#and yet despite all this there is a loneliness within me that i think only love could fix

[seths-rogens]

you ever just feel so sad for no reason :|

[chococolte]

Your sagau zhongli is my fave! Devotion is soooo good he's so good!! If he were offered a reward, what would he ask for? He definitely deserves good things for being such a dedicated worshipper

word count. 1.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. hi guys......... sorry i took so long to write this, and im so happy you like my characterization of him!!!! it means so much to me!!!

Your praise.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted. 

When he was young, still arrogant and born of war, Zhongli didn't want— he took. He had no need of envy or desire. What he could not have, he would get in time. Immortality comes with an infinite patience. 

If he was still that god, flippant and self-important, maybe he would demand some sort of compensation. Some sort of recompense for past agony.

For as long as Zhongli's lived, he has never wanted; not in the way a mortal yearns for their lover, or the way a dog longs for its owner until it whines. Never in any way that mattered, never before he met you.

Zhongli has had eons to become used to the loneliness that so often encompasses him. And now, knowing that you breathe the same air as him, he's become rather acquainted with the ever consuming desire to nestle close to you, like ink caressing every pore of canvas. 

His desire runs through him— barking and loud, rapid and frantic— but when faced with you, a whisper, whimpering in the dark crevices of his ribs. At times, he comes close to asking you to hold him, but decorum and propriety keep him in place, tight and tense.

Liyue was built knowing your gaze followed him. Its foundations set, earth molded, and its rivers bent, hoping they would be fit to your liking. His every breath spent chasing after your favor, desiring to be remade in your image, to be exactly what you want him to be. Afraid that, when finally met with you, you will not like what you see.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted, and rarer still, has he ever feared.

It's a mortal's fear. The fear of their lord displeased with their harvest. A boyish fear, made up of desperation and the fear of disapproval; one he shouldn't feel, one he should feel no familiarity with. One he suspects many have felt when within his own presence.

When you ask him what he would like in return for all of his efforts— a reward, you say— Zhongli feels his breath seized from him.

Zhongli lived much of his early life against you. At every opportunity, he rebelled at what he thought was a cruel god. Imperious and charged with Guizhong’s death, he would have demanded answers. 

For him to have lived while those he cared for perished without a moment's repose, for him to have survived every moment of cruel war when each breath was like a whip against his lungs— he deserved to know, if you were as real as Guizhong so staunchly believed, why he had lived in her place.

Yet, despite centuries of tempered rage, Zhongli has become content to live as nothing more than your servant. 

He tells you he wants for nothing. That all he desires now is the simplicity of being beside you; the escape of your laughter, where there's no need to concern himself with anything other than you. He tells you he only wishes to know how to take care of you better, how to align himself with your tastes and desires.

"I insist," you say, and Zhongli realizes it's a command. His mouth turns dry, and every word settles on his tongue like heavy weights, dead and still.

You stare, and his breath hitches, his heart a swell in his chest. Zhongli thinks of every answer, how your reaction to any could either breathe life into him, or leave him broken. How, for a moment, he amuses himself with the idea of asking for your touch— the cusp of your palm on his cheek, your fingers against his spine; how he could ask, and how you might favor him enough to do so. 

He then thinks of asking you for reassurance. For affirmation of forgiveness for the actions in his youth. To finally have the certainty that he hasn’t failed you, and maybe, the confirmation that you may care for him.

“Forgive me for my impropriety, Your Grace,” Zhongli begins, voice light and breathy. His hand rests on his chest, fighting the urge to dig into his skin, hoping to calm the pounding of his heart. “But… if I may, I was wondering if I had done right by you?”

You sit inertly in silence for a moment, and Zhongli wonders if it’s on purpose, some sort of punishment for daring to ask such a thing. You had no reason to reward him, and he had been blessed enough to hold your attention for longer than a moment. He had no right to ask for your thoughts, not so directly.

He thought he knew that. It was why he followed you, why he made sure your every request was completed to the highest standard. If you mentioned the taste of your tea being too bitter, or sweet, or that you’d rather he prepare something else for you entirely, he would rush to follow your word. Even if he had been the one to brew it, even if it was him who cultivated the leaves, even if he thought it would be to your liking.

All he needed was to be helpful. All he needed was you. Within you, was his salvation— within you, was love itself. Without you, the once great Lord of Geo was but a fragmented elemental wisp of energy, only ever calling your name.

A spike of adrenaline rushes through him, fear and anxiety denying any sense of hope. All he hears is the solitary sound of his heart in his ears. 

“You have only ever done good by me.”

Zhongli’s heart lurches, heat rippling through his body. You say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and his mind feels dizzy at the implication. The ground sways, and his feet feel light. 

“You deserve more than that, I think.” You step forward, and Zhongli is so lost within his own thoughts, he takes no notice of your sudden increase in proximity— but his breath still quickens, and red still coats the apples of his cheeks. 

“Kneel,” you whisper, and though you say it so softly, it's as though the sky had been torn asunder with the speed he responds. Zhongli’s mind still feels far away, but he hears your orders as if spoken directly into his ear.

He drops to his knees, no care for whether he does so elegantly enough. All he can focus on is the weight of your gaze, and the way he's the only thing under it.

“Do you want me to praise you?” You trace his jawline with your finger, still speaking in a soft, unhurried tone. “Do you want me to tell you how much of a good boy you are?”

Zhongli inhales sharply, fighting every thought that screams at him to eagerly lean into your hand. He stares up at you, russet lashes fluttering and amber eyes swallowed by adoration and worship. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispers hoarsely. 

Your thumb swipes over his lower lip, and a whine rises to the back of his throat. 

“My good boy.” Zhongli’s entire body shudders, his chest heaving. A shaky breath escapes him. “You've been waiting to hear that for so long, haven't you?”

He whimpers, then nods in a way he hopes doesn’t come across as overeager— quickly bereft of any sense of propriety, or care for whether or not he’s making a fool of himself. All he can concern himself with is how close you are, how easily your scent renders him still, how quickly he borders on senseless. 

You smile at that, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering. 

“Do you want me to tell you how grateful I am?” Your fingers move across his neck, brushing against his Adam’s Apple, watching it bob as he gulps, trying to keep himself steady and not fall against you. “How you're my favorite?”

An ugly sound rips from Zhongli’s throat, and it's one he's instantly ashamed of. Every part of him feels bare in front of you, laid out messy and without decorum. The mask he’s worn for eons steadily breaks, and every one of his veins and bones scream out for your warmth. 

The Lord of Geo wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to be so vulnerable. He never would have amused himself with the thought of pleading for anything, or kneeling and falling apart because he was treated softly— least of all, of being so desperate to know that you love him; that you favor him. 

Zhongli, now without his Gnosis, is as mortal as the men he used to lord over. And perhaps it’s his newfound mortality that moves him to lean into your hand, frantically trying to meld your fingers against his skin until his flesh is like clay inlaid with your fingertips; hoping that you’ll rebuild him until he fits your desires, and tell him again that he’s proven to have done good by you. 

Every thought is a prayer, another hymn, another psalm.

“Am I? Your favorite?” 

His voice trembles, and breathes into a soft whisper. Zhongli doesn’t mean to sound so desperate— he doesn’t mean to be so greedy— but his soul has never felt so full before. His mind is so mired by your touch and voice that he doesn’t realize his lack of formality, or how he might come across as arrogant. 

He wants only to think of you, and so he does. Nothing else matters.

“Yes.” You chuckle, and his heart speeds up at the sound, fervent. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Zhongli whines, and faintly, through the blur of fanaticism and worship, thinks that no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation. 

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi!! I saw you have requests open for Homicipher! Could I ask for a drabble with Mr. Gap? I feel like he's underrated but he's my favorite. Maybe a first kiss with him?

⊱ Connection ⊰ || Mr. Gap X Reader

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Character(s): Mr. Gap (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Return End), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and horror-elements), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Reader briefly uses physical pain to distract themselves from their emotional discomfort; they also sleep to avoid their emotions), Creature/Monster X Human Relationship (Mr. Gap doesn’t fully comprehend or understand the concept of love the way that humans do, but that’s a barrier for, like… the majority of the cast haha). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff (Hurt/Comfort), Slight Angst, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~2,685 Request: “Hi!! I saw you have requests open for Homicipher! Could I ask for a drabble with Mr. Gap? I feel like he's underrated but he's my favorite. Maybe a first kiss with him?” Author’s Note: Yipee, my first Homicipher request! Thank you for sending one in! I find Mr. Gap’s character quite entertaining – I loved the running gag of him asking the MC for different parts of their body and being like “for real?” whenever you said no. I found his desire to brag to be quite endearing, too, strangely enough. A lot of the moments that had me chuckling involved Mr. Gap, so I’m somewhat fond of his character as a result. I haven’t written any horror-meets-romance stories since my Creepypasta days, so I apologize if this is a little rough or OOC. I’m still trying to finish the game and digest all the lore haha. 

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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Living within the other world had become your new normal at this point, even if you spent most of your days curled under the covers of whatever bed you could find. You slept whenever you had the chance. It wasn’t necessarily because you were tired, but rather a desire to keep your mind from wandering too much. You still found the occasional earthquakes and frequently shifting dimly-lit hallways confusing to traverse at best or frustrating to deal with at worst, but you hoped you would slowly grow to get used to them with more time. 

You run your hands down your face as you lay on the strangely pristine white bed, staring down at the blue bag that rested by your feet on the floor. For whatever reason, there was a strange feeling of loneliness that was deep-seated in your chest. It was a weight pulling you down, and it was one that had lingered for quite some time now. 

When you returned to the other world, you realized that you would most likely never be able to see Mr. Silvair or Mr. Crawling again. Despite telling yourself it was fine, that life was all about encounters and departures, that horrendous emptiness in your heart hadn’t diminished yet. 

You remember when Mr. Gap brought you back to the other world in exchange for a heart – your mind is conflicted when you think about the organ you had given him, a heart that wasn’t yours. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to think about it for longer than you need to. 

You try to remember his hand reaching out from the dark void of the bag after arriving in the strange world once more. You remember the way his cold palm felt against your scalp, lightly patting your hair in a way you thought was meant to be comforting… only for him to state he wanted your head with that jokester-esque grin of his. 

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory of the expression that crossed his face whenever you told him that, no, he’s not allowed to take your fingers or whatever else seems to pique his interest at the moment. Then, your mind remembers the look on his face when you asked if he was worried about you. Mr. Gap didn’t seem as though he was capable of experiencing emotions the way that most humans were, but, well… it was someone to talk to, at least, even if you run the risk of him asking for an organ or body part or hair. What did he even do with that stuff, anyway? 

Letting out a deep sigh, your eyes fall to the bag on the floor. He really only appeared whenever he wanted, but maybe you could see if he was in the mood to at least startle you as he so often enjoyed doing. With a deep breath, you reach down and grab the bag by its black straps, feeling the somewhat rough fabric against your palms. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, per se, but it was a reminder that at least you could still feel. 

You open the carrier, and the only thing that greets you is that inky blackness. You briefly wonder if it was an infinite darkness held within the unassuming gym bag, and what would happen if you just threw random things inside for the fun of it. However, as you stare into the void, a familiar face pops into view, effectively startling you out of your trance. 

Mr. Gap smiles even wider at your reaction, seemingly proud of himself for still managing to startle you. You’d think that you would be more immune to jumpscares after spending so much time in the other world, but apparently not. 

“Scared you.” Mr. Gap speaks proudly, the language you had slowly been absorbing over your journey becoming easier and easier to decipher and remember. That was good at least, you thought. It would be far too difficult to live in a place where you couldn’t even understand what everyone was saying. 

You roll your eyes at him, speaking under your breath but loud enough so he could hear your muttering, “You’re rude, you know that?”

He stares up at you with an unimpressed expression, waiting for you to speak again. Eventually, you tell him with a frown, speaking to him in a language he understood, “You mean.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at you, yet he seemingly did not take any offense to your comment. Then, his gaze returns to your face, and you two simply stare at each other in a prolonged silence. Well, now what? How exactly do you explain to a creature that you were lonely when they probably couldn’t even empathize with what you were experiencing? Did you even know the word for lonely in their language, if there was one?

“I, umm…” You pause, taking a moment to try and figure out the words to say, averting your gaze to a crack in the concrete flooring of the room you had made into your makeshift home. Mr. Gap is surprisingly patient, staring up at you while your hands begin to fidget with the textured straps of the bag. You look back down at him and say, your voice is surprisingly soft, “I upset. Want talk.”

Then, almost as if on cue, he smiles and reaches a hand out of the bag, making a grabbing motion as he asks, “Give heart?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what else you were expecting, and now you felt like an idiot for expecting literally anything else to come out of his mouth. You frown deeply and quickly zip up the bag, disregarding the shocked expression on his face at the action, before tossing it on the floor without a second thought. You let out a groan, clawing your hands down your face while trying to ignore the stinging sensation your nails left in their wake across your skin.

At least the pain raking across your flesh was a distraction from the ache in your chest. 

You decide, once more, to take a nap. Whenever your mind was racing or the thoughts became too much to bear, you slept. Honestly, there wasn’t much else you could do here. After all, you weren’t in the mood to go around swinging at anything and everything with your crowbar, especially since you had vowed to only use it in self-defense. This world was your home now, and you didn’t want to make enemies who would, in return, only make your existence more miserable. 

You close your eyes and attempt to drift off into the world of dreams, a place that wasn’t this world nor the one you came from, yet your attention is grabbed by the feeling of something shifting under the covers. Your eyes fly open faster than light as your fist grabs the thick comforter, lifting it quickly while your other hand went to grab the crowbar you kept by your bedside. 

However, Mr. Gap’s face comes into view, and your hand pauses as soon as your fingers graze across the rusted metal of your weapon. You frown deeply and tell him with a sternness in your tone, “I told you to stop doing that – I’m going to accidentally kill you one of these days.”

“Why upset?” He asks you suddenly, and it’s a question that has your mind stopped in its tracks. You hadn’t been expecting him to come back so soon, let alone ask you a question like that. For a moment, you wonder if he was worried about you, only for the memory of the last time you asked him that question to pop into your head. 

You lay there, staring at the darkness under the covers, debating on whether or not you should tell him your true feelings. After some moment of contemplation, you decide to try and speak with him about what you have been experiencing. After all, the worst thing that would probably happen is him asking for your heart again or something. 

“I…” You start, pausing for a moment to swallow, your tongue strangely heavy in your mouth, “No home. I lonely.”

Mr. Gap’s brows furrow and he states plainly, “This home.”

Just as you thought, he didn’t understand. If anything, your statement only seemed to confuse him further. His expression was also different, one you hadn’t quite seen on him before. You had seen him shocked, smug, and displeased, but the look on his face appeared almost… frustrated? 

You begin to try and snake your way out from under the covers, feeling like going on a walk now instead of trying to take a nap. However, the room suddenly goes dark as Mr. Gap pulls you back under the sheets, covering your entire body in the surprisingly soft duvet. For a moment, you feel panic swell in your veins and you wonder if something you had said upset him to the point of wanting to kill you. However, no pain ever came. You just heard his voice state once more, “This home.”

“No, I know it’s my home now, I just…” You speak, your mind going through word after word, attempting to translate what you want to tell him in his language. It was a little unnerving, being unable to see anything in the darkness that now enveloped your body. You pushed that anxiety aside, though, telling Mr. Gap, “I… miss touch. Miss connection. This world different – lonely.” 

There’s once again no reply, and soon the feeling of another under the sheets disappears. You let out a long sigh as you remove yourself from under the covers, Mr. Gap no longer under the blanket with you. You take a moment to compose yourself before standing up from the bed and grabbing your reliable crowbar – it was walking time.

You walked and walked in circles until your legs felt ready to collapse, returning to your makeshift base after what seemed like hours. You fell face-first onto the bed, your crowbar slipping from your hand to the concrete floor with a loud clatter; you probably would have cringed at the noise if not for the exhaustion in your bones. There’s a long stretch of silence, and you feel sleep start to creep into your mind, when a simple “Hello” snaps you out of your stupor. 

You turn your head from where it was nuzzled into a pillow to look down at the bag you had tossed to the floor earlier, seeing Mr. Gap peeking up at you from inside. You wonder if you should say anything back before eventually relenting, echoing to him the same greeting. 

There’s a shuffling noise, the sound of paper being crinkled before you watch as he pulls out what appears to be a magazine, holding it out for you to take. You sit up in the bed and look down at him with a blank expression, saying with your lips pulled into a flat line, “No head. No finger. No heart–”

“Not want anything.” He replies, effectively cutting you off as he holds out the magazine closer to you. It seems as though he can read the expression of pure disbelief on your face before he clarifies, “Take paper. You have.”

Despite some reservations, you eventually do reach out and take the small book from his grasp, whispering your thanks. It’s a relatively new magazine, surprisingly, and only the edges of the glossy paper seemed crinkled. You flip through the pages, wondering what information you were supposed to be deriving from the book. After all, it didn’t seem like anything special–...

Then, a picture of two people hugging appeared. Two humans, holding each other in a tight embrace with bright and happy smiles on their faces. One was kissing the other’s cheek, and the mere sight alone caused your breath to hitch. Oh, it seemed like ages since the last time you felt the level of comfort with another like the people in the picture, and there was a part of yourself that regretted coming back. It wasn’t like you belonged in your world anymore, either… you really were a monster with nowhere to call home, weren’t you?

“Why upset?” Mr. Gap asks, his voice surprisingly gentle. You look down at him and wonder how he knew you were hurting. Then, you heard the sound of something hitting the pages of the magazine in your hand. Your gaze returns to the book below you, noticing the water droplets that had fallen down your cheeks and onto the magazine, causing the ink on the paper to bleed slightly. You quickly wipe your face yet, before you can do anything else, two arms wrap around your waist and your body is once again shrouded in the darkness under the covers as Mr. Gap pulls you under.

His body is cold to the touch, you note, yet it’s not an unpleasant sensation. Before you have the chance to speak, you hear Mr. Gap tapping the page of the magazine in your hand, asking you quietly, “You want that? Touch?”

“Do I… want a hug?” You ask him, wishing you had the ability to see in the dark. You hum and lay your head back, enjoying the softness of the pillow underneath your skull, “I want good touch.”

You close your eyes and wait, expecting Mr. Gap to ask for something in return or simply disappear�� but he doesn’t, and you find your eyes flying open when you feel his arms wrap around your torso. His touch was experimental, uncertain as his palms rested against your lower back. His head is resting on your stomach and although you cannot see him, you know he is staring at your face through the darkness. 

You suddenly find yourself becoming choked up, the tears forming in your eyes as your arms instinctively wrap around him as well, holding him close to your body like one would hold a stuffed toy. Mr. Gap makes a strangled noise, yet you don’t let up on your hold. You sit up on the bed, dragging him along with you, before nuzzling your face into what you assumed was his neck. 

He’s completely frozen, his hold on you never once faltering yet never once tightening, either. A part of you wonders if you broke him or something, especially considering he had never really been the physically affectionate type. You both sit like this under the covers for a long time, and you eventually feel his body and muscles relax under your touch. 

While the ache in your chest wasn’t gone, it had definitely diminished as you both held onto each other with a tinge of desperation in both of your actions. You let out a sigh, and you feel Mr. Gap shiver as your warm breath fans against his cold skin. The dried tear stains on your cheeks made your skin feel tight, but you smiled nevertheless as you whispered to him, “Thank you. I grateful – happy.”

Your hand reaches up, cupping his cheek in your palm as you slowly guide his face to yours. Oh, how you wish you could have seen his expression as you placed a kiss on his cheek, your slightly chapped lips pressing against his marred flesh. You feel him jolt, and you wonder if he’ll disappear right then and there. He doesn’t though, and instead, you feel his hands remove themselves from your hips to hold your face in his grasp. 

Instinctively, you close your eyes, and you feel the slight tremble in his fingers as he leans closer. You smile softly, finding his nervous demeanor to be quite cute considering how smug he tended to be. Then, you felt it, his lips against your cheek. 

Mr. Gap’s lips were in even worse shape than yours, but you found yourself not caring in the slightest as he placed shockingly gentle kisses against the apple of your cheek. You giggle at the sweet action, the noise of your laughter egging him on as his kisses become more confident and more frequent. You do the same, placing feather-light kisses against his skin, whispering to him as you pepper his face in smooches, “Happy, happy, happy...”

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ being wrapped in your arms feels like coming home ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

wc: 1,820

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: here is a little drabble in honor of toji's birthday! this piece was originally titled as "adoration" but I changed it to this instead. I'm taking a small posting break, but I'll be back to my regular schedule within a week! I'm sorry if I haven't been responding to tags or messages, but I will do so soon <3 I hope you're all having a wonderful time and I'm sending all my well wishes out to you! xo

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: widow toji; age gap (reader is 30 while toji is in his early 40s); a little angsty; toji attempting to break up with you but failing because he's oh so in love

toji overstayed his welcome which was only supposed to last the scorching heat of summer, but he found himself lingering through the quiet stillness of fall. winter came in with a brisk chill and gloomy skies, and that's when toji knew it was time for him to end things with you.

he’s lost interest far quicker in previous relationships. they served their purpose of healing over the wound in his heart, of soothing away the ache of loneliness. he oftens forgets that he was once a loyal, loving husband whenever he abandons yet another fling.

the difference, however, is he at least had the guts to verbally cut things off before.

fucking pathetic, he thinks as he scolds himself. he's been a coward, reducing his actions to disappearing before the sunlight peeks through the horizon, and avoiding any chance of waking you up. he ensures that he is never there to see the way your brows furrow with concern when your hand meets the cold pillow, because otherwise he would falter in his attempt to escape.

this has been going on for over two weeks now but last night was the first time you've actually snapped at his cold, detached behavior. he approached the argument with nonchalance to wither you down, shrugging off the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and then walking out halfway through the fight.

he stayed at a motel thinking that maybe you have finally taken the hint that he's done.

he arrives back to his apartment only to be met with unfamiliar silence. the entrance of his home is dark and lifeless, and it's so quiet he can even hear a pin drop. there's a tightness in his chest, followed by a wave of disappointment that runs over him like a feverish shiver.

despite his hard headed decision, he's still anticipating on hearing your lovely voice to greet him as he walks through the door.

he knows it's selfish.

toji expected many things to happen after last night's fight. he figured the reaction to him leaving you (again) would be far bigger. a screaming phone call or a string of cursing text messages to call him out on his shitty behavior.

after all he deserves it for acting like an insufferable asshole.

he tries to swallow his guilt but it remains lodged in his throat when he acknowledges that this might actually be the end. 

the expression on his features falls.

it’s better this way, he consoles, dragging his feet across the floor to approach his kitchenette. he shrugs off his beaten up, oversized coat and tosses it over one of the chairs. he opens one of the cupboards, and grabs a mug to prepare himself a cup of tea.

she’s too young to settle for a guy like me, he continues. widowed with two kids who he barely sees anymore, working paycheck to paycheck just to make ends meet…

a deadbeat.

he exhales, swirling his brew in his ceramic cup. the aroma of sweet leaves dances up the spiral of steam to kiss his nose.

she deserves more than me.

he places the kettle down but stares at the cup mindlessly, losing all train of thought as his hands grip onto the edge of the counter. 

he can acknowledge that his insecurities are clouding his judgement on something truly special, even though this was only ever meant to be purely physical.

except, the sex was growing more intimate. the experience wasn't about pleasure for him anymore. he would find himself losing all focus to the depth of your pretty eyes, stealing kiss after kiss like your mouth was the source of where all his happiness belongs.

belonged.

belonged.

it’s over now, he thinks again. it has to be.

a faint patter of footsteps distracts him, prompting him to ease his hold on the counter as the muscles on his face relax. his heart steadies itself, and he draws in a breath when he feels two arms delicately twine around his waist.

“you’re...still here...” he points out in shock. 

he feels you press your forehead into his back. “of course, where else would I be?” 

he clears his throat to release the guilt then spins on his heel to face you.

"I thought you might have taken off," he bluntly states as he rests his lower back against the counter.

his heart swells, emanates flurries of golden sparks when he meets your gorgeous irises. the will to carry on with his decision crumbles when he catches the corner of your mouth tick into a slight grin.

"I thought about it," you reply casually, loosening your grip to place your palms flat on the side of his stomach. "but the truth is I'm worried about you and I just…want to talk things out…make sure you're okay...”

“I’m the one acting like a jerk and you’re worried about me?” he blurts.

you quirk your brow at the slip of his question. “so, you know you’re acting like a jerk?”

toji’s eyes widen slightly, a hint of pink tainting his cheek. “I asked the question first.”

you purse your lips playfully, aware of the crack that's been revealed and ready to swing once again with another blow.

“it’s because you’re acting like a jerk that I’m worried about you,” you explain, “you’re not yourself when you’re unsettled about something…”

his face warms, the hue of pink deepening into a stronger blush. the familiarity of pointing out his personal traits feels all too homely. seven months shouldn’t feel like a forever but in this bubble with you time ceases to exist.

you trail the pads of your finger tips up his torso, your hands clasping around the back of his neck as you press all your soft and sweet parts right up against the frame of his body.

the brush of your lips on his scar prompts him to flutter his eyes close. he fails to stop himself from holding you then, his firm hands reaching for the outline of your waist

“so,” you murmur with a tempting kiss as you return to your question, “you know you’re acting like a jerk then?”

please don’t make me say it, he thinks, please don’t make me unravel right in front of your eyes.

he squeezes your side, whispering a defeated “listen…”

“did I do something wrong?” you question, a hint of pain laced through every vowel which only makes his heart ache further. “did something happen?”

toji shakes his head.

“it’s not you,” he grumbles. “look, you asked me a couple of weeks ago if this thing between us was serious and…it shouldn’t be.”

you narrow your gaze, tilting your head with adorable confusion that makes toji want to kiss you right there on the spot.

he can feel you pluck at the fabric of his sweater nervously, “why not?”

toji drops his head and sighs.

“c’mon, doll, let’s be real. I’ve got nothing to give you other than a good fuck in this shitty apartment. you're better off finding someone else and I don't want to waste your time”

you press your mouth into a firm line. “your behavior…” you reply, nipping your bottom lip slightly as you gather your thoughts. “are you acting like this because you…want to end things with me?”

toji has never felt smaller. you’ve reduced him into a shriveled pea rolling around his scuffed up boot. “look, it’s better this way, alright?” he admits with a raise of his head, still refusing to outwardly say what you easily deduced. “it's better to move on before things get too complicated…”

the silence hangs heavy in the air, the tension so thick toji feels like he can’t breathe properly. his heart rattles with no restraint, and he finds himself suddenly lightheaded. an apology rests on the tip of his tongue, ready to take back everything he just bombarded you with but his throat simply tightens once more when your hands cradle his strong jaw.

“I like your apartment,” you quietly speak, “your bed sheets always smell so good, and you fixed the water pressure after I complained that it sucked…”

toji blinks back his surprise.

“I also notice that you burn the candle that I got you and that you switched laundry detergents when your old one gave me that weird rash,” you giggle and toji couldn’t help but huff out an embarrassed laugh himself. “the windows let in the best kind of sunlight, and it’s always so cozy in here…”

you press your lips against his mouth to leave a chaste kiss, “as for the company…” you add on, nuzzling the tip of your nose over his, “I consider you more than just a good fuck.”

toji can physically feel himself wilting underneath the heat of your gaze. “I’m just looking out for you, doll.”

"you can look out for me by making me breakfast instead of running away from me..."

he looks serious but his eyes are sincere, holding a level of tenderness that he only reserves for you. his palm moves to seek out your lower back, a hint of pressure pulling you back into his warmth.

your lover has stayed tight lipped about his past, but over his period with you he's found himself spilling out a few secrets here and there.

"I haven't done this in a long time," he vulnerably admits.

"I know," you reassure him, "but...the real question is, do you want this?"

he parts his lips ready to seal the last nail in the coffin, ready to give you the chance to walk out of his life for good. but you're gazing up at him from underneath your eyelashes, your determined stare an opening of your own mercy. your plush, supple lips summoning his cowardice into oblivion.

"toji?"

his breath hitches, his apprehension silenced by the urgency of his desire.

you're so lovely, he thinks. you feel like home.

"I want you," he reveals, his deep voice smoky and untethered, releasing enough sentiment in those three words that he can feel you tremble in his arms. "I just don't deserve you. I don't want you getting caught up in my bullshit..."

""you're a lot sweeter than you look, you know?" you run your fingers through the streaks of his black hair, combing it back to reveal his forehead. "you deserve to be happy, toji, and...and I think I can make you happy..."

your aura beams with delight when he flashes you a wolfish grin in return. a smile you've grown to adore so deeply. his apology comes in the form of a kiss, one that's gentle and slow. a stroke of fire burns up the back of your neck, making you quiver in places when he glides his tongue across yours. you hum softly into his lips while he releases a content sigh, the barrier he's been keeping up turns to ashes beneath your feet.

[lilacxquartz]

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 2 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • << part 1

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

warnings: heavily implied dub/non-con, violent/disturbing imagery, body horror

Part 2: Answer

The next couple of days were met with a certain degree of reluctance and uncertainty combined as you couldn’t help but feel a crushing sense of guilt, wondering what the angel truly meant by ‘everything’.

Had you known what it could have entailed, you would have never prayed—you would have never even entertained the concept of love, knowing now that it would be taken away so soon.

You didn’t want to think that ‘everything’ could have been in a more literal sense; something that would force you to have a lacking say in your own existence in exchange for a taste of power.

It left you wondering more so if it was truly a blessing or if it was more of a curse.

And moments after tucking yourself into bed, you were awoken by an all too familiar presence making itself known within the confines of your very own home.

The angel reappeared; his eyes a glowing piercing blue with snowy lashes—a gaze as cold as ice.

No longer did it have a welcoming smile.

No longer did it seem as kind.

Its voice, coming out as nothing more than a threatening low droning hum, echoed throughout your body, “Remember what you have offered to me,” he spoke, the playfulness absent from his tone, “your life is mine now too.”

Somehow, these words didn’t really register properly in your mind and you looked back at him with a gnawing sense of disbelief. Your demeanour faltering for a second. You wanted for this strange deity to provide you with answers but every interaction left you with more questions than ever before, leaving you feeling confused after each and every single exchange.

“What…?” you simply asked, blurting out your words.

The angel smiled, painting an illusion of deceptive kindness across his face. His voice softened, as though trying to comfort you despite the words holding onto a sure threat, “You said everything, did you not? That should surely include both your heart and soul.”

“B-but,” you protested, tenting your knees as you backed up in bed, holding your pillow close to your chest, “I can’t even have a normal relationship?”

“Preferably not,” the angel cooed, “but if loneliness is what you’re dealing with, then I can pay you as many visits as you’d like at night.”

You didn’t like the implication of that.

“Y-you…?” you repeated his offer, “You… visit m-me…?”

“Correct,” he nodded with a tight smile, stepping closer ever so slightly forward, “it’s my job to look over humans, so let me be your everything too.”

The more you took in the sight of the angel, the more deceptive he truly seemed. Something about him screamed arrogant and even though he wasn’t playful this time, there was something unserious about the way he spoke to you.

Again, your mind had to wonder.

(Was this truly an angel?)

(Or did you pray to something else instead?)

“T-this is my only option?” you asked.

“Yes, but I’ll visit you however many times it takes,” he nodded.

The wording threw you off however, something about the way he said it and the terminology used, didn’t sit quite right with you.

‘However many times it takes.’

Until what?

~~~

The visits did indeed come to happen, he left you feeling a mixture of both wide awake as the nights had passed yet perfectly refreshed in the mornings as though nothing had happened.

Even though your energy didn’t seemingly suffer, something else within you began to drain instead.

You weren’t quite sure what, though.

Your mind spiralled as it considered the possibilities.

You were blessed, right? Not chosen. Could there have been a difference between the two?

And lying awake in your bed yet again, you anticipated the angel but weren’t quite in the mood due to a terrible feeling brewing inside of you. Your eyes, blinded by the approaching light snapped open; feeling the weight of such unimaginable power anchor right on top of you.

“Not toda—“ you began to protest, your words coming out as barely a whisper.

“—everything,” he shushed you instead, reminding you of your place within the dynamic. He was the an angel; a being close to a god and you were a mortal blessed by his touch. Silly you. You had no right to complain.

Yet the continuation felt awfully wrong.

Like something was happening that shouldn’t have been.

Just like the many sleepless nights before this one, he started by crashing his lips against your own. His touch like pillowed stone against fresh clay—his touch bordered articulate—precise and careful, just like those many times before. Your eyes once again drifted over to his roaming hands, blurring your vision whenever you’d look at them for too long.

“I know your limit,” he whispered to you, his cold breath rippling waves of shivers through you, “I can see it.”

It was as though his words were easing you into it every time. His voice was low and his tone felt hypnotic.

Slowly, as a result, you couldn’t help but grow more accepting of it even if you were unsure why.

Something internal that faded away as you slowly gave into his presences, into his continued touch and…!

(What was this feeling…?)

His touch continued to explore you; his hands brushed over your breasts underneath your clothes. Stony fingers that slipped in between your legs, guiding his digits towards your sex. A soft gasp escaping your lips as he ran tauntingly slow circles around your clit.

Next, he moved himself to hover you. His hardened length feeling just as rigid as the rest of him, if not even somehow more, hovered at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed the tip of his cock into your awaiting cunt, his length enveloped by your heat.

Slipping himself out and then plunging forth again and again—it felt like he was bruising you from the inside. His gradually quickening pace left you breathless yet somehow craving more despite the creeping exhaustion.

“My everything,” he’d mutter, his lips ghosting icy air against your own, his tongue wrestling yours. The experience felt almost jarring with how much attention you took in from a higher power, perhaps in a way that you shouldn’t. The angel continued to stalk his release regardless—appearing almost human—almost vulnerable as he pounded into you with want and need.

He grunted, though softly, as he worked his hips into yours. Despite this, your home only echoed back the sounds of your strained whining and almost relentless, breathless moaning. Your fingers clawing against the sheets—against his flesh—grabbing, almost as if desperately trying to hold onto your plummeting sanity as it somehow slipped away during your shared nights.

His rutting pursuit was by now deeper, his speed unforgiving. Your core felt as though it was going to be split apart by his plunging length. You felt exhaustion seep and settle while your insides soon felt pummelled and even sore as the angel reached an almost frenzied pace, seeking a violent release.

It was sudden as he finally met his end; his body finally spent. You felt as his cock twitched within your sex, emptying himself fully within your bruised core, leaving you a state of uncomfortable full of him and him alone.

As he relaxed and you recovered, the angel soothed you in your repeated panicked submission. His flesh that had since then merged with yours, rubbed raw against what felt like almost worn skin. His comforting touch smoothed goosebumps over you, leaving you once again feeling not quite chosen, but blessed with the essence of something else.

(Something worse?)

Whether or not it was power that he was giving you, it wasn’t something you could tell.

He soon left you in that now familiar dazed and almost high state—your hands drifting and slurring as you moved around in bed—phasing you in and out of your own fleeting consciousness.

And although the sensation faded and the skies lightened outside, for once, you were left feeling exhausted.

As though you couldn’t quite drop what the angel left behind this time.

You’d hands glowed a faint yet noticeable blue, trailing an aura behind as you moved them around in the air. Like seeping water that evaporated the second it lingered a little too long.

Whatever this was; a power, a blessing or something else.

You didn’t want it.

It hurt.

~~~

“Thou shall not lay in bed with the gods who masquerade as angels; lest you ascend.” — Ancient scriptures.

~~~

As if on clockwork, the angel would show up again and again as per the usual times. It was nighttime whenever it arrived with its heavy footsteps splintering the floorboards, icy fingertips that willed you awake, refusing to let you rest.

You couldn’t help but shudder whenever you jolted back into the conscious realm. The touch now feeling familiar, yet somehow so freshly invasive every time.

Something felt different this time though.

“Would you like to be more than just blessed?” he asked you, although the way he delivered his words felt more like a statement than an offering. The way he spoke reminding you more of how the demons spoke; so elusive and almost deceitful.

You couldn’t form a proper response this time either. Your words stifled by a pressuring change in the atmosphere. Something about his words felt once again less like a prompt.

(Maybe more like a threat?)

‘More than just blessed.’

Your mind locked onto the way he said that and he seemed to notice. His icy blue eyes settled into your own gaze in a way that felt looming, as though he was attempting to get a read on your soul rather than to catch onto your interpretation.

“Will it stop the pain?” you finally managed to ask.

Ever since the first time the pain had began to linger, was when you started to feel like something was clearly wrong. The aura that trailed in your hands never subsided, instead slowly enveloping the rest of your skin. The burning sensation that developed in your skin when the pain manifested had only gotten worse since then. It was as though your flesh was overcome with an invisible fire that crackled and whipped away at your skin.

It surely must have been in your head, though.

Yet, despite feeling the blistering pops and the flickers of bursting skin, of charring bone that crisped deep into the core of your very being.

You couldn’t help but feel that this was all too real.

As if something within you was changing and not in a good way.

Not at all.

All the angel did was continue to smile at you. His many eyes once again fluttering around his body, as though blinking in desperation in attempted warning. Yet, the two eyes on his face remained still and almost dormant.

Sitting you upright and allowed for you to lean into his frame, his lips forged a smile to help you ease into his offering.

“It will stop the pain,” he promised, “you’ll never feel anything again, my pretty mortal thing.”

“Then—“ you coughed out, your voice hostage in your throat under a chokehold.

“—it’ll stop the pain,” he continued to comfort you, his hand brushing down your back in a soothing manner, whispering out his final words so that you just about couldn’t fully hear, “and everything else.”

Just as he said that, the pain built up within your body, the blue aura almost barely contained the longer it festered within you.

“I’ll do it,” you replied, finally giving in.

He smiled once more, however as soon as you finalised his non-offer, all remaining warmth that he held onto had since swept away, almost instantly. The once thought to be imagined sensation of hellfire burning over your skin was now visible, with roaring, crackling flames that continued to eat away at your body.

His words of promised mercy hung in the air as you focused on him out of desperation, the eyes scattered on his body weeping along with yours as you surrendered towards deceitful ascension. Your body feeling as though it was almost crumbling against his rigid touch, all the while he stared at your succumbing form.

Slowly, the blue fire closed in on you fully; encasing you in a flaming cocoon that wrapped tight around your body, constricting you.

As the fire finally burned away at your last remaining shred of pain, you longed for it to finally be over, to finally be free.

Yet, when you next awoke in a surge of jolting panic, you found that despite trying to tear your body forward, despite trying to thrash and and sway around—that you couldn’t move a single inch. Even though the sensation of peace washed over your soul, you found yourself encased in the body of someone else, watching through a fleshy tomb as they walked around with your frightened gaze guiding their way.

“There, there,” you heard a familiar voice hush you, his voice vibrating against your very being, “allow me to introduce myself to you. I don’t believe I ever have. I am the six eyed god of the open sky. You may have heard of me as the fallen angel, the one who dared to mingle with the demons and with the humans alike. Turns out I have an appetite for an uncorrupted soul and you’re lucky enough to be a part of me forever.”

You wanted to reply to him, but you couldn’t.

“Now, why wouldn’t I grant this opportunity… as some would call it, to the followers of my own temple, you ask?” he laughed, “because to worship is already giving into corruption and I only respond to untainted desperation.”

You fluttered your eyes as much as you could, the sensation feeling nauseating as you couldn’t scream while entombed within his own flesh.

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” he mocked, “I saved you. A life free from pain, free from suffering. We’ll be together as one, forever united within your dreams… but only when you’re ready once more, only when you’ve finally given in.”

You attempted to scream over and over again.

Yet no sound could be heard as you were forced to watch from his appointed gaze as his adorned seventh and eighth eyes, decorating his body as a purposeful stare, condemned to experience a life that wasn’t yours together with a deity who lied to you.

Yet the six eyed god of the sky didn’t see it that way.

For at last, he finally caught onto something human.

So pure and uncorrupted.

To finally challenge the system with what defined the balance of existence; to finally redefine both pain and peace within this corrupted world.

Together, you’d see the truth.

Even if you’d suffer for eternity as a result instead.

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares

a/n: the idea i was going for was that you got tricked by not an angel, not even a god, but by something worse. it was a play on gojo’s technique rendering him into nothing more than a tool and the societal weight on his shoulders. the six eyes being a burden (with some creepy yan!angel elements).

[somerandomdudelmao]

CASSEROLE I HAVE RETURNED AND WITH A FIC THAT I THINK YOU’LL ENJOY OKAY THANKS

still don’t know how to add cuts in asks/reblogs so we’ll deal with some empty space again ig

Leo awoke with a senseless, overwhelming FEAR rooted deep within his gut. He sat upright in bed, his leg still aching from the beating he took in the Prison Dimension, but he knew that wasn’t what he was worried about. He started looking around, his eyes wide and red with terror. In the end, he was unable to find what he was looking for.

But then, all of a sudden, with no prompting whatsoever, fear turned into a DESPERATION so LOUD AND PAINFUL that Leo thought he would be crushed underneath it. It was a feeling unlike any other, an emotion he’d only felt once before, and it was CRUSHING him!

And for some odd, unbelievable reason, it all centered around Donatello.

His Twin.

Leo didn’t even give himself the time to think on it any longer. He just ran out of bed as fast as his still aching legs would go! He opened the door to his train car, almost ran right past Donnie’s because he’s still not used to the new layout of his brand new forever-home, but quickly corrected himself before getting to the kitchen and ran back towards Donnie’s room.

When he finally arrived, Donnie was already on his feet. He seemed frazzled, dazed even, by something that wasn’t even there.

And by god, Leo felt exactly the same way.

The two were inseparable within an instant.

Leo crashed into Donnie’s plastron immediately, making the two turtles crash back onto the soft-shell’s bed. The lack of retribution towards the sudden physical contact on Donnie’s end made the bubbling anxiety within Leo’s chest tighten, constricting on his lungs and making it hard to breathe. Leo tried to fight it back, because he knew that Donnie felt the same way, but it only led him to a new feeling he hadn’t yet felt. A feeling of loneliness, of grief, of being lost and worried he’d never be found…!

Nope. Wait, scratch that, he has felt this feeling before…

But for some reason, it’s worse this time…

Leo’s chest ACHED so so much with all these new, unprompted emotions that just came out of NOWHERE, and so he just… Cried. He cried into Donnie’s shoulder, tightened his grip on his twin, and just barely managed to lift the weight in his heart by a little bit. Slowly but surely, after what felt like an eternity, Leo’s tears slowed, his exhaustion from just being woken up taking up the space that the emotions left behind. Until eventually, there was nothing left to feel except an insurmountable emptiness and exhaustion.

The red-eared slider didn’t want to let go of his twin just yet, didn’t wanna leave the only proof of his very existence, but he knew the hug had to end at some point. So, with a heavy heart, Leo began to let go.

But Donnie, despite everything, still clung desperately to Leo’s body, muttering words that Leo couldn’t hear. His voice was a whisper, a desperate and sad version of a voice that Leo had grown to adore. It wasn’t the voice of exasperation or the voice of annoyance, no. It was the voice of longing and desperation… A voice that did not belong to Donatello in the slightest.

“Tello…?” Leo murmured into his twin’s shoulder, his own voice raw from the tears he’d just shed. “Are you good?” He didn’t get an immediate response, so he just hugged harder.

“I feel like…” Donnie suddenly began, his voice still quiet and sad. Leo tuned his ears so he could listen intently, not wanting to miss a single syllable. Because… What an odd way for Donnie to start a sentence. “Feels like you left and never came back.” Donnie said. “L-like you died or something, and that you were gone for years! Then I woke up and you were with me again, but something was still missing, and then you just… Then it clicked back.”

Oh. So that’s what that feeling was.

“I feel the same way.” Leo supplied carefully. His head was beginning to hurt from the sudden swell of emotions, but he pushed the pain away for the time being.

And then suddenly, before Leo had time to even process what the hell just happened, Donnie’s grip loosened and his head plonked onto his shoulder heavily. He didn’t just immediately fall asleep, but the turtle looked TIRED AS ALL HELL. Poor guy was probably awake all night again! So Leo did what any Good Samaritan would do and carefully set Donnie to bed, not wanting to touch his shell and warrant an unprompted panic attack. But just as he was about to leave Donnie to sleep, his twin grabbed ahold of his wrist and didn’t let go.

“I JUST- I want to be sure that you’ll still be here. My cameras were ruined in the attack last month and I haven’t gotten around to fixing the ones in your room yet, so I just… I-I need to-“

“Donnie, if you wanted a Twin Cuddle, you could’ve just said so!” Leo giggled half heartedly, the smile on his face feeling more like a grimace. “Now move over you big log!”

“Shut up, Dum-Dum.”

Idk how to end this so we’ll leave it there ig. This was inspired by a previous ask similar to this where they wrote in brackets that the present twins just spontaneously felt the same way as the future twins. Thanks for that little burst of inspiration!

and thanks to Cass for making the comic and for existing and for murdering my feelings it makes me feel great kthxbye-

OOOOOOHH THIS IS INTERESTING

[littlemessyjessi]

"Consider Him Wooed": A Holiday Vikings Imagine: Ivar x Plus Size Reader

Vikings Holiday Imagine 

Ivar the Boneless, Ivar Ragnarsson 

Ivar x Plus Size Reader, PS Reader, Reader 

Yule Imagine 

Use of Y/N because ya’ll already know if I make a full character, we’ll all be lucky to see this by next holiday season.  So Y/N it is.   Fem identifying reader because, listen, I just love women, ok?  

Warnings?  Uh, it’s Vikings?  That’s enough of a warning.  

If you’re under 18, hit the bricks.  I love you but get out.  Saying this with as much love as I can muster… go away and come back in a few years.  

……

……

Kattegat was certainly cold during the season of Yule. 

At times, cold enough that it seemed to cut to the bone. 

However, there was a sense of merriment in the air given the season festivities. 

Even the merriest of folk could not seem to brighten the spirits of Ivar. 

In all fairness, the cold worsened the pain of his affliction and therefore his usual sour mood was pretty much rancid at this point. 

Everyone seemed to steer clear of him and though he’d sooner cut out his own tongue than admit it… the sudden loneliness only added to his frigid attitude. 

However, as luck would have it, his mood was easily brightened by the arrival of a certain woman. 

Y/N was undoubtedly Ivar’s favorite person in the world. 

Period. 

It didn’t even matter that he’d yet to see the entire world or meet all of its inhabitants. 

She was his favorite and that was that. 

Anyone who got within the general vicinity of him when she was near could see that. 

Long gone was that surly expression and the permanent frown. 

When he smiled it was full of happiness instead of the usual taunting smirk or straight hysterical laughter. 

No. 

Not with Y/N. 

With her, it was a true smile. 

She could make him look at her in the softest of ways and laugh with the fullest, richest tones of joy. 

The pair of them were opposites in so many ways. 

Ivar was toned and muscular while Y/N was soft and squishy. 

Save for his legs and even in that area she was his opposite with her strong yet soft cushiony thighs. 

Ivar had been born of chaos and determined for war despite being told all his life that it would only kill him. 

Y/N had been sought after for her beauty and her solid frame. 

A fine wife or shield maiden she would’ve made but instead she’d chose to be a shepherd. 

A damn good one at that. 

Many a men had lost their life thinking they would simply take from the soft little shepherdess only to find out that she was a bit of a wolf in sheep’s clothing herself. 

Her pretty clothes made from yarn of wool and round features served as a wonderful disguise for the Hel’s Maiden that resided beneath them. 

That duality had been what had drawn Ivar in in the first place.  

She had sweetness and spice… a mixture that intoxicated Ivar since the moment he’d met her. 

“Ivar, darling, what’s got you in such a good mood?” 

The woman in question seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

“What?” he asked, those piercing eyes of his flicking up to her soft face. 

He did love her face.  The fullness of her cheeks.  The roundness of her chin. 

She always looked so lovely to him.  

Soft, inviting, warm…

“Ivar….” her voice was teasing him. 

He recognized the lilt of amusement and the curl to her mouth. 

“I’m sorry, love.  What did you say?” he said, fingers reaching for the tie of her apron to draw her near. 

The attraction was clear between the two of them… to everyone BUT the two of them. 

And much to the annoyance of everyone but the two of them…

She laughed softly, letting him draw her near. 

Ivar had always been touchy with her and she’d never minded. 

Ivar, for all his wildness, had always been incredibly gentle with her. 

“I asked you what had you in such a good mood.  You’ve been smiling for quite some time.  I don’t think you even registered me standing here for most of it.” she giggled. 

He grinned, despite himself. 

He loved the sound of her laugh. 

Always had. 

“Oh, it was nothing.” he lied. 

In truth, it was everything. 

She gave him a look, nothing short of suspicion but he only smiled in the way that the both of them knew meant she would let it go. 

Because it was Ivar and she admittedly had a soft spot for him. 

“Fine.” she shrugged. “It’s not why I’ve come anyway.” 

“Oh?” he asked, drawing her a little closer than was appropriate truthfully. 

At her soft questioning gaze he quietly muttered, “It’s colder today.  Legs are hurting a bit more.” 

It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the entire truth either. 

He just wanted to hold her. 

“Well, I’m sorry you’re hurting, darling but I also think you’ll find my plans a bit more enticing today because of it.” she said, a coy little glimmer in her eye. 

He lifted a brow at her, “And what are these plans that you plan to rope me into?” 

“I’m not roping you into anything, dearest.” she said.  “You have a choice.” 

“Out with it, Y/N.” he chuckled. 

“Well, as Yule is rapidly approaching…” 

“Mmm hmm.” 

“And I know things will be busy…” 

“Yes…” 

“And you’ll have things with your family and me with mine…” 

“Uh huh…” 

“And I’ll also have to set up more during the market since people will be wanting to get their presents for Yule and all…” 

“Y/N.” 

“And it seems an awful shame that we might not have any time together over the seasonal celebrations…” 

“Y/N, my sweet, though my patience with you is pretty endless…. you are wearing it thin.” he warned but that twinkle in his eyes, curl of his lips and laughter to his voice betrayed him. 

Sort of. 

“Well, I was thinking that if you weren’t busy you might come and stay with me at my home for a few days before all the business starts up for the both of us.” she said finally meeting those blue eyes of his that had widened substantially. 

He would love nothing more… but he also did not intend to pick a fight with her father. 

“And your Da would be alright with this?” he asked. 

“It is my own home, Ivar! I do not require permission as to who I invite in it!” she said, disgruntled at the very suggestion. 

“Her Da would be more than alright with it.” 

The pair of them looked to the voice to see her adoptive father poking his head around the corner. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. 

“What?” the man questioned. 

She narrowed her eyes further, almost into slits to convey her message. 

“Oh aye! You listen, ye banshee! You insisted on moving off to nowhere with ye wee sheep and no one else! It’s in a father’s nature to worry about his child.  And if a strapping man should wish to keep the company of mah wild wee babe…and a prince no less…I support it! And I’m proud of it!” 

“Da, how many ales have you had already?” she sighed. 

“I don’t think it’s ale he’s been drinking, love.” Ivar laughed. 

She pinched the bridge of her cute nose as her uncle dragged her father off in the direction of his own home, likely to put him to bed. 

Thankfully. 

Ivar smiled again, eyes soft at the sight of her.  

“I’m happy to be a guest in your home by the way.” he said. “If the offer still stands.” 

“Oh, it definitely still stands.” she said.  “I’ve prepared enough food for us to stay in there a week and not have to leave for anything but checking on mah sheep.” 

Ivar bit his lip as he knew all to well not to point out that she picked up her father’s accent a bit more when she was flustered and irritated. 

That would only serve to fluster and irritate her more and while he did love the fire in her eyes…. he’d much rather stay in her good graces. 

“The point is, I am inviting you to spend some festive seasonal time with, dearest Ivar, and should you choose to accept the company of me and my sheep… you don’t have to leave the nice cozy little home full of delicious food, the best blankets of the finest wool, if I do say so myself, and truthfully the warmest, best smelling fire around because I may be a heathen but I understand that if you burn herbs in your fireplace your home will smell amazing. And that’s important for me, Ivar. I work with sheep.  Lovely little darlings but they can smell sometimes.” she ranted. 

Ivar was fighting his smile as he could practically feel the heat rolling off her. 

“I would love to.” he said, reiterating what he had already confirmed earlier but apparently she was so flustered she'd already forgotten.

It was cute if not a little concerning at times.

“And you needn’t worry about Hvitserk because he’s already been bribed by a basket of goodies that should keep him busy for at least a week.” she continued clearly not having even heard him.  

“I think you underestimate Hvitserk’s appetite.” 

“I think you underestimate my knowledge of you and your brothers.  There is a honey butter in there that has fruit soaked in mead to go with freshly baked bread.  There is also a jar of aforementioned mead soaked fruits.   Knowing him he will eat them all like the gluttonous little pig that he is and be too drunk to move until the morrow .” 

“You’re a wicked thing aren’t you?” Ivar teased, tugging her closer, pressing her side into his chest and inhaling the scent of her. 

“I’m a cunning thing, Ivar. There’s a difference.” she said prissily. 

“Oh?” Ivar said, playing along.  “Tell me, cunning woman.   Why is it that you’ve bribed my brother with a basket of treats then?” 

“Because, Ivar, if I didn’t the moment he became bored he would seek you out to annoy you.   As you would be with me, this would lead him to annoying me.   And more importantly he would further annoy me by eating up all the  delicious treats, putting his muddy boots upon my rugs and laying his body, painted with who knows who’s cum, all over my bed.  And then I’ll have to kill him.  And he’s your brother so that would be terribly inconvenient to have that between us as during this time when I had planned to tell you my feelings for you and this would ruin the whole thing and-”  she suddenly stopped her rant and timidly looked at him. 

Ivar caught her gaze, confusion coloring his as this was the first time she actually looked scared of him. 

 “You can’t possibly think that I would be anything other than completely thrilled with this news.  Because if there is one doubt swirling in that pretty head of yours that I don’t share this connection, please let me lay it to rest, love.” 

She blinked. 

And then again. 

Ivar’s brows furrowed as he watched those eyes that he so adored well with tears. 

“Sweetness, what’s wrong?” he said, drawing her face close to his.  

“I had a plan, Ivar.  It was supposed to be perfect and festive and full of all the magic of yule.  I had all your favorite things and I went to such lengths and now I’ve gone and ruined it!” she said, the tears finally spilling over. 

Ivar sighed. 

This woman. 

She was one of the toughest people he’d ever met in his life and therefore he knew that if she was crying it was probably a mixture of exhaustion, embarrassment and frustration. 

He fought so hard not to laugh as he tucked her face under his chin. 

She was so upset and she’d put in so much effort. 

While it was sweet, he was just as elated with this. 

All he’d ever wanted was to hear that she shared his feelings. 

He’d felt like he’d had a good idea at times but Y/N could be confusing. 

Her duality had his head spinning so he’d always felt a little unsure in telling her. 

The time of doubt and indecision had been closing on his part and he’d planned to tell her soon. 

She’d just beaten him to it. 

And apparently, had full intentions of wooing him. 

Consider him wooed. 

“Sweetheart?” he spoke to her gently only to receive a sniffle in response. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry that it didn’t go as you’d planned.  It’s obvious that you’ve put a lot of work into this.  However, I think you’re missing an opportunity here.” 

She lifted her face to look at him in confusion, “What are you talking about?” 

“Well, seeing as how we’re both clearly mad for one another… I say we use this little adventure as a time for celebrating our new relationship.” he said. 

There was an impish tone to his voice and a smirk on his lips but Y/N spotted that softness in his eyes.

It was one of the many, many reasons why she loved him. 

He was always so gentle with her. 

In their world of brutality and wildness… he had always made sure that they had space to be soft and gentle with one another. 

And that was a rarity and a privilege when it came to Ivar. 

She sniffed once more, “I love you.  Those are the words that I wanted to tell you.  I love you and I just want to show you how much you mean to me.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” he said.  “And I look forward to a week alone with my new love who also happens to be my old love.  I think you might’ve been my only love really.   Truly anyways.” 

“Blessed Yule, Ivar.” 

“Blessed Yule, sweetheart.” 

And the two of them made their way to Y/N’s humble home and were not seen for a week … or so. 

At which point, Ubbe informed her to NEVER give Hvitserk those fruits again. 

Apparently, he streaked through Kattegat for so long that he nearly gave himself frostbite on his dick… and several of the women wept at the idea of Hvitserk’s appendage being out of commission. 

Y/N, disgusted at the thought of a naked Hvitserk, swore to never give them to him again… as long as Ubbe NEVER EVER spoke of it for the rest of her life.

…..

….. 

Hello, loves!  I hope you enjoy this holiday content! 

Hope ya’ll are having a great day! 

Love you. 

— 

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K, Love you, Bye!

[narukoibito]

If you’re up for it - i'm not used to seeing you with clothes on.

Harry had no desire to attend yet another Ministry function, but the tone in Robards' voice made it abundantly clear that if he skipped tonight's he would be suffering desk duty so long that he wouldn't even remember what being in the field was like.

But that didn't mean Harry had to actively participate. Which basically resulted in him sulking in the background along the wall, using those stealth skills the Aurors had trained him so diligently on to avoid small talk and intrusive pawing by one of the desperate singles. He shook off Sirius's talks about his lack of social skills (whose fault was that when he had only ever been homeschooled and hidden away until it was time to fulfill a fucked up fate).

Letting his guard down momentarily, he closed his eyes, letting his mind drift back to a few nights again. He'd learned far too early (finding the hidden stash of fan mail) that being the Boy Who Lived meant there would be no shortage of willing participants. He wasn't one for intimacy (Sirius gave him a hard enough time about it), but that didn't mean he didn't have needs. With a good amount of lubrication and a fair dash of loneliness, he found himself at a bar known for discretion.

That was all fine and dandy.

What he hadn't expected was how much that night stuck with him.

Strange enough, she'd been funny. Her quips making his lips twitch in an unfamiliar way. It had been surprisingly easy when they slipped into one of the many rooms upstairs.

A burning ache rose within him. The door had shut, and he had reached out for her, that reckless smirk, the way her eyelashes fluttered at his touch. Hand wound in silky hair. He swore he could still taste her—

His eyes snapped open at the sound of giggling and heels to his right. Shite, the unfortunate owner of said noise was Romilda Vane, the new secretary in the office who would not relent on her advances, no matter how bluntly Harry avoided them.

He ducked to his left, weaving through the crowd. It'd been an hour, and Robards couldn't say he hadn't shown his face.

Harry turned the corner.

"Oof!"

The wind was knocked out of him by some blur of gold and red.

"Sorry," he said, hands automatically reaching out to steady the blur. He was already taking another step toward the exit when a stray glance had him breathless for an entirely different reason.

The redhead pushed the curtain of her hair out of her face. "No, I..." she trailed off when they made eye contact. "Oh."

He was staring. She had disappeared before the morning light crept through the windows, fulfilling her promise of "no fuss." And for the first time, he'd wished differently. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, about the things he wanted to say, if he ever saw her again. He opened his mouth.

"I'm not used to seeing you with your clothes on," she said.

Harry burst out laughing, the tension in his gut unwinding. She grinned, looking tall and proud despite her small stature.

"A welcome change?"

"Hm," she said, her eyes appraising him. "I'm not so sure about that."

He swallowed hard.

"Heading somewhere?" she asked, her eyes following his original path toward the door.

"I suppose it depends. Would you like me to?" His hand was still on her waist, not ready to break contact.

His heart pounded hard at the thought that she might be here with someone.

She smiled, which seemed answer enough until she rose onto her toes. Her lips brushed against his, soft and warm, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

She eased away, and only then did he realize he had pulled her close.

"That doesn't sound so bad... Are you sure you like these clothes though?" Her hands smoothed out the front of his robes.

"No promises." He grinned at her stupidly.

Before she could respond, a distinctly male and stunned voice, and she turned toward it. "Ginny!"

Ginny...so that was her name.

Harry followed her gaze, surprised to meet the shocked expression on Weasley's face a few paces away. Ron, he thought his name was.

"That'd be my insufferable brother." Her eyes shined with mischief, holding out her hand. "Still game?"

He took it without hesitation. "You bet."

As they walked toward her stupified brother, she asked, casual, "What did you say your name was?" She knew full well they hadn't exchanged names. His grip tightened.

She hadn't known then.

"Harry."

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

.4

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life. 

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own. 

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower. 

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest.  He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else. 

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you. 

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now. 

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it. 

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now. 

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.  

-

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself. 

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting. 

-

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors. 

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it. 

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once. 

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city. 

-

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now. 

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was. 

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head. 

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.” 

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always. 

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to–  to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing –  for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders. 

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish. 

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing. 

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable. 

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further. 

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs. 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.” 

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen. 

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good��� good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you. 

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone. 

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes. 

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty. 

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him. 

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m–  m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin. 

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need–”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you. 

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth. 

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing. 

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes. 

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment. 

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it. 

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected. 

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin. 

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah. 

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man. 

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right. 

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot. 

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life. 

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course. 

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

[yourheartandmind]

Know You Don't

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Knowing didn't always translate to understanding, and loving Wednesday meant learning that the hard way.

The reality of dating someone rarely goes exactly as expected. Sometimes, this is for the better. Sometimes, the love transforms into a waltz of teaching and learning; a journey beyond yearning and into accepting and understanding. Sadly, however, most of the time it's not.

When it came to loving Wednesday Addams, you knew from the start that loving her would be unlike anything else.

How could it be?

From the beginning, the girl had been reserved and unaffectionate, more likely to commit murders for you than hold you through spouts of tears. And though you had always known better than to expect anything more than that, it would still prove to be your greatest oversight.

Because knowing did not always mean understanding, and for all that you might have tried to ignore this fact, it was the inescapable difference that doomed your relationship. 

Watching the girl now, you held back your sigh of frustration as she rolled her eyes at you. The action made you bristle, and if it had been from anyone else, you might've snapped. Yet, because it was the girl you loved, you fought against the urge to let your irritation show.

Even as the lines around Wednesday's lips deepened, conveying her displeasure and etching it onto her face, you made every effort to remain composed. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice how her expression still bore traces of the stoic stare you had become accustomed to - once wonderfully intriguing. But now, those traces served only as a painful reminder of just how little Wednesday seemed to care, sometimes.

"I don't think I'm asking for too much," you pleaded, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation as you searched for any glimmer of understanding in her darkened eyes, "Just a little more affection, Wednesday, a small gesture here and there to let me know you're there for me when I need it." Your mind wandered to the countless sleepless nights, of the loneliness that always followed. It was during those times that Wednesday seemed to disappear, leaving you to confront your thoughts and solitude alone.

"In what ways, Y/N?" She pressed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, as if erecting an imaginary wall between the two of you.

Not that it seemed to really matter either way. Even when she was physically present, like she was now, it still felt like Wednesday was a world away. Her physical proximity held no comfort. Her gaze had no empathy. It felt as if your struggles were inconsequential to her; as if you were inconsequential to her. 

“Affection?” There was the beginning of mockery in her voice, causing a pang of defensiveness to course through you, “As in physical gestures? You want me to embrace you?” Her words felt demeaning, as if your deepest desires were being reduced to childish wants. But just as likely was the possibility that it was simply your imagination playing a cruel trick on you. 

"Yes, physical gestures, Wednesday," you replied, your voice attempting to stay calm despite how you might have been feeling inside. 

It was as if your plea was falling on deaf ears, though, Wednesday's expression remaining unchanged - as if she couldn't even fathom what you were saying. You were just stopping short of practically begging the girl to show you love, yet the only emotion you found within her gaze was something akin to boredom. And when the raven hair girl finally spoke again, her words were measured and deliberate, only fueling your frustration further.

"I simply don't see the point in such trivial things," she replied, voice carrying a cold detachment, "Are my options for affection really limited only to meaningless, physical touch? Can I not express my love in any other way?"

Her words struck you uncomfortably, causing a knot of confusion to tighten in your chest. You had hoped for even a glimmer of understanding, any willingness to find common ground. Instead, Wednesday was challenging the very essence of your request, leaving you questioning your own needs and desire for affection.

"It's not about triviality or limitations!" You explained, a mix of frustration and yearning in your voice, "I know that you express your love in your own unique way, and I love that about you. But sometimes I just need tangible reassurance. Sometimes, I just need to know you're there when I get lost in my own doubts and worries."

But, in reality, the last sentence remained unspoken; the words that exposed your vulnerability lodged in your throat. Your hesitation was tangible as you found yourself unable to admit your need for reassurance any further, as if exposing your deepest desires would be an admission of weakness.

“I just…” You attempted again, but once more finding the right words escaping you. The unfinished sentence dangled in the silence, leaving the conversation unresolved.

Despite everything, you allowed yourself to silently hope that Wednesday would grasp the depth of the situation without your explicit pleas; that she would understand the importance small gestures of affection could have on the chains around your heart. But as the silence stretched on, it became clear that the unspoken plea would remain unheard; the usually acute and observant Wednesday somehow missing all the signs you were desperately trying to convey.

"You're not understanding," she exhaled, voice carrying a weariness that matched the heaviness you felt.

Suppressing the retort that it was her who failed to understand, you locked your jaw. The words teetered on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed in a moment of frustration and pent-up energy. But as you looked into Wednesday's eyes, vacant and unbothered, you felt all the fight drain out of you. The startling realization of your situation suddenly dawned onto you.

"I'm sorry, you're right," you admitted, the words slipping out with a sigh, carrying with it resignation and the bitter taste of defeat. The apology was empty, devoid of genuine remorse. It was like nothing more than an obligatory olive branch in your attempt to reconcile.

Wednesday, however, nodded, as if your admission was something she had expected all along, accepting your apology with an air of anticipated detachment. A silent scoff almost escaped your lips in response, a bitter reaction to her lack of acknowledgment.

But eventually, resignation seeped into your bones, and acceptance settled heavily onto your shoulders, weighing you down with the realization that your battle for understanding had been a solitary one - waged against an opponent who hadn't recognized the fight in the first place.

Wednesday turned away without a second glance, effortlessly resuming her day as if nothing had transpired, rubbing salt into your wound as you were left to wallow in the futility of your efforts.

Perhaps this time, it was she who had missed all the signs you had desperately tried to convey, consumed by her own world. But, you couldn't help but feel like the eternal fool, allowing her to emerge victorious once again, surrendering your own world to be lost in hers.

---

Unofficial Previous Part: Imposition

[dee-writes-angst]

What Once Crumbled, Will Be Rebuilt Ten Times Stronger

SUMMARY Tenko Shimera was your best friend, the fire in his eyes fueling your days, until he was gone.

CONTENT WARNINGS death, depictions of homeless children, mentions of abuse, loss, and grief. For the sake of the series (and my conscience), all characters are aged up while still following the plot of MHA. In other words, think of UA as a college rather a high school.

AUTHORS NOTE my love for My Hero Academia is something that I have kept carefully hidden from this platform considering the amount of toxicity surrounding the fandom, but this story idea has swept me up and I really want to share it with you guys. So, I have decided to say fuck it and post it. Happy new series, my darlings! I hope you’ll stick around and get swept up with me.

SERIES MASTERLIST

You had known Tenko Shimura since you were a child, a bond that had grown unbreakable over the years. He was your childhood best friend, the quiet and reserved boy who seemed out of place among the more boisterous children. Yet, beneath that calm exterior, you saw a fire in him, a burning intensity that mirrored your own. His fire was one of hate and anger, a raging storm that contrasted sharply with the deep, unsettling fear that fueled your own ambitions.

Despite his quiet demeanor, Tenko had a unique ability to reassure you. In his presence, you found a strange sense of comfort, as if his anger could temporarily quell your fears. Those moments, fleeting as they were, provided a brief respite from the anxieties that plagued you. Yet, no matter how comforting those moments were, they always ended the same way: Tenko being dragged back home, leaving you to face your fears alone. 

Your memories of those warm summer days are vivid, filled with dreams and schemes of a brighter future. You and Tenko would sit for hours, plotting and fantasizing about the day you both might become heroes. You envisioned yourselves changing the world, making a real impact. Those dreams were your escape, a shared vision that kept you both going through the challenges of your childhood. 

In those days, the world was a place of infinite possibilities. The future was a canvas, and you and Tenko were determined to paint it with your dreams. You believed that together, you could overcome anything, that your combined strength and resolve would be enough to conquer any obstacle. The bond you shared was more than just friendship; it was a partnership forged in the fires of ambition and fueled by the desire to make a difference. 

As you both grew older, Tenko’s fire only grew brighter and harsher. He renounced the world that caused him so much torment and pain, his dreams slowly shifting from idealistic visions of change to fantasies of destruction. Tenko wanted to burn everything down and revel in the screams of suffering, his anger turning into a desire for vengeance against a world that had wronged him. 

Your path, however, took a different turn. Despite the hardships you faced, you clung to your dreams, even on those cold nights spent sleeping on benches in parks or hidden behind disgusting dumpsters in alleyways. In the shadows of the city, you found strength in your vulnerability. Every harsh experience, every cold night, and every moment of loneliness forged you into someone determined to make a difference. You saw the world’s cruelty firsthand and vowed to fight against it, not by destroying it, but by changing it from within.

Comfort was a foreign concept to you. You had never felt the gentle caress of a mother or heard the deep belly laughter from playing with a father. Your life began in an alleyway that looked like any other dark alleyway in the city—cold, ruthless, and haunting. 

You had met Tenko when he dared to run away from home one fateful day. He found you on a playground bench, shaking you awake with a mixture of curiosity and concern, asking if you were dead. When you confirmed that you were alive, he smiled at you—genuinely smiled—a rare warmth that you hadn’t experienced before. He tugged you off the bench and into the playground, where the bark chips bit into your bare feet. You had outgrown your only shoes years ago, and each step left small streaks of blood behind, but you ignored the pain. 

Tenko was animated, talking excitedly about a game he wanted to play. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious, a stark contrast to the indifference you were used to from others. No one had ever noticed you before; they simply went about their day, oblivious to the child shivering on a park bench. But Tenko saw you. He acknowledged you, pulled you into his world, and gave you a taste of what it felt like to be seen and valued. 

It was that day, amid the bark chips and bleeding feet, that Tenko Shimura became more than just a boy who ran away from home. He became your best friend and your hero. His smile, his warmth, and his willingness to reach out to you forged a bond that would shape your life in ways you couldn't yet comprehend. From that moment on, Tenko was a beacon of hope and companionship in your otherwise harsh and lonely existence. 

Everything had changed one cold night in October. By this time, you and Tenko were inseparable. His itching had worsened over the months, but what truly bothered him wasn’t the itching itself. It was his mother smothering him in cream and offering false sincerities. He had tried many times to get his mother to let you stay after he was found and forced home, but once bruises started appearing on his skin, he refused to ask again. The dark marks marring his soft skin grew more frequent, a silent testament to his hidden suffering. You tried to ask him about it once, but he became very quiet, and his itching grew so intense that he started to bleed. Since then, you assumed he wasn’t ready to share and let it drop. 

It was a particularly harsh night when you lost your best friend. You stayed close to his house, having set up your makeshift home in an alleyway about two blocks away, curled tightly under a thin sleeping bag to ward off the cold. In the middle of the night, a loud crash was quickly followed by the ground shaking beneath you. Despite the maturity you had been forced to develop in your time alone, you were still a child, so you ran to Tenko’s home seeking comfort. But all you found was rubble. The ear-splitting crash and the shaking ground were caused by his home collapsing. Your small hands pushed and pulled at the debris, desperately trying to save your friend, sobbing and heaving as you searched all night long. You were too weak, too young to make any impact on the devastating collapse. 

That night, amidst the tears and cries of agony as you cut your small hands and knees on the rubble, you vowed to become a hero. No matter what it took, you would not allow another person to lose a best friend the way you had. The memory of Tenko, the boy who had seen you, acknowledged you, and become your hero, fueled your determination. His smile, his warmth, and the bond you shared would forever be the driving force behind your quest to make a difference in a world that had taken so much from you. 

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Severus snape x mermaid reader 🧜‍♀️🌊✨️

The waters of the calm lake gently rolled onto the white sandy shores. The clear water stopped reaching a pair of black leather boots.

Those boots belong to a man of grave desolation. He was alone. He was exhausted. He was broken.

His impassive, cold gaze looked over the horizon. His black eyes bore into the water that reflected his own sorrow. Within his grasp, he held a letter, a letter from someone that sparked life into him. A letter from someone he loved and lost.

Tears streamed down the line of his hooked nose. The silence is immense. All the memories that led to nothing but a boy resembling a man who he hated and yet loved for the eyes were all that was left of hers.

Within the letter, it contained a picture, a picture of a family with a young babe. His lips curved into a slight frown. Reaching the other tip of the picture with his pale, slim fingers. Beginning to tear the picture in half. On the right side was a woman, donned with bright red hair and glinting green eyes. Her smile was the only thing that caught him off guard, allowing him to express emotion.

The gentle tide rolled in and out as the man grieved his loss. He placed a hand to his eyes, covering them as he sobbed in murmurs and whispers. "Lily".

Within the waters, a curious head popped out. Your eyes stared at the man weeping quietly, muttering one word, over and over. You had no clue who this odd human was, but you knew he was in peril. Most humans that pass were often witches or wizards flying over the lake or trying to find something that's lost.

You dove back into the water, allowing your tail to flicker above the surface. Your body gently swayed up and down within the murky water to get closer to the man.

Your head popped above the water once more this time, reaching your hand out to touch him. As the mysterious man felt something wet and soft touch his, he looked up with a startled gaze, stumbling back. "What in merlin do you think you're doing!" He said in a startled, scenic tone.

"You weep. You cry. Your heart aches." You say in a gentle curious tone.

"Keep your filthy nose out of my business, you pilfering creature." He said in defence.

"Help. I try to help." You push closer, allowing your body to slither on the shore, only enough to allow the waves to splash against your gills.

"Do not speak of this to anyone, or I shall curse you back to the depths." He was weary.

"Paper. Words. Hurt you." You said, trying to decipher his sorrow.

"Who is lily." You said, provoking the man's emotion even further.

"ENOUGH! YOU ARE TO DROP YOUR NOSEY MIND OR SO HELP I WILL!—"

"Kill me." You said simply.

His slender fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will not answer anymore protruding questions. In short, you dunderhead. Indeed, I am in peril, and no, I don't need your pity."

"I need not know of your reason, I only want to listen." You said. "I want help by only hearing. Listening. Comforting."

The man in question dusted the sand off his black robes and cloak. Brushing the black strands of hair that reached his cheek bone to the side.

He couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was due to the loneliness or desperation within him. He wasn't asking for an audience. They weren't a student. They weren't going to refer to anyone else. It's not like she would understand. Oh dear merlin, why not.

He sat down back down, his knees facing you. He didn't even care anymore. You were the only thing that could potentially be close enough to what he needed. A friend.

As he explained what was on his mind. The betrayl. The school. Dumbledore. The sacrafice. The letter. He looked down at the picture, hesitant to show you, but did so eventually.

Even though you weren't fully aware of human emotion. You pushed up with your arms, embracing him. Despite the fact you were dripping wet. He didn't care. He never really liked the idea of touching people, but in this moment. His fingers gently touched you back.

After this touching moment. He would visit the black lake, bringing books and potions to study as you listened. He even tried to teach you, which ended rather horribly, causing a puff of black smoke to explode in his face.

You found it funny but in the lightness, and thanks to your friendship, he ended up grinning ear to ear, remeniscing on his younger years.

He never allowed anyone to touch him, and he was cold-hearted toward everyone but you. He explained all his dreams and gaols to you. Which student he favourites and hates.

You spoke to him of the life underwater. He was rather fascinated. Your favourite moments were watching the sunset, leaning against him as you slept.

You were the one thing he truly needed.

[ikeprinces-stuff]

Event : Leon Dompteur sequel route release

Host : @aquagirl1978

Characters : Leon x Reader

Words : 1414

A/N : My first entry to the event, a day early before the start time, pls don't mind me, Aqua ✨❤️🤣 the one who'll get deeper to what inside the story is the smartest fella!

Day 1 - “Love : Who/what does Leon love? what does love mean to him?”

Love can take on numerous interpretations, shaped by individual perspectives and experiences. For some, love serves as a coping mechanism, while others might use it as a justification for actions that stray far from its essence. Conversely, many view love as a beacon, a source of joy, and a guiding force in life. The unique love discovered by the King of Beasts was particularly exceptional; it prompted him to reconnect with a part of himself that he believed he had eradicated long ago, unaware that this hidden self had been quietly residing within his lonely heart.

This newfound love acted as a catalyst for his journey towards authenticity, allowing him to emerge as his true self rather than merely playing a role cast by others. After nearly succumbing to the depths of his solitude and despair, he found solace in the presence of someone who shone like a warm ray of sunshine, nurturing him back to life and helping him rediscover the essence of who he truly was.

“Nothing will change the man I know, you will always be you.” Even after all this time, the words still resonate in his mind like the enchanting sound of bells—melodic and timeless. He finds himself replaying them over and over, especially when he’s with you, the one who spoke those cherished words. They linger in his thoughts, a beautiful reminder of that moment, evoking feelings he never tires of reliving.

"‘As she departed from the barren place she once called home, she resolved to embark on a journey through the kingdoms, in search of the truth... answers... about her own identity. Throughout her life, people have regarded her as charming, resolute, and adept at winning hearts with her personality and deeds, almost effortlessly.’" You read the passage attentively, your place nestled in your king's embrace on the bed, as if sharing a bedtime story. "You know, Leon?" you called out, catching his attention, which shifted towards you with evident curiosity. "This heroine reminds me of someone. She has a way of captivating people instantly, with an irresistible charm." You shot a teasing glance at Leon, prompting him to chuckle. "I wonder who that could be?" he replied playfully, already aware of your intentions. As he wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you closer, his actions spoke louder than words, reinforcing your point.

“Do you really think she’s like me?” Leon asked, his strong arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace, transferring warmth from your skin to your very heart. You let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to lower your defenses in his presence. “Maybe not exactly,” you replied, sensing the intrigue reflected in Leon’s eyes. Earlier, you had drawn a parallel between him and the heroine of the story, but now it seemed you had shifted your stance. “What do you mean by that?” Leon inquired, curiosity evident in his voice and a playful smile dancing on his lips.

“Well, this heroine, despite her intelligence, beauty, and indomitable spirit… spent her life in solitude. She overcame challenges and fought against the odds, yet she did it all on her own. Though many admired her, she never let anyone in, never truly lowered her guard. She was surrounded by admirers, but her only true companion was her instrument—her intuition and her instinct for survival.”

Leon was taken aback by your in-depth character analysis, recognizing its precision, poignancy, and underlying sadness. Even though the character was fictional, he felt a sense of connection. Despite being constantly surrounded by supporters and admirers, he too often felt the grip of loneliness. In a way, he and that heroine were linked by their shared struggle with solitude.

“Maybe it’s just that she hasn’t discovered what could liberate her from her loneliness yet,” he mused, his voice tinged with a softness that hinted at deeper thoughts. Glancing at him, you noticed his gaze was fixed not on the pages before you but somewhere far away, filled with a mixture of sadness and affection.

“She’s lost, you know,” Leon continued, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. “Without any hints of her past, she learned to build walls, never trusting anyone. She was a shadow of herself, unable to open her heart.” As he spoke, you caught a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, as if he were recollecting an intimate part of his own life. Your hand instinctively reached out to his cheek, caressing it tenderly. To your surprise, Leon leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as he reveled in the comfort you offered.

“You and this heroine are quite different, though,” you chimed in with a playful smile, watching him react with a mischievous glint in his now-opened eyes. “You’ve been quite the wordsmith lately, haven’t you?” You laughed lightly, before continuing, “While I can see why you might see similarities, let’s be real here. You said she couldn’t find a way out of her loneliness, but that’s not true for you.” There was a pause, a bridge of unspoken connections stretching between the two of you. “She couldn’t be herself with anyone. But you… you found me. You never had to hide who you are from me.”

Leon fell silent, and you could feel the warmth of your emotions swirling in the air. “When I fell in love with you, it wasn’t just affection; it was a desire to share this life, to ensure you’d never be alone. You’ve always told me that our love lets you be yourself, that with me, you can embrace the real you.” You felt a sense of resolution settle around you, as if the darkness that once surrounded Leon was slowly lifting, replaced by the bright light of acceptance and connection.

Leon locked his amber gaze onto you, an irresistible glint of mischief in his eyes as he snatched the book from your hands and slammed it shut, plopping it down on the bedside table. “Hey! I wasn’t done with that yet—Oooff!” The air rushed from your lungs as he nestled his head against your chest, arms wrapping around you tight. “Leon…?” You could hardly process it as he purred like a contented cat, radiating warmth and affection that made your heart flutter. “You’ve got this uncanny knack for making me fall head over heels every single time,” he murmured, grinning up at you.

Your surprise quickly melted into adoration. “Well, I hope that heroine finds something to chase away her loneliness,” Leon said, as your fingers gently gliding through his hair. “Someone who makes her feel free to be herself, you know?” Leon nodded thoughtfully. “Basically, she needs to find love, right?” you added, and he totally agreed. “I always knew you cared for everyone, but I didn’t think you’d extend all that compassion to fictional characters too,” you teased, a grin creeping onto your face.

“Hey, I just can’t stand the thought of anyone going through what I did,” he shrugged, still clinging to you like you were his security blanket. “If that heroine figures it out, it’ll mean she learns that being herself is all about love. And thanks to you, I know just what that feels like.” He looked at you, eyes glimmering with hope, and you couldn’t resist giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Really, all I did was fall for you. I’m not some great sage or anything,” you laughed lightly, but his expression was mock-serious. “Oh please, drop the modesty! Even if it’s true, I’m giving you all the credit anyway,” he shot back, settling on top of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

With barely a moment to catch your breath, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, fingers intertwining in a dance that felt like pure magic. Just as you were about to get lost in the moment, reality hit you like a ton of bricks. “Ugh, what if I forget where I left off in the book? This is totally your fault!” You rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Leon chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t sweat it! You won’t forget a single detail of tonight—especially when I keep reminding you how much I love you,” he grinned, capturing your lips again as you both dove into a world that was just the two of you, wrapped up in an endless loop of love and laughter.

Fin ✨❤️

Taglist : @violettduchess @the-bird-and-the-flute @lorei-writes @chirp-a-chirp @solacedeer @judesmoonbeauty @drachonia @wistfulwanderingone @candiedcoffeedrops @scummy-writes @rjthirsty @reborn-elven @candied-boys @leonscape @citrusmornings

(PLS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO / DON'T WANT TO BE ON THE LIST!)

[bexxa12]

STUDIO SECRETS|| JJ x Y/N

{Summary}

Jungkook, a musical prodigy whose voice captivates millions, finds himself drawn into a world beyond the spotlight. His path crosses with the enigmatic daughter of his esteemed producer, a woman whose secrets run as deep as the melodies he crafts.

CHAPTER 2

WC: 2,128

As they packed up the studio, the conversation turned to the future. 

"Maybe one day, she'll join me here," Mr. Kim said with a wistful smile. "We could run this place together, make a real difference in the industry." 

Jungkook couldn't help but picture a young, feisty version of Mr. Kim striding through the studio, her hair in a messy bun, arguing about the finer points of a contract with the same fervor she'd use in a courtroom.

Her passion for justice was palpable even in the way he recounted her stories. Jungkook was captivated by the image of this young woman who mirrored her father's determination in a different arena. 

It was a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of the music world they inhabited, but it was a reminder that their work, too, had the power to influence and shape lives.

They walked out into the night, the city's neon lights bouncing off the wet pavement after an unexpected shower. 

The air was clean and cool, a stark contrast to the stuffy confines of the studio. Jungkook took a deep breath, feeling the tension of the day's work melt away.

"Congratulations again," Jungkook said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "Your daughter must be over the moon." Mr. Kim's eyes crinkled with a proud smile. 

"Oh, she is," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "But she's already planning her next move, the relentless little thing. She's going to be a force in the courtroom, mark my words."

Jungkook nodded, feeling a strange kinship with the young woman he'd never met. 

"It's incredible," he said. "To be that focused, that driven."

Mr. Kim's smile grew. "It is," he agreed. "But it's not all seriousness with her. She's got a wicked sense of humour. You'd like her, I think." The comment lingered in the air, and Jungkook found himself hoping it was true. 

It was a strange thought, considering he had never met her, but the idea of sharing a laugh with the daughter of the man who had become so pivotal in his career was oddly comforting.

With that, they climbed into the car, the leather seats cool against their skin. As Mr. Kim pulled out of the parking lot, Jungkook felt a strange sense of peace. 

The city lights streaked by in a blur, the music of their creation playing softly in the background. It was a stark contrast to the quiet intensity of the studio, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

Mr. Kim's eyes remained focused on the road ahead, his hands steady on the steering wheel. Jungkook knew that despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the producer's mind was racing with thoughts of the next steps for their project. 

Yet, there was a serene calmness to him tonight, a subtle glow of pride that seemed to emanate from within.

The car pulled up to Jungkook's apartment building, the headlights illuminating the familiar facade. 

"Thank you," Jungkook said, his voice sincere.

Mr. Kim waved him off. "You're welcome. Now, get some rest," he said firmly. "We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

Jungkook stepped out of the car, the cool evening air washing over him. He took a moment to appreciate the quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city. As he watched Mr. Kim drive away, he felt a strange sense of loneliness, despite the buzz of excitement from their successful session. 

Jungkook climbed the stairs to his apartment, the sound of his shoes against the cold marble echoing in the empty hallway. 

When he stepped inside, the stark contrast of the sleek black and white interior hit him like a wave of cold water. The space was meticulously clean, a stark reflection of his own disciplined nature.

The living room was dominated by a black grand piano, its glossy surface reflecting the muted glow of the city lights outside. 

The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, framing the urban jungle like a living painting. 

Jungkook's apartment was a sanctuary, a place where he could shed the weight of his public persona and be himself. The monochromatic scheme was deliberate, a canvas for his vibrant thoughts and emotions to play out without the distraction of colour.

He tossed his jacket over the back of a sleek white couch, the material whispering against the leather. His eyes scanned the space, taking in the minimalist design that mirrored his own meticulous nature. 

The only splash of colour came from the framed posters of his favourite jazz musicians adorning the walls, their soulful eyes seeming to follow him wherever he went.

Jungkook made his way to the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The shower was his sanctuary, a place where he could wash away the grime of the day and let the hot water soothe his weary muscles.

As the steam began to fill the room, Jungkook let out a sigh of contentment. The warmth of the water and the quiet solitude of his apartment were a balm to his soul. 

He could feel the stress of the day melting away, the lyrics of their newest track playing in his head like a lullaby. His body grew heavier with each passing moment, the call of his bed growing stronger.

When he emerged from the shower, the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and mint, the remnants of his favourite shower gel clinging to his skin. He padded over to the bedroom, the plush carpet cool under his bare feet. 

His bed beckoned, the crisp white sheets a promise of rest and rejuvenation. He slipped into the soft embrace of the pillows, the gentle hum of the city outside acting as a soothing lullaby.

He thought of Mr. Kim's stories about Y/N, her spirit and drive resonating with him in a way that transcended the walls of their creative haven. 

It was a strange comfort to know that even someone as successful and stoic as his mentor faced challenges in balancing career and family.

With a yawn that stretched his jaw, Jungkook reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow over the room. 

He scrolled through his messages, his eyes lingering on a group chat with his bandmates, filled with their typical banter and updates on their own solo projects.

The room was silent except for the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows, a soothing backdrop to his racing thoughts. He set his phone down and closed his eyes, the melody of their latest creation playing on a loop in his mind.

The next day, Jungkook woke early, the lyrics of their song still playing in his head. He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of well-worn jeans and a plain black T-shirt that hugged his toned frame. 

The anticipation of returning to the studio was a palpable force, pushing him out the door and into the damp embrace of the city streets. The rain had cleared, leaving a freshness to the air that mirrored the excitement in his chest.

As he stepped into the studio, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint buzz of electronics greeted him. Mr. Kim was already there, his eyes bright with the same eagerness as Jungkook's.

Mr. Kim looked up from his mixing board, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Ready to tackle the verses today?" he asked.

Jungkook nodded, his heart racing. The studio felt like a second home now, a place where he could shed his celebrity skin and just be an artist. 

They spent the morning refining the verses, each line a delicate dance between Mr. Kim's sharp instincts and Jungkook's raw emotion. It was a symphony of give and take, a tapestry of sound that grew more intricate with every passing hour.

The producer's eyes never left the sound waves on his screen as Jungkook laid down his vocals, his voice a rich blend of grit and soul that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the booth. 

The intensity in the room was palpable, the air thick with the potential of a masterpiece in the making.

But as the final notes of the chorus faded, Mr. Kim's phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Without looking up from his work, he reached over to silence it, but Jungkook's hand stopped him mid-motion. 

"Take it," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "It might be important."

Mr. Kim stepped out of the control room, the door clicking shut behind him. Jungkook watched him go, curiosity gnawing at the edges of his mind. 

Alone in the booth, Jungkook decided to take a break. He slipped off his headphones, letting the silence wash over him. 

The sudden absence of music was deafening. He stepped out into the main studio area and took a seat on the worn leather couch, the coolness of the leather a stark contrast to the warmth of the booth. 

The space was bathed in the soft glow of the mixing lights, casting shadows on the floor like a dance of spirits.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, echoing down the hallway. Jungkook's heart skipped a beat. He didn't recognize the gait, and it was too early for anyone else to be in the studio.

The door opened, and Mr. Kim entered, a figure following closely behind. Jungkook's curiosity grew as the newcomer stepped into the light.

Jungkook couldn't help but admire the young woman who walked into the studio, her heels clicked rhythmically against the floor, a beat that seemed to sync with the silent melody of the studio. 

Jungkook took in her attire, the tailored skirt that whispered around her legs as she moved, and the sharp lines of her blazer that spoke of her unwavering determination.

A stark contrast to the casual clothes and sneakers he was used to seeing in the creative space.

"Jungkook," Mr. Kim said, turning to Jungkook, "This is my daughter, Y/N." Jungkook rose from the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. 

He had heard so much about her, but seeing her in person was like watching a character from Mr. Kim's stories come to life. 

She was beautiful, with a sharp jawline and piercing gaze that could cut through the densest fog of doubt.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, extending her hand. Jungkook took it, feeling a jolt of energy pass between them. Her grip was firm, a promise of the strength that Mr. Kim had hinted at in his anecdotes. 

"Dad's told me a lot about the music you're making here."

Jungkook nodded, unable to find his voice. Jungkook felt his cheeks warm slightly, his grip on her hand tightening for a brief moment before releasing. 

"I've heard a lot about you, too. Your father's proud of your law school achievements." he managed to reply, his voice steady despite the nerves that danced in his stomach.

Her eyes lit up at the mention of her studies, and she couldn't help but share her latest victory in the mock court. 

"It's intense," she said with a small laugh, "but I wouldn't trade it for the world." Jungkook nodded, intrigued by her passion.

Mr. Kim's smile grew wider as he watched his daughter's excitement. 

"But she can't stay for long," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "Her law firm's expecting her."

Y/N nodded, her eyes sparkling with determination. 

"I just wanted to drop by and see you," she said, turning to her father. "But I do have to leave for my work placement soon. The partner I'm working with is a real stickler for punctuality."

Jungkook studied her as she spoke, noticing the way her eyes danced when she talked, the way her hands gestured animatedly as she spoke. There was a fierce passion in her that was impossible to ignore. It was easy to see why Mr. Kim was so proud of her.

As she turned to leave, she paused and looked at Jungkook. "Your voice," she said, "it's incredible. I've heard snippets of what you're working on here, and it's going to change the industry."

Jungkook felt his chest tighten with emotion. "Thank you," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. "Your support means a lot."

Y/N's smile was genuine, her gaze holding his for a moment longer than necessary before she turned to her father. "I've got to go, Dad," she said, her voice a mix of regret and excitement.

Mr. Kim nodded, his eyes reflecting the same warmth as his daughter's. 

"Drive safe," he said, giving her a quick hug. Jungkook watched as she grabbed her bag, the fabric of her blazer whispering against her skirt. She paused at the door, her hand on the knob, and looked back at Jungkook. 

"See you around," she said, her voice filled with the promise of future encounters.

[xxxangeleyesxxx]

“I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood

I am here now, as you run from me still

Run then, child

You can't hide from me forever” - Ptolemaea

It was always this familiar dark place she was sent to.

Anna was accustomed to this dream at this point, if you could even call it that. She once heard from someone that sleep is death playing shy, and this was fairly reminiscent of it. It’s completely pitch black dark, you couldn’t even see the tips of your fingers if you tried. No matter how far she walked, nothing blocked her from transversing further.

Disembodied hands would grab at her side and graze her cheek. She wondered if they were truly there or just her mind playing tricks on her. Still, she would swat at them. Still, she would draw back and shiver in disgust at the mild violation. Occasionally, she would hear a blood curdling scream from somewhere in the blackness. Sometimes it was far away. Others, right next to her ear. Despite mirroring their suffering and fear in this lonely place, it never made it feel any less cold and isolated.

This was hell. After reading the Bible at 12 and getting to the verse it was described, that was what she concluded. There was no demons torturing you for eternity in unspeakable ways. It was no Dante’s Inferno. It was darkness, weeping, screaming, and complete and utter despair.

The only thing missing was fire and agony, but, as Anna thought thankfully, you couldn’t feel pain in dreams. That would only wake you up.

Her only question; Why was she sent here? What had she done?

One would think after several years of experiencing this nightly torment that she would no longer be afraid of it, but no. Anna would still walk with uncertainty, her hands reaching out in front of her for something, anything to grasp onto and make the chaos make sense, but she could never find it. Even now, she still covered her ears to block out the horrible screams from countless people she had no way of saving. Her heart would still ache with the all too familiar pain of loneliness and betrayal from a source she couldn’t ascertain. It never got easier.

Tonight was different though.

There was a formless door. It opened just slightly. Precious light spilled from within onto the oak floor. Anna reached towards it.

The metallic taste of blood hit her tongue.

She hesitated. Her outstretched hand shook unsteadily. A part of her understood that what lie beyond this door was something that she did not want to see, something she was simply not ready to face. She didn’t want to enter it, but she knew she had to.

Suddenly, she was a little girl again. The delicate hands before her gave way to small, stubby ones, nail beds bitten and peeling. She carefully peered inside.

This didn’t feel like a dream anymore, it felt like reality.

And yet it just couldn’t be. The monster standing before her couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming, cause if she wasn’t—

The beast with seven heads audibly shifted it’s haunting blue eyes to look at her. She froze, then began heaving, unable to get enough air into her lungs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to run or defend herself, though in all fairness, what could she do? There were two bodies on the floor, blood gushed out from their torn, mangled limbs. The monster’s elongated hands were drenched in blood. Gnashing teeth easily tore apart flesh from a leg. It gingerly offered her a severed arm, as if it meant nothing to indulge in the most taboo thing imaginable.

Her heart was pounding. Her mouth spilled words beyond her control.

“Johan? You- W-What have you done!?”

The most demonic, distorted version of her brother’s voice came echoed out of sync from the many heads of that creature.

“Anna, please listen to me. We have to-“

All at once Anna was in her bed again, sweating bullets, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling. She had her blanket clutched to her chest in a white-knuckled grip. She slowly adjusted to her new surroundings and sat up, scanning her room for anything out of place, glancing back every so often at an oddly placed coat and the closet. Anna was used to nightmares, but not ones of that caliber. She was admittedly shaken, and didn’t think more sleep was in the cards for tonight.

The bedside clock read 1:43am. Pictures of her, her family, and friends stared up at her with their mocking smiling faces, like she didn’t just go through hell and back. She picked the one of her and Johan at their high school graduation ceremony and smiled, feeling herself begin to calm down. Johan looked at her with such a gentle expression, while she beamed at the camera, her arms wrapped around her barely older brother in a vice grip.

It was one of her favorite pictures. It served as a reminder that no matter what happened, he would always be there for her.

She put the photo down and slipped out of bed, leaving the room.

Johan would probably be asleep by now, but you honestly never knew with him. He had quite the odd sleep schedule.

His door was just barely left opened, the plain, navy blue queen sized bed was neatly made and without its usual inhabitant. She could hear him scribbling something on a piece of paper and flipping through the pages of a book. Hopefully, she wasn’t interrupting his late night study session.

She knocked the side of the door frame.

“Johan? Is it ok if I come in?”

The writing paused and he called for her from his desk. She smiled warmly and entered the room. He swung his chair to face her, giving her that signature soft gaze he always carried.

For whatever reason, she felt herself tense in front of him. Sweaty hands clenched at her sides. Unable to meet his eyes, she glanced at a patchy spot on the carpet the landlord refused to fix.

“I um, I-I had a really bad dream.” Anna was awful at hiding her emotions, especially in front of him. She sat down on his bed and seemed to have his full attention. Opening up about things would always be difficult, but it shouldn’t be this difficult. Johan was her most trusted person. “I know that it probably sounds silly, and I know that I’m too old to be letting it affect me like this but it just felt so real.” She sucked in her lip and shyly popped the question.

“Can I sleep here for tonight?”

@theartifxce

[witchezandwonderz]

The Hearts Reckoning

Pairing: King Alfred x Male Reader

Request: dk if you do smut but if you do could you do that but basically sad one obv bc i'm like that and it's an alfred one with reader - he/him or they/them idc - and yea, so like a secret relationship but alfred also sort of neglects the reader so reader leaves him and then he realizes what he lost afterwards and yea... reader can take him back or not. idk. just make it to where i would feel that in my damn heart and think about it all day. i love sad fics. #sadboi anyway. thank you, pookie. :3 ~ jasper {he/they/it}

Word Count: 2014

In the quiet shadows of the royal chamber, Y/N felt the weight of Alfred’s gaze on him, warm yet unyielding, and wondered how long he could bear being the king’s best-kept secret, or perhaps the king’s worst-kept secret. Everybody knew of Alfred’s romantic affair, including his wife, Aelswith. Despite the knowing, not one word was spoken of the matter, specifically in front of the king and queen. In all other places however, it was all most people could speak of.

The secret, romantic affair was something that Y/N did not expect, it was something that Aelswith did not expect, in fact it was something that no one had expected.

It all started on a miserable, rainy day. Y/N had received word that the king was in need of a new scribe, so, naturally, he jumped at the chance of earning his way into the kingdom, fuelled by excitement rather than logic of what events would actually play out within the castle walls.

He walked in, shy and not knowing how to speak to the people in front of him. Everyone seemed so vacant, so cold and shallow. His first interactions with Alfred were meaningless, although Y/N had taking a liking to his features, he was unsure of what judgement to make of his personality. He seemed to ignore Y/N completely, and pretended as if he was not there. Initially, Y/N did not mind this as he knew his role was not to make general conversation with the king, but as the days grew so did Y/N’s loneliness. A small interaction would have been appreciated.

Six days into working for the King, Y/N finally got the interaction he had been yearning for. Alfred randomly entered the room that Y/N read peacefully in and stated “I would like you to meet me within my chambers, later this evening”. Y/N looked up at him, his face filled with confusion as he attempted to muster up a response in his head and stuttered the word “why?”. Alfred stood looking back at him, no expression upon his face, “I have not spoken to you, it would be beneficial for me to know who is working for me” and with that, he left the room, leaving Y/N to wonder what on earth had just happened.

Later that night, Y/N left his quarters and continued to ponder what he should anticipate- what did he want to know about him? After knocking on the door lightly, he stood and waited patiently for the king to answer. Surprisingly, Alfred only had only one guard outside of the door, and as a consequence, Y/N felt less intimidated and hoped for a more casual interactions, one without swords and defensive men.

Alfred answered a few moments later, wearing a small smile on his face, moved aside, raising his hand to gesture Y/N to enter. Inside was the most affluent room he had ever seen, he had never seen someone with such riches- but I suppose that makes perfect sense considering the circumstances.

“Please, sit down” Alfred spoke, gesturing towards the chair in front of him. Y/N smiled and silently shuffled his way to sit down. Once sat, Alfred spoke once more “my apologies, I have been so busy that I have not allocated any time to meet you properly” the soft smile stayed rested on his face. Y/N smiled in return “I understand, my lord, you have a particularly busy job”. The comment earned a small laugh from the king. To Y/N’s surprise, Alfred then reached over and briefly touched his leg before laughing and again and moving it back to his own lap.

After that evening, the pair would meet nightly as they very clearly enjoyed one another's company. The two of them became good acquaintances, both spending their days looking forward to their awaited meeting. Y/N was growing fond of Alfred, too fond he thought. Meanwhile being completely unaware that the king reciprocated the fondness. Y/N was made aware of this fact when Alfred planted a kiss upon his lips out of the blue. The kiss was quick, but meaningful. Y/N tried to repeat the action, but much to his dismay, Alfred stepped away and stormed out of the room. Once again, leaving Y/N in a state of pure confusion. 

The next day, Y/N spent the entirety of the day unsure as to whether he should go to Alfred's chambers in the evening- should he act like all is normal? What if he does not turn up and the king becomes angry? But what if he gets angry for him arriving? The questions whirled through his mind before finally coming to a decision; he will go, he will go because despite Alfred being his king, he has no right to do such a significant thing and then treat Y/N as though he is at fault. So that is what he did, at the normal hour he arrived, as he had done nightly for the past fortnight. He waited at the door, attempting to stop his hand from trembling while he gathered both his thoughts and tried to visibly and mentally calm down. 

Alfred opened the door almost immediately, wearing an expression that Y/N could not make understand so in turn had no understanding of the mood of the King. Alfred took Y/N's arm and led him in, hurrying to shut the door behind him. 

"Y/N, I should not have done what I did yesterday, I cannot believe that I would do such a thing I am unbelievably disgusted with myself" Alfred spoke, clearly ashamed as his eyes had not yet found Y/N's but were instead fixated on the floor next to him. Y/N cleared his throat before gently saying "In all honesty, my king, I truly did not mind". Alfred's exterior visibly relaxed after hearing these words as his eyes finally darted from the floor to meet Y/N's. He did not speak for a moment, as he had no idea what to say, but he had to say something, "is that so?" he spoke, louder than the previous words he had uttered. Y/N nodded "Yes, I was quite pleased actually", daring to speak such words to the king himself, Y/N started to forget who he was actually talking too. Alfred did not respond with words, instead looking at Y/N intensely, battling with himself as he tried to refrain from kissing the man in front of him once more. He could not resist, listening to his heart and not his head, Alfred grabbed Y/N's collar, and pushed him back, closing any gap between them. Y/N's  back hit the wall as he pulled him closer, his hands found his waist, fingers gripping tightly, like he was afraid he may slip away.  The two felt each other's breaths, hot and uneven, as Alfred lowered his mouth to his neck, brushing against his skin with a light touch before his lips pressed more firmly, igniting every nerve.

Their hands tangled in each other's hair, pulling one another closer, Alfred let out a low, quiet sound that sent a shiver through him. His mouth found his in a kiss that was anything but gentle, raw and hungry. Their breaths mingled, fast and shallow, each heartbeat pounding louder than the last as he drew him closer. Alfred's hands rushed towards Y/Ns breeches, tugging and tearing to get his hands within them as soon as he could, hungry. Y/N gladly obliged, elated within the moment, moaning loudly as Alfred pleasured him. 

This night changed everything; for two whole years, the two continued their evening meetings which turned into meeting at privately at any chance they possibly could. Alfred found himself making any excuse to go and see the man he had fallen in love with, and Y/N would always be there waiting for him. Y/N found his job role changing and did not want to admit to himself that he was no longer Alfred's scribe, but in fact his plaything. Alfred grew colder towards Y/N; the first year had been full of love, passion and honesty which changed when Alfred became aware that someone had betrayed him- making him think that it would not have happened if he had been more focused. So focus is what he did, he still saw Y/N but when he did, he pleasured himself and then left without saying a word. 

Aelswith became aware of the affair in the early  hours of the morning. She had woken up due to the storm waking her and decided to go for a walk, to see if Alfred was asleep. This whole endeavour had been miserable for Aelswith, also. Her husband never took an interest to her, but had recently been acting even more cold with her. She longed for his attention. She longed for his love. 

What she witnessed, made her wish that she had never left her chambers. She stood horrified as she watched her husband make love to another. Neither of them had realised that she had entered until she accidentally knocked a cup from the table, causing it to crash down to the floor which startled the pair. Y/N immediately tried to make excuses, stuttering, unsure of what to do whereas Alfred stood monotone, not mustering any words at all. Aelswith ran out of the room, meanwhile, Alfred casually got dressed and stated "I will amend this” before following his wife out of the room. Y/N got dressed also, and snuck his way out of the room as quietly as possible with the intentions of following the pair, wanting to hear their conversation. When catching up to them, he had already missed part but caught Aelswith, who seethed the words "I have heard of this disgust. I told myself they were lies. Insolent lies made by insolent people" She paused "yet, I come to find out that they are in fact true" her voice raised. Alfred apologised, and the two argued back and forth before Alfred finally roared the words that broke Y/N's heart "I do not love him, it has been madness, a mistake". Y/N left after this, running back to Alfred's chambers to wait in the hopes that he would come back, and he could confront him. 

Y/N waited for hours, sobbing, wondering how he could have allowed himself to believe that the King loved him. He knew he did not, someone in love would never act so coldly and dismissive. Alfred did however return, not expecting to walk into Y/N, who lay there with a red face. Alfred's face softened, concern becoming apparent "why are you crying?" He sat next to him, placing his hand on Y/N's back. Y/N looked up at him, uttering "You do not love me?" Neither moved for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, Alfred tilted his head, letting his lips brush over Y/Ns with a softness that made his heart ache. The kiss deepened, each touch pulling them closer until the space between them disappeared. 

But then

Alfred pulled away, "I cannot" He admitted. Y/N let out an exasperated sigh "you cannot?". Alfred shook his head "I cannot, Y/N, I love you, I truly love you. I am the King, I am the King that will form England and write History- I cannot ruin it all because of a feeling" A tear escaped Alfred's eye as he spoke once more "I must make that sacrifice, I must not see you again". Y/N sobbed once more at his words, Alfred tried to comfort him once more, which Y/N did not appreciate, "do not dare comfort me when this was all your doing. I have been nothing but loyal to you, I have loved you, appreciated you and the whole time you used me". Alfred let out a small sigh and said "I have never used you. I fell in love with you, I have grown so unbelievably fond of you but I cannot abandon my kingdom". Y/N nodded in defeat before muttering " I understand" through his tears. Alfred touched his hand, "In another life, we would have been happy together. Please, do not forget me".