#bird x dog DO YOU SEE THE VISION

[oh-no-its-bird]

Today's flavor of crackship is Kakashi (Naruto) x Hawks (bnha)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 

Until now, of course. 

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 

And Simon? 

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious. 

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more. 

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 

The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 

Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 

This man saved your life. 

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 

Graham. 

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning. 

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You. 

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance. 

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 

You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 

It wasn’t like the termites could help. 

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 

Run. Run. Run. 

Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 

Lose him in the storm. 

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder. 

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 

Simon Riley was dressed for war. 

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 

You nod, but he still waits. 

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 

Your body is shielded in an instant. 

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you. 

Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 

But Graham. 

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent. 

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better. 

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[entitled-fangirl]

Two idiots in love. (P10)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: the reader gets taken by David. And Joel will do anything to get her back.

Warnings: bruises, creepy comments, kidnapping, manipulation, name-calling, cursing

Author's note: I think 3 updates in one day is enough lmao

Masterlist

Part 1 and 11

.............................................................

Y/N woke up with a labored breath.

In fact, all of her breaths were harsh and painful.

And now that she had truly came to her senses, she couldn't remember taking her medication since Jackson.

She left her medication in Jackson.

"I started worrying you wouldn't wake up."

She sat up slowly, now realizing she was laying on cold tile in a fenced in area of the room.

And she knew that voice.

David.

She hummed, trying to collect her thoughts. 

Her shivering frame no longer had her winter coat.

Her torso was just left in a tank top and Joel's flannel.

She finally managed to look up at David.

He smiled, "Tess… is it?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "…Tess?"

He shook his head, "Apparently not." He held up the piece of paper again, "…Y/N?"

She couldn't stop the small instinctual light up of her eyes.

He smiled again, "There she is… pretty Y/N."

In David's hands was Bill's note to Joel. She remembers Joel keeping the paper, and it must have ended up in her backpack. 

"So, is Tess the girl?"

"Stop saying that fucking name."

His eyebrows rose, "Alright. Touchy subject." He set the paper down, "I just want to get to know you. Understand you? Is that alright?"

"L…Let me out."

"Well, that's certainly the goal." She saw him grimace, "Sorry for that bruising. Can't imagine it feels nice. I talked to James about it, and I truly apologize on his behalf."

The struggle to breathe.

It was the bruising on her neck from her attempted escape.

"Are you hungry?"

"Wh…why am I in a cage?"

David shrugged, "Have you ever had a pet bird, Y/N? You have to make sure it'll stay before you let it out. Otherwise, it may fly away-"

"-Fuck you."

"Or," he continued more harshly, "More realistically, a dog. You're wild. But don't worry. We'll domesticate you. Make you obedient and respectful. Let you eat the scraps off of the table. The others want to kill you. But I saved you. I can help you. Let me protect you."

She shook her head, "We both know I'm not really on my own."

"Right," he nodded, "your family. Your husband, how is he?"

"He's not my fucking husband."

"Well, I can see how much you care about him, so I know it hurts. But that part of your life, it's ending. And what I'm offering you is a beginning. But if you can't find a way to trust me, then yes. You are alone."

Y/N let out a breath, pushing herself against the wall.

"Can I ask about that?" David asked.

"About what?" She replied coldly.

"That bruise on your arm. Is that… from him?"

A bruise in the shape of Joel's fingers laid around her wrist in a deep purple. It was from cleaning his wound only yesterday, and at the time, she didn't think anything of it.

She looked up at him.

"I see." He said, "You know, people that love you- truly love you- they don't hurt you."

"How the fuck would you know about love?"

"Well, I wouldn't hurt you, Y/N."

"The same bruises are on my neck."

"Those are from James. Not me. I would never hurt you. I think you're beautiful. And beauty is meant to be treasured."

"Joel wouldn't hurt me. He's not like that."

David scoffed, "Did you see what he did to Alec at the university? Snapped his neck. You think he wouldn't do that to you?"

"No. He wouldn't." She reasoned. 

"Be serious with yourself, Y/N. That man is dangerous and cruel. You deserve someone kind and protective."

"And you think that person is you?" She scoffed.

He let out a laugh, "Of course, I wish the pretty girl likes me. Who wouldn't? But, I think that's up to you to decide."

And he left her alone with her thoughts. 

…

Joel was livid.

He could barely see through the red that clouded his vision.

In the scheme of things, they had somehow taken Ellie, too. 

And Joel didn't like it when people touched his things.

He continued to punch the man taped to the chair.

"Please," the man pleased, "I don't know any woman."

Joel stabbed a blade through the man's knee.

"Marco-"

"No, no, no, no" Joel said softly, "He can't help you. You focus right here. Or I'll pop your fuckin' kneecap off."

The man took a deep breath, "She's alive."

Joel nodded, "Where?"

When the man wouldn't answer, Joel twisted the man's kneecap with his bare hands.

"Fuck, fuck! The town!"

"WHAT TOWN?!" Joel yelled.

"..S…Silver Lake."

Joel pulled out a map, setting it on the man's lap.

The same map Y/N had used in Bill's truck.

"It's not a real town name," the man said out of breath, "It's a resort."

"A resort?"

Joel sighed and pulled the blade from the man's knee, shoving the handle of it in the man's mouth harshly.

"You're gonna point to where we are, and where your "resort" is. And it better be the exact same spot you buddy over there points to."

The man did as Joel commanded, then he spit the blade out, "Go ask him. He'll tell you. I'm not lying."

Joel nodded, then shoved the knife into the man's stomach with no mercy.

The other man held hostage yelled out at the violent act. "Why did you do that? He told you what you wanted! I won't tell you SHIT!"

"That's okay," Joel said calmly as he walked to him and grabbed a bat, "I believe him."

Joel swung the bat with no remorse.

…

Y/N was sat on the floor in a panic.

A human fucking ear laid on the ground not too far from her cage.

They were cannibals.

David came in with a plate, setting it on the ground and sliding it to the hungry woman.

But the last thing she could do was eat after seeing what laid on the ground.

He noticed her gaze and followed it, then looked back with a clenched jaw, "For what it's worth, this is just deer meat. I swear."

She let out a small cry, "Are you gonna fucking eat me?"

"I'd rather not."

"How… how could you do this?"

"There are only a few of us that know." David said, "but, I would've told you. Sooner or later."

She let out another small cry.

"It was a last resort. You think this doesn't shame me?"

She sniffled lightly and looked up at him.

David grinned slightly at the eye contact, "Your friend is no different. Didn't he take another man's life to save yours?"

"He…he was defending himself."

"No, he was defending you."

Her eyes left his as she took in his words.

"Can I tell you something? Be honest with you, Y/N? I'm just a shepherd tending to my sheep. And all I want… is someone to share it with. A friend."

"What about my friend?"

He nodded, "I can tell the others to stop looking for him. They'll spare him."

"W…what?"

"If he leaves us in peace, they will just let him go. They do what I tell them to do."

"What about my daughter?"

He smiled, "About that…"

Her heart dropped, "Where is my girl, you sick fuck?"

"JAMES!"

James walked in with Ellie in tow. Her hands were tied behind her back and she fought against the man's movements until she saw Y/N.

David smiled, "A happy reunion, indeed."

Y/N stood and approached the bars as close as she could to Ellie. "Ellie! Are… Jesus, are you alright?"

Ellie nodded.

"Let her go, David. She didn't do anything. I'm the adult here. Blame me. Just… let her go, please. Don't touch her."

The preacher sighed, "Well, I really want to, sweetheart. But… I have to domesticate the dog, remember? So, I take something that the dog loves, like…. Ellie, you said?… and I dangle her in front of the dog's nose. The dog will now do anything I say to ensure it gets what it wants."

"I'm not a dog, David."

He smiles, "No…?"

James pulls on Ellie's hair, making her cry out.

"STOP IT!" Y/N yells, "STOP! Fine! I'll do anything. Anything, please. Don't touch her!"

"C'mere then."

She approached where David stood on the other side of the bars.

His hand wandered to her cheek.

It made her remember Joel's touch.

But they were nothing alike.

David smiled, letting his voice drop to in intimate volume due to the proximity, "And now, the pretty bitch bows to her master."

He turns around, "Put the girl in there."

When Ellie is thrown into the cage, Y/N immediately takes her in her arms.

They watch the men leave the room.

"Where are you hurt?!" Y/N asked frantically.

Ellie shakes her head, "I'm fine. Just… scared."

"And Joel?"

Ellie shrugs, "I heard voices, so I did what I could to lead them from the house. Got the horse shot. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, "I don't give a shit about the horse. You're okay, and that's all the matters."

…

A few hours later, the two found themselves a little more relaxed.

David had left them alone for the last 4 hours.

"Y/N?" Ellie asked. "I have something to confess…"

The woman nods, "Okay."

"It's really bad…."

"Bad as in… you killed someone? That's not exactly considered bad anymore."

"No…I… I read the note."

Y/N froze. "What note?"

"The one Joel left for you in Jackson."

Y/N didn't know what to say, "How… when did you… Ellie…?"

"I saw it when I went to the bathroom before we left. I just… I don't know. Part of me hoped that Joel had left it for me. I understand why he left one for you, but…. I couldn't help myself. And I'm sorry for reading it."

"It's fine, Ellie. Really."

Silence.

"Did you want to know what it said?"

"Well," Y/N shrugged, "that depends. Is it something I have to know?"

Ellie considered the question, then shook her head. 

"Okay then. Is it something I'd want to know?"

Ellie immediately nodded.

"Hmm. Would this information change what I have with Joel? And with you?"

Ellie frowned in thought, then nodded, "Yeah. Big time."

Y/N sighed, "Well, I don't care then. I like what I have with you and Joel. I don't want to change it. I'd rather live life not knowing anything and having you two, then to know everything in the world and live without Joel and my daughter."

Ellie let out a shuddered breath at her response.

"Joel also said he loves you."

Y/N's head shoots up, "…what?"

"I won't get into details but… it was all mushy about how much he loves you and how you ground him… all the shit he'll never say out loud."

Y/N nodded. "I see. I hope Joel is out there looking for us then."

"Me, too."

If only they knew.

............................................................................

Tags: @lover-of-books-and-tea, @pedropascalfan221, @lottieellz101, @bambisweethearts, @hiroikegawa, @elliaze, @littleshadow17, @n7cje

[wonustars]

Rain or Shine Cafe (Teaser)

Ⱄ pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader Ⱄ wordcount: ~10k or less (this teaser: 2.6k) Ⱄ genre: fluff, cafe coworkers au, suggestive

Ⱄ reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated ♡! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you!

Ⱄ summary: with no umbrella in hand on a rainy day, you felt like your life couldn’t get any worse. losing your glasses while it’s pouring cats and dogs, well maybe your life really was the worst. thankfully a faceless stranger was there to pick up your glasses and hand you his umbrella. you weren’t able to ever thank him for his act of kindness, but the sweet memory stays with you for awhile. soonyoung was in need of a new job and on the first day of his interview he stumbles across a blind stranger with no umbrella, and no glasses. he didn’t think too much about the stranger then, not until his first day of work at Rain or Shine Cafe.

Ⱄ tags/warnings: cafe coworkers!soonyoung and reader, dancer!soonyoung, reader wears glasses, set in vancouver canada, they develop feelings quickly, reader is a little type a, mentions of other svt members, mentions of alcohol, hoshi tiger agenda is very present (more tags when the actual fic is posted)

Ⱄ note: this is a teaser for my fic for the @svthub world tour collab!! thank you to the admins who are sosoosoooo creative because i love this concept sm!! i hope you all look forward to this fic because i adore their little love story sm ♡. if you want to be tagged when the fic is posted please leave a comment or send me an ask! (ps: teaser is not that edited so sorry in advanced) - see you soonest, anna ♡.

Today was one of those days. The birds don’t sing at your wake, the sun doesn’t shine as bright. You weren’t sure what had been the catalyst to such a terrible day; maybe it was forgetting your umbrella, or losing your glasses under the gloomy sky, or the rain that pitter-pattered against the pavement and mocked your misfortune.

It wasn’t until a faceless stranger entered your blurred field of vision, offering their umbrella and picking up your glasses. Before you could even thank them for their help, they whisked away so quickly it was like they were a figment of your imagination. 

That small kind gesture had stuck with you for days, wondering if you would ever be able to meet them again. You desperately wished you were able to see what they looked like, but from the softness of their voice, to their gentle touch, you had a feeling that their personality is just the same. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

Working a shift at Rain or Shine Cafe is always the highlight of your day, especially after spending so many hectic hours at your university. The cafe was always serene, the customers were kind, and you liked how calming it would get once the Vancouver rain started to pour in. The droplets hitting the glass windows in a rhythmic pattern that could probably put you to sleep if you allow. 

Rain or shine cafe was like your little safe haven from the busy city and university town. Working the evenings while your boss, Seokmin, would cover the mornings. It definitely was a little bit complicated with only the two of you, but you didn’t mind. You liked being the only person during your shift, it meant that you were practically your own boss. 

It wasn’t until the day that Seokmin decided it was time for a new hire, your safe space seemingly turned upside down. 

“Y/n, I’ve hired a new person, you’ll have to train them okay?” Seokmin informs you the moment you clock in. 

Giving him a defeated sigh, you knew it was time for a new coworker to join you. Although you hate the idea, you felt bad at how hard Seokmin works in the mornings, and on the rare occasions when you’re sick, evenings as well. 

“I don’t know Seokmin… are you sure I should be the one training them?” your tone wavers, if anything the owner would be able to do a better job than you at the training the new hire. 

“What! You’ll do great, you’re my best employee after all,” he gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder. 

With furrowed brows, your eyes bore holes into his back as he heads back to his office. 

“I’m your only employee!” you shout back while he can still hear you. 

The idea of having to train a new person after spending so much time finding your own rhythm while working at the cafe doesn’t particularly thrill you. With many many prayers to the universe, you just hope they aren’t a pain in the ass to deal with. 

˚∗˖⁺⑅ ˖⁺⑅˖◛

Soonyoung wasn’t sure what to expect on his first day, and he was especially nervous because he’s never worked at a cafe before. Although his coordination is great when it comes to dancing, he isn’t so confident in his coffee making skills. 

The moment he walked through the door, he saw your face shining against the afternoon sun, his heart beating so fast he thought he might have to go to the doctor for a serious case of heart palpitations. He can’t help but curse at himself silently, knowing that he was going to be extra nervous because of his extremely pretty coworker. 

As he approaches you he starts to feel a sense of familiarity bubbling at the bottom of his stomach. Wondering if he’s seen you around before, but he quickly scratches that idea knowing that there's millions of people living in the Greater Vancouver area. 

Clearing his throat he tries to get your attention as you delicately refill the pastry shelf with almond croissants and bagels. Your eyes turn towards the figure in front of the counter, assuming it’s another student from the university wanting to order. 

“U-uh hi,” Soonyoung blurts out, his pillowy cheeks turning red under your gaze. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you ask him, trying to ignore the awkwardness between you two. 

“Oh! I-I’m not here to order, I’m the new hire?” He tries to explain, but you can tell he feels a little unsure about being here at the cafe. 

“Oh. Soonyoung right?” 

“Yeah, that’s me, but uh- you can call me Hoshi,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head. 

The words ‘play it cool’ keep repeating in his mind as he continues to talk to you, not wanting to make a bad first impression with his gorgeous new coworker. 

“Ah, I see, Hoshi,” you say apprehensively while nodding your head, yeah i’m not calling him that, you think to yourself. 

Seokmin told you that the new hire would be coming in for his first shift today, but he didn’t mention anything other than that. 

From first glance Soonyoung wasn’t the type of person you expected Seokmin to hire. His dark clothing, bright blond hair and piercings along his ears didn’t scream “barista”. The aura around him screamed men’s fashion influencer just from the way he dresses. Although his clothes were casual you could tell there was still thought put into his outfit, from the baggy dark wash jeans to his graphic tee and earrings. 

“How about you come around the counter and clock in so we can get started,” you add as you finish placing the pastries into the display shelf. 

Scratching the back of his head he walks over only to hover behind you, a meek expression washes over his face. 

You turn to him with a quizzical eyebrow, not sure as to why he’s just standing there like a lost child in a supermarket. 

“H-how exactly do you clock in?” Soonyoung mumbles while twiddling his thumbs. 

“Seokmin didn’t show you where to clock in?” You question him. 

There was a part of you that has a feeling that you might have to teach him every little thing around the cafe. When Seokmin told you the new hire was coming in today, you were hoping that they would at least have a little bit of background knowledge. 

“U-uh no he pretty much hired me on the spot and told me to come in today,” he mutters, feeling a little embarrassed by your judgement, “this is actually my first job ever.” 

“Ever?” 

“Yeah, so I’m not sure why he even hired me, but I needed a job so I didn’t turn it down,” he continues, the blush on his soft cheeks becoming more apparent. 

You sigh deeply, this shift is going to feel a lot longer than you initially thought. Knowing it’s his first job means that you’ll have to train him a little slower. As you walk to show him where to clock in you silently pray that he’s a fast learner. 

Soonyoung can tell that you’re not excited to train him, and he feels bad that he doesn’t have the experience to be good at his job right away. But he’s determined to learn quickly, not wanting to disappoint you or Seokmin. 

He spent most of his time in university being able to pay for his expenses from his dance scholarship and the little money he was given from his parents, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough to fund his trip for him and his dance troupe’s upcoming competition. 

They had entered a national competition taking place in Seattle and although the commute is only a two hour road trip, there were so many other fees that he couldn’t afford unless he found a way to earn money. Plus if he wanted to fund both his dance trip and tiger collection, it was either he get a job near his school or he would have to resort to selling feet pics online. But getting a job at the cafe seemed like the safer and more logical option. 

“Well now that you’ve clocked in, this is your apron and the tag that Seokmin made you,” you inform him while handing him his things. 

Soonyoung doesn’t say a word, only nodding while listening to you explain how everything works at the cafe. 

“First we need you to learn all the drinks that we serve,” you explain, pushing the double doors that lead back to the main room of the building. 

“Okay, I can do that, it can’t be that hard right?”  Hoshi shrugs, trying his best to act nonchalant to mask his nervousness. 

…

“Wait-No! That’s wrong,” your voice raises in panic as you watch Soonyoung put a fresh shot of espresso into the plastic to-go cup. 

Freezing, his eyes go wide as his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as you start to scramble with panic. The plastic starting to shrivel from the heat of the coffee. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would melt!” he exclaims, pouring the contents into the sink. 

It had been an hour of teaching Soonyoung how to make the drinks that were on the cafe menu, and he had somehow made a mistake every single step of the way. Thankfully today is a slower day in the cafe, allowing Soonyoung to observe your routine on serving customers. 

“It’s fine, how about we take a break and I'll show you how to use the oven to heat the pastries,” you sigh with defeat. 

Soonyoung’s face drops a little because he knows that he’s disappointed you. He wishes that he was good at his job the same way he is with dancing but his naturally good coordination and reflexes can only take him so far. 

“If a customer asks for a pastry they can have the option for them to be toasted in the oven, you just need to use the tongs and place them onto the rack,” you explain, demonstrating the steps that you would usually take, “then you don’t want to set the timer for more than twenty seconds or it’ll burn.” 

Soonyoung nods along, trying to follow your instructions closely, but he can’t help get distracted by your features. Your hair tied up, glasses perched on your nose as you try to concentrate. He knows that it’s important to pay attention but he can’t help but feel attracted to you. There was a certain familiarity to you that he couldn’t seem to pinpoint. He hasn’t felt like this about someone he just met ever, and it’s not helping that you’re the one teaching him how to do his job properly. 

If he could stare at you during his whole shift instead of actually working, he would. 

“Does everything make sense so far?” you pull him out of his thoughts, staring at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, the pastry stuff seems like the most simple thing so far,” he comments, watching you put the croissant into a bag to eat after you’re off work. 

“How about we go back to making more test drinks? Just so you can get the hang of it,” you offer, wanting him to get more practice just in case it’s a busy day the next time he comes in for a shift. 

“Sure, you’re a great teacher by the way, I’m just new to all this,” he comforts you. 

“Thanks, and don’t worry too much, you’ll get better with time,” you pat his shoulder. 

You give him a smile of gratitude. The past few hours had you doubting your knowledge, patience, and teaching skills all at the same time. But his words of reassurance make you feel him warm inside. 

The way Soonyoung’s cheeks puff as he smiles makes you giggle. There was something about his soft features that makes him so endearing, which makes you feel a little bad for raising your voice at him earlier while he was trying to learn. 

Sure, he’s not the smartest when it comes to working at a cafe, but you have faith that he’ll be able to learn as time goes by. From the looks of it, Soonyoung seems determined to do better, that or he’s faking it. Either way, you owe it to Seokmin to show him everything you know.

Ⱄ a/n: i hope you enjoyed the teaser!! lmk what you think :)

[evvyyypeters-fics]

“Just A Bird”

Kai Anderson x gn!reader (ig)

Warnings! ANGST. Trauma, allusions to cult manipulation, manipulation, abüse, infidelity, allusions to domestic abǔse, groooming, extreme psychotic break, a little hallucination, mentions of drǔgs (metaphor), Kai Anderson, not proofread

(Will cause emotional damage (real) (not clickbait))

Based on the (absolutely underrated) song by The Weekend:

6 months with Kai was all it took to break my self respect. If you asked me 5 months ago, I would have said “I’d never let a man do that to me”, with confidence.

But here I am, pleading on my knees for a man who only looked down at me with a look of disgust and boredom. Yet if he asked me to, I’d lick his boot at that moment, if it pleased him. If it made him smile at me, or praise me.

Especially if it kept him from cheating.

There she was, another figure in the shape of an hourglass, and large breasts sitting on our his couch in the basement. There were too many to count now, so they began to blur into the same shape. I could never tell if it was a different girl every time any more. They were no different to me. Even I wonder how I haven’t grown to hate this man yet, always threatening to replace me with other women. It seems everything I do is wrong, and so every day comes with punishment.

I’m beginning to regret all those pinky promises, trusting him with my stories of trouble with loyalty, and how much it meant to me. He used it as a weapon, and he practically laughed in my face about it. It was like I was addicted to him like a drug, addicted to the pain. Like somehow, I believe subconsciously being with him will help me solve my issues. If I just learned my lesson one more time, I’d get it. There was this disgusting feeling of comfort with him, even when he was looming over me as I groveled beneath him like a pathetic worm.

Hot tears burned my cheeks as I clawed at the fabric of his jeans, climbing up his calves. I could tell just how disgusting my face must look, almost seeing the mess of tears and snot, the piggish color of pink that stained it, through the mirror of his eyes. I wondered if this is how the Wicked Witch of The West felt when Dorothy melted her into a puddle. Except if Dorothy was a man with blue hair and a sadism kink.

“Please just let me fall out of love!” I beg. I swear I can see the woman in the corner laughing at me, snickering to herself at the display with a snooty look, her legs crossed and revealing the rim of her stockings, through the thick tears watering over my vision and making the world a glass painting. The sight strokes a fire in me, but when I blink, it seems she has no reaction. As if she’s sitting there with zero amusement to the sight.

“It won’t be long before I fall out of love!” The shaky words, choking and sputtering with my gasping sobs. I can barely make out the sadistic smile that twitches across his face at the pitiful display.

A grin that to my horror that only gets bigger, like a Cheshire cat.

My heart skips a full beat, thudding and pounding, when he leans down closer to my face. “Do you think you get to walk away from me?” He croons to me slyly.

“I own you, lamb.” He practically spits the words into my face like I’m some mutt he’s found the time to mercy.

“So, you can either behave, or you can watch.” He doesn’t sound angry like the other times, almost sounding like he’s impressed at my manic state. Not at what I’m capable of, but what he's capable of doing to me.

A thick sob stuck in my throat shivers out into a whimper and I sink lower to the floor, like a dog being scolded. My eyes peering up wider, the tears silently falling on their own. It was wrong, it was all so wrong. But he looked like a fallen angel with the light above creating a glowing ring around him as he stood tall, creating a pillar of a shadow before me.

“Remember, lamb. This was your choice. No one forced you to join, now it’s your responsibility to deal with the consequences of your actions.” He says it so methodically, as if it’s just a normal protocol. Like he’s my coworker reminding me of the dress code in the office. Frustratingly, he was right. I asked for this, at the end of the day. And now I was met with the karma of my actions. I knew what Kai Anderson was about, didn’t I?

So when he slid his hand around the waist of the woman he brought home, leading her up the stairs from the basement. All I could do was watch. Watch the way he massaged her hip just like he had done me, the way her too short tight skirt rode up her thighs as she walked up the stairs, or the way her hair bounced behind her back. Even the small smirk he turns to give her, his eyes flashing back at me for a moment with a single frame of judgment and distaste. I couldn’t feel anything anymore.

The tears had shaken me so dry, that all I felt was the throbbing of the blood pulsing through my veins, rushing through my ears and making my whole body pound like a drum. My face felt tight with the dry, salted tears. But there was nothing, I couldn’t even form any thought for longer than a second, all I could do was stare. Stare, and feel the flicker of a flame of hatred towards the man I once loved like a loyal dog, spark inside of me from that very moment. Before long, a flame to become a fire. A fire, to anarchy.

“You’re just a bird.” Is the only thing I could utter last, under my breath, as the door closed behind them.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @americanwh0rerstory @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch @n0tonlin3 @bellalove69420 @songbird-garden

[lxvebun]

whisper of the heart pt II

bun's notes: I'm really glad you guys enjoyed the first one so much :3 hopefully you will like this one as well.

synopsis: Genshin boys voicelines about you!

content:Alhaitham/Kazuha/Thoma/Cyno x gender neutral reader (so they/them prns used) in this series, their vision is in tune with their emotions, part one explains it the best. Cyno was incredibly difficult i'm sorry if it sucks shsjsjs. Eng is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Part one

Alhaitham

About y/n:

"y/n and I go a long way back. They are a very intelligent, kind, and creative person. We studied under the same masters. Academic rivals? I wouldn't go as far as to say we were rivals per se, but the occasional competition between who got the highest score on an essay wasn’t out of the ordinary. Who won? Well, our scores wouldn't differ much at all actually. Even to the decimal, we usually got the same. When they asked our masters how such different essays could receive the same score. According to our masters, it seemed I lacked creativity in my writing, as they overdid the creative aspect. The masters words, not mine. Although I’ve read hundreds of books and essays in my life already, none could compare to the way y/n wrote theirs"

About vision:

"Unlike other people, I’d say I have decent control over my emotional elemental power, it at least doesn’t manifest in an obnoxious physical sense. That said, as much as I try to control it, the light of my vision starts to flicker and flutter to the rhythm of my heartbeat. So you can imagine the light show that starts once y/n enters my view *sigh* They think it’s, and I quote, "Adorable"...I suppose that makes it alright"

About relationship:

"Hah, You’re surprised I'm in a relationship? While It’s true that I don’t appear as the most approachable person out there, not that I mind, even I am not immune to love… While there’s no scientific proof out there that soulmates exist, against all logical sense, I’d like to believe y/n and I are."

Thoma

About y/n:

You haven't met y/n? Oh, they’re such a sweetheart! such a kind and inspirational soul. I’m sure you’ve seen them run around Inazuma City or Ritou before. They have the prettiest eyes and the most lovely smile. they run a lot of errands and help with general activities and festivals. In their free time, they usually help me out with housekeeping or acompany me to the market. You’re surprised I'm talking so lovingly of them? Well, of course, I would, they are my partner after all"

About vision:

"sigh I’ve had to switch to steel handle brooms instead of the normal wooden ones. It happened one too many times that I would be sweeping the floors and y/n would come up to me, resulting in small waves of fire to flutter around... Let’s just say, I’m glad my Lord has a hydro vision.

About meet cute!:

y/n and I both share a love for animals, I actually met them while they were nursing a bird back to its strength, the poor thing was still young and completely soaked because of the heavy thunderstorms. Word went around they were caring for it and I decided to take a look and see if they needed help, little did I know that I would be meeting the love of my life. We routinely feed the stray dogs and cats together when we’re both free:)"

Kazuha

About y/n:

" I was able to sense their presence in the wind long before I met them. A fragment of my soulmate in the form of a warm summer breeze, bearing the scent of roses and those familiar mapel leaves. As much as I wanted to follow it, I was still a wanted man after all. I couldn’t just return to Inazuma, no matter how much my heart cried for it.

At that time I started to keep a journal on what I was doing, what I was thinking of, and where in Teyvat I was whenever the wind carried them to me, So I could show it to them when we did finally meet. I never had the chance to finish that journal because our paths crossed sooner than I expected. Apparently, just as the wind carried them to me, it did the same for them. Fate has an interesting way of bringing people together. From the moment I stood face to face with them, I knew who they were and by the sparkle in their eye and the way they immediately rushed into my arms, I can guess it was the same for them. We’ve been wandering together ever since"

About vision:

"I’m well aware of how visions respond to your emotions. I don’t actively try to fight it, In a way, i think it’s quite romantic how my vision responds to seeing y/n by sending a breeze through their hair or twirling flower petals around them. They don’t seem to mind either"

About love language:

"From the moment y/n and I met, we decided to travel together. With every step we took, we got to know each other better, and with every rest under the starry night sky, our relationship grew stronger. They love nature as much as I do, and while I show my adoration for it in poems and music, they show their appreciation in colorful paintings and sketches. If we ever run out of paper on the road, I’m not against them using my arms as a canvas, the same way they allow me to ink love poems onto their skin. That way it doesn’t matter how far apart we are, we wear our love for each other on our skin

Cyno

About y/n:

"y/n? The fact that they are my partner is not something I tell many people, but since we are so close, yes, they are. They joined the forest rangers a while ago, I met them when I dropped of some books from the Akademiya Tighnari needed. And while I gave them to Tighnari, I decided it was a good time to tell my new joke…..Tighnari did not find it amusing, but y/n did. To this day, their laughs are still the sweetest melody I've heard, and I'm fortunate to hear them every day through my excellent jokes.

About vision:

"Please, don’t bring that up, I still feel bad about it. I didn’t know my vision would respond so strongly……fine, the first time y/n and I held hands, I got so...flustered I accidentally send a small shock wave where our hands intertwined. They weren’t hurt, but I still feel bad about it. It hasn’t stopped them from holding me though, I’m glad about that

About TCG:

"y/n and I are both quite the genius invokation tcg players, and the more rounds we play the more....energetic we get. Let's just say that Puspa cafe does have a noise limit....

For my birthday they got me a beautiful commissioned card with artwork of us on it. Having it around has become a good luck charm for me. I always keep it on the very top of my deck.

Thank you for reading angels!

[dollcherray]

HI I SAW YOU WERE PART OF THE SMG4 FANDOM!!! IM SO HAPPI, so I was wondering if you could do a smg3 x gothic reader 😱 if u dont wanna then me understand 😼 U MAKE THE BEST FREAKING FANFICS OR WHATEVER THEIR CALLED😍

୨୧ RUNWAY WALK ✮⋆˙

SMG3 X GOTHIC READER

A/N: Me love you for requesting me thank you for appreciating me writing, me happy because you (pookie) like me (evil adhd) silly writing, me smooch you now. (Also i dont know MUCH about goth subculture so forgive me if i fuck up AURGH)

Type: Romantic, fluff, headcanons.

Warnings: only some mentions of rituals? thats it ig

Song: II Sextile - Visions of You

Playlist: Breakcore fatal frame

✮⋆˙ Code red: He is deeply in love, i repeat he is deeply in love, you have turned him into a total dog for you, YOU BROKE HIM!!! (bonus points if you are taller than him)

✮⋆˙ He really LOVES your style, clothing and makeup, ESPECIALLY your makeup, but if its before you two date he didnt admit it so he did some kind of teasing because this man was too embarrassed to tell you that he finds your "style" attractive, so instead of owning up to it he would call you "edgelord".

✮⋆˙ I think he would have complimented you without you knowing before you guys got into dating, like you know those scenes in enemies to lovers films where one of the enemies goes "you look pretty" and the other asks "huh?" and the one that said the compliment would go "i said you look shitty!"? that was you two.

✮⋆˙ I think he would be a bit of a grandpa sometimes, dont get me wrong, he knows what goth is but sometimes he may ask some questions out of pure curiosity, like: "So... do u do rituals?" and stuff, basically thinking you are into witch craft (and he will be extra convinced if you are a Victorian goth)

✮⋆˙ Ok, when you two started dating he would be ALL OVER YOU, complimenting your outfit, makeup, hair and whatever you have on, he's just head over heels on your subculture, he finds it so pretty.

✮⋆˙ I think he would be a bit flabbergasted when he first saw you without your goth makeup and fit, like he would find it a little strange when you are just wearing non-goth comfy clothes, because he got too used to you with your goth fits.

✮⋆˙ Teach him about gothic music, dances and etc and he will be 100% invested, like he would just be kicking his feet like a teenage girl while you ramble about the goth culture and its story, he really likes it.

✮⋆˙ Would probably secretly try to listen to your favorite bands, just so he could talk about them to you and he would probably like it tbh, i can see him liking those type of music tbh.

✮⋆˙ Offer him a makeover and he will just accept, say no less, like you could just text him about the makeover, he could be on the other side of the world and he would just pop into your house and be like "lets go." (OMG GOTH SMG3 AKJEKWNEKSJDJRB)

✮⋆˙ One time he tried doing his own goth makeup to surprise you but it looked like he melt grease on his face and a bird shitted all over his face, it looked pretty funny but you found it very sweet.

✮⋆˙ If someone say something about your way to dress he would either just let you stand up for yourself or he would just straight up bully the person saying that they are just mad you are way cooler and prettier than them and that they wish to be so talented like you to do your makeup.

✮⋆˙ If you are or get a bit insecure to go dressed in goth in public, he would reassure you are pretty no matter what you are wearing, that you look stunning in black/red and any other color and that if someone dared to open their mouth about you he would kick their ass for you.

✮⋆˙ He just loves you no matter what <3

✮⋆˙ "Yo, look at my partner, arent they cool?"

[lorelune]

(cw: brat reader, self destructive reader, asphyxiation, minor gojo satoru x reader, past satosugu, implied yandere getou suguru if you squint, dark content if you squint)

getou suguru is going to kill you.

it's your first thought when you walk onto the grounds of his compound. when you feel the barrier ebb and shake, your technique rendering it useless for just a moment. a clear, noticeable cut you've left him.

'i'm back, baby.' it says. it's a siren song for someone with a temper like his.

you don't bother going to the main building. you splay out on a bench nearby, light a cigarette, and wait. suck down smoke and let it billow in the cold. you leave your pack and lighter next to you, and offer it with an open palm the moment getou suguru graces you with his presence.

"honored and revered one," you praise, voice sickly sweet. you stand and bow, cigarette high as you head goes low. "would you do me the honor of sharing a smoke?"

"i thought you'd left."

"hm?" you ask, a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of your lips. you light his cigarette. "whatever do you mean?"

he takes a drag, an odd thing to see when he's in his full monk get up. "you disappeared."

"i had work to do."

"'work'?" suguru's expression twist, something venomous lighting his eyes. "you hardly do work around our precious home— what dragged you off so far?"

you feel his cursed energy thrum. the angry loud kind that makes blood speed in your veins. you want to eat him whole.

"well." you smile a viper's grin. "satoru gojo still has my number. he got drunk. booty-called me. and i answered."

"did you now?" his smile feels wicked at the corners. you revel in it. "satoru doesn't drink."

"he does, actually. apparently he has a tradition of getting shit-faced on his ex's birthday." the cherry burns close to the filter. you're sure getou won't mind if you indulge in another. "and... yesterday was february third."

the silence of the compound is deafening. you swear even the tree birds have gone quiet in the hills, the river song silenced even as getou suguru stares you up. you imagine he's pondering whether or not to kill you.

"sorry to pick up your scraps." you light another, exhale in his face. "you've been busy lately, dear. i got bored."

"bored?" he laughs, cackles. there's cracks around the edges of him, you revel in them. what you wouldn't give to crack him in your own hands. "fucking an old bedmate of mine is how you satiate such a feeling?"

"absolutely." you want to split him.

suguru's cursed energy fluctuates, so quickly you don't have a chance to try and sidestep or avoid him.

"must i keep you on fucking leash for you to behave?"

a whip-like cursed, thin and covered in eyes, flicks and cuts the air. it wraps around your throat and you dare not to touch it. you can feel the poison of its half-flesh already seeping into you.

"really?" you ask, voice breaking. "isn't this excessive? i pwomise i won't ever fuck your ex behind your back again. though, satoru did seem pretty hurt, still, and i think he'd be down for a three-way—"

the cursed tightens and drags you down in to the ground. your knees hit pavement and you don't even have the air to spit an insult at suguru. always so childishly physical with his reprimands. your grin hardly wavers the curse drags you forward, on your knees at his feet.

suguru's expression is unreadable. you like that you've stumped him. rubbed at wound that isn't new or raw, not even festering, just healed wrong. the glee of it is exhiliharing.

he holds the cigarette to your lips and you take a drag.

"it would do you well to learn some manners, i suppose." getou sighs and exhales a lungful of smoke into your face. "if you'd like to paw for scraps like a dog, then i'll treat you like one."

he grabs a fistful of your hair, pain sparking at your scalp and you wheeze out a laugh.

"as if you don't already treat me like your l-lapdog already." your words break at the end, vision wavering at the edges.

you enjoy this too much, probably. getou suguru is a well-veiled man and finding his weak points has become your mission in your time within 'his family'. your technique is indispensable to him, both of you know it, and thus you know you have more rope than the rest of your 'kin'. you use it well. poke him. prod him.

force him to expend a curse on you, just to get you on your knees. the power you wield over him makes you dizzy. the ability you have to get under his skin is yours alone, and both of you know it. you think he hates you for it sometimes. sometimes, you think its why he loves you.

you know, later, you'll regret such thoughts. you'll be sore and aching and unable to sit properly and you'll wonder if it was a good idea to return to the compound while still dripping with the cum of jujutsu world's god. you'll consider that, perhaps, you've pushed getou suguru too hard.

you suppose, as suguru presses his lips to yours, bites at your lip until you're bleeding— it's best to save your regret. suguru is the most fun when he's angry, wounded in a way that he couldn't possibly be sane about.

so instead, you let him lick the blood from your lips, suck in air when the leash lets up (just enough)— if you've truly pisses getou suguru off enough to have him consider ending your life, you might as well enjoy the high of it.

[wastingawayinmyroom]

once again dropping these here like a cat leaving a dead bird at your doorstep

-evan, pandora and reg being friends before they even went to hogwarts (their families being pureblood slytherins and whatnot)

-sirius likes his head scratched like a dog (animagus forms also impacting their personalities a bit, like james bumping into random things/people and rubbing himself against them like a deer against a tree)

-lily having a crush on regulus, which was SO confusing to james, who’d only heard bad things about him from sirius

-remus and regulus are the BIGGEST clothes thieves

-neither sirius nor regulus are morning people, but while sirius will whine and groan about being woken up early, regulus is just completely silent and has a constant death glare until he has his coffee

-evan being the one that did all of barty’s tattooes, and started bugging regulus about letting him do one on him as soon as he ran out of space on barty

-pandora making the Skittles have a muggle movie night every week (reg’s favorite is Tangled, but he’d never say that aloud)

-thick thigh james. i don’t think i need to elaborate.

-pandora doodling all over evan’s/reg’s forearms in sharpie, in a vain attempt to have the skin covered so they can’t get marked (even though she’d already seen visions of their futures and knew they would anyways)

-dorcas/emmeline/reg/barty all being major gossips (now im not SAYING they’d sit around in the ravenclaw common room and gossip, but im not NOT saying it)

-regulus who refuses to be like his family and is the BIGGEST feminist (aka. he’s always kind to all of the gryffindor girls, so they all think sirius is absolutely insane everytime he says regulus is mean)

ahhh sorry for the late response!!! i've been staring at this ask a lot lately lol

the rosier twins met reg at some random pureblood function thing. this was reg's first time at some sort of party like this, and since sirius was the heir, walburga and orion had swept him away to be introduced to everybody, and regulus was alone.

the twin were mad because regulus was sitting in the corner they usually sit it (they'd been to this specific place before and had a chosen corner)

anw, they become besties!!!!! yes anon yes!!!!!

ooohohohohoh. ohohohohohOH. the second one is gold

it's kind of like shapeshifters (not talking abt a specific fandom here) carry traits from all the things they've turned into, and that's bootiful

BAHAHAHAHA regulily yay!!! james being all confused and shit until he sees regulus and goes "oh....." 🤭

if you ship moonwater then the next one is especially funny lmao sirius and james have lost TONS of clothes to both of them

the next one just sums up the black brothers dynamic

everyone always assumes it's regulus whining and complaining but nooooooo

okay but i am a sucker for tattoo artists evan rosier x literally covered in tattoos barty crouch junior

they's so cutesy

YESYESYESYES SHE SO WOULD MAKE THEM WATCH MOVIES OMG

lol regulus would be a Pureblood Dick about it, but he secretly likes it

"thick thigh james. i don't think i need to elaborate." honestly neither do i anon

pandora would do this, and especially right in the face on their arms where they's get marked

there's a price for knowing the future.

the ravenclaw common room is notorious for all the tea and namedropping that goes on in there

honestly the last one is half the reason lily has a crush on him lol

giggling i loved these

[triplesilverstar]

Interrupted

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X Female character

CW: Dirty talk, talk of marriage, grinding, being walked in on, almost P in V sex

Word count: Roughly 3K 

A/N: Once more Vash has broken his hand in a way you can't fix which means back to Home for some repairs. While you're there a subject comes up that you aren't sure how you really feel about it and it leads to things getting a little hot and heavy between you and Brad. 

Pushing the joint you hear a sharp hiss, raising a single eyebrow before letting your eyes follow, Vash biting the corner of his lip and you can see one of his sharp canines sticking out. A small tear at the corner of one of his blue orbs, watery and once he catches your gaze he puts on his best pout and tries his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. 

“That’s not gonna work, Sunshine.” Not because he doesn’t know your weakness, nope it’s a far similar reason. “I can’t fix this, The second knuckle joint is locked and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

His attempt at swaying you into helping him fades as quickly as he lets out a long breath. “Are you sure?” A glimmer of hope shone in his eyes, his sunglasses perched atop his head while the two of you sat on the bed. 

“I’m sure. You know what that means.” Chuckling as he falls backward against the bed. “We’re going Home.” 

It took the two of you a few days to find the sandstorm that held the ship you called Home floating around the planet. Another few days and both of you took the pair of Tomas you had into the storm and into the service bay near the base of the ship. Shaking your head to try and loosen some of the grains of sand before pulling your scarf away from your head and face. 

The Tomas you’re sitting on shaking, sending a pile of sand to the floor in a similar fashion to Vash and you move farther into the bay. Seeing the familiar form of Brad in the doorway you wave before dismounting, taking the bird to a pen removing the harnesses, and putting water in a bowl for the bird before going to help Vash. 

“Well well, didn’t expect to see you two Home so soon after last time.” He folds his arms across his chest, and when Vash hisses as his finger gets caught in the saddle straps as it’s removed. “What’d ya break?” 

You don’t give Vash a chance to respond and beat around the brush for his injuries “The second joint of his ring finger is locked up. He tried to catch a car with his hand, the car won.” 

“Mayfly!” The whine Vash lets out at your betrayal is almost funny, but you don’t want to spend the next twenty minutes of Vash and Brad doing their usual song and dance. 

“Was it at least for a good reason?” Brad grouses, sending you a signal that he’s at least glad he already knows what he needs to work on and without a waste of time. 

“I saved a little girl” Vash pouts looking at you instead of Brad, but you know Brad will just be slightly less mean about how he treats Vash as he works on his prosthetic. Waving at Brad once you were both done, watching Vash follow after the older man while you head for your shared room with both your bags. At least while his hand is being worked on you can see about mending some of your clothes and doing the rare loads of laundry. 

A few hours later you found yourself sitting in the cafeteria with a cup of coffee, humming as you savored the dark brew and listening to some of the inhabitant's chatter. Occasionally being pulled into the conversations when something about the planet was asked, and while you were a bit of an outlier on the spaceship the regular inhabitants still tried to include you and Vash when you were onboard. 

“Hey, there you are.” Grinning, you push the chair backward so you’re tilting on two of the legs and angling your head your vision filled with an upside-down Vash. “I didn’t think I’d find you here of all places.”

Taking in his appearance while the others greet Vash which he returns, you know he went to the room first, his red coat and holster stripped from his body. Glancing downwards you notice the hand and forearm of his prosthetic are missing, raising an eyebrow at him as you bring all four legs back to the floor and turn in earnest to look at him.

“Once I got the laundry done I got invited to coffee.” Gesturing with an open palm to the other three at the table. “What’s the news about your hand?” 

“Brad needs to keep it for the day, he said he needs to replace the joint itself.” Ruffling the back of his head with his flesh hand and sending you a grin of his own. “Guess I did get a little too carried away this time.” 

“Ya think.” You deadpan before rolling your eyes. Finishing your coffee you stand, heading for another cup as Vash is invited to join and he takes the chair you had been seated in. 

From the serving station with the coffee, you can hear the others chattering to Vash excitedly catching up since the last time the two of you had been here had been more by chance than planned. Vash might try to deny it, but these people are his family and it makes that small flame in your chest flicker when you see him interacting with them. While refilling your cup, you make a second with far more cream and sugar than anyone should have to bring back for Vash. 

Placing it in front of him on the table and watching him pat his flesh hand on his lap, an invitation. You were just going to go grab another chair to drag over, but. This is Home. The one place you don’t have to hide the fact you’re together, where you can do stupid little things that make your heart melt like just holding his hand around people. 

Letting the tension from your shoulders drop you slip into his lap, feeling that same flesh hand pat your hip briefly before reaching for his coffee. “Thank you, Mayfly.” Whispered in your ear as he leaned closer for it, sending your tummy a flutter with nerves. 

Both of you rejoin the conversation, well you mostly listen and answer when asked a question while Vash is a regular part of the banter. 

“So. When are the two of you getting married?” The coffee that you had been swallowing goes down the wrong pipe as you gasp fist slamming your chest to loosen it while you’re certain you look bugged-eyed in response. Where the hell had that come from? 

“Well ugh we’ve never really talked about it” Vash is being bashful, rubbing circles on your back while you place the cup back on the table still gently coughing trying to clear your throat. “It’s not like we can say anything outside of Home anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.” Something in his voice catches your attention, but you’ll ask him about it later when it’s just the two of you.

“Aw, well that’s too bad. I mean the two of you make a cute couple and it’s not like we often have much to talk about here. So whenever you two are around it’s fun to tease you.” The woman who first asked the question, Jessica, smirks resting her chin on her head on the table looking a little dreamy. 

“Right tease,” another woman remarks, Tess, playful shoving Jessica. “Has nothing to do with the fact you used to have a crush on Vash yourself.” 

That makes the entire table laugh and the conversation moves on to something else, and later as the mugs are put away and you and Vash are heading for your room you stretch your shoulders and bring your arms down feeling Vash interlace his fingers with yours. 

“So…” You drag the word out, glancing at the tall blond beside you. 

“Why did you start to choke when the marriage thing came up?” Well, at least now you know why his voice had dropped a little when he answered the question. 

“Honestly?” Making sure you have eye contact with him as you make your way down the hall, you don’t want him to take this the wrong way like he did your reaction in the cafeteria. “I wasn’t expecting it. I mean you had to have been thrown a little too, going from talking about worms to marriage.” 

Watching his nose twitch in thought. “What do you think about the actual idea?” You don’t miss the slight bite to his lip after he asks the question, a sign of his worry about what you might say. 

“Marriage is kind of a social contract, isn’t it? Just made more formal by a piece of paper and metal?” You shrug and watch him roll his eyes as you flippant answer. “I just guess I’ve never really thought about it all that much before, probably because I never thought I’d ever find someone to love.” That part is honest, as the two of you reach your bedroom door and step inside. 

Letting your hand go and waving his own along the inside to lock the door mechanism while you move further in and look at your shared space. It’s not much but the more times you come Home, the more it’s starting to feel like your and Vash’s little slice of, well, normal. In these four walls, the two of you can just be you. Not the Ghost Sniper, and not the Humanoid Typhoon. Just two lovers who are still figuring things out. 

Looking over your shoulder you grin seeing him looking at the floor with his eyes a little downcast, no doubt still thinking about the previous conversation. “For the record” waiting to continue until his head rises and those sparkling blue eyes that are currently full of sorrow look into your own mischievous ones. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, you big dork. After all, I technically offered to marry you before.” 

The sorrow slowly morphs into annoyance before jubilation as he closes the distance and wraps his arm around you. Burying his nose in your neck and tickling your skin making you laugh. “Big dork huh?” While you can’t see his face, you can picture the smirk starting to form on his visage unsurprised he ignores the reminder about your proposal of marriage when you had been eating his cooking unaware it was him. “Well, I have something else big that I don’t think you deserve right now. ” 

“Oh come on Sunshine. I’m a good girl, don’t I deserve it?” You tease right back, grabbing both of his butt cheeks playfully and making him jump in surprise. The wash of his warm breath across your sensitive skin makes you shiver in delight. 

“You.” Trailing his nose along the column of your neck up to your ear. “Are.” Still dragging the tip across the ridge of your cheekbone. “Never” a quick peck to the tip of your nose before he keeps moving, across to the other cheekbone. “A” His nose is at the shell of your other ear, tracing the outside of it before pressing his lips against it and murmuring directly into the opening. “Good girl.” Bitting into the bottom of your lobe you hiss, but damn, his words have a fire starting in your core. 

Clenching your thighs together to try and gain some friction, while one hand snakes its way under the hem of his shirt to touch the skin of his back, and the other is tangled in his hair, gripping the blond silky strands. Moaning against the side of his face you feel his hips jerk against yours, grinding softly against your core. 

The obvious tent in his pants pressing against your clothed pussy, his knees bent just enough so your sexes are only separated by the layers of clothing you’re both wearing. “Then.” Licking your lips as Vash releases the flesh in his mouth to lick and suck at the skin just beneath it. “Does that mean I’m your bad girl?” With your hand back on his ass, you grind with more enthusiasm against his hard trapped cock, feeling your panties starting to grow wet. 

A low growl leaves him, as his hand pushes your shirt up so he work his hand under it and to your front, squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your bra. “Yea.” Dragging his teeth down your neck, his fangs no doubt leaving two lines of red behind. “And you know what happens to bad girls?” His voice has dropped to that husky octave you love, and your core twinges with a flood of wetness as your arousal grows stronger, more insistent. 

“What?” Whispered as if you’re sharing a secret, scrapping your nails along the skin of his head feeling him shudder and his dick twitching in the confines of his pants. You have to wonder if there’s a damp spot growing where his head is, making his boxers stick to his warm skin. 

“They get punished” Your knees almost buckle as he bites into the pulse point of your neck, sucking harshly and jerking his hips against yours. Fuck you think you might cum from this alone. All you can do is hold onto him as he humps you through your clothes and keeps the soft skin between his lips. 

Mewling at his affection and the throbbing in your core, you don’t want to keep standing here like this. You want him inside of you, anywhere inside of you, just the need to feel more of his skin against yours eating at you like you’re being consumed by the haze of arousal floating in your mind. “Vash, please!” Panting as you grip at him, hips still moving and chasing that high you both want. 

Letting your skin go with a wet pop, you hiss the bruise throbbing as the cool air of the room hits it. “Please what Mayfly?” His hand has the fabric of your bra pushing to the side so his fingers can fondle and pinch at your tender flesh directly. Teasing you as he blows against the purple that’s blossoming from his affection, another shiver rakes your body the pleasure making your mind hazy.

But not too hazy to tell him what you want. “I want you Vash, please!” Desperation laces your words, as your hands finally move between your bodies enough sense returning to you to use them for more than just grasping him. 

“Hmmm. Fucking is a reward and I don’t think you’ve been good.”  You let out a long low whine, as he moves his hand to catch both of yours in his larger one. The thought of him denying you makes part of you clench loving the thought of a long drawn-out session. 

Vash has been getting a lot better at being more dominant in the bedroom, no longer the blushing virgin he had first been. He still fumbles but he knows you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you as he explores more of his own sexuality and since that first time, he’s grown to crave any shred of physical intimacy the two of you can partake in. 

“Maybe you should punish me more instead?” You try to compromise, falling into the role of a sub because with how wet you are you want some kind of release and any affection he wants to give you might push you over the edge with how rilled up you feel. As his hips jerk against yours once more, you notice the light sheen of sweat near his shaved sideburns. He’s as horny as you are. 

A happy little moan as he releases your hands, almost as if in contemplation before he kisses you for the first time since you moved into the room tonight. A kiss you’re happy to deepen as you part your lips to glide and tangle your tongue with his, tasting the remains of his coffee in his mouth. His hand is at your fly, working it open and you take the hint, helping him with his own. 

When you break apart it’s a flurry of movement as each of you tosses clothing items away desperate to remove all the barriers between you. When that’s done Vash is pressing against your again, mouth hot on yours and his burning dick trapped between your bodies smearing precum across your lower belly. 

As the back of your legs hit the bedframe you fall backward onto the mattress, scrambling more onto it and Vash is quick to follow. Kneeing between your supple thighs and stroking his cock while looking at your soaked pussy. “I’m gonna bring you to the edge until you can’t even scream anymore.” Voice dark you clench in anticipation, licking your lips and moving your hands to rest over the swell of your breasts. 

Vash is moving his tip to rub against your folds. Only for the door to make a noise of attempting to open before someone says something on the other side and unlocks it coming in. 

You squeal, grabbing the bedding under you and trying to hide your form as a male voice makes an awkward scream of its own. Face blazing as you try and hide and feel Vash doing the same sheltering your lower half with his and grabbing handfuls of the blanket to try and wrap around himself. 

“What the hell you two!” Brad bellows, and you refuse to uncover your crimson, flushed face. 

“We locked the door!” Vash bellows right back, which would have had more effect if it hadn’t cracked with embarrassment halfway through. 

“I swear Brad!” You scream from under the blankets. “You really are a dirty old man!” 

“Guh, huh, I mean” 

“Get out!” You and Vash yell in tandem and as the door hisses shut you finally move the bedding to look at your lover, who wears a sporting look of red from the base of his neck to the top of his hairline.

This made six times you and Vash stayed home, and six attempted intimate moments ruined by either Brad or Luida walking in on you two. “Are we just, never meant to have sex here?” You mutter knowing neither one of you is going to want to finish after that. 

“I’m starting to think no,” Vash answers dragging a hand down his face his erection gone. “Might as well get dressed and see what he wants.” 

The next day, Vash’s hand fixed and reconnected the two of you are back in the bay saddling your Tomas. Still frustrated from being interrupted by Brad as you tighten the straps you see Vash looking downcast before mounting his own bird. 

Once atop your mount, you reach out across the distance for his flesh hand, having already said goodbye to everyone else on the ship. There was no need to see you both off. “Hey.” You whisper, just loud enough to get his attention. 

Smiling hoping it shows all the affection you feel swelling in your heart as you look at your blond boyfriend. “About the marriage thing.” You see a light starting to flicker in those deep pools of blue. “Ask me sometime when you know it’s what you want, I might just think it’s a social contract but I think my answer might surprise you.” 

In your own non-romantic, yet sort of romantic way, you’ve told him your answer, and the face-splitting grin that breaks out across his face makes your heart soar. You really do love this idiot, even if his family always screws up you getting lucky with him. 

Back to Masterlist for the series

[echantedtoon]

Simoun x Reader Snippet

Your second tamagotchi also seems to be alive.

(Did the doggo so I also decided to do the kitty cat boi.

DISCLAIMERS AND WARNINGS!! The game that these characters are from is for 18+ folks only. While this story will be absolutely sfw the game itself is not and contains things ONLY for an 18+ audience. I do NOT in anyway own the game or characters. They belong to their rightful owners. I also don't own the coverart. I only own this story here.

This will be pretty short. I only wanted to write something cute for him real quick.)

The day was beautiful this morning.

With the sunlight sinking into the room through the window. The birds singing outside. Beautiful fresh smelling air. Beautiful visions of nature right outside of you looked. A bright blue sky. Fluffy white clouds. Yellow sun. Flowers of every color. Green plants everywhere. Trees providing shade as the wind rolled by. A little blue pond in the distance full of fish.

Yes.

An absolute picture perfect scene for what could very much be a good day. Nothing in the world to worry about. Nothing to do. Just peaceful quiet and nature.

"Hey! Wake up! Your dog is growling at me again."

A growl like a dog was heard followed by a soft yawn. Your peaceful slumber had been disturbed by the sounds of a distant voice as it called out to you. Eyes slowly blinking awake from darkness allowing tired f/c orbs to see the green underside of your blanket thanks to having your head buried under the covers. Only to have your warmth disturbed by the calling of a distant voice.

"I can see you moving around! Come on, Pussycat! Wake up already!"

A mixture of a groan and chuckle escaped your mouth quickly turning into a yawn. Arms and spine stretched over and out pushing the covers to the side as you turned on your side to face the desk in the room.

"There you are!"

A blue and pink tamagotchi sat there propped up against the desk lamp to face you. A familiar dog like figure glaring at the other while the other looked annoyed but pleased to see you.

"Good morning to you too."

[kugokizs]

MAKE YOU MINE — GOJO SATORU (m)

Red lights make Satoru dizzy, but the promise of what’s to come allows him to ignore it. The lights flicker and his vision fights with itself to focus. He barely registers the hand sliding up his pants when his eyes flutter shut, his drink teetering over the edge of his glass and threatening to spill on the expensive leather. It’s the least of his worries, though, because all that’s on his mind is you.

GENRE: exes to lovers?, PORN with a little plot, angst (?) PAIRING: ex!gojo x afab!reader WC: 2.8k RATING: 18+

WARNINGS: mentions of a past toxic relationship, satoru wants you back, you are having none of it. but he's really hot, just really horny and a bit dark. sex club, banter, lust/hate relationship, praise, pussy eating, oral!m & f receiving, rough makeout sessions, mentions of drinking and smoking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cum eating, petnames kinda, dom!satoru, sub!reader, messy sex, size kink, teasing, edging, begging, slight humiliation, hickeys, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, questionable words from satoru at the end.

A/N: this is a story me and one of my close friends wrote together a while back and i was rereading it and though gojo would fit this perfectly

Red lights give Satoru a headache. His eyes strain to see in the otherwise darkened room, the people around him just a mass of blurry figures grinding and moving against each other like a human version of dogs in heat.

Red lights make Satoru dizzy, but the promise of what’s to come allows him to ignore it. The lights flicker and his vision fights with itself to focus. He barely registers the hand sliding up his pants when his eyes flutter shut, his drink teetering over the edge of his glass and threatening to spill on the expensive leather. It’s the least of his worries, though, because all that’s on his mind is you.

Does he regret how things ended? Yeah, maybe a little, but that’s just how things are. He can’t help his nature and he can’t give you the perfect loving boyfriend that you want. It just isn’t him. He does miss you, and if you took him back he wouldn’t complain, but he already knows what would be in store if you did. Screaming matches every night, leaving and not coming back until late the next day, fighting and making up over and over. And then sex. lots and lots of sex. His favorite part if he had to choose.

He’s not keen on hearing you scream at him while he’s nursing a hangover like he quite often is, and neither were your neighbors. Going on and on until the birds started to sing and your voice was coming out hoarse. The exhaustion was clear on your face, the resignation that this was never going to work. After a while he was just waiting for you to give up and finally walk out like you should have done a long time ago, until you actually did.

Not even a goodbye. A fuck you before driving off. Nothing. And that hurt more than anything else ever could. So does he miss you? Hell fucking yes. Would he do things differently this time around? He has no idea, and somehow that’s reason enough for him to know everything would go to shit if you two did start again. He just isn’t made to love, only made to hurt, and he has enough of something in his heart where he won’t make you go through that again.

He doesn't know why he’s here. Partying every night is nothing new to him and he’d probably be at this club tonight anyway, but the reason he is still has him pacing in his mind and wondering if he should just leave now before he fucks everything up like he usually does.

It’s not often you ask him for favors. He didn’t think he would ever hear you ask for anything ever again, so when you asked him to meet you at Le coït, the most expensive club in the city, he said yes.

Now he has one girl whispering in his ear and another slipping her fingers into his open dress shirt. His head lolls on the backrest of the couch, his legs spread wide inviting anyone interested to take their spot between them when he spots you. Hair fluffed out, eyes shadowed by dark eyeliner, and lips a deep scarlet red. You’re standing over him, looking down at him like a mother would look at her naughty child. He smirks. “Hey, doll.”

Looking over at him you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake. After all, who calls their toxic ex over to them instead of running the opposite direction? He’s still as sexy as ever, and even more promiscuous after abandoning the facade of ever being faithful.

He sits up when you don’t respond, shrugging the two girls that were draped over him into either side of the couch. They roll their eyes before standing up and sneering at you on their way out. You roll your eyes, “Can’t you control your little hoochies?”

“Not my fucking problem.”

You send a glare his way and he just stares at you from under hooded eyes as if he’s examining, assessing how much you’ve changed over the last seven months. “I met you here. What the fuck else do you want?” He snaps, standing up to leer over you.

“I want you to act like you at least have a semblance of decency, and not be a dick for two seconds.” You grit, looking him in the eyes just long enough to see him laugh.

“But isn’t that what you liked best about me?”

You look down, the subject of your sharp look being the outline in his jeans. “Yeah,” you say sweetly.

He pauses, lost for words, until “What do you want?” He growls, lips pressed together tightly.

“Oh please,” you tease, “don’t act like I’m sneaking up on you and you didn’t practically jump at the chance to meet me.” Satoru rolls his eyes, his jaw clenching and the only thing he wants to do is keep fighting, especially if that means he gets to talk to you longer.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?”

“I- I want us to…” You stammer, and for a moment Satoru sees past the front you’ve put up and the girl he remembers. The one it was just too easy to make his own, following whatever he said until you finally put your foot down. “I want you to fuck me,” You grit, “At least to remind me of the one thing you always did right.”

He can’t help the laugh that leaves his throat. “Wow,” he grins, “You’ve seeked me out for a hookup?”

You shuffle your feet, switching your weight from one foot to the other. “If you’re gonna give me a hard time, I’ll pay you and you can act like you don’t want it just as much as me.”

“Pay me,” He huffs, “like I'm some whore on the street?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His eyes cut daggers into your own, but you don’t back down. He relinquished any power he had over you a long time ago.

“Fine.”

You shouldn’t, but you’re too pent up to care. When Satoru’s fingers slip under the waistband of your leather skirt, all you can think about is how good he’s going to make you feel. Your arms wrap around his neck and your fingers slide into his hair and grab. His mouth opens and a puff of air is visible in the smoke that leaves his mouth. You smirk, bringing him closer and pressing your lips together. A kiss much too tender for a causal hookup between two exes in one of the private rooms of a sex club, but Satoru fists your shirt and pulls you impossibly closer. His fingers dig into your hips as he kisses you like a man starved.

It’s sloppy, messy as ever as spit slicks your chin and you huff into his mouth, stepping backwards and tripping over the edge of the couch. You hate fucking on leather but Satoru loves it. His hand trails down past the hem of your skirt and trails along your bare skin, feather light touches that leave goosebumps in their wake and send a shiver up your spine. He pushes your legs down harshly, spreading them wide enough for him to slot himself between them. He hasn’t stopped kissing you and you can barely breathe, sliding your hand out of his hair and clawing at his back, gripping his silk shirt and tearing at it with your nails. You drag it upwards with an unspoken message of off off off.

He sneaks a hand over your neck and pushes your head upwards and into the couch. His breath ghosts over your skin, fruity and sweet from alcohol, before he sinks down and nips at your neck. You hear yourself moan before you register the harsh kisses he’s trailing along your neck, ripping open the white blouse you put on for the first time today and trailing kisses along your chest. He bites and sucks and licks over the marks he’s sure to have left before he finally pulls his shirt over his head.

You drag your fingers against his skin. You know the warm honey tone even if you can’t see it, the red lights casting a dark shadow over his features. His hair covers his eyes as he looks down at you, and you can’t even see the whites of his pupils from this angle. You can’t help the gasp that leaves your mouth, he’s like a devil clad in leather eating you from the inside out and making you his.

“You’re absolutely sinful,” he slurs, the movement of his spit slicked lips slowed by the lasting effects of whatever narcotics he’s spent his night taking. Satoru stares down at you— the way your hair fans out and your lashes flutter under his attention. Your lips are swollen and wet, open just wide enough for him to slip a finger inside. He does just that, slotting his thumb between your lips and pushing your top lip up, fighting the urge to drool over how plump they are. He can’t help but remember how full they look around his cock.

You moan around his finger, closing his lips around him when he allows, and suckle on his skin. The pleasure he gets from that alone has precum dribbling in his tight pants, the outline of his heavy cock visible to anyone who looked close enough. He shuts his eyes and sighs, slouching against you. Your legs bracket his waist and his crotch is right in front of your entrance. Your skirt rides up your waist so the view of your pussy and sopping panties is in plain sight, practically begging for pleasure.

He drags a ringed finger up your fold through your underwear, and your legs fight to close. You’re so sensitive from almost nothing at all, and a strangled moan leaves your mouth when he takes his thumb and pushes it against your clit, rubbing it through the fabric. The pleasure is muffled but still has you whimpering against him, crying out when he slots his lips against yours.

You break apart from the kiss and dart your tongue and swipe it across his lips. He hisses, his eyes snapping open and you lean closer and peck his lips, begging, “Just fuck me, please. A-and then we can go our separate ways just.. just—”

Breaths coming out ragged and sharp, Satoru cuts you off and smashes his lips against yours practically growling and ravenous as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your moans and whines leave your mouth like a garbled mess and Satoru doesn’t stop.

He pulls your underwear down leaving it dangling on your ankle as he creeps closer to your dripping cunt. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he sighs, and the cool air on your sensitive folds has your eyes fluttering shut.

Contrary to what you expect, he brings his fingers back against you, rubbing at your swollen nub as your eyes slip closed and you go slack against the sticky leather. A lusty haze settles over you like a dank fog seeping into your pores and taking over. Satoru’s fingers only speed up slightly, just enough to keep the arousal bubbling in your belly constant. Your hips jerk against him and you grind against his fingers, whining pitifully when it still isn’t enough.

“Wanna see you fuck yourself on my fingers and show me how badly you want to come,” Satoru groans in your ear and your hips stutter as a long whine spills from your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes,” you slur, grabbing at his shoulders for support as you move your hips faster.

“Good girl.”

You whimper, and everything fades as you feel the knots in your stomach clench, your climax approaching steadily. You feel cum leak down your legs and onto the couch, but Satoru doesn’t stop. Only now does he speed up and your hips speed up with him. When the warmth leaves you and your hips shake, you cry out and Satoru finally stops, taking his wet fingers and putting them in his mouth.

Satoru groans at the taste, and almost loses his mind at the wet spot where you lay, your arousal still leaking down your legs. You felt his hands grab at your cheeks, massaging the flesh before leaning in and licking a stripe across your center. You yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders as he continued working on you, sucking dutifully on your clit and running his tongue up and down between your folds.

“Oh…”

Satoru pulls off and groans, “You taste so good.”

Your hand runs shakily through his hair, grabbing at the loose strands and pulling him up. “I want you to fuck me,” You groan, your lips wobbly and your eyes hazy where they meet his.

“Oh baby,” he tsks, “You still have some work to do, don’t you?” He pulls your hand from his hair and leans up, making quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down. There’s a wet spot in his boxers from pre cum and his cock springs out when he pulls them down. You feel your mouth go dry, his cock clean and pretty just like him, flushed and wet at the tip. The red lights become second nature and you barely notice them when they bounce off his skin and he leans forward dragging you down by your ankles.

“Suck.” He commands, pushing your head forward and dragging his heavy length over your lips. Your whines are muffled when he shoves it inside and you gag, too heavy and too big and much too quick. Your lips wrap around him sucking gently, your tongue lapping against the tip. Pre cum coats your tongue and you sink down even further, your throat closing and your nose tickled by pubic hair.

Satoru groans from above you, your hair in a vice grip as he steadily pushes you on and off his cock. His mouth hangs open and his eyes flutter as you work on him sucking and kissing all over his pretty, flushed skin. You can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth and the vibrations against his sensitive crotch has him jerking against you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “You were made just for me.”

You sob in his hold, it comes out choked and watery but he smirks all the same before pulling you off and pushing you backwards. His biceps flex when he grabs your thighs and turns you over, your cheek pressed into the sticky cushion— your back arched and legs spread wide. He smooths his hand over your arch before pulling back and spreading you wide and slotting his dick inside with no warning.

He stretches you out so well, a moan punching its way out your throat as he buries himself in your tight heat. His fingers dig into your skin so hard you cry out in pain but he doesn’t let up, determined to have you walking home with bruises that spell out his name.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” He growls, thrusting into you particular harshly when you cry out. “Thinking you can just walk away from me?” He says it almost like he’s shocked. He pushes your head down into the cushion, and his dick pushes even deeper. When you reach a hand down you can feel the imprint where his tip lays as he thrusts in slow and deep.

Your cheek is amused against the chair and drool pools out your mouth. You can’t think past anything but full. You're so, so, full. Satoru always knows just what you need to feel good.

You can’t stop your moans as he thrusts in and out of your sopping wet pussy. The sound of his cock drilling in you and stirring your arousal is filthy and rings in your ears, but the shame isn’t enough to stop you from moving your hips back and meeting him thrust for thrust. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you and Satoru’s as well as his thrust become sloppier and lose their rhythm.

Satoru groans and you feel his cum paint your walls. Your orgasm follows when he thrusts lazily into you, riding his orgasm and continuing to cum deep inside.You try to protest but your body racks with shivers and you can’t stop cumming. Satoru laughs above you and leaves a heavy smack on your ass, and you can feel the skin heat up under his touch. He pulls out and you feel the mixture of your release dribble down your front. Your hips are still stuck in the air, frozen, while your body continues to shake.

“I did a number on you huh, baby.” Satoru teases, before leaning down and leaving a lazy kiss against you. You’re too fucked out to reciprocate and the smirk that adorns Satoru’s face is borderline cruel. “I turned you into my own stupid slut, didn’t I?” He laughs, smoothing his hand through your hair.

“You know you can’t stay away for long.”

You feel his lips press your cheek before everything goes dark.

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Buck x Bucky Sorcerers vs Fae AU - WIP

I've got this one now in the works, as well as more for the Rodeo AU, my brain is fluttering back and forth between them atm, but I wanted to show a small bit of one of the scenes I'm working on for this. (Rough Draft).

The trees blurred in his peripheral, everything disappearing like the breath disappearing from his lungs, the panic pushing everything to the forefront. Just an adrenaline fuelled staccato beat thundering in his chest. Sweat beading at his brow.

Keep running. Just keep running, don't look back. Don't look back, or you're dead!

It was second nature to avoid the roots underfoot, the gnarled branches grabbing at the edges of his clothes and brushing his skin like long dead fingers trying to pull him down to the depths of hell. A cruel voice echoed in his head, that he was already there. He had already seen it. Hell was not far behind him, left in the debris littering familiar streets and captured under crumbled walls and burning in the flames of deliberate blue fire.

He could feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes, stinging and harsh. Could still feel the remnants of those flames licking at his skin. Could still hear the screams, anguished, terrified. Dead.

The sounds of magic, whirling like bullets past his ears still echoed in his skull, still kept their grip on his psych. It was as if he could still feel that dangerous energy in the air nipping at his heels like savage dogs, maws foaming with the need to watch him fall, clip his wings like a bird and send him tumbling down into the dirt.

"You can always tell, when that magic is about," his mother would always say, sitting in her chair at the dining table with a pair of knitting needles between her fingers, silver yarn spread over her lap and trailing off somewhere throughout the house. "It's like when a storm is coming, you can feel the shift in the air, the un-easiness settle in your stomach like you've swallowed iron weights. The hair on your arms stands on end like it's trying to sway away from it. You can taste it, on your tongue. You'll always know when it's close, Gale. When they're close. You'd do best to listen to what your instincts are telling you."

He tries to shake the image from his mind, vaulting himself over another moss covered root as thick as his arm. Of a familiar mouth, usually in a smile not unlike his own, now parted in shocked slack, crimson dripping from it's corners. An old, worn calloused hand with red painted nails outstretched in his direction, but still, lifeless. Eyes the same. Boring into his soul, frozen forever in an expression of pain and fear and emptiness. Nothing behind them. No light, no gleam. Just vacant and haunting and carved forever into the back of his mind like an etching in cement.

The air around him burned with every inhale, searing his over-worked lungs. His whole body was screaming at him to stop, that it couldn't take much more. It couldn't keep him going. It was on it's last legs, starved and exhausted and battered and bruised. Everything hurt.

A split second decision had him digging his heels into the soft forest floor, banking a hard left and flattening his back against a huge tree about three times his width. His shoulders heaved and shuddered, trying to draw in air, trying to keep his breath steady enough so that no un-necessary noise was made. The blood pumping through his terrified nervous system sounded like crashing ocean waves in his ears, his vision pulsing in and out with his heartbeat. He couldn't hear anything around him, could hardly see.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he kept his focus on the rhythm of his breath, palms squeezing, nails cutting into his flesh with enough force he was half expecting blood to drip between his fingers into the moss covered ground below.

His father's voice echoed in his head now, low and gruff but strong, serious and brave.

Controlling your breath can mean the difference between life and death out there, Gale. You control your breathing, you control your heart. They can sense your heartbeat, they have spells for that now. Shows them the echoes of it like damn fireworks. You don't want the wolves to hear you. Don't want them to see you. Or they'll empty those fireworks out of your chest and show it to you before they crush it under their boots.

Lifting his chin skyward, he focused what little eyesight he could properly see with with on the small sliver of blue sky peeking through the branches above his head. So plain and bare, normal. Completely oblivious to the horrible events taking place under it's enormous expanse. The more he stared, the more the roaring of his blood quieted in his skull, the more the incessant pulsing behind his eyes settled and he was able to take in the complete and utter silence that was enveloping the forest.

The thump-thump-thump buried deep in his sternum flowed more smoothly, but that hint of fear still had it's grips on him. Was still sinking it's teeth deep into his core like a splinter that would never be able to truly be plucked out.

If he could just get his bearings, could just sit for a moment, he could gather what few sensible thoughts were rattling around in his head and figure out where the hell we was supposed to go from here, what he was meant to do.

He could feel his legs trembling underneath him, his knees all but ready to give out and send him sinking down onto his haunches. He had to find somewhere safe. He had to find somewhere to rest for a few moments, a few hours if he was lucky enough.

He was just about to give in to his body's inconvenient exhaustion, let himself sit and allow his muscles and his still mildly racing heart to calm just that tad more, but the indistinct snapping of a branch far off to the right made every muscle in his overworked body freeze. His eyes shot down from the sky to stare straight ahead, his breathing caught in his throat, even though his lungs still protested at having their much needed supply of oxygen once again denied them fully.

But he couldn't let himself.

An acrid, sour taste crawled up his throat, coating his tongue like he'd just licked a copper penny, sparks dancing over his teeth and sending painful pulses through the very bone of his jaw. The fear quickly followed it again, his heartbeat beginning it's frantic and loud race and gripping his very soul like a cold blanket of electricity. He felt the sensation creep it's way through every cell, every vessel, every nerve. Like being submerged in freezing water.

Like a deer cornered by a wolf, he flickered his gaze down to his arms, held down by his sides.

Every hair was lifted and pointed skyward like they were trying to get away from something sinister.

"We got another one up ahead!"

[angelthefirst1]

Norman just posted this photo from Paris, which includes a dinosaur 🦕 wearing a beanie and it has love ❤️ heart nostrils.

His post is pointing to Emily's song about a dinosaur 🦕 in the museum of her broken 💔 hearted past.

Read about Emily's broken-hearted dinosaur 🦕 💔 museum here.

Norman's photo also shows symbolism of a bird 🐦 (Emily is marked as the hummingbird or song bird) "nesting" on a diamond 💎

Diamonds are pyramid (Louvre) symbols

You can read more on that here and here.

While the nest symbols are related to where Daryl will find her X.

My personal thoughts are that Daryl will get a clue to her survival at the Louvre and will then have to track her down.

We saw a mini template of this in Consumed (The book of Carol 1.0) when Daryl and Carol entered this office building filled with artwork (representation of the Louvre)

We also see "wing-back" chairs 💺 in this room, significant to Daryl getting his "Angel" or wings back.

Here, Daryl finds a picture 📸 picks it up and looks at it...I personally think this is a shadow of him finding a clue to Beth's survival at the Louvre.

In the next scene, he and Carol look out the window, Carol says, "How did we get here?" A clue to the future and to being in France.

In real time, they do get a clue to where Beth is...the + ambulance 🚑 on the bridge... The bridge symbolism is Jacob's (Israel's) ladder. 🪜

As @bethgreeneprevails has mentioned, the echelon briefing means ladder 🪜

@galadrieljones has done some amazing posts on Jacob and Jacob's ladder. She first clued me into the Leah/Rachel, Jacob (Daryl/Israel) connection.

I talk about how Daryl is Jacob/Israel here and will talk more on it in future posts.

But inside this room, we see a Meridian globe, giving us a hint and pointing to a different time and location.

The Meridian wheels are a representation of the Ferris wheels 🎡 symbolism we see in the show, and Norman recently posted about that too...

Ultimately, these are all symbols of Ezekiel's "wheel within a wheel" vision, which represents a birds eye view (God's view) of everything happening past, present, and future at once - being outside of time.

Interesting Ezekiel 10.10 is where we find this vision.

This Meridian symbolism doesn't just point to France, it points to shifting locations depending on what story they are telling. Which is the biblical end times.

Ezekiel’s Wheel Within a Wheel: What Does It Mean?

Ezekiel, one of the Jews exiled from Israel to Babylon after the fall of Jerusalem, receives this vision as a sign that God has not abandoned him (or the people). The wheels are a sign of God's omnipresence, for he can move anywhere; the height of his throne illustrates that he is always watching from high above us. Another decoration of the wheel chariot was numerous eyes, for God sees everything.

The wheels within wheels allowed the spirits to immediately go in any of four directions where they were told to go (Ezekiel 10:16 - 17).

There is a Ferris wheel in Barcelona, Spain, on the way to the Windsor bridge. It will be interesting to see if they film in a Ferris wheel location at any point when Beth comes back.

I've talked many times before how the "Nest" in France represents Israel, protected by the Archangel Michael, who have a leading role in biblical end time events.

Well, in this room that Daryl and Carol find a Beth clue in, we also get a depiction of Carol's Balaam's donkey symbolism used for DD2 advertising.

Daryl tells Carol that the painting looks like a dog sat in paint and wiped it's ASS 🫏 all over the place...

Dog backwards is god with a little g. This can represent an angel (it can be either holy or fallen depending)

It dipped it's ASS (donkey 🫏) in paint...

Angel donkey painting...numbers 22-Balaam's donkey. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you, a promise made to Abraham's line. X

It wasn't an accident they gave Carol the Balaam's donkey symbolism for DD2. It's so important, and as I've mentioned, it's all related to the biblical end times.

The alcohol symbolism we see around Beth is related to the "spirits." Which I will go into more another time.

Before Daryl spots the ambulance 🚑 on the bridge, we see Daryl and Carol look out the window and see this sign...

This muse sign is pyramid symbolism - as above, so below.

If you read it from top to middle and bottom to middle, you get the word MUSE. Something Emily has written about in her song Jonathan from the album "OH" Jonathan album. Something I have talked about here and here.

Oh Jonathon is about Daryl and Beth.

MUSE is related to art, obviously, so it's just another hint to the Louvre.

One aspect of the dinosaur 🦕 key and the Seahorse key symbolism that I never went into in my previous post on Emily's dinosaur beanie.

Is that it all relates to the rise of the beast as described in Revelation 13.3

🦖🐉🦕🐲

The First Beast

And I saw a beast rising out of the sea, with ten horns and seven heads, with ten diadems on its horns and blasphemous names on its heads. 2 And the beast that I saw was like a leopard; its feet were like a bear’s, and its mouth was like a lion’s mouth. And to it, the dragon gave his power and his throne and great authority. 3 One of its heads seemed to have a mortal wound, but its mortal wound was healed, and the whole earth marvelled as they followed the beast. 4 And they worshipped the dragon, for he had given his authority to the beast, and they worshipped the beast, saying, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?”

Beth's two "clue" cars, have both dinosaur 🦕 and a Seahorse symbolism.

Dinosaur can also mean dragon 🐉 and so can sea dragon, which is a Seahorse. Notice the yellow and blue on the Seahorse key... It's to tell us specifically that it's a sea dragon.

And again, Beth's mortal head wound and her survival, combined with the dragon/beast and sea dragon symbolism, points to her story being linked to the rise of the beast and the biblical end times that revolve around Daryl (Jacob/Israel)

[v4mpgutz]

Two Birds, Miguel O'Hara [ DRABBLE ]

— kicking off my blog opening with a little miguel x teen spider reader found family type shit hehe

father figure miguel x gn teen spider reader

warnings! — spoilers, mentions of illness/injury, implied death if you squint, slightly implied canon-typical violence.

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

miguel o'hara who took you in when your earth came crumbling down. he mentored you, trained you, taught you almost everything you knew about being part of the spiderverse.

miguel o'hara who brought you lunches while you studied fighting techniques to do with pressure points, leaving you little notes that said things like: 'you rock!', 'study hard', 'stay focused :D'.

miguel o'hara who lyla is always making fun of for exhibiting prime examples of dad-like behaviour when it comes to you and is always overcome with anger every time. it's not like lyla was wrong, she almost never was, it's just that he hadn't had the best experience with children of his own.

he knows that you think of him as a positive male adult influence, a mentor, a guide, a tutor — a father figure. miguel never mentions anything about it because he's terrified that if he acknowledges it you'll be gone in a snap. he has every right to believe so.

miguel o'hara who rushes into the medical wing of the spider society when he's told you're running a high fever. he jumps over tables, pushes people out of the way, slams the doors open and demands to see you. and you, lying there so helplessly as sick as a dog. he sits beside you on a rather uncomfortable chair and waits — for anything. his eyes soften and his mouth pulls into a frown as he sees you lay there, still and oh so clammy.

miguel o'hara who is relieved when you awaken but you're drugged to the gills on pain meds. he holds your hands, softly.

"can you hear me?" he asks, desperate.

"are you okay? what's wrong?" he just wants to know how you got sick.

he's frustrated when all you do is giggle, your vision blurry but you know that voice. you know miguel's voice. you give his hand a gentle squeeze back and through the misty haze that you can see you reach one hand up to touch his face.

"heyyyy... dad!" you slur out, loopy and up in the clouds. you'd never say something like that under normal circumstances — you'd never want to strike a nerve considering he'd lost the only biological child he'd ever had.

miguel's eyes widen, his jaw clenched as he squeezed your hand a little tighter but not enough to cause harm. his face softens as you touch his face and he swears he almost sheds a tear.

"hurts.." you mumble, scrunching your eyebrows together and pointing to your head.

miguel blinks, a tear rolling down his cheek as he cups yours with a teary-eyed smile. "it's okay, baby," he whispers to you softly. "they're giving you pain killers."

you laugh and nod, telling him you know but that you wish they tasted like your favourite candy. he snorts, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand gently.

"you're soooo good, dad!" you tell him, eyes drooping as you drift off to sleep slowly.

miguel doesn't know what you mean by that but he kisses your head lightly as you lose consciousness, he stays sat beside you.

he was getting given the opportunity to have a child again, he thinks, and this time... this time he wasn't going to mess it up.

hellooo, first fic/drabble on here lets go?? i'm sick right now and it gave me this idea jsjsjdn i love him sm.

[quarter-life-crisis2]

Just enough help

✿ Yoongi x reader (she/her) (Namjoon is there for 2 seconds)

✿ wc: 2.1k

✿ baby angst, minimal fluff

✿ summary: You're stuck, not knowing what to do in your life to be happy and content. A surprising conversation makes you think that maybe you can turn things around.

✿ warnings: some talk of capitalism, hopelessness, and being stuck in life, a touch of loneliness & low self-esteem, but nothing physical, just one little wish of being more beautiful, weed smoking occurs (oh no, 2/2 on this one), talk about purpose and shit that's keeping me up at night, but it's not too heavy, ends with more hope than it starts I promise

Maybe part two...?

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

A lovely spring day by the canal, birds singing, sun shining, couples smiling, all that bullshit and yet you’ve been walking around with a dark cloud above you. Sometimes going for a walk makes you feel like you’re finally photosynthesising after a long winter, yet seeing all these happy people reminds you of how bitter you feel. 

Sitting down on the patch of grass overlooking the water, staring into the distance you feel like everything you’ve been working towards has been completely pointless. You pictured this amazing life for yourself, with a career you love and are confident in, living it up in the big city, with a highrise flat, a dog and a partner. Yet all you’ve got right now is disappointment, in yourself and your achievements. 

And that just makes you feel ungrateful because you have a career, a decent one at that, that pays you enough that you don’t have to worry about your bills and you can indulge here and there. Your flat might not be overlooking the city, but it’s nice enough, you decorated it to your tastes and you don’t have to share it with any strangers and argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes. 

Yet it just feels like it’s all wrong, it’s not you, you’re not really living. You’re going through the motions every day, seeing how much you can get away with before you get called in for a disciplinary meeting. Seeing how many hours you can spend laying down on your bed with your eyes closed, picturing you’re someone else entirely, someone better, more confident, more interesting, more beautiful. 

You thought you finally had it, that treasured feeling you’ve been chasing for as long as you can remember, that content little light inside that made you walk with a little more joy, make you lift your head a bit higher, like you actually like yourself. How fragile was it really? It seems like all it took was a slump, and then you went right back to isolating yourself, not taking care of yourself and no longer trying. 

“Here, take this” 

A water bottle is suddenly in your line of vision, startling you from your self-deprecating spiral. Looking up at the man standing in front of you, realising you’ve been crying, in public, in broad daylight, completely sober. Shock and shame quickly mix together, so you take the bottle hoping he’ll leave you alone to wallow for a bit longer before you pull yourself together and make the hour-long journey back to your corner of the city. No such luck, he seems to not get the hint, sitting down next to you, a good 4 feet apart. 

“Don’t worry, I just bought it, it’s sealed. You just looked like you needed it.”

You look down surprised, to the unopened bottle, muttering a small thanks and taking a sip. He’s settled in, staring out at the beautiful view, looking completely at ease with your discomfort, while you’re inspecting his profile, confused about what the hell he wants from you. He can’t possibly just be nice, no one talks to crying people here, you might as well be invisible. The last time this happened, when you were 20, having just moved cities, far from home, it was like you suddenly got a superpower, if you ever cried in public, and you did for a while, a lot, everyone avoided eye contact like they could catch some crying disease. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

Letting out a sudden laugh, you might as well engage in this, whatever this is, it might never happen again. Hopefully, it never does, how many times can one embarrass themselves before their self-esteem finally reaches rock bottom? 

“I’m just being dramatic, it’s nothing much.”

“Try me”

“Fine, if you’re really that interested... I just fucking hate my life... I hate my job, I hate my flat, and I hate that I’m not where I thought I’ll be at this age. But I’m sure I’m not the first or the last to think that, so I should just be happy with what I’ve got, it could be so much worse.”

“So what? Just because it could be worse, what, can’t it be better as well?”

“I guess, but at this point, I don’t know what better looks like. I’m sitting here complaining about how unhappy I am, yet I couldn’t even tell you what I want. Pretty fucking pathetic.”

You’re angry you realise, you’re angry with yourself mainly. What is the point of this little sad song you’re singing for yourself? You’re not grateful for what you’ve got and you’re not trying to get anything better, so why would you deserve some amazing life for yourself if you can’t even try? 

“Splif?”

Looking at the guy again, you realise he didn’t say anything back to your lovely rendition of your failures, just offering you a smoke. 

“Fuck it, why not.” 

So you sit there, in silence, going back and forth, smoking this stranger’s weed looking out at the orange hues in the water reflecting from the sunset. 

“How old are you?” you finally ask, once the buzz kicked in and you can feel your anger subside, making room for the light haze. 

“30”

“And are you happy?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes…?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I’m happy right now.” 

“Why would you be happy right now? I doubt anyone wants to spend their Saturday afternoon wasting their weed on a random crying stranger.”

He doesn’t look at you at all while talking, just sits there calmly, takes a final toke, has a sip of his coke and lays down on the grass before answering. This man seems like he’s meditated his way to inner peace right now. 

“It’s not that bad, the weather is nice, there’s music playing, there’s no screaming children. I had a nice lunch and a nice smoke, and you’re not crying anymore. So I’m happy right now. It doesn’t take that much.”

He’s right, it’s a beautiful day, it’s as peaceful as the city will ever feel, and you’re not crying anymore. So you stop, take a deep breath, trying to embody his carefree attitude, and lay down on the grass. You focus on the clear sky, the gentle breeze moving the tree leaves above you and the gentle guitar you can hear from somewhere behind you. 

“How old are you?”

Looking to your right, he’s finally looking your way, sitting up on his elbows, eyes a bit droopy and red. 

“28”

“And what did you think would already happen that hasn’t?”

“I’m not sure anymore, I just thought I’d feel some purpose, like I’d be some inspiring career woman. But all I feel is just dread… like, is this it? For the rest of my life, just wake up, drag myself to do something that’s good enough, that pays me enough, that’s just not annoying enough or hard enough that I leave. Get home, eat, watch some movie that’s interesting enough, sleep, repeat.”

“What’s annoying about it, your job?”

“It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. I’m helping a bunch of rich corporations figure out if they can maybe squeeze another million out of people while trying hard not to spend a cent to help anyone. Not even their own employees. They ask for more money, or better parental leave, or bereavement days, or to not be discriminated against after helping them increase their billions and they say “Sorry, no can do, but here’s a ping pong table and a couple of beers on Friday.” It just doesn’t matter at best and at worst I’m helping capitalism thrive at everyone’s expense. Surely this isn’t what we’re meant to be doing.” 

“Yeah, well I agree with you on that… So you obviously know why this doesn’t feel right, then what should we be doing?”

“What, all of us, as a society?”

“Yeah, all of us.”

“We should be helping each other. Not fucking over everyone we can just so some rich dude can buy another yacht. But so what? I’m not gonna start some class revolution. I can barely keep my fridge stocked. It doesn’t matter how I think we should be.” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure a lot of people feel that way.”

“Maybe… No, you’re right, I know they do. I didn’t come up with any of this. Just not the people that can actually do something about it.”

“You can do something about it, anyone can. Why can’t you help people?”

“Cause it won’t make a difference.”

“Did that water make a difference?” he points to the empty bottle on your lap. 

“I mean, I’m not thirsty anymore…? What’s your point?”

“Did the weed make a difference?”

“Yeah, it did. So what, should we just give out weed to people and hold hands and hope our corporate overlords decide to join us?”

“You’re thinking too big. How do you feel? Like right now, this second?”

“I feel… I feel high. I feel like I’m chatting shit to a stranger.” 

He laughs a bit, continuing his gentle interrogation. 

“And how did you feel 20 minutes ago? Be honest.”

“You’re really walking around providing free therapy?”

“Just indulge me…”

“Fine, I felt like crap, and really fucking hopeless.”

“Well, you still seem a bit hopeless, I won’t lie to you, but you’ve smiled about 1.5 - oh, there we go, 2 times now, so surely that’s a tiny bit better, no?”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

“Well then, I helped you a tiny bit. Do you feel like that matters at all?”

“In the grand sch-”

“No, no, not in the grand scheme, to you, does it matter to you? That you’re high and feel a little bit less crappy?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But, that’s not helping people, that’s just me.”

“Well you’re a person, I’m a person, we’re both people, unless that’s not the case, which if you’re not, please tell me now because that’s a great high conversation to have.”

You laugh a bit amused at how this dude is just taking your ramblings in stride, somehow finding time to not only make eye contact with a crying stranger but somehow give them life advice as well. 

“3, that’s a full smile, new record. Well, now that we’ve established we’re both people, and I helped you a tiny bit, and you helped me pass some time and have a nice chat, then why would it not matter?”

“Right… so you’re saying I should start small?”

“Well if you could actually fix society, like all of it, I’d be really fucking impressed, but I doubt you can just wake up one day and do that. Maybe just think of what you do well in your job, and see if anyone is willing to pay you for it, some place where it’s helping, someone, anyone. Even if it’s just one person. I’m sure there’s something.” 

You look at him for a few seconds, just surprised. It’s not like he’s told you the secret to the universe. You’ve probably given this advice to a friend before, ‘start small, focus on what you can control’, ‘every little bit counts’ all of that. But sometimes, just knowing something isn’t enough, you need someone to tell you just the right thing at the right time. 

“Thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you, that actually really helped.”

“Nah, I’m sure you would’ve gotten there eventually. My friend’s finally here, I’m gonna head out. Hope you figure it out.”

You watch him walk away with a little wave. You’re surprised, you realise. He didn’t do anything creepy, he didn’t try to hit on you or ask for your number. He didn’t even ask for your name actually. He was just nice, he listened, gave a little bit of advice and went on his way. He did help, so maybe it’s a sign. How many times would this realistically happen? You would’ve said 0 30 min ago. So maybe you can turn things around, figure out a way to feel useful, a little bit less like a hypocrite. 

……

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You were talking for ages.”

“I don’t know her, just seemed upset so I talked to her for a bit.”

“And had a smoke.”

“Yeah, and had a smoke.”

“Sooo…did you get her number?”

“No.”

“What? Since when do you talk to strangers just because? You barely even talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you man, I just did.”

“Yeah, whatever you say… come on, let’s go, we’re already fucking late.” 

soooo I'm clearly going through something