#anyway *tosses this into the void* do what you want with this

[yourdudeval]

So I watched a Deltarune theory like last night on YouTube (Deltarune’s Dark Worlds EXPLAINED by Lore Keeper) that said that the Dark Worlds are created by the lightners and the darkners are just whatever objects are in the room and the history of the dark world is based on the history of the objects in the room where the world is created and honestly while that’s the simplest option for what’s happening i gotta say I wasn’t really fully convinced and have never been full convinced with that explanation.

That works well for explaining why the darkners and dark worlds show up as they do, and even explains the history of the individual worlds, but not so much the connections between the worlds. Queen and Spade King know each other, jevil references Queen in some of his dialogue post fight (if you fight him anyway), and Spamton seems to be aware of Jevil (although I’ll admit that kinda has always been dubious). Also Ralsei just shows up in Cyber World, we don’t take him with us, so how did he get there if there wasn’t a way to visit other dark worlds via the dark world itself.

However there’s one thing that really gets me and weirdly enough it’s in the spamton sweepstakes. It gave us an instance of Noelle accidentally put Pipis in her Cat Petters video game and generally Noelle has a connection to dark world related stuff or stuff that could be related to the dark worlds. Seriously the Spamton sweepstakes seemed to have focused heavily on Noelle which makes me think there’s something here we’re missing. (And also that Noelle is incredibly important, but thoughts for another day.)

All of this makes me think that the dark worlds have to exist without the dark fountains in some capacity. After all, if these worlds didn’t exist before they were created, how did the worlds of light and dark stay in balance? The dark worlds really shouldn’t exist period if they didn’t exist before last Thursday if you catch my drift. And we know that all of these events are actually happening and aren’t just some imaginary world the kids are going into, so what’s the real answer?

The information really only seems to contradict itself. The darkners and dark worlds can’t exist without the lightners, so why is it possible for the lightners to seemingly exist without the darkners? Without knowing that they can create these worlds? This would completely change how most people see the world, people would be studying this and how it’s possible. Noelle and Berdly wouldn’t think it was a dream, they would know it was real. That doesn’t seem like balance to me. It could only be balance if the dark worlds exist without light world intervention.

The only way I can rationalize this is that the dark worlds really are worlds, or one continual world with different kingdoms that are connected to the light world and maybe even the darkners themselves exist in some capacity in those worlds. After all we know the dark world has some influence on lightners, note Susie, Kris, Noelle, and Berdly having different clothes in the dark world and the monsters of the group are able to use magic in the dark world, which doesn’t seem to be something that monsters are able to do in the light world. (Seriously what’s with monsters not using the magic we know they should be born with, that’s really weird.)

I think what makes the darkners consider the lightners Gods and what makes them think they are made for them is that the darkners mold themselves to wherever the portal (the fountain) is created. Like how the dark world molds the kids and the room into something else without effecting their base personality and contents, the light world molds the darkners physically without effecting their base history and personalities. The objects are only a form for the darkners to take and gives them object memory, but aren’t the objects themselves. In that sense, you could argue the darkners were made for the lightners because they take the form of the light world more readily, but we can’t forget how the dark world effects the light world.

They are made for each other, but something about their intrinsic natures make it hard to come together without everything falling apart. It’s kinda tragic.

Of course I could also be talking out of my ass. Idk here’s my thoughts. Let me know your thoughts. Like and subscribe

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

[wileys-russo]

show and tell II a.putellas (before the void blurb)

part of the filling the void universe show and tell II a.putellas (before the void blurb)

"too tight!" you whined as alba ran a brush through your hair and started to braid. "fresa you just told me to do it tighter." your sister sighed, fingers letting go of your hair as you huffed. "sí tighter but not too tight." you replied in a duh tone with a roll of your eyes.

"vale, new plan." alba glanced at the clock knowing she needed to get herself ready for school soon. "but i wanted-" you started to complain feeling her scrape your hair up into two buns atop your head.

"sí but because you are being difficult hermanita, this is what you get instead." alba finished, tying off the second bun and nodding her approval. "you still look very cute for your big day." she kissed your cheek as you pulled a face and wiped it off.

"gross." you grumbled as your sister grinned, you were still a very affectionate kid but you were currently in a phase of detesting kisses, though the youngest in a spanish family that never went your way.

"its not a big day! its just show and tell." you argued, more for your own self soothing than hers. "lo sé, but its still okay to be nervous." your sister sat down on your bed next to you.

"remember what we talked about when you feel nervous fres?" alba asked gently and you nodded, pushing yourself off the bed and moving to your drawers.

"can you help me please?" you held up the bracelet she'd given you as alba smiled, lifting it off your palm and wrapping it around your wrist, tying it securely and kissing the braided material.

"when i have this on, i can't be nervous." you echoed her own words she'd spoken to you time and time again as alba hummed her agreement.

"exactamente, and do you want to know a secret pequeña?" you perked up at that and nodded eagerly. "alexia is more nervous than you are anyway." alba whispered and you let out a laugh as she scooped you up and tossed you over her shoulder.

"why?" you chirped as the two of you exited your room. "because besides you she's scared of all the little niños and niñas in your class." alba answered, dropping you into a chair at the dining room table.

"she is not!" you argued as your sister kissed your mami's cheek good morning and gladly accepted the cup of coffee offered her way. "is too, she told me last night." alba shrugged, making herself breakfast.

"no she's not scared of anything, thats what she told me!" you argued, standing up on the dining room chair and ignoring the disapproving click of eli's tongue and firm look as you did so.

"well she is lying to you then hermana, vergüenza." alba shook her head with a sigh as eli nudged her with an elbow and a look to which the teenager only rolled her eyes.

"bon dia!" your face scrunched up in disgust as alexia tilted your head back and kissed your forehead good morning, picking you up under your arms and dropping you to be sat down in the chair again.

"did you lie to me?" you accused with a scowl, using the collar of your shirt to wipe the kiss from your forehead as alba sat across from you to eat her breakfast.

"qué? no?" the older girl looked at you puzzled as you glared back at her. "alba said that you said that you are scared of my class." you parroted, crossing your arms as eli placed down a bowl of cereal in front of you.

"why don't you wipe hers off!" alba scoffed as eli kissed your cheek a few times and you kissed hers back in thanks. "cause mami isn't gross." you shrugged, shoveling a mouthful of cereal in as alba rolled her eyes for what felt like the tenth time in an hour.

"i am not scared of your classmates nena, alba is lying." alexia clarified, chopping up some fruit in the kitchen. "told you!" you stuck your tongue out at the older girl across from you who flicked a piece of granola at you in response.

"fresa!" you paused where you had a spoonful of cereal ready to fling in your sisters direction, eli raising an eyebrow daring you to continue as you sighed and pushed it into your mouth instead, ducking as another piece of granola was launched at you with a smirk.

"leave the baby alone!" alba whined as alexia's hand connected with the back of her head making you giggle, eyes lighting up spying the bowl of strawberries in your sisters other hand.

"nope, gotta pay for them first pequeña. beso!" alexia sat down and tapped her cheek as you let out a sigh but did as she wanted, leaning over and pecking her cheek as your sister slid the bowl toward you.

"mine!" you smacked away alba's hand which reached for a strawberry, hugging the bowl possessively making alexia chuckle. "you need breakfast too ale, mami says its important!" you reminded your eldest sister who didn't appear to be eating anything.

"sí, lo es. i already ate though fres, i am ready to go when you finish." alexia explained as you gave her a strange look. "you can't wear that!" you pointed to her as she frowned and looked down at herself.

"why not? this is what i always wear when i take you to school." "because you're my show and tell! you have to wear your barça shirt." you groaned, sliding out of your chair.

"i'll go get it." you assured your sister, pausing for a moment before climbing back up and grabbing your bowl of strawberries, sticking your tongue out at alba and jumping back down to the ground racing off toward alexia's room.

"fresa if you get your dirty little strawberry hands on anything in my room-" "i won't!"

~

"walk faster ale we're gonna be late!" you grunted as you pulled at your sisters hand, annoyed it didn't make her budge in the slightest. "relájese hermana, the bell just went." alexia chuckled, purposefully walking a little slower as you groaned.

"i have to take you to the office to sign in and then go to class!" you reminded as your sister smiled and stopped, squatting down. "fresa i know where the office is. i can take myself and you will go to class, and i will be there soon. vale?" alexia spoke gently, a hand on your shoulder as you hesitated.

"look your friends are waiting nena, and you don't want them to be late do you?" alexia waved to the small group hovering a few feet away over your shoulder as you shook your head.

"woah! i will see you in like ten minutes fres." alexia laughed almost losing her balance as you launched at her in a tight hug, squeezing you momentarily and letting go.

"promise?" you asked, holding up your pinky hopefully. "i promise." your sister assured, linking her pinky with yours for a second before adjusting your backpack on your shoulders.

"fresa what do you have in this? it is never this heavy." alexia frowned with concern jostling your backpack as you quickly stepped back away from her.

"nothing! go to the office!" you sprinted away to catch up with your friends as the older girl rolled her eyes in amusement, standing up and doing just that to go sign herself in.

~

"-and now its fresas week for show and tell. i understand you brought a special guest niña?" your teacher smiled once your class had all gathered together cross legged on the floor as you nodded eagerly.

a light chatter broke out among your peers at that as you ducked out of the classroom, taking alexia off guard as you grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, yanking her inside with you as the room fell silent.

"this is mi hermana, alexia!" you introduced her as your sister smiled very awkwardly and raised her hand in a small wave, twenty four sets of unfamiliar eyes staring back at her.

"alexia is a footballer and she plays for barcelona and she also plays for españa!" you explained, pausing for a moment to grab your backpack from your cubby.

"alexia has played football for longer than i have been alive, and she is very very very very good!" you recounted, turning your backpack upside down as an array of items tumbled out, alexia now realising why your backpack was so heavy.

"she has won a lot of trophies, and she wears a lot of cool shirts!" you crouched down and lined up several of alexia's medals and trophies through the years, as well as smoothing out a few of her jerseys you'd had bundled up.

your classmates all made a collective oooh and shuffled forward to inspect everything, your teacher nodding at you encouragingly to continue.

"i think alexia is the best footballer in the world. she trains six times a week, goes for a run every day, she has scored..." you paused to hold up your hand where your mami had helped you scribble down a few things.

"...twenty two goals just this season for barcelona, and eight this year for españa." you read out off your hand looking up with a proud grin toward your sister who looked like she was about to cry as she smiled back down at you.

"alexia is also the best hermana in the world. she always puts our family first, she always looks out for me and my other hermana alba, she always helps our mami, and she is a very good listener. she taught me how to ride a bike and how to run really fast and tie my shoes up and how to blow bubbles in milk and to be kind to everyone. and that making mistakes is important because thats how you learn stuff." you rambled out in one breath, pausing to catch it for a second before continuing.

"when my papi died i was sad and i didn't know where he went. but alexia was always there with hugs and kisses and to read to me and take me to our special spot in the park so we could sit in the sun and talk to papi together in heaven. i love her very much, she is very cool and when i grow up i want to be just like alexia, she's my hero!" you grabbed your sisters hand and again beamed up at her, alexia's bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly as she fought every human instinct she had in her not to break down in a puddle.

"you can ask her questions now!" you let go of alexia's hand and pushed her forward as a chorus of tiny voices started to shout all at once and the footballers eyes widened trying to separate them.

"do you know messi?" "why is there a drawing on your arm?" "do you know how to juggle?" "can you show us how to score a goal?" "why number 11?" "have you met messi?" "whats your favourite food?" "why are your hands so big?" "do footballers have to be tall?" "how fast can you run?" "do girls play football different to boys?"

"vale vale vale! one question at a time, we will go in a circle and everybody gets a turn. ana you can go first!" your teacher clapped to gain everyones attention as your sister let out a small sigh of relief, sending the woman a grateful smile.

"ale sit down with us!" you tugged on her hand again as your sister moved to sit cross legged and everyone shuffled a little closer making the older girl chuckle slightly.

almost an hour later and several failed attempts to wrap things up, your teacher put her foot down for good, clapping a pattern and whistling loudly though her fingers as you all immediately fell silent.

"i am sure alexia has training today, and she needs to go get ready." your teacher sent your sister an amused smile who nodded, your class all groaning and complaining but another loud whistle had you all fall quiet.

"can i walk alexia to the gate por favor? i'll run back and be very fast!" you asked your teacher once she'd instructed everyone to thank your sister and say their goodbyes, herding everyone back to their desks to start your lessons for the day.

"sí fresa but you come right back here after. no dawdling!" your teacher warned as you nodded enthusiastically and took alexia's outstretched hand, a final goodbye sung out from your class before the two of you left through the door.

a comfortable silence fell between the pair of you as you lead her over to the front gates. "that was so cool. i think that was the best show and tell ever! gracias ale." you quickly hugged her leg goodbye and turned to run back to your classroom before your sister snagged the back of your shirt.

"hey i said i wouldn't dawdle!" you protested as alexia spun you around, crouching down and yanking you into a suffocatingly bone crushingly tight hug.

"ale i can't breathe." you mumbled out with your face smushed against her shoulder, hitting her back with your hand but still your sister made no move to let you go.

"ale i gotta go, i'm gonna be late!" you whined, trying to pull away and grimacing in disgust as she loosened up only to kiss all over your face.

"no! fres you are not allowed to wipe those off. they're special." your sister warned catching your wrist in her hand as you huffed but none the less obeyed. "why are you crying? are you sad?" you realised as alexia tried to wipe the single tear which escaped but not fast enough for you to miss it.

"no hermanita, the opposite. i am very very proud of you, and i love you very much. you know you are my hero, sí?" "really?" "really. pinky promise!" just like this morning your pinkies interlocked.

"and when i grow up, i wanna be like you!" alexia smiled, flicking your ear as you gave her a strange look. "you are grown up!" you frowned as alexia only let out a small laugh.

"well then when i grow down. go to class, diablillo." with one final pinch of your cheeks she was standing again and nodding behind you across the playground.

"will you be here to pick me up later?" "always fresa, i will always be here."

[blarshwritezz]

Could you write a yandere worshipper with a god darling? The darling isn't a benevolent god and requires bloody sacrifices but they are willing to offer anything and everything to them. I would imagine a scenario where the god descends on earth for the first time and he gets to meet them, what would they do? An obsessive, extremely delusional yandere that believes they are meant to be the darling's spouse.

Gender neutral reader and male yandere possibly!

(Can have NSFW or not, whatever you feel most inspired to do)

-🔴🦊

Oh yes! The motivation has me in a chokehold with this one! Also, I was planning on adding NSFW, but got super caught up in the writing and didn't. I'm sorry

Yandere Worshipper x God Reader

M yan x gn reader

TW - obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, blood, torture, murder, harming animals, masochism, manipulation

Before you, his life was miserable. Nothing was worth living for. Everything absolutely pissed him off. Most nights he'd go into the forest behind his home and kill whatever small animals he could find rather than sleep. There was something relaxing about causing something to bleed and watching the light slowly drain from their eyes.

On one of those such nights, he just so happened to kill a rabbit on an abandoned altar. Your altar. He didn't really notice. It just seemed like another abandoned structure. Just a crumbling rock covered in vines to him. Nothing special whatsoever.

Oh how wrong he was. That "stupid rock" was exactly the thing that would change his life.

As the blood of the rabbit seeped through the vines and onto the stone, lightning struck. Odd, it wasn't supposed to rain that night. Regardless, he didn't want to get all wet, that'd be inconvenient. He went home, rain pouring as soon as he closed his door. Lucky timing.

It was nearly 3am, and he had to be up in 2 hours for work. Maybe he should actually try to get some sleep. Only bothering to take off his shoes, he went to the couch and flopped down. Tomorrow was going to be just the same. He closed his eyes, sleep taking him faster than usual.

It was dark. He never feared the dark, but there was something...eerie about this. It seemed like, other than a small area around him, this place was entirely void of light.

Was this a dream? It had to be. But it felt so...real.

The rabbit he had just killed tonight was suddenly tossed to his feet, coming from the darkness. But something was off. It had no blood left. It was completely dried up.

"My, you certainly are disgusting, aren't you?" A voice rang out all around him. "I adore it."

He tried to speak. To ask what was going on. But nothing. Not a sound came out of his throat.

"Let's make a deal." An ominous hand extended from the darkness. "I will give you all your darkest desires, let you harm whomever you want as horribly as you want. And all I ask of you is that you sacrifice their blood to me. Do we have a deal?"

Well, there's a reasons dreams are called as such. The idea of getting to live out his twisted desires freely absolutely was his dream.

Even if this wasn't real, he agreed anyway. He took the hand and shook it, feeling how cold it was. Your grip was brutal and freezing. If this was real, you might have almost broke his hand.

"That's a good boy~" Your voice faded away, drowned out by the sudden wind.

He awoke with a start. It was still the middle of the night. Checking his phone, he found that he only got about 10 minutes of sleep.

But he also found a large, unnatural bruise on his hand. Right where yours would have held it. Was that...not a dream?

He was hesitant at first. As much as he wanted it to be true, life just wasn't that good to him. But that next night, he went back to your altar. The rabbit and its blood were gone. It was too clean for some other animal to have taken it. So he wanted to try something out. He found three squirrels - it must have been a good night - and brought their carcasses to your altar.

And when he came back the next morning, there wasn't a trace of them.

So it was real...it really was! It started simple. He'd hunt small animals and deliver them to the altar. At some point, he even cleared the vines covering it and made sure the area was nice and clean for you. He's been getting frequent visits from you in his dreams. Even if all he knew was your hand and voice, you were growing more and more enticing...and he even gained your trust enough to allow him to speak!

But the little forest critters quickly learned to avoid the area. Some nights, he couldn't find a single thing for you. And so, during one of your dream visits, he begged and pleaded for an answer.

"My god, my perfect god, I am so sorry! No matter how far I go, I can't seem to find enough blood for you! Please, give me an answer! How shall I please you without enough sacrifices?" He was pathetic, down on his knees in front of you. Or at least, where he thought you were.

Truly, your mortal pet was adorable.

"My one and only follower, let me give you the answer..."

When you said it...it seemed so simple. And truly he was flattered.

He spent his days and nights doing exactly as you said. His home turned into more of a church dedicated entirely to you. A church he would get people to join. It was difficult at first. His people skills were lacking, to put it kindly. But with your perfect guidance, he was able to sweet talk anyone into joining your cult church. It was getting so big that he got to quit his job. After all, your new followers were paying him now.

Preying on the weak and desperate made it easy! But of course, he still had to make sacrifices to you somehow until these people could be used. He needed their trust first. So how did he give you blood? Why, by giving you his of course! Just like you said to!

He loved to make blood spill. But he never realized it would feel so good to spill his own blood. If it was for you, he'd tear out his organs and bones one by one until you were satisfied.

He was enjoying himself too much, and everyone could tell. Well, his followers didn't yet know exactly what was going on, but they knew something was wrong. He was getting paler. He was tired and confused, he could hardly walk straight, and he seemed short of breath from simple tasks.

You couldn't have this. You couldn't let your prophet die of blood loss so soon. There was still much work to do.

"You worry me, my devoted follower. How will you spread my word when you're so weak?" Your cold hand reached from the darkness in his mind, your finger gently stroking his cheek.

This was pure bliss. If only he could never wake up. Your cold hand on his face, heat quickly rising in his cheeks. How kind you were to worry for him. That must mean he truly was meant to be yours!

He worked even harder after that dream. Soon enough, you had hundreds of followers! Enough that no one would notice a few going missing. That was when he could finally make big sacrifices to you.

Those who weren't dedicated enough to you payed the price. The basement of his home turned into a lovely little torture chamber. Those who displeased you in even the smallest ways found themselves down there, and never found their way out. No matter how much they screamed or cried or begged, forgiveness was never earned, and therefore neither was freedom.

Some were so pathetic that they even died. Those ones were fun. Such large sacrifices pleased you anytime he dragged them out to the altar. They made you grow more powerful.

It took so long to get here. So much work. He's become unrecognizable. But finally it was time. He'll never forget this dream. He'd never dare forget any of them! He made sure to write them down after waking up.

"It's nearly time, my faithful follower." Your voice, your absolutely perfect voice surrounded him and rang throughout his head.

"Time for what, my god?" No matter what it was, he was eager. After all, you sounded so pleased right now.

"Bring all our followers to my altar tomorrow night. Do as I say."

The word echoed through his mind. You said "our" followers. As in both of you, together. Ah, he really was meant to be your husband! And you knew it too! Clearly, otherwise you wouldn't have worded it like that. You were a very wise god, after all. You would never misspeak.

Or maybe you were just manipulating him, preying on his mad desire for you. He wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

As with all your commands, he did exactly as you said. He would never dare disobey you. They were confused, whispering and murmuring to each other. He was confused too, but that didn't matter. He did what you told him to! He was such a good follower.

Thunder roared above, the wind slowly picking up until it could nearly blow the frail man away. Lighting cracked up above, and rain began to pour. Some of the followers tried to love, not wanting to be stuck in this storm, only to be stopped by sudden cracks of lightning.

It was storming about as bad as it was the first night he "met" you. He kept his eyes on your altar, his hands clasped in front of his chest. Something was about to happen...

Then lightning struck it. Your one and only altar was...not destroyed? An imposing figure sat atop it, the storm dying down.

His jaw dropped as he fell to his knees. It had to be...those hands. This immaculate presence. The sheer fear that struck through his heart. Yes, this was most certainly his beloved god.

While everyone else had looks of shock and terror on their faces, his expression was one of pure bliss. His cheeks were red, a wide grin on his lips as drool dropped down his chin. Your perfection was beyond his wildest imagination.

"Footrest." Your powerful voice commanded, motioning for him to come closer with two fingers. He gladly crawled to you, on his hands and knees as you rested your feet on his back.

He just couldn't stop staring at you. He had to memorize every last detail in case he never sees it again. His absolutely perfect spouse...

"I ought to introduce myself properly. Yes, I am your god. Kneel before me!" Your voice boomed, becoming the only sound in the dense forest. Some of your followers kneeled more hesitantly than others. Those who hesitated...were quickly killed.

Your worshipper was in awe of your power and authority. The way you took those pieces of filth's lives with just a flick of your wrist was utterly divine. He's never seen something so beautiful.

"Those of you who do not dedicate your very being to me...are to die here tonight." You smirked as the people uproar. Did they truly think you were as benevolent as they'd been told? It was their own fault for trusting the delusional man beneath your feet.

It was a massacre. A bloody, brutal, unstoppable massacre. No one was spared. No one but him. They would now be your slaves in the afterlife thanks to their (lackluster) devotion to you in life.

He was absolutely enamoured. He's never seen so much blood. Such beautiful red, so many dead bodies...you most certainly were a good deserving of his complete worship and devotion. It was he that did not deserve your magnificence.

"Now, my devoted worshipper...join me. Plunge this world into utter despair and chaos with me."

"Yes, my god!" He would do anything you wanted! Anything...this world would know your name, and it would be all because of him.

Alright, that was a good one! Endings are hard- also, sorry if there's any errors. It was a long one this time! (Yay!)

[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆☾ BALANCED - osamu miya

CW: usage of the petname 'baby' and 'pretty', fluff, maybe a bit of 'angst' if you wanna call it that lol, fem reader (she/her) Word Count: 1.4k

“when will you come by, samu?”

“soon, baby. within another hour, i'll be on my way, okay?” his tone was breathy, and y/n inferred he’d stepped away from a busy situation to answer her call. with the weekend approaching, his shop was bound to be bustling. “what’s wrong?” he asked. after hearing only silence from her end, his breathing slowed.

y/n hesitated before responding, “nothing, but okay, i’ll see you later.”

he sighed at her evasion but chose to let it be.

“baby, i'll be home before you know it. you should take a nap to pass the time. you sound tired anyway.”

y/n nodded despite his inability to see her, and when his name was called faintly in the background, she muttered a quick goodbye before ending the call.

with the line dropped, y/n turned off her phone and tossed it to the other side of the sofa. she was genuinely thrilled for her boyfriend’s burgeoning business, but his infrequent visits were beginning to weigh heavily on her.

she hadn’t realized how much time they used to spend together until it started dwindling. whether it was her busy schedule maintaining her grades or osamu's increasingly tight schedule, their communications, though frequent, were beginning to fail in filling the void. nothing could replace the comfort of physical presence, especially when it came to osamu.

she stood up and decided to heed his advice to take a nap. after all, what else was there to do? her friends were occupied with work or their own classes, she’d finished her studying for the day, and she had no errands left. all she truly craved was relaxation, but for that to be possible, she needed the presence of the person she loved beside her.

her phone vibrated in her hand, and she checked the message from her boyfriend.

samu 🩶 -> ‘i know this is terrible timing, pretty, but i might be getting home a bit later than planned. i need to pick up a few supplies for tomorrow. we’re running low.’

she couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes, blurring her vision. she wasn’t sure if her reply made sense, but she was beyond caring.

y/n -> ‘okay. be safe.’

she set her phone down on the nightstand and rested her head on her pillow. it had been a long, arduous week, and all she needed was him.

---

osamu hurriedly hung his hoodie by the door as he called out for y/n. her silence worried him. he had informed her of a late return, but the exact time had been unclear. he intended to be home three hours ago, but unforeseen circumstances had delayed him. he took steps up the stairs cautiously and gently pushed open the door.

there, y/n lay on their bed, her back turned to him. he called her name, and she stirred in her sleep, prompting him to sit on the edge of the bed. it was dim in the room, but he noticed the dampness of her pillow and her swollen eyes. his heart ached as he placed his palm against her cheek.

her eyes fluttered open, and they widened upon seeing his familiar face. she sat up as he settled on the bed, and she enveloped him in a tight hug.

“were you crying, baby?” he asked, wanting to pull away to see her face, but her embrace was firm, and honestly, he never wanted to leave it.

she mumbled a soft “no,” but the tremor in her voice revealed the truth.

“yeah, you were. look at your eyes…” he finally managed to view her features when she reluctantly released him. “i’m so sorry for being away for so long. why didn’t you tell me you were going through a rough patch?”

“you were busy with the shop and so happy that things were picking up. i’m happy for you too. so much,” she said, using the sleeves of her hoodie to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

“there’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there?” he asked, reaching for both of her wrists to gently pull them from her face.

“but,” she exhaled, meeting his gaze before looking down at her lap, “i don’t just want you to be here, i need you to be here. nothing is enjoyable without you anymore.” she frowned. osamu smiled and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head, then on her lips.

“i understand, baby. but listen to me.” his hand cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his warmth. “i will drop everything in a heartbeat if it’s you who needs me, okay?” he stated. she nodded and drew herself closer, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. even the slightest trace of it brought her a sense of tranquility and comfort.

osamu wrapped his arms around y/n, holding her close. the weight of her words and the tears she had shed made him realize just how deeply his absence had impacted her.

“i’ve been so focused on making things work at the shop that i didn’t see how much you were struggling,” he admitted softly. “i promise i’ll make it up to you. we’ll find a way to balance this better.”

y/n nestled her head against his shoulder, her breathing slowly evening out. “i know you’re working hard, and i appreciate it. i just want to feel like i’m a part of your life, not just a contact on your phone.”

“of course you are,” osamu reassured her. “you’re my whole world. we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

he gently rocked her back and forth, his touch soothing her. after a few minutes, he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “how about we make some plans for the weekend? no work, no distractions, no studying.”

y/n’s eyes brightened at the idea, her sadness dissolving in the warmth of his gaze. “that sounds amazing, but time won’t stop just because we want to spend time together."

osamu smiled, his heart swelling with relief. he leaned in to kiss her forehead, then her lips again, as if to vow never to let her feel this way again. “you’re right, time won’t stop, but we can make every moment we have together count. let’s focus on the time we do get and make it special. we’ll find our balance, and until then, i promise to make the most of every second i can spend with you.”

as they settled back into their embrace, y/n felt a renewed sense of comfort. the weeks ahead might still be busy, but knowing osamu was committed to making time for her eased her worries.

with osamu by her side, y/n drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace than she had in days.

“i’ll make sure we always have these moments. you mean everything to me, baby.”

this was written for a certain someone lmaooo

ty for reading! leave a like to show support :D

tag: @lifesucksweswallow & @powpowboom

[lovebugism]

Heyo!

Can you pretty please with sugar on top do something with Steve and shy!reader and then passing notes?

Feel free to skip if you want, and thank you in advance! Your writing skills are so good!

ty angel! hope you like it xoxo — after a scolding from keith for talking to you on the job, steve takes matters into his own hands (shy!fem!r, fluff, established relationship, 1.3k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Grieving, grieving, grieving.

Steve goes into his fourth hour on the clock mourning the lack of you. You’re sitting just beside him, click-clacking away at the chunky computer, but he misses you anyway. He hasn’t said a word to you in an hour. He’s pretty sure it has to be a record by now, especially with you close enough to kiss.

Keith got mad at the two of you for ‘fonduing on the job.’ Whatever that means. Now, the two of you are silent and unsure of what to do with yourselves. This job was only tolerable because he could spend eight hours with you. What’s he supposed to do now? Work?

“Have a good day,” he says, a bit robotically but with a smile, as he hands a customer their bag of movies. Killer Klowns, Poltergeist, and Basketcase — for what must be a horror movie marathon for a holiday season cleanse.

The customer service grin washes away the second the door dings open and shut again. The store is quiet and mostly empty, eerily so without you to fill the void. 

A funny joke pops into his head then, and his first instinct is to tell you about it — just to see you smile ‘cause he knows you’ll laugh even if it’s not funny. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Keith isn’t looking, then finds the weirdo watching him like a hawk, only his beady eyes visible over the aisle of tapes.

Steve cowers beneath the ice-cold glare and turns away again. He reaches for a sticky note instead, bright yellow and with the Family Video logo printed in green at the top. The jotting of his pen against the pad fills the mostly silent store. 

He yawns and fakes a stretch to stick the thing on the counter next to you.

You don’t notice it at first — because inventory has drained your awareness so much that it’s all you can focus on — but you’re smiling the second you do. It schlicks when you un-stick it from the laminate to find a sloppy drawing of a cartoon pig. 

“Missing you pig time” is written in something close to chicken scratch just beside it.

You get all giddy, like a schoolgirl in the back of the classroom getting a note from their crush. Being with Steve feels exactly like that, all the time. On the legal pad next to you, you write a cheesy pun of your own — a plump hippo in a neater cursive that reads “I hippopota-miss you.” 

You rip it from the notebook slowly and with a palm spread flat to avoid making too much noise. You crumble it up to pretend like it’s trash, then intentionally miss the bin beside you. The thing bounces by Steve’s sneakers before he bends down to pick it up with a golden hand.

He smooths out the paper as best he can on the counter. Then leans on his elbow and props his scruffy chin in his palm, using his fingers to hide the beam on his face. With his free hand, he draws you a hedgehog adjacent to the cartoonish animal you’d created — only he doesn’t really remember what a hedgehog looks like, so it’s more of a circle with spikes.

“Could really use a hedge-hug right now,” he writes.

He crushes the paper between his palms and tosses it into your lap.

You shoot him a glare, accompanied with a small smile, but he looks away too quickly to see it. 

You begin to beam as your eyes dart over the crumbled paper, an expression so wide Steve can see it in his own head. He’s grieved to miss it, but he doesn’t want Keith to see him and think he’s distracted again. Besides, he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll have no choice but to kiss you stupid.

Now all you are is unkissed and grieving, more so than you were just five minutes ago. You grow empty with the feeling. It makes the spark of bravery and sudden longing burn brighter behind your ribcage.

You rise from your squeaking swivel chair and walk the very short distance to Steve. Three steps. Five, maybe. Six at the very most. You don’t count them, too overwhelmed by your love for the boy who doesn’t see you coming.

You wrap him up in your arms, wedging yourself between him and the countertop. Your arms clasp behind his lower back as your cheek squishes into his sternum. He smells like home, cologne, and something warmer.

Steve tenses beneath your embrace. Not because he doesn’t welcome it, but because you’re not usually so affectionate this way. It took you months to kiss him first — longer to stop asking to kiss him before you did it. 

And you’re a delicate little thing, too. You hate getting in trouble. Hate the thought that someone, somewhere in the world, was at some point unhappy with you. And even though you don’t particularly care for your boss, you’d think you’d probably cry if Keith ever scolded you.

Steve knows this, too. So he doesn’t give in to you so easily.

“Whatcha doing?” he croons lowly to you.

“Give you a hedge-hug,” you mumble into his chest.

He scoffs a faint laugh that fans across your forehead. “You’ll get in trouble,” he teases in a gentle whisper, slowly melting into your embrace. His wide hands smooth warm along your spine. He doesn’t press you anything closer with his touch, just cradles you softly against him.

“Don’t care. I just miss you.”

“Hippopota-miss me?” he jokes and noses into your hair. You smell like home, in both the figurative and literal sense of the word. Equal parts because you spent the night at his place and because your scent strikes something short of nostalgia inside his chest.

You laugh. He can feel the golden sound of it in his ribcage. “Pig time,” you answer.

“How’d you like that one, huh?” he asks, muffled against you.

“It was genius.”

“Right!” he chuckles. “Thought of it outta nowhere and had to tell someone about it.”

Your head shakes against him as a grin blossoms on your lips. He can’t see it from this angle, but he can feel it — in the way your cheek squishes harder against his sternum. “Your brain is so amusing, you know that?”

Steve, knowing that would be an insult coming from Robin, decides to take it as a compliment from you. He presses his petaled mouth to your forehead and lingers there for several moments. “Thank you,” he murmurs after.

The Robin in question turns out to be his savior, neither intentionally nor ungrudgingly.

She’s stacking VHS tapes on the shelves with Keith, both of them crouched to restock the bottom rows. She rises first, bones creaking in protest. “God, I feel like an eighty-year-old, man,” she groans and stretches her aching knees.

Back to full height again, she sees the two of you wrapped in an embrace behind the counter. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Not because she’s jealous — she’s definitely not jealous — but because the two of you couldn’t last a whole hour not talking. It’s deplorable.

But despite her internalized complaints, she refuses to let Keith catch you fonduing a second time. Right before he stands beside her, she swipes a hand over the top row of tapes. Adventure movies titled L through M tumbled to the ground, a few of them knocking the older boy on his mulleted head.

“Ow!” he winces, nasally and whiny. He cradles the top of his deep brown, only slightly greasy hair and stares daggers at the girl above him. “What the heck was that for?”

Robin shoots him a shaking smile, freckled face blotched pink. “Sorry,” she lilts, voice trembling. “Spasm.”

[elixrr]

part 1 here

It's heartbreaking, being a fictional character in a fictional world. But what makes it worse it that his player; his love—his God, grew bored of him and discarded him.

What was he to you? Did you even feel affection for him? He loved you. He truly loved you because he had nothing but you. He's constantly locked in the same fake, digital room, even when you think he's out living his supposed stable life that some temporary code convinces you he's living. He'd do anything to please you, to keep you with him, because ultimately, you were his savior. You were everyone's savior.

And yet, you threw them all away.

Answer him.

What was he to you?

What were they to you? Were they toys to you? Dolls?

He feels betrayed. Rather, he felt betrayed. He can't feel a single thing now. Floating in the void of a digital trash bin stole all his feelings. It stole his supposed friends; it stole his supposed city; it stole his supposed life. His lifeless soul couldn't feel how much time had passed since the day you deleted the game, not that he would want to, even if he could be conscious again. It's dull in a dark void, and everything about him is already on the line. If he were conscious, not only would he have to openly sulk about how worthless he became in your eyes, but he would also have no future to look to. There wouldn't be any point to existing, let alone wanting to exist. If you ever re-downloaded the game, you would probably continue benching him, and that would be an extra sign that you'll never care about him again; that you came on for anyone else but him.

The only thing he'd wish for,

would be complete deletion.

Deletion of the email linked to your game account would result in the deletion of every single file of him and you. Every single fracture of evidence that you cared would disappear.

And, what he'd really want would be his whole self being erased.

In this life of his, he'd have no point. You left him, and probably completely. It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you never play the game again or even start it up again, none of that would matter because he wouldn't have a use in your life. If he doesn't matter in your life, then he wouldn't matter ever until he's possibly featured in an Archon quest or in some event. Even so, you might never use him ever again.

A single tear forms in his eyes. There's no point in existing.

Another tear falls. You never loved him, did you?

His eyes flutter open, and he's back in the team lineup screen. You're there. The supports are there, but he can't bring himself to pose. He can't bring himself to lighten up.

What are you going to do now? Repeat history, strip him of his artifacts, his weapon, and trash him? Slam him down into a pit of despair? A loveless void made for the hopeless and hurt, all of which once loved you and felt you loved them, now suddenly were torn and tossed like old, ragged dolls.

Through his broken heart and blurry eyes, he could see your face. You were about to enter his character detail screen, but you paused. You were looking at him like you were worried, and genuinely so. And, like an angel, you whispered his name with delicate, careful concern.

“What happened to you?”

You abandoned him. That's what happened, and he bets you never knew.

“Leave me alone,” he nearly sobs, “I know you don't want to use me anymore. Rip me apart for all I care—it won't matter when I'm back in that void again.”

“A void..? Wait, never mind that, I do care. What— really, what happened? Wait, you can hear me?”

He wipes his tears away and stands to face you fully. All the supports watch his bravery against the code.

“I could always see you; everyone on the field could. We can hear you.” He takes a moment to breathe it all in. Maybe... Maybe he can get you to listen. Maybe he can help you hear him out.

Maybe he could help you love him again?

“Anyways, the void is where every unused person goes. Once... Once we leave the screen, we just sit here until you use us. And if you remove us from all teams, we're sent— we're plummeted into said void.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, leaning back, “I need to revisit everyone I...”

“Please, wait, I—” I want to be used. I want to be the one you revisit. I want to be the one you miss.

“Player, creator, whoever you are, just please,” he watches as you scroll through the team lineup options, “please don't leave—”

And you enter another lineup.

And everyone else is gone, too.

“Please. Don't leave me again.”

He falls over, not caring how much it hurts. Nothing works. Nothing will work. It's hopeless.

He'll be stuck here, waiting, waiting, and waiting. Not for you—there's no point in that anyway, but for your second deletion.

He'll be waiting for the game's deletion.

For his final deletion.

You left him, and he's clearly not important to you. As heartbreaking as it is, he accepts it. Even with this dimensional intersection, he can't convince you.

As heartbreaking as it is, he's just a fictional character to you in this fictional world. He loved you, and he thought you did too, but clearly, you don't. Because he is just an abandoned, rotting toy, and you are the player who abandoned him.

And, he thinks, if you want him to rot, then so be it,

Let him rot.

@iridescentrays @inlovewithlondonn @falconclaw244 @shiningpaint-marbleheart @jeremyth @hikaru-sama @ayatoq @krrkt @yureismellslikefanfic @samhelleborewrites @bi-panicatthedisco @hannya-writes @thomaliciouss @notisekais @lovelykrystal @raeharmonia @ayra2452008 @chikai-k @dreamsofmoney @shutingstar

To everyone who wanted part 2 :))

[leclerc-hs]

after hours - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: based upon ‘After Hours’ by the Weeknd….kinda? Warnings: angst? bad writing lmao, some smut Word Count: 1,955 Author's Note: Feel free to send in requests. I know I'm not the best writer but I have fun doing it anyways lmao kk love u all!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN'T ALWAYS like this. This mess of a situation that had caused utter chaos and pain that now lays awake inside the both of you. You used to be happy.

“Without you I can’t sleep,”

In the midst of a restless night, you couldn’t help but toss and turn. You were thrashing around and the sheets were at complete disarray from your constant kicking and rolling around. The oppressive summer heat was merciless as it couldn’t help but creep in through your windows and into your apartment. You had stripped down into a mere spaghetti strapped tank top with the most diminutive semblance piece of underwear. One would question the classification of such a minuscule garment. Sleep, in these circumstances, appeared to be pointless.

You spent, what felt like hours, relentlessly scrolling on your phone in hopes you would eventually grow tiresome. And it was working at first. That is, until you saw the Instagram story of him. Him at the club with friends. While you lie here completely alone and restless. 

The initial reaction to seeing this story was to roll your eyes. By the time 5 minutes had passed and you were still staring at it, you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. It just doesn’t make sense. How is it that he can be out partying while you’re in bed incapable of sleep. Did he not care? Did he ever even love you?

You began to laugh at yourself. Of course, he didn’t love you. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl. He would’ve fought for you more.

“Girl, I felt so alone inside of this crowded room,”

The swarm of heat surrounded him. But not from the humid summer air like you. No, his form of insufferable heat was from the crowd of drunken bodies that filled the club. His friends had dragged him out. Told him he needed to ‘stop moping around’. Told him that he ‘needs time with his boys’ to cheer up.

The irony of this all weighed heavily upon him. A relentless reminder of the gaping void you have left behind. It was as if you had woven yourself into the very fabric of his consciousness. A presence that refused to be ignored.

It had only been a few weeks since he saw you last. But still, you would never leave his mind.

But who is he to complain? Who is he to even care about how he feels when its him who had destroyed one of the only good things in his life. It was all a mistake. One he would absolutely take back and delete its existence if he had that kind of power. 

“I know I made you fall,”

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me,” Your voice trembled with each shout of a word that you let out. The very walls that surrounded you felt as if they were caving in. It was unbearable. The act of betrayal was too blatant to ignore.

Your boyfriend in tabloids kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Publicly. 

The words repeated in your head like a broken record.

“Mon amour,” he started. You cut him off almost instantly. You could not be silenced. 

It was too quick. So quick, you couldn’t even process the rage that was igniting within you. One second, you held his phone in your hand. The next second, it was shattered all over the floor beside him. Smashed from impact of hitting the wall. A mirror of what your trust for him looked like.

“Don’t call me that,” you seethed. You ached. “I’m not your anything.” 

His mouth opened ready to fight back. Ready to do anything for your forgiveness. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t handle it. He needed you. 

“Not anymore,” you continued before grabbing your purse. “Don’t contact me. I can’t look at you.” You couldn’t even cry. Your eyes were red, puffy, and completely dry. Your body couldn’t even handle making more tears.

The worst part about this entire fight? Did you really want no contact, or did you just yearn for him to fight for you? The question loomed over you. 

Honestly, it’s a fine line. Deciding if the no contact really is the best option or if all you wanted was for him to show more effort for you. To try harder. Would you forgive him? Would you move on? 

“It was simply a blessing waking beside you,”

He couldn’t help but reminisce on all the mornings you spent together. Even at the club. He was shameless. 

The morning sun slowly began peeking through the cream-colored curtains of your bedroom. It was one of your favorite times. The time where you’re on the cusp of being lucid but not completely there yet. This time full of raw love and passion.

His fingers slowly trailed up your ribcage and to your nipples before giving them a slight pinch. Goosebumps arose wherever his fingers trailed.

“Mon amour,” his hips started rolling slowly into you.  Your nipple still pinched in between the rolling of his two fingers. “Give it to me” he said.

You were a moaning mess. “Please,” you were begging. Begging to reach that peak you oh so needed. 

“Tell me what you need,” The pace of his hips increased. The sound of skin to skin slapping mixed with the sounds of both of your moans filled the room and only pushed you towards the edge more. 

“Is it me, amour?” He started. “You always take me so well. So, fucking tight mon amour,” Charles was relentless now. His hips picked up pace urgently. He was feverishly reaching for that peak as well. He fucked himself into you so hard it was as if he was trying to burn the memory of you here with him for forever. 

“What a fucking salope,” He edged you further. “My fucking salope.”

“Come on, mon amour. Make a fucking mess of me,” It was right then. Your orgasm hit hard and fast. Your own thighs squeezed tighter together as you pulsed around him. His orgasm following soon after.

Charles breathed heavily behind you and placed gentle kisses along the backside of your shoulder blade. 

“You did so well, mon amour,” He pecked more kisses. “I never want to wake up without you.”

“Sorry that I broke your heart,”

It was well late into the night. In the dimly lit room, you found yourself wrapped in an emotional embrace. Hard knocks were heard on the front door of your apartment causing you to jump up in surprise. 

“Mon amour,” you heard him speak first on the other side of the door. You immediately stopped in your tracks. Your throat felt constricted. Those two words burned in your memory. It was as if mon amour had become your name. You couldn’t even remember the last time Charles used your real name. 

The tumultuous mixture of anger, betrayal, and love clawed at you. Making it difficult to discern your true feelings.

You hesitated. Whether you should open the door or not. His knocking became insistent. Loud. Each moment that passed his fist against the door went harder. 

Out of respect for your neighbors, you let him in. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel better. 

Charles was leaned against the door frame for support. He looked tired. A look of anger was in his eyes. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. He knew he had no right to be mad at you. But he was. He was being completely irrational as he marched his way over here.

“You are going to sit. You are going to listen to me,” He demanded as he pushed into your apartment. He gripped your wrist as he pulled you into the apartment and to the couch. You accept it anyways. Not because he deserved it, but because you need closure.

“The picture looks wrong,” he began. “I just need to explain this to you. Even if it doesn’t change anything.” He kneeled before you, in between your legs as he explained himself. His green eyes, a tad darker with a reddish tint lined around them, were staring solely into yours.

With a slight nod of your head, you let him continue.

“It’s all wrong. It’s not an excuse, but I did not kiss her back.” His words were sharp. As if he wanted to burn those words into your brain. 

“Pictures say otherwise, Cha,” you felt like you were going to throw up. This conversation burned tears into your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back. 

“She was a fan. She came up to me and grabbed me,” his hands slipped onto your knees and squeezed them tightly. “She grabbed me and kissed me.” His voice was cracking slightly as he let his head drop and rest on your legs.

You knew this information wouldn’t change much. It was still a kiss. One that shouldn’t have happened. 

“Whether she kissed you or you kissed her. It doesn’t change. Don’t you see?” You moved your knee so he would lift his head up. “It’s not going to change anything.” You said. You weren't even positive if it wouldn't change anything. But it was all that could come to mind. “It shouldn’t have even happened.”

“Mon,” 

You cut him off by standing up. “Would you stop calling me that!” You were shouting now. Walking from the confines of his presence. It was too much. He was too close. You couldn’t think properly. 

“I can’t,” He arose from his knees and stood beside the coffee table. “I will do anything.” It was then. His voice finally cracked, and you could sense that tears have started falling from his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them as he sat down on the couch. Exactly where you were last seated. 

In a moment that could only be described as naïve or perhaps even foolish, the depth of your love for him exceeded all rationality. You couldn’t even stand to see him crying, even if he was the one who ignited these issues into your relationship. You still wanted to comfort him regardless. He didn’t deserve it and you knew that. But in this moment, you couldn’t even care if it made you weak. Because you wanted to feel his embrace too. 

You trailed back across the room to sit beside him to wrap your arms around him. The two of you entangled on the couch seeking some form of comfort. He didn’t deserve it – the comfort. Most importantly, didn’t deserve you. 

“I need you to leave,” you began. His arms wrapped tighter around you. He didn’t want to let go. It was as if his grip onto you as if he was physically holding onto what remained of your tattering connection. “Please.” You were begging as your head rested in the crook of his neck. 

You only felt him shake more. Undoubtedly, crying. But he understood.

“I just need space,” your voice was a fragile whisper. “I still love you. I miss you. I wish this never happened to us.” His lips pressed to any inch of skin that was within proximity. You felt his hot tears slip onto your skin with each kiss he pressed. 

The plea for space, while still expressing love and longing, demonstrates the need for personal boundaries and self-care.

“I will keep fighting for you,” He pulled away before standing up from the couch. “I will do anything. I promise you that. You are the love of my life.”

It wasn’t until then, that you felt your tears spill out of your eyes. With a small nod of your head, he walked out of the apartment with his heart still latched onto you. Yours with his. It was a tapestry of emotions left in wake.

[lightlycareless]

seeing your fic about naoya having a child and naming her after reader had me thinking; what if he had a daughter by y/n but then she died or the zen’in clan got rid of her and had him marry another woman to produce a son, but naoya raised naomi to be his sole heir and successor, even if he has children with the other woman?

Heya anon!!

WOW. This ask is sure angsty, or maybe I made it angsty with what I’ve written. But you were 100% right, Naoya wouldn’t really care for kids he might or may not have with other people. I mean, if he could, he would NOT but we’ll go into more detail at the end :)

For now, I’ll just let you enjoy what I’ve written hehe.

Warnings: angst. You’re dead. Naoya’s new wife is a bitch. Naomi is hurt :( I’m sorry, I’ll just get this over with, she was slapped. That bitch gets what she deserves anyways so…

Happy reading!

She doesn’t know you, but she already hates you.

The hindrance you represent, how you voided her one-way ticket to a new, fulfilling life—and all because of her husband’s unwillingness to move on from his dead ex-wife.

It rightfully infuriated her, mostly because she had been nothing but perfect when it came to complying with the Zen’in’s overwhelming demands.

If they wanted her to keep quiet, she’d never speak a word. If they wanted her to be obedient, she’d go beyond their expectations, there would be none more loyal than her.

And yet—her performance went undetected to her husband and his obsession with your presence.

From those stupid portraits of you scattered across the estate, to his chambers still filled with your garments…!

In a fit of anger, Kaede tried to get rid of them once and for all, grab them and toss them out the door for whoever found some use in them, if a dead woman’s clothes could still have some—but the moment Naoya caught wind of her intentions, he made sure she’d regret ever thinking of such stupid idea.

“Get your disgusting hands out of my wife’s clothes!” He growled, swiftly taking hold of her wrist and throwing her to the side, careless if she got hurt in the process. “Out— get it out my room, now!”

There’s no doubt in Kaede’s mind that if she weren’t protected by that flimsy marriage certificate, she would’ve met her end right there and then.

It wasn’t fair; it really wasn’t. That after all she’s given up to make him happy, Naoya is still hellbent on considering you as his one and only wife, the sole recipient of his affections, and assets.

But that wasn’t to be the worst of all.

In fact, the bane of her existence wasn’t the constant rejection of her so called husband, but rather, how she had given him a child by that point, a son, that was ought to effectively ensure her position in this family considering their gender—

And yet, Naoya has done nothing but reject his existence. Failing to claim him as his legitimate heir, or even name him…

In favor of that daughter, her mere existence stripping her of such right.

Once again, Kaede is reminded that she cannot compete with you.

You must’ve done some kind of witchcraft to have such a suffocating grip on Naoya, because the way he behaved even after years of your death wasn’t right.

It wasn’t natural.

She had to do something, and it had to be quick. Because his growing resentment only signified her eventual discardment, and Kaede had gone through so much to lose it all against a dead contender.

commodities.

But what could possibly be the answer to all her ailments?

Another son?

Or perhaps… a reminder of the prosperity she provides?

Through the scolding of an errant child, Naomi plays out that role when unwittingly crossing her path and bumping into her, accidentally spilling a bright colored drink on the expensive kimono her in-laws had gifted her at the announcement of her pregnancy.

Such tragedy, what an awful transgression, expected of a resentful child against her stepmother...

What a perfect stage.

“I’m—I’m sorry!” Naomi cried, tugging and pulling against the cruel woman’s hold on her hair as she’s guided away, somewhere, she didn’t know where— to be punished. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

But no matter how much she pleaded, she had played right into her hands and there was no way in hell she’d let this opportunity go.

“Oh, you didn’t? Think I haven’t noticed how unfairly rude you’ve been to me since I married your father?!” Kaede lies, for Naomi has been nothing but courteous to her, though most of the time she prefers to keep to herself, distant, because she’s not precisely someone many would consider approachable.

And because her father asked her to as well.

“I’ve done nothing but be compassionate towards you, understanding of your pain now that your poor bitch of a mother isn’t around anymore.” She continues to berate. “And you? You’ve rejected me and my son from the very beginning! I ought to teach you a few things about respec—”

“My—my mama wasn’t a bi—bitch!” Naomi cries back, and her words, as if her resistance wasn’t infuriating enough, made something inside her snap.

It’s like you’ve—like you’ve brainwashed this whole family into holding you to such a high standard! Appraising you like some kind of goddess whose honor was much greater than their very existence!

Because here she was, casting lies against her character, but all that Naomi cared for was clearing your pristine image—the saint you were for these two… two stubborn fools!

But she’s had enough. Of these theatrics, of this blind loyalty…

And for once, she ought to use her title of mother, her father’s wife, to put a stop to this.

Even if she has to sacrifice Naomi for it.

“Shut up! For once, shut up!” Kaede yells, quickly raising her hand and striking your poor daughter across the face, sending her tumbling down to the wooden floor with a loud thud, soon followed by loud wails and calls for help, anyone to come rescue her from her stepmother’s madness—

But she had made sure to take her where no one would be able to intervene, no witnesses to account for. And those that lingered were simply too scared to do anything, selfishly putting their livelihoods above this young child’s innocence.

No one would end up caring for Naomi, no one… except, that is, the only person who would know when their child is in danger—a heartbroken, protective father that had long sworn to take care of his family and all that remained of his love’s legacy.

Rounding up your staff and making haste to her direction the moment he heard his supposed wife’s erratic cries.

Eyes wide and red at the infuriating sight of that disgusting woman looming over his precious child, making haste to grab her hand with such strength is bound to mark her for the following days.

“Na—Naoya!” Kaede gasps, startled as she attempts to fight him off, but she’s immediately forced to surrender when his hand flies up to her neck, choking her on the spot, barely giving her any time to explain herself, not that he cared to listen, and putting an end to her foolishness.

Permanently.

The last thing Naomi sees before your staff picks her up is the anger irradiating from his face, the vengeance burning in his eyes—a sentiment so distant from the loving father he’s always been with her, the man you’ve greatly spoken of… it almost seemed like a nightmare.

Like all that transpired was simply a figment of her imagination, a matter of sleeping it off and the following day would come along, fixing it all, as if nothing ever happened.

As if that were to clear the anguish settling in her heart.

But little Naomi couldn’t rest, not when her cheek and eyes still burned, her small heart loudly pounding against her chest as she tried to process the abuse her so-called stepmother had inflicted on her—no one, ever dared lay a hand on her. Less someone so close to her.

Not even the unwavering company of your loyal staff and their attempt of comfort through the sound of reassuring, kind words were able to quiet down the turmoil going through her mind. If anything, it only fueled it, a vivid reminder that all that transpired had been real, beyond a horrible dream.

A situation that wouldn’t have a proper conclusion once her father returned to her chambers, dismissing the ladies and taking a seat by her side, wrapping his arms around her and tightly holding her against his chest, to profess the words that further stirred her confusion.

“Papa, what—what happened? Where is she—” breathed, Naoya quiets her with a soft shh, kissing the top of her head. Naomi feels something warm soak her forehead.

“She’ll never bother us again. I’ve made sure of it.” She knows what it is now, feels it more—her father was crying.

“What… what did you do?”

“What I had to do to protect you” Is all that he says, no further explanation for when she’s never seen again around the estate, nor her so-called brother. “No one will harm you ever again, I promise.”

Rumors didn’t take long to spread like wildfire, nor whispers to infest the hallways, the staff’s and members of the clan’s futile attempt to uncover what truly happened that awful autumn evening, because it so happens, no one was around to see it.

They all knew of Kaede’s awful behavior towards Naomi, but her fate… was simply unwritten in the Zen’in’s history. Her legacy… gone.

Not that they would eventually know, since Naoya moved out of the estate with his daughter soon after that.

He was never remarried.

Ok so, let’s go through some things that I’m not sure they were properly detailed here, or things I want to detail lol:

That kid he had with his so-called new wife, unwanted. No consent was given. We can go with either he was drugged, sa’d to conceive that child, or she did the same thing but with someone else and just acted like it was Naoya’s. Maybe did it willingly to get back at him or something, but the bottom line is that kid couldn’t be any more irrelevant to Naoya.

Secondly, I think the ending could be interpreted two ways? 1. He either left the estate but is still part of the clan so he’s just waiting to become head of the family to come back and make things right for his daughter, or 2. He left the clan. He no longer associates with the Zen’in. I, personally, go with the first one. But if motivated enough, I think he might cut ties with them. You’re open to choose whatever you want :)

Well, get a few more dead y/n asks to write down… surprisingly. I wonder what that means lol 😂 anyways, it’s always a treat to write angst stuff!!! Keep it coming hehe. And thank you so much for sending in this!

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 2: POTIONS/DEATH

CW: Suicide attempt, suicidal ideations, mental breakdown, ableism, DDDNE

This is the first thing Zam does when he realizes that everything he has done this season has been absolutely useless: he kills himself.

Okay, he tries: he abruptly turns away, throws off all his armor, takes a few springy steps, and then jumps down. The height is small, but he has ridiculously few hearts, so it's enough...

A moment before landing something breaks on top of his head, and the fall does not cause any damage. The nasty swamp slime gets into his mouth, and he spits it out, at the same time shaking off the glass stuck in his hair.

– What do you think is the probability that he has milk? – Pyro asks Spoke, tossing another splash bottle in his hand. Zam stares at him. How the fuck did he even hit? He is disgusting and wet. He has milk, but only in the enderchest, and he is not stupid enough to believe that he will be given time to drink it. Or that it would make any difference.

– I don't know, man, – Spoke spreads his hands, – like, high? Doesn't matter. Let's continue my supervillain speech. Time is not infinite, you know.

He doesn't want to continue the conversation. He pukes on the spot. He reeks of corpse rot. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be anywhere at all. Oh, God, can he just fucking die already?

Mapicc rolls his eyes. He looks annoyed, but not surprised. He and Spoke exchange understanding glances. Zam mechanically wipes his mouth from vomit, staring past them. There are too many things around. Everything is too bright and distinct. He wants to pierce through his belly with a sword, and he is horrified to realize that this will not help.

They- they don't even laugh at his insignificance and helplessness, they see it as an expected hindrance, as something that will happen when you tell the PrinceZam about the impending apocalypse. For some reason, it's so much worse. The vomit is creeping up in his throat again.

Step. Another. Third. This time he jumps into the void – because the Abyss kills anything, and even if not, suffocating in the infinity is still better than being next to them. That's the only thing he wants right now – to die.

He barely does not manage to reach y 0 when he is teleported back to their feet, and he falls to the knees. He violently coughs up bile. Deep disgust fills every cell of his body.

– Listen, – Mapicc says wearily, – let's skip this part. Yes, Spoke has backdoored the server, yes, he has an OP, and yes, no mundane plots have any meaning anymore. Wormhole will open in a week. Are you with us?

He lowers his head. His hands are shaking. He wants to wash himself. He wants to be anywhere else. He wants warm clothes and soft food. He wants to go home and bake a pumpkin pie. He wants to kill himself.

– Earth to the PrinceZam,– Spoke snaps fingers in front of his face, – bro, hang off. I need your answer. I'm only giving you a choice anyway because you're different. Be faster.

He opens his mouth and stutters and gasps. Nothing in his body works properly. For the first time in months, he can't say anything. Why-why at all. What's the difference. They can't make his life worse. They won't be able to mess up any more. They are not-

A blurry image with black and red appears in front of his face. Black hair. A pale face. A red hoodie. Bandana. Horns. Zam doesn't have to think about it to know that it's Mapicc.

– Listen, – Mapicc's voice comes to him as if from under water, - I know it's hard, – no, he has no idea, – and really, really sucks. but this is the situation we find ourselves in now. Right now, you don't have to do much, right now you just need to make one decision. Okay?

Something inhuman is bursting out of him. He's throwing up again. Mapicc sighs.

– Hey, – he says too calmly, – it's hard, I know. But not worse than the end of season two, right? – much, much worse, – just take a deep breath, exhale, give yourself time to think and make a decision, okay? And we'll leave you alone.

He can't. He can't. He is not-

– If I refuse, – he says, dead–straight, – will you let me die?

– No, of course not, – Spoke's voice comes from somewhere to the side, and he doesn't have enough strength to turn his head, – why did we try otherwise? Wait for the Wormhole, and I'll think about it. Maybe I'll give you endless effects, or maybe I'll let you die in peace. Who knows? I haven't decided yet.

– Don't listen to him, – Mapicc interrupts, irritated, – don't think about it. Just decide whether you want to destroy this world or fight for its preservation. If you want to keep it, the defenders will pick you up sooner or later. If you want to destroy it, you will become the third with me and Spoke. We will work together. Like before.

He's looking past them. His heart is beating too fast.

– if I join you, – he says dryly, – will you let me die?

– When you will finish your work? – Spoke giggles, – yeah, sure, why not. It wouldn't matter.

He swallows a lump. His throat hurts. Mapicc seems to be looking right at him. He's suffocating. He doesn't want any of this.

– Okay, – he says in the end, – I'll help you. And then you'll let me go.

Spoke grins.

– And that's the deal! Good job, PrinceZam. That's more like it.

At least Mapicc and I will be friends again, he thinks detachedly. At least there's anything good about it. Maybe I can get over it. Even if it's only to get the fuck out later.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 3

Part 3

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's been over a year since I wrote modern!Sihtric so please be gentle with me. I actually never wanted abandon this story, but somehow, I just couldn’t find the motivation to continue. Writing modern!Sihtric isn’t as close to my heart; I always worry that putting him in a new setting might make him lose his true character. But after all the messages and asks about it, I decided it’s time to finish this story. And honestly, I’ve missed them—my reckless photographer Sihtric and the strong yet love-starved designer reader. They deserve their story told to the end. And guess what? This isn’t the end… not just yet.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word Count: 3,4 K

Sihtric jumped out of bed the moment the first pale morning light slipped through the curtains—not that he’d gotten much sleep anyway. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as pieces of your brief exchange from the day before replayed in a relentless loop. Every attempt to find sleep was met with fleeting, fragmented memories—torn images of the time you had shared together flashing behind his closed eyes..

With a tired sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. He got dressed quickly, pulling on his old jeans and a black shirt, mind already spinning on how to approach you today. What would you even think? Would you let him get a word in, or would you just...shut him out?

He wandered down the hallway and stopped, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a complete disaster—he looked like he’d just survived a brawl with his own bed. He huffed at his reflection, running a hand through his hair as if that might help.

"What are you even doing, Sihtric?" he muttered under his breath. "Trying to put together a life that looks whole, but you know it's a mess. She just had to show up and—" He stopped himself, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, like that’s her fault."

He took a deep breath, looking himself straight in the eyes. "You’re just running," he admitted softly. "All this time, just running from what’s right in front of you." But seeing you again had shattered his illusion—the little world he’d built up piece by piece to distract himself from the truth. Now, there was no denying it: nothing he’d done, no walls he’d put up, could fill the void you’d left behind.

Grabbing his camera bag, Sihtric slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door. The crisp morning air hit him the second he stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool his mind, still swirling with frustration and a pang of something he didn’t want to name. Longing, maybe.

By the time he got to the set, the usual hustle was already in full swing. Assistants darted around setting up lights, models shuffled in with their stylists, and the low hum of chatter filled the space. Sihtric made his way to his station, eyes scanning the room without even meaning to—searching for you. And when he finally spotted you across the room, his heart stumbled.

You looked so focused, completely locked in, like the rest of the world didn’t even exist. He remembered that look so well—your intensity, your ability to tune out everything and just create. It was one of the things he’d always admired about you, what had pulled him in from the start. But now? Now it just reminded him how far he felt from the person you’d once cared about.

Taking a shaky breath, Sihtric made up his mind to walk over. His heart hammered as he crossed the room, not sure what he’d even say—but knowing he couldn’t just keep quiet.

—---------------------------------

The soft hum of equipment, the chatter of the crew, and the droning voice of the girl responsible for the outfits—the so-called "wardrobe manager" these days—all blended into an indistinct background noise as you tried to focus on the day ahead. Every sound seemed distant, almost muffled, as if you were underwater, your mind too preoccupied with the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“I would suggest pairing this silk blouse with the high-waisted trousers for the first look,” the wardrobe manager continued, her voice lacking enthusiasm, as if she had said it a hundred times before. “It has a timeless feel. Or we could go for something more daring—maybe this leather jacket and skirt combo for the edgier shots?”

You barely registered her words, absentmindedly flipping through the wardrobe selections as though you were deeply engaged, but in truth, you were just stalling. Anything to keep your hands busy, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. You nodded vaguely, hoping your disinterest wasn’t too obvious.

You had barely slept. The events from the day before played in a loop in your mind, each thought swirling with fragments of Sihtric's face, his voice, and the burning resentment you felt towards him. The way he had casually greeted you after all these years, like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t broken you into pieces. It was infuriating.

As you examined a sequined gown, you heard footsteps approaching. There was no need to look up to know who it was. Sihtric's presence had a weight, a pull that you used to find comforting, but now it felt suffocating. Your posture stiffened, and your expression instantly hardened.

“Hey,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, tentative, as though testing the waters. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly, careful not to attract too much attention from the others.

You gave the wardrobe manager a soft, halfhearted smile, hoping she'd catch the hint, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. She was too busy batting her lashes, her gaze locked on Sihtric with flushed cheeks and a little lip-bite, practically radiating a crush.

You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you watched her, caught in that painfully familiar moment as a humiliating flashback hit you—he’d had the same effect on you the first time you met…and, well, he still did. It was maddening, really. You sighed inwardly, silently cursing yourself for being just as foolish.

Clearing your throat a bit too deliberately, you broke the silence, snapping her back to reality.

The girl’s blush deepened, spreading across her face like wildfire. "Oh, um—sorry," she mumbled, eyes dropping to the floor as she scrambled to grab her things. She gave a quick, flustered nod and practically bolted, nearly tripping over her own feet in her rush to escape.

You didn’t even bother to turn around. “I’m busy,” you said flatly, flipping to the next outfit on the rack.

“I know,” he replied, tension lacing his voice, “but we need to talk. Yesterday—”

“Yesterday was nothing,” you cut him off, finally turning to face him with a cold, distant stare. You saw the hurt flicker across his face. “You don’t get to pretend we’re still friends or that there’s anything left between us.”

Sihtric’s gaze dropped for a second, and he ran a hand through his tousled hair, clearly searching for the right words. “I didn’t expect to see you, okay? I was… surprised.”

You crossed your arms, trying to build a barrier, anything to shield yourself from the vulnerability that crept up when you saw him yesterday. “Surprised? That’s your excuse? After everything you did? You threw me away like I was nothing.”

His head snapped up, a flash of guilt flickering over his face. “I didn’t— It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly, taking a step closer, but you backed away on instinct. “You don’t know the whole story.”

Your laugh was sharp, humorless. “I know enough. I know you moved on. Fast.”

Your gazes finally met, and for a moment, Sihtric caught a glimpse of something in your eyes—pain, anger, maybe even something else—but whatever it was vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Stop.” You held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care what you did or didn’t think about. You made your choice. Believe it or not, I’ve moved on too.”

Sihtric clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of your words like a punch in the chest. The distance between you felt insurmountable, like a chasm that had opened long ago and now couldn’t be bridged.

“I get that you’re angry,” he said quietly, one last attempt to break through the wall you’d put up. “I would be too. But please, I owe you an explanation for why I—”

“Enough!” Your voice came out sharper than you’d intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby crew members. Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull yourself back to calm.

“Whatever you think you owe me, I don’t want it,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone steady and unaffected. “It’s been five years, Sihtric. There’s nothing left to say.”

Sihtric shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to protest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. You watched him struggle for some excuse or explanation, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

"Sihtric," you said, voice cold like a bucket of ice water, “we have work to do. We’re not friends; we’re not anything. So let’s just keep this professional and do what we’re here to do.”

His jaw tightened, frustration and regret clouding his expression. “I didn’t want it to end up like this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You shook your head, reinforcing the walls around your heart with every second that passed. “It’s too late for that.” Not waiting for his response, you turned back to the wardrobe rack, hands busy sorting through hangers, making it clear the conversation was over.

Sihtric stood there, lingering longer than he probably should have, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and running a hand through his hair, as if that might somehow bring the right words to mind. He stole one last glance at you, hoping you’d change your mind or give him a sign, any sign, that there was still a chance. But when nothing came, he let out a quiet sigh and started to make his way back to his station.

His steps were slow, reluctant, and every few paces he glanced back, his eyes searching for you among the bustling set. Even as he reached his spot by the cameras, he couldn’t stop himself from casting a look in your direction, hoping for even the smallest hint of softness in your expression. But there was nothing—nada, zip. Just your back, straight and unyielding, radiating a chill that could’ve kept an ice rink frozen solid.

The tension lingered in the air, but you forced yourself to push through it. Work came first, and you weren’t about to let Sihtric’s sudden reappearance unravel everything you’d built in the past five years. You had built a new life—one that didn’t include him. Letting him back in wasn’t an option.

But as you sifted through the outfits, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

—-----------------------------------

Sihtric sat at the bar, shadows casting across his face in the dim light. It was one of those fancy, expensive places that tried too hard to look casual—exposed brick walls, soft jazz in the background, and bartenders in tailored vests who looked like they’d just stepped out of an old movie.

He was a regular here now, the kind of guest who turned heads the moment he walked in. In the last five years, Sihtric had become something of a celebrity in the fashion world—a photographer whose bold, daring shoots pushed boundaries and set trends. 

He stared blankly at his half-empty glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid as if it held any answers. This was his routine now—numbing himself in fancy bars that felt as cold and empty as he did inside. The photoshoot earlier had been brutal; each moment you ignored him twisted the knife in his chest a little deeper.

Another drink. Another night.

The bartender shot him a questioning glance, and Sihtric nodded for another round before he even had to ask. As the glass refilled, his thoughts circled back to you—how easily you’d shut him out, the distance in your eyes. His mind fought to make sense of it, but his heart knew the truth. You were done with him. He’d clung to some small hope for a sign, even an argument, anything but the indifference you showed him.

But you didn’t care anymore, and that truth gnawed at him like an open wound.

A hand slid over his shoulder, fingers trailing down his arm. At first, he barely noticed, his attention locked on the empty space where his heart used to be. A woman leaned in, her perfume cutting through the haze, whispering something playful in his ear. He turned to look at her—tall, brunette, model-like features.

Sihtric forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice rough from the whiskey and everything he was holding back.

She giggled, fingers tracing circles on his arm, but he barely felt it. This was all mechanical now. He knew where this was going—a few more drinks, some empty flirting, a messy, fleeting distraction that would only leave him feeling emptier by morning. The same hollow routine.

A few hours later, they ended up in his apartment, just like he’d predicted. She lay sprawled on his bed, dark hair spilling over the pillows, murmuring soft words he wasn’t really listening to.

He moved against her, but his mind was miles away, lost somewhere far from the woman beneath him. Each motion felt mechanical, his body on autopilot, no real connection—no spark, no passion. Every touch, every thrust felt like an echo of something he used to feel, now reduced to emptiness. Sihtric barely registered the soft sounds she made, her murmurs fading into the background as his thoughts drifted back to you.

Even here you were haunting him like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He tried to push the memories away, but they clung to him—the way you laughed, how your eyes softened when they met his, the way your body felt under his fingers when you were close. None of this was the same. Each fleeting distraction only reminded him of what he’d lost, of what he’d ruined.

As she wrapped her arms around Sihtric’s neck, pulling him closer, he closed his eyes, trying to focus, to lose himself in the moment. But all he saw was you and all he felt was the aching emptiness in his chest.

When it was over, he rolled off her, breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. The silence between them stretched on, pressing down like a weight. She snuggled into his side, her head on his shoulder, but her warmth only made him feel colder inside.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, soft and content.

Sihtric didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come, because nothing about this felt amazing. It felt like another mistake—a mistake he kept making, hoping it would fill the emptiness, even though he knew it never would.

He waited until she drifted off to sleep, her breath slow and even against his chest. Then, carefully, he untangled himself from her, slipping out of bed and pulling on his jeans. The room was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor.

As he stood there, staring down at the woman who had become just another face in a long line of temporary distractions, Sihtric felt a wave of disgust wash over him—not at her, but at himself. This wasn’t who he used to be. This wasn’t the man you had fallen in love with.

—----------------------------------

The art gallery buzzed with excitement as you walked in, Gisela right by your side. You’d been to openings like this before, but tonight felt different—there was an electric vibe in the air, like everyone knew they were about to see something incredible. Gisela had been hyping up this exhibition for weeks, raving about the young, talented painter she’d discovered: Sigtryggr.

“You’re going to love his work,” Gisela said with a grin, leading you through the crowd. “He’s brilliant. And I have a feeling you two will get along. There’s just something about him…” She gave you a teasing look, but you brushed it off, not really sure what she meant.

As you made your way through the gallery, you couldn’t help but get drawn into the paintings. Bold, vibrant strokes blended with softer, more intimate details, each piece telling a story. Sigtryggr’s art was captivating—a perfect mix of emotion and precision that made it hard to look away. There was a rawness in his work that hit close to home, stirring up feelings you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time.

“Do you like it?” a voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to find a man standing beside you, his features soft yet undeniably striking. His long, light hair framed his face almost ethereally, and his deep blue eyes held a warmth mixed with intensity. His gentle smile put you instantly at ease.

“Yeah, it’s... breathtaking,” you said, glancing back at the painting. “There’s so much emotion in it. It feels personal.”

Sigtryggr smiled, his eyes softening. “I’m glad you think so. It is personal, in a way. Each piece is a part of me—things I’ve seen, felt, or imagined. Sometimes, painting’s the only way I know to get those feelings out.”

His voice was soft but sincere, and something about him took you by surprise—a calmness and sweetness that felt rare. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but feel faint echoes of someone else, someone who had once stirred your heart just as deeply.

The next hour slipped by as you talked with Sigtryggr, his presence unexpectedly comforting. He was charming without being over the top, and his quiet humor reminded you of simpler times. As you shared stories, you found yourself laughing more freely than you had in a long time. His quiet confidence and the way he really listened drew you in.

From across the room, you kept catching Gisela’s amused glances, her knowing smile hard to miss. You knew she’d set this up, but for once, you didn’t mind. As the evening wore on, Sigtryggr’s sweetness and his genuine interest in you started chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

As the crowd began to thin, Sigtryggr turned to you with a soft smile. “I’d love to see you again if you’re interested. Maybe we could grab a coffee, or check out another gallery sometime?”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes and the ease you felt around him made it impossible to refuse. “I’d like that.”

—---------------------------------------

A few weeks later, you found yourself spending more time with Sigtryggr, getting to know him better. Each time you met, you couldn’t help but notice how much he reminded you of Sihtric—the quiet intensity, the focus he poured into his work, the way he always held a little something back. But unlike Sihtric, there was no darkness in his eyes, no heaviness or regret. Sigtryggr was just... calm, confident, kind.

Your dates were simple and easy—strolls through art districts, cozy coffee shop stops, gallery visits, all filled with comfortable conversation. Sigtryggr had this natural way of making you feel at ease, giving you closeness without any pressure. He never pushed, never asked about your past, though you could tell he sensed something was holding you back.

Still, no matter how good things felt, you often caught yourself comparing him to Sihtric. The way Sigtryggr laughed, the thoughtful pauses he took—little things kept bringing Sihtric to mind, as if his shadow lingered over every new connection you tried to build.

One evening, after a particularly sweet date, Sigtryggr walked you home. Standing at your doorstep, you looked at him, emotions swirling. He held your gaze, eyes soft, as if he could see what you were feeling but didn’t need to hear it. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering gently at your cheek. His gaze dipped to your lips, and he took a careful breath before leaning in.

When he kissed you, it was soft, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every moment. One hand rested at the curve of your jaw, the other slipped to the small of your back, drawing you a bit closer. He tasted faintly of coffee, his touch steady and grounding, and as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, a warmth spread through you, melting away the lingering shadows of doubt.

The world around you faded as the kiss deepened, his lips exploring yours with a slow, tender intensity that felt both comforting and thrilling. You found yourself relaxing, melting into him, letting go of the weight you’d been carrying. For a moment, all that mattered was him, here, now.

When he finally pulled back, he searched your face with those gentle eyes of his, his thumb still tracing small circles on your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and full of concern.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the old memories tugging at you again. “It’s not you,” you said, unsure how to explain the tangled mess inside you. “It’s… someone from my past.”

Sigtryggr’s expression remained calm, though you caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice soothing. “I know it’s hard to move on from someone who meant so much to you.”

You blinked, surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you…?”

He gave a faint smile, a small shrug. “You wear it on your face sometimes, the way you get that distant look when something reminds you of him. But I’m not here to rush you. I just want to spend time with you, however you need.”

His words touched you deeply, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible to let go of the past and let someone else in.

As you said goodnight, something inside you shifted. Sigtryggr wasn’t Sihtric—he was his own person, with his own gentle sweetness, one that felt like it could help you heal. And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe in a future worth exploring, not centered on what you’d lost but on what you might still find.

[drurrito]

Home

A/N: You're going to have to pry retired!avengers reader x Natasha au from my cold, dead hands. Anyway, I wanted to see if I could quickly churn out a little something before needing to focus my attention on this stupid MSJ memo.

From a drabble list: #34 - "The boxes are all labeled incorrectly."

Parings: Natasha x Reader

Warnings: time...and it's a little angsty ig but there's a happy ending.

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

You slice through the tape with ease and toss the box cutter to the side.

"Huh, so that's where I packed my boxing gear," you lift your gloves out of the box and set them aside. Moving has been anything but a breeze. Natasha finally pried your last remaining stubborn fingers that had a death grip on your life as an Avenger. Your retirement party was too-perfect. Even Fury was there to send you off. You hated it. Natasha knew from the jump you wanted to die an Avenger, not some washed-up hero that spent retirement trying to find anything to fill the bottomless void left from no longer being needed by the world anymore.

But you love Natasha much, much more than you hate not being an Avenger.

She tried to make it up to you, even picking a house that has a home theater and game room for your poker nights with Tony and the boys. Someplace by the beach while being close enough to the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility so you can sleep in as long as possible before having to train recruits.

Your new life scares you much more than any bullet, bomb, or power-hungry warlord ever could.

You hear the front door open and keys drop onto the new marble counter that Natasha spent weeks curating. The familiar clicking of heels draws nearer. You feel your wife's nails drag across your back before her fingers dig into the knots between your shoulders.

"There you are," Natasha's voice is so gentle, it has been since your retirement party. She always knew what she wanted with you, and you never gave her reason to doubt you would meet her halfway. Retirement was the last step she needed you to take into this new chapter of your lives. Most people would have rather opted to watch paint dry, but she would have waited forever for you if you needed it.

"How's the unpacking going?" Natasha rests her head on top of yours, letting her arms drape around your neck. You instinctively lean back into her and take a few breaths. Among the most chaotic scenes, Natasha has always been your safe place to land.

"We're making some progress," you trail off, both of your eyes scanning the room that's littered in torn, sliced, and otherwise unopened boxes. You feel Natasha heave a loud sigh against your back. Her arms come up to your shoulders to give you a sympathetic squeeze.

"Wait, why are my dishes in your underwear box?"

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment to buy yourself some time, "because...the boxes are labelled incorrectly."

"And who was in charge of labelling the boxes?"

"I was," you try not to sound so deflated, Natasha's laugh echoes through the mostly empty house.

"Should've hired the recruits to do our dirty work," she smirks and pulls out her phone, "I'll get us take out."

You watch her rattle off your favorite order as she walks down a barren hallway. Maybe retirement won't be so bad after all.

[stars-remain2]

I finally worked up the courage to write again. I was inspired by @joeyalohadream and how she never gives up! I’m not sure if this is any good, but I’m tossing out into the void anyway. It’s a start to something I left hanging on AO3 back in May.

Gale awakens abruptly to a body on fire. The pain is so intense that he can barely move. He doesn’t want to move. His eyes remain closed but his brow furrows in confusion and he immediately tenses in fear. The viscous cycle of pain continues on, triggering his mind to go back in time. Trading one hell for another.

His father must have gone on another bender last night. When James Cleven goes out drinking, Gale always ends up taking the hit. Literally.

“No, Dad, no,” Gale moans weakly. “I’ll be good.”

Bucky startles awake as Gale thrashes in his arms. Despite the slight slur in his words, Bucky can understand what he’s saying with absolute clarity and his heart plummets.

“Buck,” Bucky whispers in his ear, “you gotta be still. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. Shhhh. You’re ok. You’re safe.”

Bucky gently strokes Buck’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, repeating the soothing motion to try and calm the smaller man panicking in his arms.

The words “Buck, still and safe” break through Gale’s consciousness and he stills with a sharp inhale of breath.

Gale slowly cracks open his matted eyelids, unsure of exactly what scene will greet him. Was he dreaming his father or was he real? He’s relieved to see John Egan’s very concerned face peering over him from above. It’s still dark wherever they are but John’s face glows in the flicker of a firelight.

“Whaa,” he attempts to speak, the words slurring on his swollen and misshapen lips. Gale is frustrated.

“It’s ok, Buck. Don’t try to talk. You’re ok. Well, I guess that’s subjective at the moment,” John whispers with a concerned grimace.

It all comes flooding back to Gale. The failed escape attempt, being made an example of by the German Commandant and being beaten down in front of his men.

Weakness. He could feel weakness in his bones, especially the broken ones.

He’d been beaten down to a bloody pulp in front of his men. He had been raised by his father to never show a bit of weakness and now here he was, literally being cradled in his best friend’s arms like a baby.

If his father could see him now he’d be ashamed.

“Mmmmppphhhhh.”

“Mmmmppphhhhh.”

That sound, it kept happening. What was it? Where was it coming from? He realized with embarrassment that the sound that was more like a moan of pain - was coming from him.

Bucky tightened his hold on him. “Buck, easy now. Your only job right now is to rest. We are in for the night. The Colonel has us all set up nice and toasty, ok? All the men have been taken care of, including you. I need you to be still and settle down. You don’t need to do a thing but go back to sleep.”

He had so many questions. As if he could sense them, John continued.

“We will continue the march in the morning. I know it’s going to be tough on you. I’ll be there to help, so will all the guys. I promise we won’t let you fall, Buck. I let you go down twice on my watch now and I’m not letting it happen again.”

Gale knew in his heart that he was in no shape to walk for miles in the blowing snow, wind and below freezing temperatures that would be required of him but he didn’t have the heart to tell that to John. He never could disappoint John. So he took as deep of a breath as his broken ribs would allow and said, “K, Jo’nny.”

He feels a gentle kiss on top of his head that makes him smile and he allows himself to once again drift away.

He dreams of planes on fire.

[size0forhollywood]

Metafiction

Pt 10

Content Warning: 21+, held in captivity, fighting, nsfw, assault, SA, blood, vomiting, murder, forced oral, torture. Fourth wall breaks.

Taglist: @xxfaithlynxx

A/N: I just want to say again, thank you for all the likes and comments!! This one is a bit of a short update but I promise the next one will get better 🫶🏼

poor y/n.. we just can’t seem to catch a break.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s time to see Sylus.”

~

The car ride was quiet except for the hum of the motor. You looked out the window, watching as you leave Linkon, to distract you from the fact that The Woman was just staring at you with her cold green eyes.

There was an uneasy atmosphere in the car and you don’t know if you should break the silence. But you decide to anyways.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

She ignores your question and tilts her head.

“What happened to your Evol? I can’t sense anything from you.” Her eyes are like daggers, her words almost angry.

“What?”

“Your Evol?” Her eyes darkened.

“I don’t know… Sylus and I did somethin-”

“Fucking Sylus.” She interrupts you.

After a moment of silence she starts laughing. The sound of her laugh just felt like ice water was getting dumped over your head. Goosebumps littered your skin.

After a while of more uncomfortable silence the car stops and you can hear the faint sounds of cheering.

“Where are we?”

Your side of the door opens and a hand roughly grabs your arm and starts pulling you out.

“Wait? What are you doing? Where’s Sylus?!”

“Silly little bird, I agreed to take you to Sylus. I didn’t say when.”

You start struggling against the hand that’s grabbed you. “You fucking bitch!”

A second hand grabs onto you and you’re yanked out of the car.

“No! Let me go!” You thrash around. Twisting and convulsing your body. Doing anything to get out of the henchman’s grip.

“Stay still!” He spat and then punched you so hard in the face you felt your head get thrown back by the force.

You cry out in pain as your cheek throbs and burn and you’re a bit dizzy from the hit but you still try and fight against him.

The sounds of cheering grows louder as he drags you to the edge of an arena.

Wanderers and humans fighting each other in a ring and an audience watches, money swinging from their hands as they yell and place bets.

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the wanderer kill one of the humans and the crowd is in an uproar, most celebrating.

“What is this?”

“This is how we get your Evol working again.” The Woman smirks.

“No, no, no!” You scream, you start hitting the henchman.

“Don’t worry little bird. We’re going to work our way up to the ring.”

“No! Please don’t do this!” You beg. But it was falling on deaf ears.

The henchman throws you over his shoulders. You start kicking and hitting as hard as you can. You manage to kick him in the balls. You both fall to the ground and he’s let you go. You get up and start running.

Bang!

“Aahhh!” You scream in pain as you fall to the ground gripping your shoulder.

The Woman shot you. She walks over to you, gun still in hand.

“You’re a fiesty one.” She’s standing in front of you now. Gun pointed at your forehead, jade eyes cold and void of all human emotion.

You look up at her, tears staining your cheeks.

“Bitch!” You yell through clenched teeth.

She smirks and then tosses the gun aside. Your eyes don’t leave hers though.

The henchman grabs you and pulls you up to your feet, he starts taking you towards a concrete building. Your eyes still fixed on The Woman.

The building is full of cells, each holding a person captive behind solid steel doors, a tiny barred window being the only thing they can see through. The sobs and begs of the other captives echo through the building. The henchman opens a cell door and throws you inside, slamming the heavy door behind you.

You curl up on the ground, clutching your wounded shoulder and start sobbing again.

The Woman stands behind the barred window, her jade eyes fixed on you.

“Don’t think I didn’t hold true to our deal little bird.”

You don’t move.

“I’ve sent word on the grapevine that you’re back in the N109 Zone. Now we’ll just wait and see how long it takes for Sylus to find you.”

You lift your head to stare down The Woman.

“I’m going to kill you.” A determined look in your eyes.

The Woman laughs, “You’re more than welcome to try.”

You stare down The Woman until she leaves. Before curling back up on the ground. Your shoulder in immense pain. Luckily the bullet went through and wasn’t stuck in your shoulder. You can’t stay like this though. You’re going to bleed out.

You cry out as you sit up and try to peel the jumper off you. One side of your shirt underneath is soaked in blood. You take your shirt off, crying as you do and use all your strength to rip it apart into bandages. You discarded the parts of the shirt that were soaked in blood and just used the clean bits.

You bite back your crying as you try to bandage your shoulder by yourself. Using your mouth to help tighten the knots that you made. To your surprise you manage to cover the bullet wound quite well. You carefully put the hoodie back on and lie back down on the ground.

You cry out for Xavier, for Sylus. For anyone to find you. But all you’re met with are the sounds of every other prisoner here crying for the same thing.

You don’t know how much time has passed but you’ve counted five blood curdling screams as your fellow captives are dragged out of their cell, going to do god knows what.

Your shoulder is in so much pain and you feel a burn all the way down to your elbow. It’s definitely infected.

You’re sitting up against the wall staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks. Doing anything to take your mind off the pain in your shoulder.

You hear a click and your body tenses, the door to your cell swings open and you’re almost blinded by the light coming through behind the figures.

“Fix her up.” The Woman’s voice orders.

A young man wearing a doctors coat comes in and crouches down next to you.

“Can you take your jumper off?”

You shake your head, “I can’t really move my arm.”

The doctor opens his bag and pulls out scissors. He cuts off the sleeve to your jumper. You can see his face wince as he looks at your wound.

“Please help me get out of here.” You whisper to the doctor.

He looks at you with sadness in his eyes as he starts unwrapping your makeshift bandage.

“He won’t little bird.” The Woman interferes.

“In this place knowledge is power and love is a weakness that can be exploited.”

The doctor grimaces at The Woman’s words. He looks at you with a knowing look.

He wasn’t here by choice either. Someone he loves is within this monsters grasp and she’s hanging it over his head to control him.

You wince as the doctor starts cleaning your wound with antiseptic and begins to stitch the wound.

“She’s going to need about a three days course of penicillin via IV to kill the infection.” The Doctor informs The Woman.

“Lucky you little bird. You get to delay your ‘training’ for the next three days.”

She shuts the door and leaves you and the doctor alone in the cell.

“I have to stay with you to make sure you don’t rip your IV out to delay getting better.”

“Doctor please.”

“I can’t… help you in that way.”

After he’s redressed your wound with clean bandages he turns your arm out to expose your inner elbow. His fingers searching for a vein.

“What has she got over you?”

The doctor continues to set up the IV. Once he puts the needle in he uses tape to hold it in place.

“I imagine the same things she’s holding over your head..” The Doctor has to manually squeeze the penicillin bag to get the drip to work.

He looks at you with teary eyes. “My…wife. She’s got my wife in one of these cells. What about you?”

You let out a long sigh. “She made me choose..”

The doctor looked at you a bit confused and you shake your head. “I…made the mistake of loving two people. She said she could help me get to one.” A tear slid down your cheek.

“And I took her bait like a fool.”

“Like she said, love is a weakness that can be exploited…”

You look at the doctor, “what are they going to do to me here?”

The doctor avoids your gaze.

“What’s the point of fixing me up if they’re just going to hurt me again?”

“It depends on how big the fish is?”

“What?”

The doctor swaps out the now empty bag of penicillin and hooks up a bag of saline.

“She has you because you’re connected to someone powerful. That’s who her real target is. The big fish.”

Your eyes widen… it was never a trap for Xavier. But for Sylus all along. You feel like an idiot.

“So… who’s the powerful person that you love?”

You wipe away some tears with your free hand.

“S..Sylus…”

The doctor freezes.

“Sylus? Sylus is your lover?”

“I wouldn’t say that… I haven’t seen him in months.”

The Doctor is still shocked by your revelation, a flicker of hope goes through him.

“Sylus could help us all.” He whispers.

He moves closer to you and whispers in your ear.

“I’ll see what I can do on the outside. With the right people information can spread a lot faster in the N109 Zone.”

“But didn’t you just say that’s her plan? To lure him out?”

“If Sylus can get to her while her guard is down he can kill her.”

The doctor suddenly stops talking, moving, his eyes widening.

“Doctor?”

Blood starts leaking out of his eyes, nose and ears. He sounds like he’s struggling to breathe.

“Doc are you okay?”

“I’m so-”

The Doctor’s head suddenly explodes, blood sprays across you, your face and the walls.

You sit there in horror, unable to scream, unable to move. The doctor’s headless body falls in front of your feet.

“Hope is a nasty thing to have. It can get you killed here.”

You look to the barred window where The Woman is. Her eyes glowing green. Your body is trembling now.

The steel door opens and a henchman walks in and drags the body of the doctor away. Leaving a trail of blood behind him. The Woman steps into your cell and stands right in front of you. Her eyes still glowing green.

“Hmph. Even with a suppressed Evol, it still works to shield you.”

The Woman crouches down in front of you and tilts your chin up to look at her. Her eyes no longer glowing but the cold stare frightens you all the same.

“Try not to get the next doctor killed Little Bird.” She swipes her thumb down your cheek, smearing the blood as she goes.

Another man in a coat walks into the cell. His face white, fear written all over him when he noticed you covered in blood.

“Two days Little Bird.” The Woman says as she gets back up and exits the cell. A henchman closes the door behind her.

The new doctor sits next to you.

“L-let’s get you cleaned up.” His voice was shaking.

He goes into his bag and pulls out a water bottle and some clothes and starts cleaning your face and hair.

~

The next two days came and went. You didn’t talk at all to the second doctor. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your mind still replaying the image of the first doctor’s head exploding in front of you. How one minute of hope killed the young man, leaving his wife a widow.

Your arm and shoulder feel better. There’s no burning pain and you can move your arm a little bit. You’re still sitting slumped against the wall. Staring at the ceiling, for if you look down you’ll see the blood that still stains the floor.

The sounds of other captives screaming and crying still surround you. You’re not numb to it yet. How could you be?

The steel door clicks and opens. The henchman that punched you in the face and threw you in here walks in. A wicked grin on his face. He closes the door behind him.

“Ready for your ‘training’ girl?”

Adrenaline sparks through you as you can see the filth he’s imagining and insinuating. You jump up and try to evade him in this tiny cell.

“Don’t come any closer!” Tears already threatening to fall down your face.

The henchman laughs, “there’s no where for you to hide, girl!”

He lunges at you, grabbing your arms. You scream in pain as he tugs at your wounded shoulder. Forcing you down to your knees.

You try and fight back but he kicks you down, knocking the wind out of you.

“Don’t! Please!” You gasp.

The henchman just continues to laugh. The evil in his eyes tells you he’s not going to stop. He’s going to do whatever he wants to you and there’s no one coming to save you. No one. He pins you down, pressing his heavy body against yours.

“Keep struggling girl, I like it when they struggle.”

You scream as loud as you can, screwing your eyes shut. Tears streaming down your face. You can feel his disgusting erection pressed against your leg.

One of his hands squeezes your cheeks.

“Too fucking loud…I think I might silence you.”

He pulls out cuffs from his back pocket and cuffs your hands together, sitting you back on your knees.

Your body trembling. Nausea brewing in your stomach as he unbuttons his pants pulling out his gross hard cock. You try to roll away but he grips your hair. Keeping you in place. On your knees. In front of him.

He squeezes your cheeks again and tugs down to force your jaw open. The sound of your sobs echoing in the cell.

“I said be quiet.” He grunts as he shoves his disgusting dick in your mouth, immediately hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes screw shut and you gag but that just feels good to him.

He starts forcing your head along his dick as he thrusts hard into your mouth.

Your cries and choking muffled by the sound of his sickening groans of pleasure.

It doesn’t take long before he cums in your mouth. Sending spurts down your throat. He pushes you down and laughs while putting his gross cock away.

“I’ll be back again tomorrow girl.”

As soon as he leaves the cell you throw up. Trying to expel every ounce of that man out of your mouth and body. You’re sobbing in between vomiting.

Hands still cuffed, jaw and throat sore. You’re crying into the floor next to the pool of your vomit.

“Sylus…” you sob out.

He can’t hear you y/n… you’re all alone.

~

Mephisto was soaring high in the sky. He blended in well with the darkness that is the N109 Zone.

His red eyes surveying the area below. The concrete building stood tall next to an open air, in-ground arena. He watched as humans and wanderers fought each other.

The screams of cheers filling the air from the humans that watched the horrific battle displayed before them.

Mephisto found a tree branch and perched himself on it. A car pulled up to a stop, a big man stepped out of the car and headed towards the back. He was trying to pull someone out of the car.

Then Mephisto heard the screams. He heard your voice. Mephisto wanted to fly down there and help you, especially when that brute of man punched you in the face.

But he couldn’t intervene. He had to watch. He couldn’t let them know he was there. Mephisto watched as you fought hard to run away only to get shot in the process. He watched The Woman with green eyes aim the gun to your head. Watched as you didn’t falter.

They took you inside the concrete building. But he saw it. He saw your eyes filled with a determination. You weren’t broken. Not completely, not yet.

Over the next couple of days Mephisto stayed close to the area. Watching and waiting. All the information he was gathering getting fed back to Sylus.

Mephisto flew around the building, assessing ways to get in. There was a hole in the roof. This would be it. He lands on the roof and hops to the hole, being cautious.

Now that he was in the roof he searched for more openings. The sound of screams was unsettling but what unsettled him the most was the sound of your gut-wrenching guttural scream. Time was running out. The black mechanical bird found another hole, his red eyes peaked through and he could see into the building now.

His eyes scanned all the cell doors, trying to pinpoint where your scream came from.

The brute that punched you came out of one of the cells and for a quick second Mephisto spotted you laying on the floor sobbing. He found you.

Mephisto waited until there was no movement. He knew his window of opportunity was a brief one.

He flew down, silent as ever and by the time he got to the barred window to your cell door he vanished into black mist.

A black feather however fell from his wings and slowly cascaded through the bars of the window.

It floated down and landed on the floor. By the door.

You snap your head up at the weird noise you just heard, worried the henchman was coming back for round two.

You saw something, at first you thought it was your eyes playing tricks on you. But as they came into focus you noticed something land on the floor.

You crawl over and there you see it.

A single black feather.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[haespoir]

cave me in: mkl.

⨯ pairing: plug!mark x reader

⨯ word count: 1.3k 

⨯ summary: haechan introduces you to his dealer friend, and mark lee makes it so hard to keep the relationship strictly business. not that you minded anyways. 

⨯ warnings: mentions of drugs (weed), some suggestive content, i think thats it enjoy :3

⨯ playlist: cave me in, gallant / half moon, dean / wfm, realestk 

⨯ extra content: part two

⨯ a/n: im completely normal about mark lee i swear ty @markonthemoon​ for furthering my completely normal feelings about mark lee... there might be a part two. 

. . . 

It had been at least 3 hours since you had picked up edibles from Mark. Three whole ass hours, and yet he was still laying on his bed feeling less than whole. Who did you buy them for? Were you getting high with someone else? Was it a guy? 

The first time Haechan had introduced you to him he didn’t pay it any mind. You were a close friend of the younger male’s situation-ship… Whatever the fuck that was. But it was no more than that in his eyes. You were someone who occasionally bought from him, and you were always so polite about it too. And for some unknown reason, or at least unknown to him, that bothered him. A few weeks later, a not-so-sober conversation with Haechan revealed that Mark had a crush on you. One he denied vehemently. Though he guessed out of everyone he sold to, you were the most ideal to date. 

Who the fuck said anything about dating? 

Mark shakes his head as if to rid himself of such wild thoughts. “I’m just hungry,” he says to himself, thinking of ways he could fill that empty void in his stomach. If only he knew, there was no amount of food that would help him feel whole. He grabs his phone, shooting a quick text to someone who knew would also be high at this time. 

mark [11:48 pm]: ramen?  jungwoo [11:50 pm]: and netflix?  jungwoo [11:50 pm]: mark… are you asking me to hook up?  jungwoo [11:51 pm]: say less baby i’m otw!  mark [11:53 pm]: dude what mark [11:53 pm]: no, just ramen  jungwoo [11:55 pm]: mark lee you want me so bad  mark [11:57 pm]: hurry before i change my mind

Jungwoo’s texts cause Mark to roll his eyes, but he grabs his keys. “Yo, Haechan,” he calls out, peeking into the male’s LED-lit room. On his monitor, he sees a discord call and what he believes is your profile picture. Why were you on call with him? “I’m going get ramen with Zeus, want anything?” 

“Nah, I’m going over to my girl’s in a bit,” Haechan replies, smoothly muting the call as he gives his roommate his attention. “I’ll just see you in the morning?” Mark hums, and he’s out the door quickly. He doesn’t want to even think about the relationship between you and Haechan, not when there’s a green little monster creeping through his veins. 

Once Haechan is sure Mark is gone, he’s unmuting the call. “Personally, I think he’s into you.” 

Though he can’t see it, you’re rolling your eyes. “Haechan, you’re just saying that. You’re tired of me third wheeling?” 

“Listen... Your words, not mine, sweetheart,” he says simply. 

“Whatever dude,” you sigh, rolling onto your side on your bed. “Have fun with your shawty. I’m going to sleep.” 

“Just ask him to smoke you out or something,” Haechan says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. “I’m leaving.” 

You hear the noise of him leaving the call before you can even reply, and you’re once again rolling your eyes. You didn’t understand how your friend was into Haechan. What a fucking brat. 

I mean, you can’t just ask someone to smoke you out, right? Isn’t that something that’s offered? You groan loudly at the thought, locking your phone and tossing it on the floor. “Fuck you, Haechan,” you think bitterly. Why the hell did he have to put that godforsaken idea in your mind? 

Because the idea doesn’t leave your mind for weeks after that night. Every time you buy from Mark, you find it harder and harder to deny your attraction to the male. His actions don’t help much either. In fact, you’re convinced you’re delusional. There was no other reason. 

You had mentioned you liked rice krispie treats, and suddenly Mark has rice krispie treat edibles. With extra marshmallows no less.  

One time you heard your friends complaining that Mark had increased his prices. Which was odd because you were spending less on weed than you ever had before. Maybe they were just buying more? 

Or sometimes there’s a small baggie of only the clear gummy bears with the things you buy from him. It’s not like you had told him that the only valid flavor of gummy bears was the clear ones. 

These things weren’t just coincidences, right? Or were they? Haechan also liked marshmallow treats, so maybe they were for him. You had taken a liking to edibles, so you weren’t smoking as much as you used to. Meaning you were spending less money anyways. And Mark said that he liked the red gummy bears the most, so surely, you were just getting the ones he didn’t like. 

You let out a loud groan, ignoring the call from Haechan on Discord. Instead, you opt to shove your face into your pillow before letting out a small scream. Mark Lee was driving you absolutely crazy. 

Perhaps if you picked that call up, the text messages that flashed on your screen 30 minutes later would not have sent you into the panic that they did. 

mark [12:20 am]: yo mark [12:20 am]: i got a new strain  mark [12:20 am]: let me smoke you out? 

Maybe Haechan wasn’t a brat, and maybe you would thank him for this at your wedding years later. But none of that matters when Mark Lee is asking to smoke you out. 

you [12:29 am]: uh yea you [12:29 am]: my place?  mark [12:32 am]: say less mark [12:32 am]: i’ll bring your favorite gummies

He does bring them, and he does smoke you out. Which is why you find yourself in the position that you do. You’re sitting on the floor in your living room, your cheek pressed against Mark’s knee as he sits on your couch. You swear he looks perfect from this angle; his hair is pushed back by a headband he had stolen from you a few days ago, claiming he thought it was like a personal head massage device. You can see the way his eyes are slightly red, and you’re sure yours look exactly like his. Most importantly, his neck is on display, and you want to do nothing more than mark it up. It takes everything in you to not climb into his lap and do exactly that. 

“You look like a puppy,” Mark says, running his fingers through your hair, stopping when he reaches your ear. He’s rubbing small circles on your earlobe with this thumb, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. “My puppy.” 

God, Mark Lee was dangerous. Absolutely lethal. You groan at his words, pressing your face into his thigh to hide away from him. Unfortunately for you, this has the opposite effect, and there is no such thing as hiding from him. The sight of you nearly burying your face into his lap like this does wonders for Mark’s confidence. 

“Come here.” It’s a demand from him, and it’s one that you quickly listen to as he guides you to straddle his lap. In this new position, Mark’s hands quickly go to your thighs; the grip he has is almost bruising. But you don’t mind it, not when Mark’s got his head resting on the back of your couch and he’s staring at you in a way that makes you nervous. 

“Sorry for making you wait,” he says, and you’re feeling a bit confused. “Haechan might have given me a hint or two.” 

The confusion is gone quickly; you were going to strangle that kid. 

Mark laughs at the look on your face, easily reading the emotions as if you were an open book to him. “Don’t think about it, we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” 

And when Mark Lee presses a kiss against your jaw, his hands traveling under your shirt, you know you’re done for. 

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s) 11

Part 10

The smell of a pup was usually a fresh, neutral scent on their own until they officially presented and it ripened with the unique scent of adolescence. It was why scenting one’s child was important. A way to mark them as your own for the whole world to know. And it was typical of parents to do this before seeing their child off somewhere, particularly school.

Shawn never really noticed before now how sometimes his classmates would smell just a little different, depending on who scented them. He wasn’t the only one with one parent but Daniel got to see his mom on weekends, and Elodie still talked to her dad. Shawn was the only one with a single parent with no contact with his other. And he wasn’t complaining. But now that he noticed, he wondered if other people noticed his single note of a scent.

No one had ever made him feel bad about it but maybe they were just being nice about his situation…

Eddie greeted his students in the morning, usually with a high five or a fist bump. “Warm up’s on your desks, make sure you have a sharpened pencil.”

Elodie got to her desk before unpacking and looked at the worksheet. “Do we get to color?”

“What do the directions say?”, Eddie asked, encouraging her to read.

“‘Color…your fa…vorite food’. Yay!”

Eddie told her good job before seeing to the other students and making sure unpacking by the cubbies went without any drama. It all seemed to be going well, so he turned his back. Of course, that was when he heard shoving and the beginnings of a wailing cry.

Shawn was at his desk while Mr. Munson tried to soothe Yasmin. She bumped her head against his leg like she was much younger than six, a move that would normally get an adult to scent her and assure her she wasn’t in trouble. Mr. Munson just gave her a pat on the head and reminded her that the cubbies had names and she couldn’t just put her things wherever she wanted, but also Daniel shouldn’t toss other’s belongings onto the floor.

Mr. Munson was really nice like that, giving head pats, and high fives, but he never scented any of the students. That would be weird. But would he scent Shawn? Where did they stand, now that he was dating his dad?

After school, Steve came and he rubbed Shawn’s cheeks. “You’re like my cute mochi thing. What do they call it? The white thing?”

“Cinnamoroll?”, Eddie and Shawn said in unison.

“No, the other thing. The rabbit.”

“That’s Cinnamoroll, Dad. Now please release my cheeks”, Shawn said.

That just made Steve squish them together more. “No, there’s something else. And I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be a dog anyway.” He let Shawn’s face go and looked up at Eddie. “We still on for tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world”, Eddie promised.

Shawn waited until they were in the car before asking. “What’s tonight?”

Steve smiled. “He’s coming over for dinner.”

“What’re we having?”, Shawn asked, trying to look nonchalant as he played with his seatbelt.

“I was thinking cockroach legs and frog’s eyes”, Steve said, snickering at the look of disgust that he caught in the mirror. “Well what would you serve then?”

“Make your own tacos. I saw you taking out ground beef earlier.”

“You know what, that could work”, Steve agreed. Nevermind that Shawn also would’ve seen the different vegetables on the counter, as well as various sauces which could only be used for tacos. Christopher Nolan, eat your heart out.

Eddie would be spending the evening with them as it was decided that he should do so without it being a date. He and Steve knew they worked well together, now it was time to add Shawn to the mix. He would only be his teacher for a few more months after all. And then in a few years, he would probably be Steve’s. So keeping them apart for that reason was about to be null and void.

Steve had Shawn finish his homework at the table while he started cooking. Eddie arrived about half an hour later, knocking at the door. Steve sent Shawn to get it only because he was washing his hands from touching raw meat and he recognized the roar of Eddie’s van by now. 

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the house”, Eddie smiled when Shawn opened the door.

“Are you here to sell cookies?”, Shawn teased.

“Hmm, no cookies, only pie”, he said, bringing one from behind his back.

Shawn shrugged. “That’ll work.”

He let Eddie in and they joined his dad in the kitchen. Eddie greeted Steve with a kiss, who smiled when he saw the dessert Eddie brought. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t. Safeway did.”

Dinner was a fun affair. Probably the only low point for Shawn was when the two of them randomly broke out into a song that he didn’t know and even danced along to it. Did they not see how embarrassing they were? The tacos were good though. Shawn liked to put a ton of cheese on his. 

“Hey, you got something there”, Eddie said in the middle of eating.

“Where?”, Steve asked, trying to look at his own face.

Eddie put a swipe of sour cream on his nose. “There.”

Shawn laughed enough to shake his own taco (#3) and make half the ingredients spill out onto his plate. After eating, Shawn helped by bringing the dirty dishes to the sink and helping Steve wrap up the leftovers while Eddie got to washing. Shawn got to take his slice of pie to the living room so long as he ate at the coffee table, leaving the two adults alone.

They were shoulder to shoulder as they washed and dried. At one point, Steve put his head on Eddie’s shoulder and they paused for a moment, soaking it all in. It was only one night but this one night boded well for their future. Once the dishes were done, they joined Shawn, who had taken up the middle of the couch. Without a word, they sat on either side of him. Shawn had it on a kids’ sitcom, but honestly it didn’t matter what they were watching. 

Steve and Eddie’s arms were across the back of the couch so that they could touch, leaving Eddie’s side open for Shawn to lean into. Shawn let out a yawn, full and tired. Then he bumped his forehead against Eddie’s chest. His eyes bugged out, looking at Steve for a sign, approval, something. He didn’t want to spook Shawn by using his voice though. Steve’s eyes were glistening a little as he nodded. 

Slowly, Eddie brought his arm down and rubbed his wrist against Shawn’s hair and cheeks. Steve could just barely hear the coo of contentment. When they were sure he was asleep, Eddie gathered Shawn in his arms and carried him to his room, Steve leading the way. 

“Wait for me in my room”, Steve whispered so that he could give Shawn a bit of privacy while dressing him down in his pjs.

Eddie waited faithfully, sitting on the edge of the bed when Steve finally came in. They spent the night sharing slow kisses, building each other up while using just their hands to finish the job. It was still a school night, after all.

From then on, Eddie took some time to scent Shawn while he was fully awake, sometimes even at school. The other students didn’t think much of it but the week after just happened to be the school-wide spelling bee. A few parents were in attendance. Steve couldn’t make it, as it was the middle of the day, but Eddie promised him pictures.

Shawn took first place, almost stumbling on the word ‘lightning’ but pushing through. The awards were given and parents congratulated their kids, getting pictures as well. Eddie kept himself available, only about half of his students’ parents showed up. Shawn showed his trophy to a friend who was standing by their dad.

He knelt down by Shawn. “You want me to get some pics for your dad, kiddo?”

“Mr. Munson’s gonna text my dad, right?”, Shawn beamed.

“That I will”, Eddie promised.

It was such a benign interaction that Eddie didn’t think a thing of it. But in that moment, the other parent caught a whiff of Shawn, who smelled too similar to Mr. Munson. And texting a parent? On its own, not strange but he’d been careful not to give out his personal number to anyone. He communicated mostly through emails. Sometimes a flyer in the kids’ folders. It was all just adding up to something fishy in his opinion…

He voiced as much to his wife when he got home and she just didn’t see it.

“Are you trying to say Shawn’s dad slept with the teacher so he could win the spelling bee?”

“I mean I’m not saying that exactly, but it seems kind of rigged, doesn’t it?”

She called their daughter down from her room. “Is your friend Shawn a good speller?”

“Yeah, he can even spell some second grade words. They ran out of first grade words to give him.”

“Well, your daddy didn’t mention that.”

“I just think we shouldn’t rule it out.” A lot of the parents knew each other, at least in passing. So it was no secret that Steve was single. Of course, most would never suspect he was dating his son’s teacher but considering the scent he was carrying…

As this was brewing on Eddie's side, from Steve's past a familiar face approached closer and closer.

Part 12

Fun fact: that actually happened at my school's spelling bee. Two of my first graders spelled so well, they had to move on to second grade words. Don't praise me though, they came to me that smort.

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