in basically, Janet Drake, Slade Wilson, and Wade Wilson are all siblings.

Janet is the oldest child, and thefore according to family tradition the only child that cannot legally be linked to any crime (plz ask me about the Drake family lore. Also, Jack was the one killed by Captain Boomerang ).

Slade and Wade are twins, (their father had a sense of humor and their mother was too out of it to complain.) and bear the title of murder uncles.

Getting to the Joker bit: when Jason was being killed by the Joker, Tim was on a “family holiday”(training trip) to upstate New York (X-Mansion, most of the X-Men were too afraid to ask about the 10 year old that followed Deadpool around except for Wolverine, who taught him how to skin a moose, and Madelyne Pryor for some reason) and as a result did not learn about his death until about a month or so after it happened.

When Tim learned about his death he decided to wait a bit for Batman to settle down, thinking that he just needed to get the anger stage of grief out of the way and then he would go to therapy like a normal person. Tim was the sort of kid that would read the picture books about getting over grief when he was waiting in the doctors office.

Unfortunately, there were no picture books about superhero phycology. After about few months, Batman showing no signs of stopping and expressing his grief like a normal person, Nightwing finding out about Jason’s death through a newspaper tabloid and the two of them having an argument on top of the Gcpd station that was live-streamed by anyone with a phone and became headline news for a week, Tim decided to take matters into his own hands and hire his current favorite uncle (Wade had recently given him a pair of socks as a gift instead of the forensics book he wanted) and ask him politely (blackmail him with the time Slade had given him coffee while babysitting) to kill the Joker, “Pretty please Uncle Slade? I’ll make you cookies!”

Slade accepted this offer and went (with no small amount of glee/relief) to finally put a bullet through that waste of carbon’s skull. But, alas, Paul Verlaine (King of Assassins, Executive in the Port Mafia, Ex-Titans member and former boyfriend of Nightwing) got there first. After this, Tim’s story goes the route you would expect (with a twist~). After one too many times of Batman putting criminals in the ICU instead of talking to a therapist, Tim decides enough is enough and goes to Nightwings apartment in Bludhaven to ask him to arrange an intervention for Batman with the Justice League, or he will release Batman and Nightwings identity’s to the public.

Dick Grayson, after hearing this, dose not go “This seems like Bruce’s problem” and drop him off at the Batcave. He instead goes “who’s sassy lost child is this”, has the Bat-adoption gene arise for the first time, and decides that he will adopt this child who ran around Gotham alone stalking Batman and Robin, or die trying.

Janet, after talking with the man who drove her child back from Bludhaven at 4:30 am, is slightly leaning towards the second option, but she knows that A. Jack is a terrible father, and while she tries her best, she is also not winning mom of the year anytime soon and B. Shared custody is a thing.

And so, after 3 sword fights (one for each Drake-Wilson sibling), 5 panicked calls to Alfred about “Holy frick I’m turning into Bruce”, many late nights studying “how do I parent a 10 year old”, 1 realization of “holy **** I really do want to be a parent”, and a very well paid lawyer ( Matt Murdock), Dick Grayson becomes the legal parent of a one Timothy Drake, with the media explanation (that is true, but deleteing the superhero parts) being that Janet and Jack realized that they could not be the parents the Tim deserved to have, and that Dick Grayson could. (They got alternating weekends and cultural holidays (Jack is Chinese).

After a month or so, Dick takes Tim to meet Bruce (Dick did the intervention thing, it took the combined forces of Superman, Wonder Woman, Black Canary, Alfred, and Catwoman to get him to go to therapy.) and in the meeting Tim cheerfully reveals that A. He had figured out Batman and Robins secret identities when he was 9 (He went to a gala that the Wayne’s were at, and Dick did a quadruple somersault off of a chandelier that Tim remembered Nightwing doing) and B. He once hacked into Shield on accident when he was looking for a website that had a show he liked on it

[nivea-ah]

you should totally compile a list of all your fav tddk fics!! I’m always looking for recs!! 👀

(finally got the ask I was waiting for for ages yess)

I have so many tddk fic recs (that's what happens when you've been reading tddk since 2020) but I've compiled my favourites here!

you could be the one that I love

“Oh please. You know he likes you as more than just a friend. Why don’t you just tell him you feel the same?”

I can’t, because he’ll drop everything to come back when I ask him to, and I can’t be the one who ruins his dreams to fulfill my own selfish ones.

“I just can’t.”

[In which twenty-seven year old pro-hero Shouto yearns for years thousands of miles away from Izuku and writes him letters filled with wishes and confessions he never intends to share.]

....

It's a post canon fic and it's SO SO GOOD. I had so many feels reading this it's so wonderful and so good and so cute UGH. please read it makes you very happy.

....

nine centuries and counting

When Izuku is happy, he makes flowers bloom.

....

okay SO. I haven't reread this fic in ages but I remember it feeling SO GOOD and I think that's a feeling everyone should experience at least once. It's a goblin au (the kdrama) and the fic makes me want to watch it

....

Coffee and Red Bull

Todoroki Shouto didn’t like people watching, but some people were too interesting to be ignored.

....

so funny and so cute. It's only 2k words so it's very good for a quick read. Izuku overworks and shouto finds that concerning and a little adorable.

....

the fire escape

Shouto Todoroki is in love with a superhero.

He doesn’t understand how this superhero came to exist; all he knows is that there was no news one day, and then blown up headlines the next. They talked about a bus full of people saved by a masked person who used his incredible strength to keep the vehicle from falling off the side of a bridge when the brakes stopped working. Other, smaller stories popped up from those who recognized him--or at least, the green and white mask he wore.

....

SPIDERMAN AU.

that's it. what more should I say. it's so good. there's that iconic upside down kissing too so I think it's a wonderful deal.

....

red delicious

Izuku might have a problem. Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an understatement. He definitely has more than just a problem because Todoroki Shouto should not look this good eating a god damn apple.

....

this fic is just them making out and personally I love that sooo

it's actually very cute you should read it mwah

....

Who is he to say no?

Izuku looked up and saw a dark look pass through the other's face, Izuku did not notice before but the other's eyes were red and now they were glowing as they were two little moons, obsessed and transfixed on the blood that had seeped out of his mouth.

“Oh.” Izuku said, frozen still.

Or Where a sick human falls in love with a timeless being and lives longer than he ever expected to.

....

This, too, I read long ago BUT I FELT GOOD AFTER I READ IT SO ITS GOOD I FEEL. it's vampire todoroki and I really like that so

....

Moonlight Sonata

There was something vulnerable in Todoroki's expression, in the parting of his lips and the way he tilted his face upwards, unguarded for once. Izuku would compare him to a painting were it not for the fact that not even the most skilled artist in the world would be able to match such beauty or capture such emotion as the one evoked by the sight of Todoroki playing the piano.

....

guys,,, this fic is so good. it's actual literature. It's set in some regency au where shouto is izuku's master in some sorts BUT DONT WORRY NO POWER DYNAMICS. please read it it's very good

....

I have LOTS more left to recommend but I thought I'll recommend some of the ones I haven't seen recommended a lot? If you want more, just ask, I love spreading my tddk agenda >:)

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Another one that I start with news of a terrorist attack. -_- This morning, a terrorist started shooting at several vehicles driving down the Jordan Valley, one of which was a school bus. The driver of this bus confirmed that the terrorist was wearing what looked like an IDF uniform. According to Magen David Adom (Red Star of David) there are at least 3 people injured, one is a 13 years old kid, another is in serious condition. The terrorist has not yet been neutralized.

After Amit Soussana's testimony about being raped by Hamas, we also have a Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) terrorist admitting during an interrogation that he had raped a woman in her home in an Israeli kibbutz. It's not the first such testimony, but these are important enough that when they're published, they ALL must be heard.

The prosecution against the terrorists responsible for the massacre of October 7 has been expanded to include clauses which could end with the death penalty (I found a link to a journalistic source online, then I accidentally closed that tab, and can't find it again, but it's been reported on TV. The following tweet recounts the indictments, though the headline is misleading. A death sentence has not been approved, it's just now approved that it's a possible outcome of the trials, once they take place).

For those unfamiliar with the Eurovision Song Contest, it's an event that has been run since 1956, with the intent to help heal a post-war Europe, by allowing countries to have a friendly competition (instead of a bloody conflict), and also have a chance to get to know each other better through music. It's meant to be a unifying, and therefore also a-political fun music fest. This contest has since been expanded to include all countries that are members of the European Broadcasting Union, which means Israel also gets to compete since 1973, and has even won 4 times. I wrote this post about our entry this year, if anyone's curious. In recent years, the ESC has been used for annual anti-Israel propaganda, way before the war in Gaza. This year, a senior official in Israel's National Security Office had to issue a warning for any Israelis going to the competition in Sweden, to be careful and hide their identity as much as possible. I am passing along the warning, because wherever Israelis are in danger, so are Jews in general.

After Canada, Sweden, Australia and Finland, now France is also declaring that it will fund UNRWA again, proving that no amount of complicity in anti-Jewish terrorism will stop some European countries from passing along money to those who have raped, maimed, tortured and murdered us. But no worries! France promises it will ensure that their money won't go to terrorism. I will just remind everyone that France brokered a "deal" to pass along medications to Israeli hostages with chronic illnesses in Gaza, in exchange for an additional 1,000 packages of meds for Gazans. It then said they got reassurance that the meds got to those hostages (meaning, France quoted Qatar, which quoted Hamas, so this is the international diplomacy version of, "Trust me, bro. I'm a highly reliable antisemitic terrorist"). When Israeli soldiers got to a hospital in Gaza, they found some of the med packages for the Israeli hostages in its pharmacy, unopened and clearly not delivered to the rightful address. So... IDK about you, but I'm pretty sure even the French know their assurances about the UNRWA funding are just empty words.

This is 40 years old Mohammad Alatrash.

He's an Israeli Bedouin Muslim Arab, and father of 13, including a one month old baby. He was kidnapped on Oct 7, and has been held captive in Gaza since. Mohammad's uncle said the whole family's life has not been normal since he was taken hostage. Despite that, today several families of hostages had a tour of the attacked communities in the south, with Israel's and Belgium's Foreign Ministers, his brother Salem said that they're okay with Mohammad being released later, as long as Hamas frees the female hostages. "It's hell what they're made to go through there." Just a reminder that Mohammad is one of the Israeli Muslim hostages that Hamas could have and chose not to release even during the month holy to all muslims, Ramadan.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[scoops-aboy86]

do you think you'd ever write like a truly Fat Steve?

(This ask is from June 2024, and I have more that I need to get to. Sorry! I’m working on it, just… no timeline. But I am aware and intend to get to them all at some point, depending on how inspiration strikes. Anyway:)

Tentatively yes. Because! Define “truly fat”? I usually start with the beginning of gaining and/or getting kinky with it because I am obsessed with ✨backstory✨. It’s not a hard and fast rule though. 

Here’s a secret about me: I am allergic to numbers, and therefore generally won’t be very specific about exact weight or measurements. Bonus secret, in some ways (especially with visuals) my imagination can be very… either literally exact or just vibes, I guess. It requires references, which is honestly just rude. Some have called me a perfectionist; they are correct. So a lot of the time I leave some details kind of vague because I am afraid of something Not Making Sense just because I have a poor sense of proportions. 

Okay, all that said, here’s almost 4k words of quite fat Steve. 

~

Steve who knows that Eddie was an almost, a one that got away. Steve who overeats because he’s ambivalent about “keeping in shape for the ladies” these days and he likes food, takes to snacking after any time he jerks off the way some people have an after sex cigarette. Steve who ends up living in Chicago because that’s where Robin goes for school, and eventually she talks him into trying community college. 

He’s doing alright, although definitely overweight at this point and perpetually on the verge of needing to buy new polos again (half because of his ever growing belly, half because of stains). Still has the BMW—although lately the front seat is getting a little constricting, and don’t even get him started about how tight the seat belt already is. Works two jobs, one in telemarketing slinging shit he doesn’t care about and one at the concession stand at a movie theater, the latter part time with Robin. (He could’ve done telemarketing full time, but she needed a part time job and they can’t work customer service jobs not together, it feels weird. Also, she’s gotten really good at throwing popcorn into his mouth, all the lessons he’s given her on how to aim and account for distance and weight and, like, wind or whatever are finally paying off. 

Unfortunately, his car has to go to the shop for a bit and he has to brave public transportation to get to school and the theater job. Not such a big deal—sure, he has to turn sideways to get down the aisle in busses, but as a tradeoff his belly doesn’t have to fight the steering wheel for space. 

Then one day, after sighing in relief as he gets to the bus stop and sits on the bench to rest while he waits, someone asks, “Mind if I sit here?” And he looks up, and it’s Eddie Munson. 

~

Eddie who never got his high school diploma and left Hawkins as soon as he’d healed up enough to drive, in the hopes of getting folks to stop vandalizing his uncle’s new trailer. Eddie who’s still in a band, albeit a new one since the Corroded Coffin guys couldn’t go with him, and just got back from their first headliner tour around the Midwest—successful enough to be on the radio and have a decent following but not have to deal with paparazzi, which he considers the sweet spot. Eddie who recognizes Steve immediately and can’t not talk to him; he hasn’t stopped thinking about the guy since the day he left, no amount of weight is going to change that. 

So he’s actually kind of breathless when he says hello, half from the shock and half because he’d just sprinted a block and a half with smoker’s lungs. When Steve looks up at him Eddie wiggles his fingers, reminiscent of the little wave Steve had given him in Reefer Rick’s boatshed years ago, and adds, “Hi Stevie.”

Unfortunately, Steve is still equally out of breath from walking half a block at a sedate pace. He can’t answer right away, because he is suddenly aware that his body weight has… doubled? More than doubled? He doesn’t even own a scale, so he doesn’t know. But probably at least doubled since Eddie saw him last. He watches basketball on TV instead of playing it these days, because all he does with his free time is laze around and eat. The other day, he’d had to plop his belly down on the counter to take pressure off his lower back while making his lunch (several boxes of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese).

In this moment, he has no idea how Eddie recognized him. He feels huge. He feels fat. And that… whatever it was that always nudged him to eat after getting off (and sometimes, increasingly, before, because he feels hungry so much more often now), it sparks deep in his core. 

And it’s Eddie. It’s Eddie. 

Steve licks his lips, reaches absently into a pocket, and starts unwrapping a chocolate chip granola bar. “H-hi Eddie,” he stutters, still surprised and eyes wide and, god, he’s so grateful that his big belly and wide thighs thoroughly hide the effect this is having on him. 

Eddie says something in reply, but Steve is too distracted to catch it. Too busy chewing, swallowing, finishing the granola bar in three big bites and pulling another from the same pocket (he always brings snacks for the bus) to gobble down the same way. He wants to rock where he sits, get some friction on his stiffening dick—but he’s got some self control, even if it requires a third granola bar to maintain itself. 

“Um…” Steve swallows his last bite and squeezes his legs together hard, aware that Eddie looks nervously expectant, like he just asked a question. “Sorry, say that again?”

A ringed hand drifts up, twining into some of Eddie’s curly hair and drawing it across his mouth—nervous habit, one that Steve remembers so well. “Oh, uh. Just… Am I bothering you? I can leave, but. If you don’t want to take the bus I could give you a ride? I'm only parked a few blocks away, I could bring it around and pick you up.”

All Steve can think to say is, stupidly, “I haven’t seen you in years!”

He doesn’t mean it as a no—he’s not mad or anything, just reeling and embarrassed and… hungry—but can tell immediately that’s how Eddie takes it. Those rich brown eyes dim and slant away from his gaze. “Yeah… Sorry, man, I’ll get—”

“Wait,” Steve interrupts, his heart hammering at the thought of losing him again so immediately. “I’m just surprised is all, don’t… don’t go.”

So Eddie tentatively offers that ride again, and Steve accepts while his stomach does all kinds of sluggish summersaults, and since that gets him to the community college campus over an hour early they have time to duck into a nearby cafe and reconnect a bit over coffee. 

Well. Eddie has coffee. Steve has a milkshake, a sandwich, and a series of pastries, some of which Eddie gets for him when he notices Steve glancing wistfully back towards the glass case by the register. They talk about what they’ve each been up to, what plans they have, Steve catching Eddie up on all their mutual friends he’d fallen out of touch with, but they don’t talk about feelings. All too soon it’s time for Steve to start making his way to class, so they make plans to meet up later. 

~

Steve learns that Eddie is doing very well for himself, has a three bedroom apartment with no roommates, in a building with an elevator and everything. A new truck, sleek and black, with a cover on the back so he can still haul his amps around as needed and (to Steve’s relief) wide, comfortable seats. A perpetually fully stocked fridge—because, he sheepishly explains, his manager hired a service for him when he’s in the city after a few incidents of getting so intensely focused on his music or other projects that he’d forgotten to take care of himself. Central air conditioning, which means that as soon as summer starts both Steve and Robin spend as much time there as possible instead of sweating to death at their place. 

And Steve eats so much, because it’s there and Eddie keeps offering. He eats constantly. He eats until his belly is sore and heaving, and his jaw aches, and he can barely pull his shirt down far enough or his pants up high enough to keep himself fully covered. 

Robin hardly bats an eye, because she knows him like the back of her hand and nothing he does can ever surprise her, but Eddie never comments on his habits either and that’s… Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. Breaks out in snacks whenever he thinks about that, aware that it could be bad or it could be fine, but knowing that he’s not going to stop either way. He’s just so hungry all the time now, and his willpower isn’t strong enough to try for some bullshit illusion that he doesn’t stuff himself until he physically can’t swallow any more on a regular basis. There’s no chance of hiding what he is. 

Fat. 

And still, Eddie never comments on it. Part of Steve wonders what he would have to do to break that streak. Another part of him fantasizes about it, working food into his ‘personal time’ routine on an increasingly regular basis. Gasps “What have I done to myself” and “Couldn’t help it, so good, got so big” while he uses one hand to cram more into himself and the other to hold his belly and side rolls, jiggle them, rub and press his own soft mass down against his leaking cock until he comes without even directly touching himself… Something he only does at Eddie’s when he’s sure Eddie is out and not coming home for hours, because Steve knows when to keep his clothes on.

(They still never have talked about feelings. Steve is convinced that Eddie doesn’t feel the same way, or he would’ve said something by now—overlooking the fact that he is pining for Eddie and hasn’t said anything yet either.)

He registers for classes again in the fall. Just one more semester until he has enough credits for some very basic degree, which is a relief because getting around from class to class is really starting to wear on him, huffing and puffing enough that Robin has graciously told him he doesn’t have to keep up their customer service servitude together anymore. The weather starts to cool down, so she isn’t at Eddie’s quite so often—not out of borderline-heatstroke necessity, anyway; they still see each other pretty much every day. But Steve is almost always there, taking up space on the couch that he would’ve sunk a permanent divot into if it weren’t such high quality furniture. Taking up Eddie’s extra phone line for his now full-time telemarketing gig because “It’s extra, Steve, this is exactly the kind of shit it’s for.” He’s practically moved in by accident, though again Eddie has never commented on the fact. One of the guest rooms is pretty well stocked with Steve’s clothes, the bed is sturdy and comfortable, paid for with the money he made from finally selling his BMW since he no longer fit behind the wheel anyway. And Eddie must have one hell of a laundry service too because somehow his clothes never seem to hold stains for long anymore. 

(Eddie is, in fact, replacing Steve’s clothes. He doesn’t want the guy to feel embarrassed, it’s natural at that size to overlook just how many spills and oopsies are building up on the fabric, or how waistlines and shirt bottoms are failing to contain his ever-growing bulk. Steve just looks so happy when he’s eating, so content when he’s full. It’s all Eddie can do some days not to touch, so really he’s just trying to save himself from the temptation around sinking into that warm comfort and lose the best friend he’s ever had.)

~

Everything’s great. And then, one day when Steve knows Eddie will be at the recording studio until late, he gives into a greedy impulse and goes all out. He orders round after round of takeout, grazing in Eddie’s kitchen in between deliveries but tries to stick to binging on stuff he’s paid for instead of completely freeloading. (There’s a sting of old humiliation in that, an echo of his father calling him an entitled, spoiled brat, but that just has him ordering more and more to fill up all the space in him so the echoes have nowhere to go.) Knock after knock at the door and he’s beyond comfortably full, rocking to heave himself and his belly that spills over his thighs to standing, coming back with boxes and bags that he’s careful to set within easy reach, sometimes on the shelf of his distended gut. His shirt is so stretched his cavernous belly button is either obvious through the straining fabric or on full display when it rides up, and he’s so lost to everything that the only reason he bothers to keep pulling it down again is to revel in how tight it is. He’s so full. 

Occasionally he dozes off and snorts himself awake at the next knock with food still left in the bags, in his hands, in his mouth—and answers the door eating, who cares what the delivery guy thinks, he can’t fall behind, he’s better than that. He doesn’t think much of it beyond a dazed, half-baked fantasy that it’s Eddie coming to feed him, touch him, make him feel nothing short of ready to pop—but it doesn’t make sense, does it. Why would Eddie knock on the door to his own home? Eddie won’t be back until late, anyway. 

Steve is about ready to drift again and is laboriously shoveling lo mein into his mouth to try and beat that buzzer. His entire body feels so flushed, stretched, singing with sensory overload that he barely notices (what he later learns is) the sound of a guitar case being fumbled, caught, and set hastily on the floor for its own safety. “Almost there,” he’s panting to himself in between bites, “almost, so fuh—urrrrp. So fucking close… Eds, I need more…”

And then Eddie whispers, “Jesus H. Christ.”

~

Everything’s hard for Eddie these days. 

… No, literally. 

The apartment is too big for just him; he’d bought it with the intention of moving his uncle out to live with him, but ought to have listened earlier to how adamant Wayne was (and still is) about staying in Indiana. So he’d welcomed Steve eagerly back into his life, and by extension Robin, into his home, and is ecstatic at how closely the other man seems to have taken the invitation to heart. And Robin is great! It’s been wonderful reconnecting to both of them, fellow survivors of a fucked up alternate dimension. 

Whenever she’s not there as a buffer, though, Eddie finds that he can’t take his eyes off of Steve. The content look in his half-lidded eyes while he eats and drinks and, sometimes, licks at his own fingers so eagerly that Eddie has to drape the blanket on the back of the couch over his lap fast. The way he seems to go boneless when he’s finally sated, drifting off on some internal cloud while his hands mindlessly rove over the bulge of his swollen belly while Eddie stares, unnoticed, and thinks about Steve’s bulge in every sense of the word so much until it all reverse-kaleidoscopes into a single thing in his head. 

Because sometimes Steve forgets himself and lets out these little moans while he’s eating, or his shirt rides up and puts an entire swath of temptingly mole-dotted, stretch-marked skin, and it’s, it’s Steve. It’s Steve. Eddie is helpless but to look while Steve goes for hours on end, and pine in silence, and perish in his bed or occasionally in a bathroom with yet another little death devoted to the guy, this god amongst men, a valiant warrior turned generous Dionysus. 

His band keeps teasing him for all the overdramatic metal ballads he’s been churning out lately, but it’s good-natured. They have plenty of new material for a good mix of stuff on the next album. 

All summer is exquisite torture, with Steve often too comfortable (full) to want to head home and Eddie all too eager to offer his guest room. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, at least he’s not alone in an empty home—which, yeah, he can spot the irony, oh how the tables have turned and so on and so forth. 

Until the night Eddie comes home and nearly drops his beloved Sweetheart, the very guitar that he’d played in the depths of an actual hell. 

It’s no defense against the sight of Steve resplendent on the couch, belly standing solid and round from his frame and heaving between gulps of food and air. He looks like he could’ve been gorging himself all day, judging by all the detritus around the couch—so much that Eddie’s not sure how Steve could’ve possibly expected to get it all cleaned up before he got caught, but. Maybe (and Eddie’s throat goes dry at the thought) he’d meant to, but just couldn’t bring himself to stop. It sounds like that might be the case, from the desperate gurgling of his gut and strained burps and the way he’s moaning to himself about close and almost, in a tone Eddie has heard in bedrooms and back alleys way more than any dinner table. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie whispers, because he wants to get his hand on Steve’s bulging gut, hold and jiggle and caress until both of them come. He wants it, he wants—

But Steve has noticed him now. Noticed and jolted, as though trying to get up, except all the motion does is spill the very little amount of noodles still left in the takeout container balanced on his belly. With a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine, Steve tosses the styrofoam trough to flop on the floor and scoops the food off his shirt, ducking his head down as far as his double chin allows to shove it straight into his mouth. Still watching Eddie, making that sound again, and making a more coordinated effort to stand up. 

Except he can’t. Falls back with a groan and a ripple of impact that shows across his entire body, belly smacking against his legs that can’t spread far enough to really be apart anymore, and Eddie is by his side without registering crossing the room. 

“Steve! Are you okay? Can I do anything?”

“Shir’s tight,” Steve practically slurs, though there’s no evidence of any alcohol nearby. Several empty liters of soda, sure, but no booze. “Help…”

Eddie is already jamming his fingers under the hem of said shirt, wriggling and easing it up until he frees the top of Steve’s belly. He goes to pull it over Steve’s pecs and accidentally finds out those are sensitive, judging by the gasp Steve lets out. But there’s no help for it, Eddie is committed now, his jeans feeling like they’re strangling his dick as his hands drag over Steve’s swollen nipples and forest of chest hair that feels even thicker than it looked in Spring of ‘86. 

So soft, radiating warmth and scents of cologne and hairspray and sweat and Steve. Heavy arms jiggling as he lifts them for Eddie to peel the shirt the rest of the way off, and then slumping again as though the effort had cost him dearly. Clutching what he can reach of his belly and moaning. 

“Eddie, I, fuck, ‘mso, close—shit.” Steve looks at him with wild eyes, and that’s when Eddie realizes—“Can’t reach, god, Eddie, please, I n-need…”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, his heart both singing and breaking a little at the desperation in his voice. “You want me to? Can I?”

Fervent nodding, and Steve does his panting best to lift his belly, spread his legs where they’re tight in the sweatpants Eddie thinks he was wearing when he’d left for the studio that morning, wearing most mornings lately. They’d looked tight even then, and now even when he finds the waistband it’s missing the ends of the drawstring poking out it’s so stretched. They also leave nothing about Steve’s predicament to the imagination, an impressive wet spot in the fabric across his erection, going commando underneath. 

It’s easier to rip them at both sides than pull them off over his ass, Eddie kneeling on the floor before him now and Steve groaning above that it hurts so good, that he just needs to come and it’ll feel so good. He’s begging, and part of Eddie would wonder if Steve even really registers who’s with him if it weren’t for the moans that sound like Eddie, Eds, baby. And with the rip his belly drops, slaps his bare thighs, wobbles—but Eddie grabs it with both hands and heaves it back up as gently as he has the patience for (not very). Steve cries out, maybe from pain at the jarring motion or maybe from ecstasy as Eddie dives in and wraps his lips around the tip of his weeping dick, sucks him down as far as he can (just the first few inches) with the bulge of Steve’s legs and the fat pad hiding beneath his belly and said belly bearing down on Eddie’s forehead despite his best efforts, Steve spasming in an attempt to roll his hips but he’s pinned himself with hours of overindulgence—

Eddie is determined to show him every blessed and sinful trick he’s learned from being an avid cocksucker all his adult life. This might be his only chance to prove he can be the best Steve’s ever had, he has to. 

And just maybe, if the breathless wail Steve lets out as he comes is any indication, he succeeds. 

~

Steve graduates from community college, but doesn’t attend the ceremony. 

Why would he? The last few months have been a hazy blur of indulgence, of Eddie keeping the snacks dutifully coming while he studied or took telemarketing calls. His doting boyfriend has ferried him from the apartment to classes and back, swinging by as many drive-thrus as needed in transit either way to keep Steve appropriately stuffed and undistracted by hunger, letting Steve lean on him for what felt like longer and longer walks between the parking lot and his classrooms. During finals, at a reinforced bench and table Robin had helped him specifically request as a necessary accommodation, all Steve had needed to do was trace certain stretch marks and daydream about specific treats to recall the information he wanted. 

He’s a college graduate. Eddie’s career is enough to support them both, and Robin is happy to come stay with Steve whenever the band is off touring. The farthest he needs to go anymore is from the gigantic bed he and Eddie now share to the couch—though sometimes, if he’s feeling frisky, he’ll go all the way to the kitchen and plop himself down directly in front of the fridge. It’s getting harder to maneuver but so worth it, filling his belly until he aches from how much it weighs him down so that Eddie can come home and find him beached and already red-faced from how worked up he feels. 

They celebrate his degree coming in the mail with Steve on his rounded hands and knees, sheet cake in front of him and Eddie behind, railing him face-first into the buttercream, the days of running and screaming and pain and blood so far in the past that Steve can barely remember, barely even think about anything that isn’t the glorious, decadent present. 

They’re going to have a party later, with everyone they still keep in touch with from Hawkins coming over and even more cake to indulge in. He has Eddie, babbling love and adoration while working his way towards coming so hard inside Steve that both their toes curl. Robin is—well she’s not here for this part, but she’s his ride or die platonic other half, unshakable for life. Everything, including every messy mouthful of cake and cream and sticky filling, is absolutely perfect. 

Steve has never been happier or felt more complete in his entire life, and he can’t wait to keep indulging in more of the same. 

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@ape31

[kenobers]

Gangs of Coruscant | mobster!Obi-Wan Kenobi x fem!reader

Chapter One: Dire Straits

but first free palestine !! The 23-year-old reader gets a fresh start in Coruscant after landing a sign language interpreter gig at one of the biggest hospitals in the galaxy. However, that plan flatlines after reader's attempts to be punctual land her somewhere she really really shouldn't be, where she sees something she really really shouldn't see. As luck would have it, that something just so happens to be the business of the most terrifying (and strikingly handsome) man in the city. tw: Mafia!AU, mentions of guns, drugs & violence, being held against one's will & non-sexual coercion (but not maliciously?), older manDisclaimer: Yes, this is a romanization of the concept of the mafia, but it is also a fictionalization based on the structure of the Jedi Order. No character in this story is based on any real life mobster and no plot point is based on an actual organized crime story. I am aware that most crime lords do not look like Obi-Wan Kenobi nor am I encouraging anyone to actually try and get with a made man (or woman). Please direct all complaints to Marty Scorsese. God Bless.

There was no way you were keeping this job.

You showed up late to orientation, much to the disapproval of the hospital director. Now you had completely missed your first official day. It wasn’t for lack of trying, honestly. The bus had arrived late on orientation day. When a kind older gentleman told you this was a common occurrence, you decided you could carve out extra time for the twenty-five minute walk. 

Then you missed a turn. Then another. Then you’d discovered you left your wallet at home and that your phone had, in fact, not charged overnight. Then you took a chance on a bus. Then ended up on an entirely different side of Coruscant. 

That had all been seven hours ago, when the sun was still up. The infamous neon lights of the central city were now a distant glow, taunting you from miles away. So much for being a sign language interpreter, you thought bitterly, so much for a brand new life in Coruscant. Not only were you going to lose the job you moved to this enormous city for, you might just lose your life. Oh, well. At least that was the worst that could happen. 

This side of the city was…there was no other word for it, shady. It was made up of graying warehouses and shipyards, abandoned by workers who had long since headed home. The few people you came across didn’t give the impression they wanted to be bothered. Not that your anxiety would’ve allowed you to try. Or at least it wouldn’t have an hour ago, before the hunger headache set in. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been cutting through the damn labyrinth of empty warehouses when you finally came across one with the lights on. The grimy windows dulled the sickly yellow shine, but it seemed like the most cliche sign from God.

You stopped before the aging building, weighing the thought of going in. A man’s laugh sounded from inside, making you jump. The news headline, “CORUSCANT’S MAFIA FAMILIES SPREAD THEIR POWER THROUGHOUT THE CITY” flashed in your mind. The words ‘brutal’, ‘ruthless’ and ‘violent’ had made appearances in the first paragraph. There had been a picture attached; a blurry image of two or three men slipping out of the senate building, a winged insignia sewn onto a leather jacket, a different flash of red against white fabric. 

To be fair, you hadn’t seen the symbol anywhere. You’d even read that the extent of the mob was overplayed by conspiracy theorists, driven by the myth of a couple of notorious figures. What was the chance you would actually come across someone ‘brutal’ and ‘ruthless’. The place looked like a shot out of GoodFellas, but a bus had brought you here. It looked like it was a busy area in the morning. It was too obvious. And more than anything, you were desperate now. It at least had to be worth poking your head in. 

Cautiously you approached the open door, took a breath and peered in. A shaggy haired young man leaned against a pillar, still laughing. 

“It’s not even that funny!” a young female voice shouted, although you could tell she was restraining her own giggles. Your eyes strained to see where the sound was coming from. Probably late night dock workers, you figured with relief.

‘Hello’ died on your lips and resurrected as a gasp when you laid your eyes on the large pile of spice and blasters in the middle of the floor. The man snapped his head towards you. You caught a glimpse of a nasty scar adorning his right eye and a set of white wings on the shoulder of his black jacket.

Terrified, you stumbled back into the shadows before he could get a good look at you. You backed away blindly, willing your fight or flight to take the wheel. 

Just as you were about to turn around, the rich scent of amber and vanilla filled the air and an unseen arm wrapped itself around your chest from behind. A large hand covered your mouth as you screamed, leaving the taste of a leather glove on your lips. Your back was pulled flush against a broad chest, the butt of a blaster prodding the small of your back.

Your fight or flight officially turned to lead as the weight of impending doom crushed your reflexes. 

“You’ve been lurking around here all night,” a smooth, accented voice murmured in your ear. The warm breath on your neck made you shiver. In any other situation, it might’ve excited you. “Who sent you, young

one?”

You tried to shake your head, but the hand covering your mouth had moved to grasp your chin. 

“I-I’m lost,” you stuttered. “I-I didn’t mean t-to-to see anything, I-I’m just lost.” 

“Lost?” your captor mused. 

Tears pricked your eyes. He didn’t sound like he believed you. “I don’t-I don’t even know where I am.” 

He tilted your chin up, craning your neck to meet a piercing pair of blue eyes that light up in the darkness. The face above you couldn’t be more than 35-years-old. Despite the lack of lighting, you could make out well kept fair hair, complimented by a matching beard. He was handsome, strikingly so. Your brain went blank for a moment. 

“Obi-Wan, who is that?” a male voice called from the door of the warehouse. Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered to his companion but yours stayed trained on him. 

“Someone saw something she shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan responded, looking back at you thoughtfully. He tapped your jaw and hummed, sending a vibration through you. Then he released your chin, only to tighten his grip on your shoulders. “Come with me.” 

You made no attempt to disobey as he led you into the warehouse. The scarred man waited by the doorway, his split eyebrow raised, evidently sharing in your confusion. You cringed under the intensity of his watch. His stance was relaxed, his arms were crossed, but he looked at you like he might lunge at any given moment. 

“This is what the alarm picked up?”

You winced as he gestured to you. He rolled his eyes and pulled a lighter out of his pocket.  

“Now Anakin, be nice to our guest.” 

He gave you a sarcastic, tightlipped smile before shoving his hand back in his pocket. 

You sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that you weren’t about to be tortured to death. Although you weren’t holding out hope; you’d been praying all day. 

Obi-Wan sat you in a folding chair, the cold metal burning through the thin fabric of your button-up. 

A young woman around your age with fiery red hair and two blue and white braids appeared from behind the pile of spice. You gathered that’s who you heard earlier. She watched you with wide interested eyes as she handed Obi-Wan another chair. 

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” he nodded. You sent her a pleading look, but she merely gave you a friendly smile before retreating to the other man. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and you snapped your attention back to him. He was even more handsome in good lighting. He looked…almost kind, even as he studied you with a straight face. His hair was auburn and each stand looked as though it had been meticulously placed. The creased lines peaking around his mustache told you he smiled a lot. His warm complexion didn’t give you the sense it was from sadism. His nose and cheekbones were as sharp as his crystal eyes, but his expression was soft, curious and understanding. The most unnerving aspect of his appearance was his white suit jacket, decorated with a red winged insignia on the shoulder. 

“Your symbol…” you muttered. A blurry photo of the crest on white fabric and black leather…next to the words, ‘brutal’, ‘ruthless’ and ‘violent’. You glanced over at Anakin, who had finally fished a cigarette from the pocket of his black leather jacket. Ahsoka, who was paying your situation no mind, typed away on her phone, the case decorated with the same emblem in sticker form. “There was a photo of you,” you breathed. The full realization of what exactly you’d waltzed into struck you upside the head. You reeled back frantically in your seat, “I-I read about you, I t-think. You’re, you’re-”

“Not going to hurt you,” he assured, sticking out his hand as if to pat you. You made a skeptical face. He looked amused at your apprehension. “What’s your name, darling?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Out of fear, of course. 

“(yn),” you whispered. 

“(yn),” he repeated like it was poetry. “And you’re lost. You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious,” you asked shyly, embarrassed. 

He cocked his head and shrugged. “No one dressed like you ends up this far past the Urscu district unless they’ve yet to get the hang of the buses, or they’re wearing this,” he pointed to the mafia crest on his jacket, “and considering your attire, I’m assuming it’s the former.” 

You couldn’t help it, you burst into tears. This man was toying with you. He was luring you into a false sense of security and forcing you to admit your own stupidity before he did away with you. He wasn't studying you, he was preying on you.

“I do-don’t know what happened, I-I just- are you fucking with me?”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows and blinking slowly. “Fucking with you?”

You tensed up again as you realized you might've just offended him. If you were taking a tone with a mob boss after all of day's events, then your poor excuse for survival skills belonged in some sort of lackluster hall of fame.  

“I-I’m sorry, I just meant, like-like-like, please, I-I just want to go home,” you begged, your breath stuttering. He sighed and stood, towering over you. 

“And you will,” the crime lord promised with a surprisingly gentle sincerity. He tilted your chin up, his thumb catching a stray tear. “But you’ve seen too much. I can’t just let you walk away.” 

Nausea twisted in your stomach. A million scenarios of what he could do to you, of what he could make you do, raced through your aching head. This man was sick. Talking to you like you were a lost child and not a potential snitch was just a means coax you into being compliant with whatever he had in mind.

The sensation of his glove against your skin was suddenly overwhelming your sense and you swore you could smell blood beneath the leather. The groves in the material began to spiderweb all over your face, the seam coming undone to close your mouth. No one was around, no one would hear you scream. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” you pleaded with a sob, “Please, I promise I w-won’t say a thing, I’ll f-forget it.” 

“Take a breath,” he ordered, his tone briefly switching to that of a general. You obeyed, squeezing your eyes shut as he caressed your cheek again. 

He knelt beside you, softening his voice again. “You’ve given us no reason to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean we can trust you.” 

You nodded as if you understood. He continued. 

“Where do you live, darling?”

You sucked in another breath, “The Senate district, in the Millenium on Droid Street.” 

“Perfect,” he said. “We own a restaurant just around the block. We’re in need of a waitress.” 

You cracked your eyes open, suspicious. “You’re offering me a job?”

“We need to keep an eye on you,” he explained, standing up again. The way he looked down at you told you he’d be watching you one way or another. Given that you just lost your other job, you weren’t sure you had much of a choice. However, you couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the last waitress. “Unless you’d rather run drugs,” he added, pulling you out of your thoughts. You shook your head profusely. The blood started to smell like vanilla again.

“I think I can handle waitressing,” you accepted. Obi-Wan nodded, pulling you to your feet. He stuck out his hand. You hesitated for a moment, then your sweaty skin felt the lines of his leather gloves just once more for the rest of the night.

A rush of cold ran through you, flooding you with the feeling you’d just sealed your fate.

“Welcome to the family, (yn),” Obi-Wan smiled, patting you on the shoulder. “Now, let me take you home.”