#but i have seen my mutuals in the trenches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aurorawritestoescape · 10 months ago

Text

FLASHER

Pairing: flasher!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you take an elevator with a stranger. He surprises you. Then you surprise him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, non-con due to exhibitionism but reader is into it, flashing, mutual masturbation, sweet Joel, it’s basically a meet cute😅, semi-public (no one sees them), pet names ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, swearing

Word count: 2k

A/n: I blame Pedro’s curls for this! And that coat😵‍💫

MASTERLIST

******

You’re rushing through the streets maneuvering around gray puddles. The rain is so heavy that your umbrella barely helps. You see your building and breathe out with relief. Soon you’ll be in the warmth of your home.

You close the dripping umbrella, unlock the entrance door and get inside from the wet street and into the darkness of the hall. You can’t wait to take your damp clothes off so you run up a short set of stairs and hurry to the elevator. With a bag in one hand and the umbrella in the other you push the button with your elbow and wait shifting on your feet with impatience. You look up at the display over the entrance - …6,5,4,3,2,1.

Finally you hear the cabin stop on the ground floor and the doors slide open. You’re about to get inside when you see him. A man is standing in the corner of the small dimly lit cabin facing you. He’s wearing a beige trench coat and wide dark blue pants. His hands stuffed into the coat pockets. But you notice all of that later. The first thing you see are his eyes, sad and beautiful. Dark and pleading. Then his hair. All curls and softness. Some locks are sticking to his forehead which must be wet because of the rain. You’ve never seen him in your building before, you’re sure of it. You’d remember someone that handsome.

“Hello,” you greet him quietly and wait for him to get out but when he doesn’t move for a few moments you quickly step inside. The elevator doors close behind you, you press the number of your floor and the cabin starts moving up.

The stranger is looking at you with his kicked puppy eyes and you give him a warm smile. He smiles back shyly and slowly opens his coat. You see a white shirt underneath, which looks too big on him. Your gaze slides down his body and you see his cock. The band of his pants is tucked under his balls and his whole dick is out. Your jaw drops and you blink quickly staring at his member. His cock twitches and it looks like the fat tip nods at you. It’s semi hard, quite big, and, you have to admit, very pretty.

You raise your eyes to the man’s face as your mouth opens and closes silently. You should be scared, should cry for help, shout at him at least but for some weird reason you don’t. You want to ask what’s wrong. Help him. Touch him.

“Do you need help?” you ask and he shakes his head with an apologetic smile and mumbles, “Just wanna show you my penis.”

Your heart flutters hearing his voice, deep, velvety and warm.

“Ok,” you mutter, not knowing what else to say or do. You’ve always been bad at small talk and especially now you feel lost for words with a cock of a stranger in front of you. The nature of the situation makes it all feel like a dream. But it’s far from a nightmare. You don’t feel scared, you feel…

Aroused? Attracted to this man?

He’s the one who started it so you do what comes to your mind first. Your hand darts to the elevator panel and you push the stop button. The cabin jerks and stops moving and the lighting inside gets even darker.

“Can I touch it?” the question flies out of your mouth unexpectedly and it seems to flabbergast you both. The man’s expression mimics yours just from a short time ago, mouth agape, eyes widened in surprise as they dart between you and the doors.

He mumbles, “‘msorry,” and closes his coat covering his crotch.

“No, no, you can leave it. I’m not scared,” you raise your hands still occupied with the bag and the umbrella.

He furrows his brows.

“Why?” He sounds almost offended.

“Because… ehm,” you try to give him an explanation, but fail. Why are you not scared?

“I don’t know,” you give him an honest answer and add, “are you dangerous?”

He blinks at you a few times. “No,” he replies quietly as his hands fall at his sides. His cock peeks out from behind the coat again and it looks less hard which makes you sad.

“Well.. Can I touch it?” you repeat the question and his brows shoot up.

“Why?”

You shrug your shoulders and a corner of his mouth quirks up before he comments, “You’re weird.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who flashed me a minute ago so we’re both kinda out of the ordinary, right?” you quip and your answer seems to amuse him. His gaze trails down your body and then slides up pausing at your lips.

As soon as he says “yes” you place your bag and umbrella on the floor and step up to the man. The beauty of his features takes your breath away when you get closer and you bite your lip lost for a second in his doe-eyes. He opens his coat a little wider and you both look down at his cock. It stands at attention and you shift on your feet as your pussy starts aching with need.

After taking a deep breath you bring your hand to his crotch and take the shaft between your index finger and the thumb. The velvet softness of his skin almost makes you whimper. You check his reaction and see his lips parted and half lidded eyes glued to your hand on his cock.

Wanting more you carefully wrap your palm around it and hold it gently rubbing your thumb along his length.

It’s warm and heavy in your hand.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes out and his moan makes you gush.

“Can I stroke it?” you ask, batting your lashes at him though judging by his blown eyes you can easily predict his answer.

He nods and whispers, “yes.”

Your hand leaves his cock as you bring it to your lips. You gather some saliva in your mouth and spit it into your palm. Then you take his hard cock in your hand again and start jerking it.

He’s watching your hand move easily against his length and a drop of precum beads at the red slit. He moans again and leans back against the wall closing his eyes shut,

“Yes, baby…like this.. Fuck…you’re amazing.”

You smile with satisfaction watching his handsome face contort in ecstasy.

Your core tightens just from looking at him, touching him and you press your thighs together searching for a crumb of pressure.

He opens his eyes as if sensing how desperate you’re getting and you hear through heavy breathing,

“May I touch you too?”

A blush peeks from behind his scruffy beard.

You’re blinking at him for some time while your hand is working his cock and then give him a short nod.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he takes your forearms in his hands and pulls you gently to the side, making you exchange places with him. Now your back is pressed to the wall and he’s caging you in with his size. You feel so much smaller against him now but a light pang of fear turns you on even more.

His gaze takes in your body, hunger swimming in his dark eyes. The man brings his hand to your crotch and takes the zipper pull between his thick fingers.

“You sure?”

You’re surprised that he needs so many conformations of your consent as if he didn’t flash you just a few minutes ago. You don’t say anything though, just nod.

He braces one hand on the wall near your head and with the other opens up your jeans. His breath on your cheek makes you shiver. You look up at his lips but stop yourself. Kissing feels too intimate right now. So you swallow your desire and drop your head.

The stranger flattens his hand, palm pressed to your lower stomach, mumbling “gonna put my hand into your panties now, ok?” When you reply with a breathy “yes” he slides his big hand into your soaked underwear and engulfs your whole pussy. You whimper at his touch and buck your hips into his palm. When two of his fingers push in between your folds you moan closing your eyes and barely breathing.

“Oh, baby,” he moans as his index and middle finger nudge at your slicked up entrance. He slides them up bringing the wetness to your hardening clit and starts rubbing it in tight circles. You feel you might melt under his caress and join the rain puddle from your umbrella on the floor.

You lick your palm to coat it in saliva and return it to his cock. You proceed by jerking his length, twisting your hand and sweeping your thumb over his bulbous head. His and your moans fill the small space of the elevator. You’re sure that someone might hear you from the hall but you don’t care.

His fingers find your hole again and he inserts them inside you slowly parting your walls and watching your reaction with blown eyes. He leans down, his forehead rests against yours and your noses brush as you grab the sleeve of his coat.

“It’s so warm and wet, baby…wish I could stick my cock inside you.” His words make you whine louder and you speed up your hand movements as he begins fucking you with his thick fingers. Your pussy aches pleasantly at the stretch. You both find your rhythm and give pleasure to each other with delirious generosity.

You feel a knot tightening in your core as the pads of his fingers massage your sweet spot. You squeeze your eyes shut feeling your climax approach fast. “Gonna come,” you whine and after a few moments you come undone, contracting around his thick fingers. Your legs tremble and you might fall but he wraps his arm around your waist and pins you to the wall not letting you collapse.

When your climax subsides you return your full attention to his cock and move your hand against him vigorously. The head brushes against your lower belly smearing precum over your skin.

With one arm still wrapped around you, he grabs a fist full of your hair with his free hand and gently pulls at it tilting your head back. Your neck is exposed to him and his lips latch onto your delicate skin, kissing, sucking and nipping at it.

He moans against the column of your neck and the next moment you feel warm spurts of cum landing on your belly. You jerk him off through his orgasm milking his cock until the last drop.

You both are panting heavily when his forehead finds yours again and you rest for a few moments, eyes closed trying to catch your breath.

When the aftershocks pass he straightens up and you smile at each other. He tucks his cock back and takes out a handkerchief out of his pocket. He gently cleans his spend off your belly and you watch him marveling at how gentle he is. When he’s done you zip up your pants and fix your clothes. He picks up your things off the floor and hands them to you before pressing the number of your floor again. The cabin starts moving and you look at each other as the pleasure is still coursing through your body.

When the doors slide open his expression changes - his sad eyes return and he’s shifting his jaw.

“Can we meet again?” he asks hurriedly, taking your wrist in his hand. You drop your head and smile shuffling your feet. Then you lock eyes again and you tell him the number of your apartment. His face brightens which warms your heart and ignites your core again. You step out of the elevator and turn back to say “bye”.

“See you, sweetheart,” he says as you give each other one more warm smile before he pushes the ground floor button and the doors close.

*****

Thank you for reading!💕

Comments and reblogs will make me very happy!💖

Tag list: @missannwinchester @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @nervousmumbling

#pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #flasher!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #tw noncon #cw noncon #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader

515 notes · View notes

zepskies · 10 months ago

Text

Love, By Any Other Name

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: You want him. Castiel can’t help but crave you. Dean sees both of you and wishes you’d stop being idiots.

AN: This is my first ever commission! Written for @girlsforpjm, who requested "mutual pining" with Castiel. Here you go, lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 💜

**Also, this is set during season 12.

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, blood and injury, (contains events from 12.12), fluff, some spice, implied smut.

“Achooo!!”

Sam grimaces while he watches you wipe your nose against your bare wrist. You shake your head and frown at the dusty tomes piled high beside you. You and Sam have been organizing the library for two hours now.

“That’s it, I can’t do this anymore,” you lament. “I need a break. My sinuses need a break.”

Sam’s lips twitch at a smile. “It’s okay. I got the rest of these.”

You aim a lazy salute at your friend and continue to sniffle as you leave the library. You circle this labyrinth of a bunker for a while, but you can’t seem to find the trench coat-wearing angel that’s supposed to live here too.

You end up in the garage, where Dean is tuning up his Baby. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s got a grease stain across his cheek.

“Hey, you seen Cas?” you ask.

Dean barely perks up from under Baby’s hood to answer you. “He went out this morning. Haven’t seen him since.”

You pout at that, leaning against the side of the car near where Dean is tinkering.

“Is it too much to ask for him to leave a note or something?” you mutter.

Dean finally glances over at you. His lips edge at a smirk.

“What, miss your little boyfriend?” he teases.

The insinuation manages to take you by surprise. Your face starts to warm in embarrassment, but you cover it with a scoff.

“You should know. He was your boyfriend first,” you volley back. Dean’s expression flattens in annoyance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do right now?” he snarks.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the “P.” But you have mercy on him.

Instead of pestering him further, you just tip over the screwdriver he had balanced on the car’s frame. He makes a sound of protest as it falls somewhere between the gears inside his precious car.

He barks your name, and his angry voice echoes on the walls to magnify his frustration, but you’re already hastening back into the hall and down to the kitchen, trying to stifle your laughter.

You’ve slipped into the kitchen to escape. Yet that’s where you find the bunker’s resident angel, washing his hands of what looks like breadcrumbs in the sink.

“Hey,” you greet him jovially. He treats you with a small smile. “Where were you?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just stepped out for a bit,” he replies. You get the sense that he’s hiding something. You smile and step closer to him, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Oh, yeah? Where?” you ask. Your eyes gleam with amusement. “Another ‘mission on high?’”

He sends you a droll look. “No.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Come on. Tell me.”

He smiles in return, and he gives you his own version of teasing.

“Childishness doesn’t become you,” he says.

“I’m just curious. You’ve been gone all day,” you reply, tilting your head. Your stare is unyielding, and familiar; Cas knows how stubborn you can be when you want something—especially information. Sometimes he finds it annoying, but in moments like these, it’s tempered by your playful, endearing smile.

“I was on a walk,” he finally admits.

You raise your brows. “A walk? Cas, it’s winter. Like 20 degrees outside.”

“I enjoy nature,” he shrugs. “The cold doesn’t bother me much anyway.”

…Well, he is an angel. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t feel the frigid weather like a human would. Your brow quirks with another curious thought.

“So you were washing your hands because…?” you ask.

Castiel’s face becomes a little more bashful. “I was feeding the birds some bread.”

At that, your smile grows. Here he is: Castiel, warrior angel of the Lord, Feeder of Pigeons.

“Well, if you ever want a walking companion, I’d be happy to join you,” you offer.

Castiel gives you a certain look, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

Your lips purse. “What?”

He sinks his hands into his pockets as he leans his slightly hunched form back on his heels.

“Nothing,” he claims. “It’s only, I seem to remember you forcing Dean to kill a spider in your room. You claimed, and I quote, bastard things that crawl don’t belong indoors.”

You cross your arms and stare back at him narrowly, even though you try to stifle a smile.

“What’s your point? Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” you reason.

He raises a brow. “You also claim to have a vendetta against birds.”

“Pigeons, Castiel. They’re rats with wings.” Even Dean would agree with you on that one.

Castiel gives you a dubious look, however.

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your supposed love of nature,” he says drolly.

You want to argue more, but Sam enters the room with Dean on his heels. Both men seem to sense they’ve interrupted something. You clear your throat and turn to them.

“What’s up?” you ask, more nonchalant than you feel whenever you’re near the angel beside you. Castiel glances at you, before he too silently addresses Sam and Dean.

“Uh, we’ve caught a case,” Sam says. “It’s not far. Three dead, all with their hearts, and most of their internal organs ripped out.”

“Ech,” you reply with a grimace. “Sounds kind of like a ghoul. Maybe a werewolf on steroids?”

“Well, they were fresh kills, and it’s a full moon. So more than likely we’re looking at werewolves,” he replies.

You smile thinly. “Great.”

You hate werewolves.

Correction: you really hate werewolves.

The thought hits you yet again as you lay on the floor of a dusty old hunting cabin.

The irony.

Dean hefts you in his arms, after slicing his silver blade through the heart of the yellow-eyed bastard that tore you open with his claws.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, hating how your voice trembles. Dean doesn’t answer you at first. He holds his hand to the oozing gash in your side.

“Nah, you’ll be okay. Just hang in there,” he says. Blood quickly covers his palm. He curses inside his mind.

“Cas!” he calls out roughly.

The angel had been fighting in the other the room with Sam, but after he burns out the eyes of the last werewolf and its body falls to the ground, he hears the undercurrent of alarm in Dean’s shouting. With Sam on his heels, he returns to the living room to find you and Dean.

Castiel’s steps halt in the doorway when he sees you. His face slackens for a moment, but then he hardens. He moves forward swiftly.

“Move,” he says to Dean in order to come to your side. Dean’s eyes widen, but he does as he’s told after laying you down to the floor.

Castiel stares down at your face, offering you comfort with his eyes. You stare up at him in pain, but also with hope, and trust. You’re able to curl your fingers around the edge of his trench coat.

Then he presses his hand to your cheek. He closes his eyes in concentration while he heals you.

Though he expels more power than he should to heal you completely. He knows it when his body sways a little after he’s done. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady.

“You good?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods; he’s more focused on the way you’re catching your breath. You marvel at how your wounds, your pain, and even your blood is gone—completely washed away. He helps you sit up with an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Then he gathers you tight against him, so he can help you stand as well. He wavers again on his feet, just a little, but you’re too perceptive not to catch it. You realize he did too much to save you.

You still chide at him with a frown. “You didn’t have to use up so much of your energy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Think nothing of it.”

Those are useless words, but you don’t bother arguing with him anymore. You just sigh and hold onto his strong arms while regaining your balance. You know for a fact that you’re blushing when you glance up at him.

Biting your lip, you soon turn away to grab the knife you’d dropped in the fight.

Without you or Cas noticing, Sam and Dean share a knowing glance. It’s subtle, in the way the brothers have perfected. Dean barely curbs a smile as he leads the way back to the car.

You settle next to Cas in the backseat and try not to glance at him too often. You don’t know that he’s trying not to do the same to you.

Dean glances back at you two in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

Idiots.

Mary Winchester has been a welcome return to the family…when she’s here. Ever since Amara brought her back, she’s been distant with her sons. You don’t understand it all that well, but it’s not your place to say anything, you don’t think.

You do think Mary is a badass hunter. You just don’t know her that well.

About a week after the werewolf hunt, Mary drops in with Wally, a fellow hunter in need of assistance with a demon problem. You, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are all game. While you haven’t had to deal with demons too much in the past, you know that they’re…something of a specialty for the Winchesters.

But of course, it quickly goes to shit.

The demon lives alone, in some shack by a river where he likes to fish. The group of you wait until he’s stepped out of the house before you go inside and case the place, looking for a good spot to spray a Devil’s Trap or two and try to trap him.

When the demon returns, he’s far stronger than any of you anticipated. The Devil’s Trap breaks with little effort (the demon’s just laughing). Then he flashes yellow eyes. You and Castiel share a look of widening shock. Mary takes a preemptive step back.

And when the kitchen door is about to close on the three of you, the angel pushes you into the next room before you can turn and fight. Sam helps you back onto your feet, though you stare at the door in horror. He and Dean try to break the door down, but it’s no use. It’s supernaturally sealed.

You felt useless standing there. You wrack your brain for a solution, and you glance out one of the windows. Maybe there’s another way into the kitchen!

“Guys! What if we go around?” you suggest.

With that idea taking root in each of you, Sam and Dean follow you outside. Before you guys can even make it around the house, Wally flags you down.

“We’ve got incoming!” he says. And you realize what he means. A group of black-eyed demons are bounding toward the house.

Aw, shit. You’re grateful to have Sam and Dean beside you, because the demons nearly overtake all of you. You manage to hold your own, along with the brothers. Wally isn’t so fortunate. His body hits the floor after his own blade sinks into his chest.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you scramble toward the Impala. The plan is to catch up with Mary; thanks to Cas, she’d been able to flee the demon strong enough to snap a Devil’s Trap like a cheap trick. But she’d then taken Cas with her to safety.

Now, Dean drives the Impala down the road at breakneck speed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks his mother through the phone. The car is silent enough for you to hear Mary’s reply.

“…No.”

When you step into the barn, the first thing you have to focus on is Cas covered in his own blood. He’s been stabbed by one of the demon’s strange and powerful weapons, and he lies on an old, dingy couch. You hurry to Cas’s side and take in, your face filled with horror, though you try and fail to mask it.

You reach out a hand, but you hesitate to touch him. Suffering is written across his face. He tries to stifle sounds of pain out of habit.

Tears are fresh in your eyes as you look down at him in dismay. You chance laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you heal yourself?” you ask.

“No,” he answers eventually. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I think I’m…”

No, your lower lip trembles as you shake your head.

“No,” you repeat aloud. “You just need time.”

You turn to Dean, who’s approached from behind you. But you quickly turn back to Cas, as if you’ll miss out on precious few moments. Castiel’s furrowed gaze tells you he’d rather not have you see him like this, but you don’t care. There’s no way you’re leaving his side.

The weapon that was able to do this to him was the Lance of Michael, you all discover, when Crowley suddenly appears. He also informs you all that this is no ordinary demon. It’s Ramiel, Prince of Hell. You don’t give a shit about the specifics of how Crowley is wrapped up in this.

All you care about is if there’s a cure to Cas’s wounds. Crowley’s only words of wisdom are to leave the angel behind and run as fast as you can.

He disappears before you can spit at him.

“Cas, how bad is it?” Dean asks, after the King of Hell predictably makes a run for it.

Castiel opened up his shirt collar to reveal a spiderweb of black crackling across his clammy skin, slowly breaking down his vessel.

“Crowley’s right. You should go.”

Your hand tightens on his shoulder. “Cas—”

“No, listen to me,” he says, staring into your eyes. He continues with difficulty. “Look…thank you. Thank you. Knowing you all, it’s been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me… You’re my family, and I love you.”

His gaze had fallen on you, making your breath hitch. But his dark blue eyes travel to Sam and Dean next, and even Mary.

“I love all of you.” The angel is the closest to tears and heartbreak that you’ve ever seen him. He struggles to hold himself together, in more ways than one. “Just, please, please don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run, and save yourselves, and I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes the sentence. Tears pour down your cheeks in silent streams, but you still hold him down when he tries to force his body to sit up. He doesn’t have the strength to resist you encouraging him to lie back down.

Dean voices what you’re all thinking.

No. None of you would cut and run and leave him to die, no matter what Cas says.

“Like you said, we’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Ramiel comes for all of you, specifically for his stolen weapon. Killing the rest of you would just be an added bonus.

But while the four of you manage to pin down the demon with holy fire and a good fight, it’s Sam who manages to stab the Prince of Hell with Michael’s Lance, killing him in flash of brilliant light and rendering his body to ash.

Of course, that’s when Crowley arrives once again, late holding his proverbial Starbucks. In this case, what would’ve been a mocha frappe is actually the Lance—and Crowley breaks it in half. It somehow reverses the curse of the blade, and therefore frees Castiel.

He’s able to heal himself back to a full recovery.

But also, rather predictably, Crowley disappears again before you all can recover yourselves.

Sam and Dean help the angel back onto his feet. His clothes are still covered in blood, but his skin is clear and no longer clammy, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He’s shocked to still be alive, and you can barely contain yourself. Tears stream down your face as you surprise him with a hug.

Cas releases an oof, his body wavering just slightly before he plants his feet and wraps his arms around you. His hold tightens around your smaller frame, and he chances resting his chin on the top of your head.

“So…you’re good?” Mary asks incredulously.

Castiel raises his gaze to answer her. “I guess I am.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the drive home. Mary had taken her own car for the hunt, so it leaves you once again in the backseat with Castiel.

He finds your silence perturbing, though he doesn’t have the courage to ask you what’s wrong. Despite his full recovery, you still seem upset somehow.

Part of him wants to reach out to you…but he stops himself. He also reminds himself not to stare at you. Instead, he turns his head back out the window. You felt his gaze on your profile, but you resolve to keep yours stubbornly out of your own window.

The only one who notices the exchange, yet again through the rearview mirror, is Dean. His lips firm into a thoughtful frown.

Home, sweet home, you think wryly when you enter the bunker.

You give into the urge to beeline straight for your room without even turning your head.

Sam and Mary follow suit, which leaves Castiel hesitating in the hall. Dean takes pity on him and claps his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” he asks. Cas is staring after you like a man who’s lost his way.

“She’s…upset,” he replies, both confused and bothered by that fact.

Dean’s lips twitch humorlessly. “Yeah, well, you almost died.”

“Yes,” Cas gives a wry nod. “But she seems upset at me.”

Dean has to smile for real. It’s plain as day what’s on his friend’s mind, and why. Just like it’s obvious as hell (at least to him) why you’re probably “upset.” As always, Dean takes up the role of wingman.

“Why don’t you just go talk to her then?” he suggests.

Castiel hesitates. He’s not sure if he’d be intruding on you. The emotions of human women are foreign to him. They always have been, even when he was human, not so long ago. But he trusts Dean’s advice on these things.

So, he eventually nods. He means to follow you, but Dean stops him for a moment with a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe after you, uh, wash your clothes. Take a shower. Maybe shave a little,” he says, brushing his fingers over his own chin. “But uh, keep a little scruff. Some chicks dig that.”

“Shave my facial hair, but…keep my facial hair?” Cas tries to clarify.

Dean blinks at his friend. Christ.

“Okay, look, just clean yourself up,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

With one last clap on the back, Dean disappears down the hall to his room. It leaves Castiel feeling somewhat unbalanced, but he treks the other way.

Normally he would restore his clothes with his powers, but he’d used up his reserves just to heal himself. There was a time when his connection to heaven was enough to do more than heal his own injuries. Now, however, both he and heaven itself are in a lesser state.

Shaking his head, he goes down to the laundry room. He still remembers how to wash his own clothing.

He unintentionally finds you there in the laundry room. You’ve peeled away your jacket that had been stained with his blood, and you’re tossing it into the machine. It leaves you in a thin shirt and jeans.

Castiel finds himself admiring your form; the familiar curve of your face, the shade of your hair, the outline of your bra through your shirt (which he tries not to notice), and the other curves that he has to often felt guilty for tracing with his eyes…and imagining with his hands.

You look up when he enters the room.

He knocks himself out of his thoughts and freezes, a bit uncertain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers.

You just shake your head. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes roam over him then, from head to toe. It makes his face feel a bit warm.

“You want me to throw that coat in with mine?” you ask, pointing over to him. Cas examines his bloody trench coat.

“I’m not sure there’s any saving it, but we can try,” he says. He peels off the coat and allows you to throw it into the watching machine along with your bloody clothing.

“Your shirt’s white, so you should wash that separately,” you advise.

“I know,” he says, with a faint smile. “I, uh, I remember.”

You begin to regain some of your normal self, glancing at him with more warmth in your eyes.

“Do you ever miss being human?” you ask. Cas draws closer to you. He rests a hand near yours, where you lean on the dryer.

“There were some enjoyable aspects. Food, in particular,” he admits. “Now if I try to take a bite of a sandwich, it’s just…molecules, really.”

You wince in sympathy. “God, I don’t know how I could go through life without being able to enjoy another Snickers bar.”

He nods in agreement. He remembers chocolate well.

“But it wasn’t just the taste. It was the feeling of satiety. Sometimes, being uncomfortably full was quite satisfying,” he says. That makes you smile.

But it soon drops when you take in the disgusting state of his shirt. Unbidden, it reminds you of every horrific thing that happened tonight. You really can’t bear it.

“Okay, give me that,” you gesture at the shirt.

You start to unbutton it before he’s really ready for you, but he tries to get over his embarrassment by removing his tie. Meanwhile, you undo the buttons of his shirt while trying not to think too hard about what you’re really doing as you start to see flashes of his skin, from chest to sternum.

He takes a peek at your face.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

Your brows are furrowed, but this time more in confusion when you look up at him.

“No. Why?”

Cas’s brows furrow. “It feels like you’re angry…at me.”

The hasty motions of your hands calm at that. You consider him with a frown. Maybe you are a little upset at him. It’s not really fair, you know, but it’s how you feel. You blow out a sigh.

“I just… After everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve done for us, how could you think for one second that we would leave you there alone? Alone to die?” you ask. It renders Castiel a bit stunned into silence.

Your grip tightens on the now open edges of his shirt.

“Look, that situation was bad enough. But if you ever try to push me away like that again…”

You’re unable to finish that thought. You become waylaid by your own tears as emotion clogs your throat and threatens to choke you.

Castiel raises a hand to touch your face, tentatively at first, then more comforting. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, catching the tears there.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he confesses. “I was trying to save you…because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, even as I lay dying.”

You hold onto his hand. Biting your lower lip, you find enough courage to meet his eyes. They’ve lowered to your lips, you realize, though maybe Cas doesn’t. He seems a bit surprised when you lean up towards him.

You go more slowly. Your hand falls on his warm chest. For God’s sake, do something, you tell yourself.

You don’t know if he can pick up on your thoughts as well with your bodies touching this close, but he seems to have an internal battle of his own. You each make a decision at the same time.

It has you leaning up the rest of the way, and Castiel bending down to meet your kiss.

He gathers you closer; one hand finds its way into your tangled hair, while the other grasps your hip and brings you flush against him. Your hands move up his chest and wind around his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his lips claim yours, over and over with increasing urgency.

He turns you in his arms and hefts you up onto the dryer machine. There he gets even more leverage to kiss you the way he has secretly imagined, to touch you the way he’s too often craved, with his hands warming up and down your thighs.

You utter a moan of longing as you hold his face. You like the scrape of his stubble against your palms. You can almost imagine that delightful tingling against otherplaces down your body. Places you’d like him to explore when you have more privacy…

Or maybe here is privacy enough.

You alternatively tangle and tug your fingers through his hair. And it’s his turn to moan when you take his lower lip between your teeth, scraping just hard enough to be both painful and delightful.

He squeezes your thighs in retaliation. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Your dirty boots cross behind his back.

But soon, his touch gentles, more tender than demanding as he slows the kiss. His lips veer from yours and burn a path across your jawline, down the smooth column of your neck.

It allows you to catch your breath, but the feeling of his gentle lips and rough cheek just turns you on even more. You card your fingers through his hair and close your eyes.

“Cas,” you breathe in content.

He hesitates, with his lips on your neck. “Yes?”

You blink for a moment, but then you have to giggle. You twine your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“Nothing,” you reply. Your smile says it all though. Cas sees it when he pulls away a bit, turning his gaze back to you. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t think feelings such as this…desires like this, would affect me after I became an angel again.”

Your smile brightens, even as you blush. “Does that make me special?”

“Yes,” he replies, with a soft smile. “But for many more, and far better reasons than that.”

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. You bite the edge of your lower lip, but Cas’s thumb swiping across encourages you to release it.

“When you said that you loved me,” you say, a little shakily, “did you just mean…in the family sense?”

Castiel meets your eyes, and there he finds his courage.

“Yes,” he says. “And no.”

With another one of those smiles he’s come to love, you bring him back in for a kiss. All too soon, it becomes hungrier, rougher, born of passion and secret desires finally spilling free.

“Wait,” you pant against his lips, taking his hands in yours. “Come with me.”

Anywhere, his heart says.

But after you jump down from the dryer, you tug him by the hand out of the laundry room. After a quick scan of the hallway, you give him a playful little smile and lead him down to your room.

Castiel can’t help but smile in return. He follows your lead in more ways than one when the door to your bedroom shuts behind you both.

You help him shrug off his tattered shirt, and he helps you out of yours next, followed swiftly by the belt buckle on his slacks.

In that moment, and many moments after, you’re grateful for door locks. You just hope the Winchesters aren’t dumb enough to interrupt what you have planned next for your angel…

Because it might just take all night.

AN: I haven't written for Castiel in a long time, but I had fun with this. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 😘

Castiel Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Castiel Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28

@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @emily-winchester @pap3rtigers @kaleldobrev

@sanscas @nic-kolas @hobby27 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @malindacath @brujaporfavor @torchbearerkyle @rominaszh @sleepyqueerenergy @melancholictearz @harleycao @tabsluvsu @jad3djay @iwishiwas-sleeping @angelbabyyy99 @jackles010378 @idiotdyslexic @chriszgirl92

#love by any other name #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x female reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #mutual pining #angst #spn #supernatural #comission #reader request #castiel fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #misha collins #supernatural x reader #zepskies writes

824 notes · View notes

amymbona · 3 months ago

Note

1950s Patrick is cool, but imagine how tragic the story of 1940s Patrick is...

The war started and he is taken into the army, you cry and are afraid of losing your wonderful beloved husband. You can never be sure whether he will live or not, but can only believe and hope that at least he will remain alive, not to mention the injuries both physical and psychological, since war does not spare anyone. You spend your last night of love with him, whispering to him how much you love him and that you won't let him die. Maybe the conversation will even get to the baby, about how they want a baby and what you would name the baby after him. Patrick or Patricia :)) When a tear runs down cheek, he comforts you, says that he loves you, that he will never die and leave you alone. You end up falling asleep hugging him, and you look at him for the last time, knowing that tomorrow he will leave. In the morning you see him off, constantly kissing and hugging him the whole way, 'cause you understand that this is the only chance to be satiated with his love and adoration. You wave your handkerchief at him, shedding a tear, and here he is, leaving. All that remains is to believe that his service will be easier than others and that he will return to their home with the same wonderful smile and bright, shining eyes that you fell in love with.

Every time I realize that I'm a damn director, not a screenwriter. Give me my lovely screenwriter!!!

I haven't written to you for a long time, girlie. Amy, how are you?! What's up? 🤗��

- 🐦‍⬛

I'm gonna give you a blow job for this one, little bird. How am I doing? After reading this? Absolutely fucking wonderful.

One thing people must know about me is that I love angst and THIS..... 🫦🫦🫦 SO SO SO GOOD!

Imagine Patrick somewhere in the trench, the sun is falling down and he's shivering, purple bruises on his cheeks, his hair a complete mess. Unwashed, starving, the lack of sleep and warmth is very much evident in the way he's shivering but by some miracle, he hasn't gone crazy yet.

Perhaps it's the image of your beautiful face that he keeps in his pocket, a little photograph he has torn out of your family memory book that you keep in the living room, just to have you with himself at all times. All the men in his troop know about you, know your name and age and what flowers you like, that you love to dance to Glenn Miller's songs and wear the prettiest dresses. Patrick keeps talking about you nonstop.

And currently, he's writing a letter to you, one that he's been writing for the past there weeks and he honestly has no idea if his writings are ever gonna be seen by your eyes. Patrick is desperate to remain in contact with you, but he knows that even if all the letters would remain stuffed in his pocket, you'll know damn well what messages he is attempting to send you.

Luckily, through some begging and mutual contacts, he manages to give the letter to some guy. Patrick kisses it a thousand of times, hoping you'll get a whiff of his scent, even though he smells like dirt and piss.

My darling,

I miss you dearly and I miss you every day. Remember how I told you Remarque was a stupid fool? How I couldn't believe a single word from his book? This place is worse than All quiet on the western front, it's worse than hell itself.

Every day I thank myself for taking that little picture of your beautiful face to look at. It keeps me sane, I think, and I look at it more than I used to look at your real face. Forgive me it I've ever made you cry, my love. I cry every night.

Don't waste your words asking me how I'm doing, write about your days instead. Are you doing all alright? Are you keeping the place clean and that stray dog that keeps sneaking into our garden well fed? Has your mother's flu been treated and is she feeling better?

Please, darling, spray your perfume on the paper when you write me a response. Use the whole bottle it you feel like it's not enough. I just need to feel you somehow. If you can and find away, send me some food. Anything. In cans, preferably. Me and the boys are starving. They want to meet you when we're all back home. I talk about you and our memories every night.

I will be missing you until my heart stops beating.

Yours, Patrick

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig angst #ww2!au #soldier!au #soldier!patrick zweig #ask #🐦‍⬛ anon

35 notes · View notes

zellink · 10 months ago

Text

all the bells say

a pre-calamity zelink longfic. [chapter 1 of 28 // Act 0 of 5]

>> Read Act 0: "Genesis / Heavy" on AO3

Summary:

Rating: M Main Tags: canon compliant / angst with a happy ending / character study / romance / slow burn / all the goddamn tension. / mutual pining / self-doubt / following all the botw memories / Zelda is an unreliable narrator / Link is so hopelessly in love (until it's not) What will you do with what you've been given when the story forever tolls the same way? Link and Zelda, the Calamity, and their tale of inevitability and doom, and most of all, of love.

Notes:

Here I am, 7 years late to the party, 3 years after witnessing my boyfriend first play BOTW, with a Starbucks in hand and yet another pre-Calamity long fic that absolutely nobody asked for. But I have to do it. I have to bounce these two blonde elves in my head indefinitely and breathe life into my many, many headcanons.

All my love and thanks to my trench buddy and writing soulmate @1up-girl for all your invaluable beta'ing, brainrotting, and everything in between—I seriously owe you forever and ever. Thousands of thanks to the lovely @mustardcheesedog for your amazing energy and hype as an early reader and the daily zelink brainrot.

I also wanna to thank @milkywayes for doing the beautiful banner art for Bells; for understanding my vision and for all the conversations we've had about zelink—headcanons concocted in our DMs that I eventually adopted into this fic.

Fic title taken from the famous John Berryman poem, "Dream Song 29".

~~~ Please go to the fic page on AO3 and read the extended author's note in the beginning for warnings! ~~~

Anyway..... here's Act 0, y'all!

Act 0: Genesis / Heavy

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart só heavy, if he had a hundred years & more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time Henry could not make good. […] Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind. All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears; thinking. “Dream Song 29” - John Berryman

Link is no stranger to death.

At five years old, he’s already witnessed more than his peers ever would. Growing up at a farm can do that to a kid. Cows, lambs, cuccos—all to the slaughter for sustenance, for profit. He stations himself beside Father and Mother as they butcher them to sell at the family shop. He’s also seen Father shoot countless deers and elk during their leisure hunts whenever Father is back home from Castle Town. More often than not, Father would let him borrow his old bow, and Link would contribute to their hunt, too.

But then Link’s pet fish dies one afternoon—a fat white freshwater carp with gold and black splotches he named Goldie—and he weeps and weeps in Mother’s lap. Goldie was his friend. Goldie was always there in the morning when he would wake up, and was there at night before he’d go to bed. But now Goldie is floating in the pond, its tiny mouth agape.

Mother strokes his hair. “It’s okay, Link. Goldie is with the Goddess, now.”

“Can I be with the Goddess, too?” he asks. Snot runs down his nose.

“Well, no.” Mother huffs a laugh. “Where Goldie is… we cannot go there. But what you can do is pray.”

Link withdraws his head from Mother’s lap. He wipes the tears from his face with the heel of his palms.

“Can we pray together, Mom?”

At that, something unreadable passes through Mother’s face. Her blue eyes turn steely.

“You can pray, Link,” she says, something sad about her small smile. “I won’t join. But we can arrange a funeral for Goldie, if you would like that?”

So they spend the rest of the day gathering flowers from the brambles that surround their estate until Mother’s wicker basket is full of white roses, blue nightshades, and armoranths. Mother also allows him to use the small wooden box that sits atop her vanity—a coffin perfect for Goldie. Mother says that it’s a box that used to house a necklace she bought and gave to Father long ago, but that necklace is long lost, so she has no use for it now.

Link wraps Goldie in an old rag and lays it gently inside the box. Then, they dig a hole in their backyard and bury the box and Goldie in it. He cries again, but not as hard as earlier. He clasps his hands in front of his chest, shuts his eyes, and utters his prayers aloud.

“Goddess Hylia, please welcome Goldie in your loving arms, give it many, many worms to eat, and bring it back as a strong and healthy fish in its next life.” Let its next life start tomorrow, please, Link does not say aloud.

When they make it back inside the living room, Father is already there, sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee. He asks about what they have been up to, and Link answers honestly. Father doesn’t press on, and he looks rather exhausted, so Link goes back into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

He climbs into his bed and crawls toward the far end of the wall, looking out from the window and into the backyard. He sees it—a small grave by the shrubs, complete with a rock roughly the shape of an oval as the tombstone, with flowers surrounding the little plot of land.

He hears voices from beyond his bedroom door.

“I don’t think it is best for us to go soft on him.”

“Wha— soft? He is five and his pet just died!”

“And you helped him throw a funeral. For a fish.”

“Because he’s just a child!”

There’s a grating sound—a chair being dragged on the floor. “Well, he’s always said that he wants to become a knight. Then we must prepare him for such an occupation.”

“Being a knight does not mean he can’t feel emotions.”

“Eleana, being a knight is not easy. He will see hundreds of deaths in his lifetime. The next death he’ll witness won’t be of a fish, but of a comrade. I just want to prepare him for when he eventually becomes one.”

“Well—” a pause, “—then I hope, for Link’s sake, he never becomes one.”

Link, however, doesn’t pay much attention to his parents’ conversation. Instead, he imagines Goldie wiggling its way past the layers of cloth and wood and soil, flopping around the backyard until it finds its way to the pond again. Once everybody is asleep Goldie will rise up from its grave, he thinks. He prayed to the Goddess, after all.

But come morning, the pond is still empty, and Goldie remains lifeless in its little coffin.

And he never sheds another tear after that.

****************

Link is no stranger to death, and no stranger to funerals, either.

A year after Goldie’s humble funeral in his backyard in Hateno Village, Father must attend one of the most important funerals in the kingdom for as long as Link can remember.

(Well, six years is quite long for him, anyway.)

So here he is, holding Mother’s gloved hand, in the congregation at the Grand Chapel of Hyrule Castle. It’s a sad occasion, of course—everyone’s wearing black, all the women have their faces obscured with a veil, and he can hear sniffles from the crowd. But Link also can’t wait to tell his friends back home of his first real experience in the castle.

There are speeches, sermons, hymns, and many, many other long-drawn-out processions that he has no choice but to zone out on. But once the burial is over, Link is rather excited, because the Royal Guards (and by extension, Father) must accompany the Prince Consort to the Sanctum for an intimate reception.

The Sanctum is grand—big, luxurious, grand. Red velvet is draped everywhere—the thrones, the floor, the curtains, the banners. There’s also a lot of gold, and streaks of blue here and there. Link likes the blue the most.

When Father makes his way through the crowd to find Link and Mother, Link knows it’s time. He straightens his back, draws his chin a little bit higher, and follows Father.

“This is pretty exciting, right, Mom?” Link whispers. “Meeting the Prince!”

“The King,” Father corrects him. “He was the Prince, and now, without the Queen, he has become the King.” He sounds annoyed. “Please don’t make that mistake in front of His Majesty.”

Link clears his throat. “Sorry, Father.”

He gazes up at Mother again, but she’s quiet, and it’s hard to look past her veil.

They climb the grand marble staircase leading to the floating dais above the room, and find a large man standing in front of the throne.

Father and Mother immediately drop to their knees. Link follows suit.

“Your Majesty,” Father says, his head bowed.

“Sir William! Please, no need for this,” the King’s voice booms. Father rises, followed by Mother, and then Link. “I am very pleased to see you again, Lady Eleana. It’s been too long.” The King sounds friendly, but there’s a lot of sadness at the edge of his voice. That makes sense, Link thinks. He just lost his wife.

Then, the King sets his eyes on Link.

Link’s hands feel clammy, all of a sudden.

“And you, young boy—how you have grown! It was not that long ago when your father brought you as an infant to the Castle to celebrate my daughter’s birth,” he says. Link can only muster up a nod and a shaky smile. “Speaking of—” the King turns around to shoo something from his back. “Don’t just hide! Introduce yourself.”

From behind the King’s robe, a little girl emerges, clad in a black dress and a black surcoat. Her face, however, isn’t covered with a veil like the other women, and the first thing Link notices is how golden her hair is compared to the rest of her outfit. It’s almost blinding.

The second thing Link notices is how green her eyes are. Very green. Like grass, like trees. Like the forests that he likes to spend time in.

The girl extends a gloved hand. Palm facing down.

“I’m Princess Zelda,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

Link takes her hand in a gentlemanly way that Father has taught him when greeting noblewomen. His thumb pad rests on her knuckles. His left hand rises to splay over his right breast. Then, he puts one foot in front of the other and bends his knees, bowing his head.

“Nice to meet you, Princess,” he says. “My name is Link.”

As he straightens up again, Link finds it hard to let go of her hand. The Princess doesn’t, either; her forest green gaze is still piercing through his eyes. It feels like vines are growing out of his wrist and twining around his hand and the Princess’.

“Hello, Link,” she says.

Oh, his heart is racing.

Father lets out a cough, and the vines vanish. Link withdraws his hand as if shocked by a jolt of electricity. The Princess lets her arm fall limp at her side once more, but her eyes are still on him. Mother grabs him by his shoulders, pulling him back to stand next to her again.

“Your Majesty, once again, Eleana, Link, and I would like to offer our deepest condolences for your loss,” Father says. “For this kingdom’s loss. The Queen is—was—a strong and wise monarch, and as a people, we shall mourn her absence forevermore.” His lips are trembling a little, Link notes. He’s never seen that on Father before.

“Thank you, Sir William,” the King says. “You were a steadfast presence in her life, truly.” At that, Mother’s grip tightens. Link tilts his head up to look at her, but is met with that layer of veil again. “Well, I must be on my way. Duty calls upon us all, after all.”

With one last bow from Father, Mother, and Link himself, the King makes his way toward the other end of the dais and descends the opposite staircase. The Princess follows, her back straight and steps never once faltering.

She doesn’t turn back to cast one last glance at his family, but Link watches and watches and watches. He’s still watching as she disappears beneath the grand archway that leads further into the castle.

On the walk back to Castle Town where Father resides, Link feels something heavy settling in his gut. Like his little inconsequential life makes sense, all of a sudden. Like being six years old doesn’t really matter because, in that moment, he feels like there are hundreds of ancient men residing within the confines of his bones. And all those men are whispering the same name over and over.

The name he heard just a half hour ago.

So he speaks up.

“Father, I think I’m ready to really train,” he says. “I really wanna be in the Royal Guard.”

Father laughs.

Mother, beneath her black veil, stays quiet.

>> Continue reading on AO3

#my fic #zelink #zelink fic #breath of the wild #botw #botw fic #tloz #the legend of zelda #ao3 fanfic #bells tag

32 notes · View notes

maniacalgenius · 3 months ago

Text

08.19.24

heyyy!!! today was the first day of school. this post will be slightly lower energy since i am a little tired :)

academic:

🧬 went to my first genetics class! no other classes today except choir

🧬 continued reading ch 3 for genetics; found out in class that those quizzes at the end of the chapter in the online textbook are the homework! so i’ve already done the first two homeworks!

health:

🌺 ate a good breakfast, lunch, AND dinner! who is she???

🌺 got over eleven thousand steps today struggling around campus on my short little legs!

🌺 got good sleep last night

personal:

🧚 managed to get up at 7 and do a really good morning routine! which included the following:

🧚 read my Bible this morning! i think it was the rest of Luke 3 and almost all of Luke 4? don’t quote me on that

🧚 had lunch with @sleeping-academic!! lots of good laughs <3

🧚 caught up with my best friend and then went to hang out with our bible study group. i didn’t join the group until this summer when most of them were out of town so this was my first time hanging out with a larger subset of them and it was. quite entertaining 😂 (a little chaotic but i’m looking forward to getting to know them more and becoming One Of The Group!)

🧚 SAW DR SANDWICH! she bought me legos!!

🧚 got to pick sandwich jr up from school and drive him to math tutoring! always a good day when i get to talk to my little buddy 🫶🏻 we discussed our mutual dislike of slow walkers 🚶

1. the legos that dr sandwich bought me!! she remembered me saying how i related to anxiety in inside out 2 and she told me “now you can put your anxiety together and take it apart again” 🥹

🎶 song on loop: not really deliberately on loop but i’ve thoroughly enjoyed my listens of “burning up” by marianas trench the past couple of days!! so shoutout to that one

📖 current book: nothing new to see here 🤷‍♀️

🕰️ time focused: 2h 3m today. better than i thought it was gonna be!! syllabus day and i only had one class plus choir so not much else i could do. i was a little bit more focused on seeing all my people than i normally will be since i hadn’t seen two of my best friends in several weeks! looking forward to settling into a routine!

i am absolutely worn out so i am going to take a shower and crawl into my bed. have a lovely night everyone <3

12 notes · View notes

eriyu · 2 months ago

Text

People I Wanna Get to Know Better

tagged by @wildstar25 (thank you!!!)

Last Song: i just rewatched Marianas Trench's video for Who Do You Love!!! it made me cry again!!! (although also this happened because of a conversation stemming from their new album; go listen to it.)

youtube

Favorite Color: indigo. as rich as possible. in the spot right where you're not sure whether to call it blue or purple.

Currently Watching: multiple things, but biggest is probably that i've been slowly making my way through Doctor Who? i gave up before Matt Smith many years ago, but i'm currently in the middle of series 6 with the help of this guide

Last Movie: i'm not sure it's the most recent, but i rewatched Lion King II not too long ago. it may not be the original Lion King, but legitimately, it's pretty good??? i was feeling kinda nuts over One of Us. "Born in grief / Raised in hate / Helpless to defy his fate / Let him run / Let him live / But do not forget / What we cannot forgive."

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: sweet!!!!! i love sugar!!!!!!! i mean, spicy and savory are also good. but if i have to choose.

Relationship Status: single

Current (OC) Obsessions: am i supposed to be more specific than just "Ehryu"??? i've been thinking a lot lately about her and Thancred, i guess. i just adore their friendship. how much they have in common. how straightforward they are with each other. how much they end up leaning on each other. how they have the absolute best banter.

Last Thing I Googled: "indigo dye" LMAO. before this it was "laser pointer milliwatts" because someone on reddit claimed that you could use a "regular-ass" laser pointer for laser therapy.

i've seen a lot of people get tagged by others already so i'm just going to blanket tag all mutuals. 8') if you haven't done it already, please do!!!

#eriyu has an irl #ask memes #Youtube

8 notes · View notes

islandofsages · 11 months ago

Text

return to ... wonderland?

hello everyone!!

i won't lie to you, i didn't think i'd ever revive this account. i even thought of deleting it sometimes but i know that some may still want to take comfort in my writing and the thing is, i do get notes from time to time despite the state of this account.

but recently i found myself in the x reader trenches once again ... just not for genshin unfortunately. i'm no longer part of the fandom. rather, now i'm rebranding this blog to become a twisted wonderland x reader blog instead!

but aside from that, nothing much has changed. i will still only write non-romantic requests, despite me now being unlabeled and definitely experiencing some romantic attraction here and there ahaha. crazy what time does to you.

i did want to try writing for multiple fandoms but i don't think i have the passion for writing x readers for them so i'm still sticking to one central fandom for this blog. if that changes, well, i'll cross that bridge when i come to it.

i've decided to loosen up the boundaries here a bit and now fem/fem-aligned readers are allowed to interact with my work but you can't follow nor request for fem!readers bc i'll just be blunt with you - most x readers are still fem reader-dominated. i've even seen some anons default to she/her pronouns for allegedly gn readers. so no, fem readers are not a thing here. mutuals are an exception to this rule, you can follow, but you guys still can't request for fem!readers. that is one thing i will absolutely refuse to write.

also, since this is focused on twisted wonderland now, requests should specify if reader is yuu or not. i know it's a normal to assume reader would be yuu since yuu is supposed to be us but some of us just can't really insert ourselves into yuu regardless (like me, my self-insert is not my yuusona. they are different characters).

oh and i also write for character x character now !! i absolutely love exploring dynamics in this game bc it feels like any pairing is possible. still no romance but you can request them :D

those are the main changes. you can find smaller changes + more details in my rules (which is in my pinned!). and don't worry, the old genshin stuff will still be there for you, i won't remove them. just keep in mind that i won't be writing for genshin anymore.

and that is all for now!! feel free to send in requests + spread this around :] and don't be shy to ask me anything or even just chat through asks <3

47 notes · View notes

oleander-nin · 8 months ago

Note

💫🌸🌙🎼

Hiii, i'm amor ^^

Also i noticed on one of your recent reblogs (sorry i am fr going to search through the trenches of your blog) and i noticed you said "i am in love with this man" in reference to peepaw Leo bc if you are.. We have something in common bc i am in love with many leo's, across galaxies, across ages and everything (really only 2012, MM, and rise since that's what i've seen but i like being dramatic. Gotta have that extra flair)

💫 - I want to be friends with you! - bet

🌸 - We don’t talk, but I appreciate your presence on my dash! - Same to you! It's always fun when I saw you interacting w/ some of our mutual mutuals, and I liked how happy you made everyone.

🌙 - You have a good sense of humour! - This is great to hear from someone I've only just interacted w/ tbh. thank you sm😅

🎼 - I think you’re talented! - Awww thank you! I looked through your blog around a month ago and you're super talented too!

Yes I absolutely love Leo, from 1987 to MM. I love him sm. The only one on thin ice is Bayverse, but that's okay I forgive him. My lockscreen on my phone is a slideshow of just him. I don't get to talk about him much cuz one of my friends really dislikes Leo and I don't wanna rock the boat but yes I adore him sm he's my bbg.

#asks <3 #ask games

10 notes · View notes

isa-ghost · 1 month ago

Note

Seeing you talk about the egos is always such a blast from the past for me because I used to be SOOO into it when egopocalypse and stuff was going on. I was in the TRENCHES back then bro.... I even feel like I recognize you from that era??? but that could also be wrong since i barely remember who I was friends with back then anyway, let alone what artists i followed save for a few names that still stick out

Oh I'm sure you recognize me, in the same way I've been called a famous author in Phil's community, I'm called a famous theorist in the JSE community. :P A lot of my closest friends on Tumblr are mutuals I met in the community. <3 They know who they are reading this (hi ily guys :D)

And strangely?? I used to be vaguely on Sean's radar back when he was still on Tumblr too, the same way Phil will see me in chat or donos and call me by first name like I'm some infamous criminal LMFAO. I have a whole tag of times Sean noticed fanart I made or theories I wrote. Which. Is still surreal to me to this day tbh. He was my internet dad and comfort CC before I found Phil. :)

A LOT of my followers on here are from 2018 when ego content was at its peak and I was writing notes on suspicious hint activity in videos or theories using the next crumbs of canon ego stuff we received. Mayhem 2018 my beloved <333 So yeah, I have no doubts you've seen my unhinged ass around before LMAOOO. I've been here for more than half of the JSE community's lifespan on this hellsite, I've seen a LOT.

4 notes · View notes

hardly-an-escape · 1 year ago

Text

snippet: The Trenches Have Vanished Under the Plough

Square: B2 - Crying During Sex Rating: E Word Count: 789 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - human, Alternate Universe - no powers, 1910s, World War I, PTSD, scars, discussion of trench warfare, soldier Hob Gadling, period-typical homophobia, mutual pining, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, implied eating disorder Summary: In France in 1917, amidst the mud of the trenches and the bloody battles of the Great War, Captain Morpheus de Endelas and Corporal Robert “Hob” Gadling meet and are drawn irrevocably together. They begin an affair that ultimately threatens their hearts, their careers, and their very lives. It is not until after the war is over that the two broken men can even begin to think of picking up the shattered pieces of their lives and moving forward. But will they move toward one another, or away? Fill for @dreamlingbingo

When this excerpt begins, Armistice Day is several months behind them. Morpheus has found Hob in the cottage on the Sussex coast where, shellshocked and still recovering from his wounds, he has retreated from the world. After an argument about their parting and an emotionally charged confrontation, they fall into bed together, unable to deny the strength of their feelings for one another.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you naked before.”

“No,” says Morpheus. “No, I suppose not.”

Their trysts, Hob remembers all too well, were always hurried. Hidden. Clothing shoved aside just enough to reach what they needed in order to clutch at what pleasure they could. Now Hob looks his fill, eyes roving over the shapes he’s memorized by feel, if not by sight.

“You’re beautiful.”

Morpheus snorts, an ungentle and caustic sound that Hob doesn’t like at all.

“Look at me,” he says, gesturing down his body with a sweep of his arm.

“I am looking,” Hob says quietly.

Morpheus’s skin glows in the low light of the kerosene lamp. Even from across the room, Hob can pick out the scars – pale skin marred by even paler marks, except where some still show an angry red in places. It’s only been seven months since Armistice Day, after all. Not so much time to heal. A particularly bad one winds around Morpheus’s left knee like a vine. Hob has a matching one on his right. He’s surprised Morpheus doesn’t walk with a limp. He does, a bit, when it’s damp or when his leg has been strained.

Hob only realizes he’s still staring when he sees the pink flush creeping over Morpheus’s cheeks and chest, and registers his prick valiantly plumping a bit against his white thigh.

His tobacco pouch falls forgotten atop the table as he returns to the bed, drawn like a moth to a flame.

“You are. Beautiful,” Hob says, placing a knee on the mattress. “Beautiful,” he says, as he lies down beside Morpheus and runs a hand down his ribs, skims across his hip and his narrow flank. “Beautiful,” he whispers, tenderly urging the wasted thighs to straddle his chest. He fits his thumbs into the too-deep divots at his hips and gently pulls Morpheus forward, until his knees are snugged up into Hob’s armpits and his hardened prick can nudge against his waiting lips. Morpheus’s eyes are squeezed shut.

“Come, love,” he whispers into the silence between them, “let me show you. My beautiful man.”

He lifts his head, lets his mouth fall open, makes it as soft as he knows how, lolls his tongue out like a warm, red carpet welcoming his lover home. And carefully, Morpheus ruts forward into Hob’s mouth.

He moves slowly at first, so slowly, thighs tense, one hand braced on the simple wooden frame of Hob’s bed. Hob can see the scant muscles in his belly fluttering with the effort to stay upright, to keep his movements shallow; so he squeezes Morpheus’s hips and takes as much of his weight as he dares, encouraging him to move, desperate to feel every inch, every twitch.

When his prick bumps against the back of Hob’s throat Morpheus moans above him, loud and obscene in the quiet of the cottage, and Hob feels the vibration down into his chest, feels his own cock stir between his legs at the sound, the proof of Morpheus’s pleasure. When Morpheus’s thrusts quicken, Hob moans in turn.

Morpheus’s eyes fly open, piercing blue even in the dim light of the kerosene lamp, and his free hand, which had been flexing against his own thigh, steals tentatively into Hob’s hair. Their eyes are locked, now. Hob cannot look away. He will never be able to look away from Morpheus again. Beautiful, beautiful, he thinks, trying to broadcast his thoughts like a radio signal. My love, my beautiful man, stay, stay, be mine, my love, stay.

It is absurd, to think that Morpheus can hear him, and Hob is neither a mystic nor an occultist. But something happens, some spark catches between them; perhaps it is but physical passion, but Morpheus’s kiss-bitten lips part in astonishment, and those pristine eyes fill with tears and overflow, twin crystal streams that run down his thin face and drip onto Hob’s chin.

Hob wishes wildly that he could taste Morpheus’s tears, but then his hips are stuttering, and he is crying out again, and all Hob can taste is his own spit and Morpheus’s spend on the back of his tongue, and that is enough; that is a beauty all its own.

“I may wake in the night,” mutters Morpheus, “especially if the storm is bad. I do not sleep well, these days.”

“You? Really? That’s a bit hard to believe,” says Hob. “You know… we used to call you ‘the cat.’ Because you could curl up and doze off anywhere.”

“I know. I know you did,” says Morpheus. “Things are different, now.” His voice is rough, and so tired.

“Yeah,” says Hob. “Yeah, I know.” He clutches Morpheus a little closer and kisses his temple. “I know.”

Historical note: The title of this fic is from the song “No Man’s Land” (also known as “The Green Fields of France” or “Willie McBride”) by Eric Bogle. I recommend this 1980 recording by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, which makes me cry literally every time I hear it. It's one of the great anti-war songs of the 20th century.

This fic is almost complete! If you enjoyed this excerpt, subscribe to me on AO3 to get notified when the finished work is posted!

green = complete, orange = WIP

#dreamling #the sandman #dreamling bingo #dream of the endless #hob gadling #wwi fiction #my writing #I came so close to getting this whole thing done by the bingo deadline - but alas! enjoy this excerpt at least!#the trenches have vanished under the plough

29 notes · View notes

cloudbitch · 5 months ago

Note

*Sticks ♧ shaped sticker on your forehead* :3

Yippee a sticker :D

You’re my: victim of the great april wars of 2024 (and beloved mutual)

How I met you: in the trenches. Booping war, we had a friendly fight that went on for so long that my screentime was tru the roof. Worth it

Why I follow you: reblogs, and the daily snails?????? Yes please, i need it. Its not an addiction, i swear. Its always fun to see your tags pop up in my inbox

Your blog is: okay so, the inside of the shell of a snail. But its bigger on the inside and it has a bunch of rooms. Its drawn in the gravity falls art style to be specific

Your URL is: for at least a month i was convinced your url was "ham-some". So i just assumed you were a big fan of ham. Then i learned it was "hand-some" and i started into the void for a few minutes.

Your icon is: snail snacking on some popcorn, have fun little one

A random fact I know about you: disco elysium fan (another fun fact, you and a friend of mine are the reason i started playing that game). Never played mario kart????? A crime

General opinion: 10/10 vibes. Amazing reblogs and snails. I really love the snails thank you for sharing them with us. Were stuck in this hell hole (lovingly) togheter. And like wise, would love to hang out, but in the meantime for your social battery (which so valid) the social enrichment of the tags and reblogs are enough

A random thought I have: "I dont talk about feelings alfred, i dont have any, ive never seen one. Im a night stalking, crime fighting vigilante, and a heavy metal rapping machine. I dont feel anything emotional, except for RAGE, 24/7, 365, at a million percent. And if you think theres something behind that, then youre crazy."

#this took so long to type because my hand is fucked atm #and ofc youre music taste is amazing too. that just goes hand in hand with the good vibes. it just works like that #have a great that mutual hope you see some snails after the rain stops

6 notes · View notes

bitter-sweet-coffee · 9 months ago

Note

Quick question, if you had to pick one, ONLY one ship would you pick: Espave, or Dog and Hog?

Asking for a friend :)

HAH, well isn’t this an oyster of maggots? okay anon, you’re clearly someone who knows me well enough to say dog&hog so you also know me well enough to know there isn’t a short or concise answer to this.

now, if you want my kneejerk reaction, the answer will always be Espave. i’ve shipped them for almost 18 years now, ever since wave’s debut as a character, and that fundamentally forms a person. there’s no denying what this ship means to me

… however. i have to say dog&hog for a teleological reason. the greatest joy of espave for me is also its tragic flaw: it means everything to me, and nothing to everyone else. shipping infinite and shadow brought me mutuals, a server, a community, and a microfandom status as an ironic CEO. there’s a *fandom* and a *market* for dog&hog, so in its own way, the ship gifts me comfort and social validation because i’m not fighting for my life alone in the trenches.

but it all comes back to fandom misogyny, doesn’t it? i’ve been a sonic fan for what, 2 decades now? i’ve seen the rise and fall of 06, witnessed the painstaking unleashed renaissance, and have been subjected to all sorts of shipping discourse and doxxing, yet it was the utter lack of respect for Wave that has made me go cold feet on making sonic content in 2024.

anyone who knows me knows i was on a ROLL, i was rereading all the comics and taking notes and using topology to explain how the universe was created:

and then i stopped.

because it felt like no one gave a single fuck outside my pre-existing friends, who i only gained because i shipped infinite and shadow. it all comes back to them. sure i’ve baited people into shipping espio and wave, but it was never really about them at the end of the day, just what they were part of. but it didn’t have the same effect because the fandom just likes gay edgy male characters and will reduce every female character, regardless of her role, to a lesbian uwu girlboss.

so i couldn’t take it. i snapped, and if you didn’t already notice i’ve halted all my projects to just mindlessly drown myself in stardew valley, which isn’t a BETTER fandom, but at least i haven’t dedicated nearly the duration of my entire life to it, so it hurts less.

sorry anon. i know you probably just meant “hey what should i draw?” or some shit, but i felt like this was the time to get real for a second.

my final answer is dog&hog, but my heart will always belong to Wave.

#bsc anon #infinite the jackal #shadow the hedgehog #wave the swallow #espio the chameleon #espave #infinadow #shadfinite

19 notes · View notes

storiesiwrite · 2 years ago

Text

Muse ☾ Lee Seokmin

Genre: fluff, second chance trope, exes to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 4470

Summary: It’s been two years since you and Seokmin broke up, but you can’t seem to move on. It turns out he feels the same way.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

It’s a quarter past three in the morning, and sleep evades Seokmin.

It’s both baffling and frustrating; he genuinely thought he would collapse on the bed after retreating to his hotel room. Yet he’s been tossing and turning all throughout the night, cheers from the crowd still echoing in his head long past the show. His hands brush the sheets beneath him, as soft as silk yet devoid of familiarity. Devoid of that feeling of home.

That’s what this job entails, he’s tried to tell himself. Arrive in a city, perform the concert’s setlist, then leave. Moving from one temporary stop to another, not truly belonging to one place. He hasn’t even stepped foot inside his actual home in months, his schedule so packed he barely has time to settle down.

Days pass by so quickly they coalesce into a blur. And nights feel the longest, the most brutal, because it’s during the darkest hours when loneliness tugs at him, and memories slither in through the cracks of his being.

Visions of a familiar face. Of someone with warm eyes and the most intoxicating laugh.

He grabs his phone and unlocks it, its light illuminating the darkened room. He hates the fact that this is what has become of his nightly routine.

Opening his gallery, he scrolls up to find the last image of you and him, dated back to two years ago. Autumn, at a carnival. He remembers that evening so clearly. He remembers how packed it was, how loud, how he kept on bumping against people wherever he went. The decorations and lights that festooned the venue, the stalls lined with plush toys you could win in games.

All that beautiful sight, but what caught his attention was you.

Clad in a black trench coat and a cream turtleneck, a stick of swirly cotton candy in one hand, you looked dashing. And Seokmin couldn’t tear his eyes off of you.

“What? Is something on my face?” You’d asked him then, your fingers searching for stains of the pink confectionery.

Heat creeped up his neck, embarrassed at having been caught outright staring. It didn’t matter that he’d been dating you for a year; sometimes he’d still get shy whenever you were around. “You’re just... you’re really beautiful.”

Now it was your turn to get flustered, your cheeks running red. It was the cutest thing Seokmin had ever seen. Your eyes struggled to meet his, though he could never understand why. There was nothing you had to hide.

“You make me blush when you say things like that, you know,” you finally admitted.

“But I love it when you do.” He laced your fingers with his. “Especially when I’m the reason why.”

He couldn’t forget the small smile that lit your face afterwards, reserved only for him. It was seared onto the deepest corners of his mind.

He couldn’t forget how lucky he’d been, how happy he’d felt those few months with you. They were the best moments of his life, and he realizes, albeit far too late, that even though he now gets to live his dream and tour across the world, something is still missing, severed from him. A gap, one neither sold-out stadiums not record-breaking albums can ever cover.

Regrets. They fill him now, but they can’t change the past.

Seokmin continues looking at old pictures and videos, until a heaviness clings to his eyes. Until he is a mess of bittersweet memories and untangled feelings. Tossing the phone to the side, he buries himself under the covers as though they would smother them all.

What a terrible thing, he ponders. His last thought, before sleep drags him under. What a terrible thing, to still miss someone who isn’t longer mine.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Whatever it was that drove you to think this would be a good idea, you’re starting to regret it.

The streets are dark as you make your way towards the stadium, the cold clinging to your skin despite the thick duffle coat wrapped around your body. You were worried you wouldn’t be able to find the venue, but the moment you turn a nearby corner, you see a throng of people already awaiting outside the stadium doors.

Loud, excited chatters fill the air as you push your way through the crowd, the ticket a crumpled piece of paper in your fingers. It’s difficult to stay calm in a space as suffocating as this, with a lot of fans fighting to claim the best spots at the very front of the stage, though you know it’s not the sole reason you’re feeling anxious tonight.

What were you thinking, agreeing to go to Seokmin’s concert?

“Oh, come on,” Chan had said through the phone, playfulness lacing his words. He’d called you earlier this morning, explaining how he’d bought a ticket months ago but wouldn’t be able to make it. “You’re free tonight, aren’t you? You don’t have to pay; I’ll give it to you for free.”

“But... I just can’t. It’s Seokmin we’re talking about here, and I just...” you trailed off, but you didn’t have to explain further. You weren’t ready. And it hit you then, the realization weighing down on you, that even though you’d ended things with him two years ago, the wound from the breakup is still startlingly fresh.

That it would take a hell lot longer to move past him.

“I thought... I thought you parted with him on friendly terms?” Chan continued, his confidence shrinking.

The split was amicable; you and Seokmin simply realized you both had different goals that would be taking you in different directions. Becoming a performing artist means Seokmin would have to travel to places, whereas as a writer, you prefer to stick to one.

The relationship ended amicably, but it’s not as if you remain on speaking terms, either.

You’ve thought about reaching out to him more often than you’d like to admit. Sometimes you’d find yourself searching him up on social media to see what he’s been up to. The photos, videos, and little snippets that he uploads.

You can’t help thinking how you used to be an integral part of his life. And now you’re completely out of the picture—just a stranger, typing messages to him but always leaving them unsent.

A crackle through the line. When you said nothing, Chan took a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said in all earnestness and remorse, his voice reduced to almost a whisper. “I’m... I’m starting to realize that this is insensitive of me. To ask you, of all people. I just thought...” You could hear Chan fumbling for words. “I’ve asked everyone else. Mingyu, Joshua, Jun. None of them can go. And then I thought of you and I just... I’m really sorry.”

The idea of rejecting the offer flashed through your mind like a constant warning sign. You knew deep down that you’re terrified. You’re terrified to see him, to confront the truth. That perhaps, Seokmin has been better off without you, whereas you still wander down that narrow path of ‘what if’s and wonder what could have been.

And yet, stronger than that fear is an undeniable part of you that longs to see him. A part of you that wishes him well and still considers him a dear friend, despite how everything unfolded. All those promises you made back then, of being there for him every step of the way, of coming to his shows—they’re what still remain. And you realize the least you can do is to honor them.

And so you finally said, “Okay, Chan. I’ll go.”

“You will? You sure about that?” The hesitation was clear in his voice.

“I’m sure.”

But now, standing in the midst of loud strangers in a wide expanse of a darkened concert stadium, you’re not so certain anymore.

So wrapped up in your thoughts, you’re not sure how much time has passed. You watch as the stage grows brighter and the crowd explodes with a deafening scream. A tall figure enters the stage, and your heart races at the sight.

Seokmin.

With a guitar slung to one side, he walks to the center and stops in front of a mic that has already long stood there. His eyes are like crescents as he beams at the audience before him, waving his hand.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming! Wow, what a cool crowd.” His voice is teeming with delight. You haven’t realized how much you’ve missed hearing it.

So many girls around you begin shouting his name, banners lifted above their heads. You can’t help the pang of jealousy that assails you.

“Tonight, I’ll be singing songs from my new album, as well as old tracks you may not have heard before. I hope you enjoy!”

The crowd screams in excitement, yet you can still hear the thumping of your own heart, stubborn and relentless. Strong emotions you’ve been trying to bury come barreling toward you. It’s too much all at once, difficult to drown out.

This is a bad idea, your mind keeps telling you. A terrible idea, but for some inexplicable reason, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your eyes trained on nobody else but him.

Dark hair slicked back, clad in a black shirt underneath that brown suede jacket. A touch of make-up on his eyes which shine under the lights. Seokmin looks so devastatingly beautiful. Happier than ever.

“The first song...” he pauses. A slight change in his tone, one anyone else might have missed, but you’re not just anyone else.

He smoothens out his features so quickly that you think you imagined the shift altogether. “This is a song I wrote years ago, one I’ve never sung in a show before. It’s definitely one I hold close to my heart.” A tight-lipped smile as he looks down and adjusts the guitar. “A love letter to someone who knew how I felt.”

The cheers turn to silence as the soft strumming of his guitar begins. A familiar tune, one you’ve heard many times before, drawing forth a memory from years ago.

You remember being in your apartment, the room dimly lit, noises from the streets below drifting through the open windows. Seokmin was on the couch, playing the guitar as he tried to conjure melodies befitting the chords. You sat beside him, basking it all in.

It was a rough day, you can still recall, college work piling up on your desk but you couldn’t begin with any of them due to writer’s block. Instead, you’d called your boyfriend over, because you knew his presence would lift your unease.

And you were right. The moment the apartment door swung open, he immediately folded his arms around your body, pulling you in. You shut your eyes and let his scent fill your lungs. His tenderness, his care—they coursed through you, kindling a warmth you’d been bereft of when he wasn’t around.

“Hey,” he began, a comforting whisper against the troubled thoughts in your mind. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

You leaned against him, your words so muffled you worried he wouldn’t catch them. “Today just isn’t my day.”

You couldn’t say more. And you didn’t need to, because he immediately understood.

He always did, in ways you realized nobody else could. Perhaps that is the reason why, after so many dates Chan has put you through these past two years, you can’t seem to let go. And now, as you watch him perform, you realize that you and Seokmin share something that can neither be so easily forged nor so easily cast away.

And that song, the one he sang for you in your apartment that day, had been a work in progress. An unfinished version of the song he’s now singing on stage in front of the crowd.

The memory of it makes you wonder if he still thinks of you whenever he sings the song. If you ever once cross his mind.

Chances are, he hasn’t even thought of you these past two years. The breakup must have messed you up more than it did him. Regrets have kept you up late through the night, while he probably has moved on with his life, keeping himself busy with his music career, meeting someone new—

But when the song comes to an end, he scans the crowd and, like a stroke of luck, his gaze lands on yours. And you could have sworn he stiffens at the sight of you, in the same way your heart plummets and you can no longer think straight.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

The chaos disappears the moment Seokmin shuts the door behind him. His breath runs ragged, and light sweat sticks to his clothes. He can’t seem to compose himself; there’s only one thought that runs circles in his head.

It was you, he knows for a certainty. You’d been there.

He recognized you. Of course he did; he’d recognize you anywhere, among any crowd.

But he can’t help asking himself why. Why you came after everything that went down.

He spends the next hour in his trailer wondering. Wondering if you enjoyed the show, if you liked the way he sang. Wondering if, after all this time, he haunts your thoughts the way you still haunt his.

None of that should matter, because you’re no longer his, and he is no longer yours.

The break-up was one of the toughest moments he had to live through. He recalls sitting next to you in his bedroom, tears staining your cheeks and his own. With bloodshot eyes, you asked him, “Are we really doing this?”

“I guess we are.” He had never sounded so resigned.

“Thank you for everything, for being such a loving, supportive boyfriend and being so much more than I deserve,” you said with a sniffle, and his fingers found your cheek.

“You deserve the world. You deserve more than I can ever give you.” He tried to put on a smile, tried to be strong. “You’re the better half of me, remember?”

A humorless laugh. “You’re the better half of me.”

He shook his head. “You’re the kindest, most amazing person I know. I’m so lucky to have ever been yours.”

“So am I. I really wish you didn’t have to go.” Your voice was cracking all over.

Guilt lanced through him. Your relationship wouldn’t have had to end if Seokmin had chosen another career path. But performing on the stage was and has always been his passion, and he could never imagine himself doing anything else. You knew this, and yet you chose to stick by his side, and for that he was grateful.

“I’m really, really going to miss you.” He sobbed, pulling you into an embrace for one last time. He held you close, inhaling your scent, reveling in the feel of your body flushed against his.

And when you walked out the door, it was as if you’d taken parts of him with you, the world having lost its color.

Seokmin truly thought letting go would get easier as the seasons march forward, that time would stitch the wounds strewn across his heart. But two years have passed and here he is, still grieving the relationship he lost. Two years have passed and yet, he still keeps coming back to you.

He hates the way he can’t stifle his emotions, his longing for you practically woven into his every song. At first, he resorted to songwriting because that has always been his way of coping with circumstances he can’t change and feelings he can’t comprehend.

But now he’s gone and made you his constant, his muse.

It shouldn’t matter, he keeps telling himself. But the fact that you showed up at one of his shows...

It feels like an opening, a crevice in the invisible wall that stretches between you both. It gives him hope that perhaps, he isn’t the only one struggling with these feelings. It gives him the courage to do what’s next.

He’s going to go and see you.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

The sky has turned dark beyond the windows, the busy day drawing to a close.

Like any other Sundays, the café was teeming with people, some of them stopping by for brunch or a quick meet-up, while others lingered longer, books splayed out on the coffee table, their faces illuminated by the light coming from their laptop screens. Today was particularly exhausting since one of your work colleagues, Vernon, took a sick leave, which meant you had to handle more workload than usual.

And tonight, you’re in charge of closing the café, the others having left not long ago. You begin wiping off coffee stains on desks, the action so familiar that you can do it without having to think twice. Your eyes are heavy, limbs threaded with fatigue, and the only thing that keeps you going is the fact that you’re almost through with work.

You’re about to turn off the lights when, suddenly, the doorbell jingles. You frown. It’s beyond closing time.

“We’re about to close—” you call out, but as you look up to see who it is, the words come to a halt, dread running through you.

It’s Seokmin, lingering by the door.

You blink a few times, not quite believing your eyes. But there’s no denying that he is standing there, just a few strides away. The confidence he carried just the night before is now nowhere to be found, and it seems like he’s trying to amass his courage to step through the threshold.

“Hi,” Seokmin starts, his features inscrutable.

You’re unsure how to proceed. Unsure how to address him now when you’d always regarded him as your boyfriend. “Hi. Um, I… we’re about to close.”

A stupid thing to say, but you can’t imagine why he would show up if not for the coffee.

He pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose. “I know. I just… I was nearby and thought that maybe, you still work here. I guess I wanted to come by.” He continues with more certainty. “I wanted to see you.”

Your mind seems to run blank. How can you respond to that?

He misconstrues your silence and begins stammering. “Uh, well, I mean, unless... Unless this isn’t what you want, which I completely get.” He gestures with his hands the way he always did whenever his self-assurance dwindled. “I’m sorry. I can leave if you want me to—”

“No.” The word leaves you in an instant, so full of emotion you curse yourself for it. You move closer to him, striving for a semblance of calm. “What I mean to say is, it’s okay. You can stay.”

“Yeah?” A timid smile on his lips. “You’re about to close the shop, aren’t you? I can help you with things.”

Your heart warms at his words, at his kindness, and you can’t help but smile back. Being an artist hasn’t changed him. “Would that be okay? I’m almost done, actually. I just have to clean the tables and wash some cups before I leave.”

He rolls up his sleeves and grabs a cloth. “Then I’ll help you with it.”

It doesn’t take long to complete the remaining tasks. You and Seokmin fill the silence by catching up, and you find it comforting how, for a moment in time, you can slip back and pretend as if things are alright. There’s no awkwardness as you banter with him, and he seems genuinely interested to hear how you’ve been. He’s always been a good listener, attentive of even the smallest of details—it’s one of the reasons why you fell for him in the first place.

And before you know it, it’s a little over midnight and you’re locking the doors, about to head home. Seokmin has offered to walk with you despite his early schedule tomorrow, and you’re aware—perhaps too aware—of the way he keeps on glancing at you, like he has something he wishes to say but the words remain unspoken.

That makes it the two of you, then.

The trees lining the sidewalk sway under the wind as the temperature grows colder into the night. You cross your arms over your body and look over at Seokmin, who isn’t faring any better than you, shivering under the purple sweater he dons. His hair is a ruffled mess, and you find yourself wanting to reach out and rake your fingers through it.

It takes everything in you to abandon that idea.

After a while, Seokmin finally breaks the silence. “You were there.”

Your stomach drops. You know where this is going.

“The concert last night, I mean,” he says, looking at you, and you don’t know why the sight of him tugs at your heartstrings so.

You don’t know what to say. You had a feeling earlier that this would come up at some point, but still, you don’t know how to behave when he’s no longer the Seokmin with whom you’d exchange stories and secrets. The Seokmin you’d search for when you had good news to tell or terrible news to break.

At last, you settle for this: “I was. You were amazing out there, Seok. Truly.” The words you’re saying—even though you mean them, they sound so strained.

A pause, before he asks, “Why did you come?”

“I promised you, remember?” You can’t quite expel the heaviness lodged in your throat. “I promised I’d be there.”

Seokmin doesn’t reply, but the small smile he wears tells you that he remembers.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m really sorry. For everything that happened between us. For the break-up and all the pain I caused you.” His expression is pained, and it hurts you to see him that way.

“It isn’t entirely your fault. I’m sorry, too.” You try to contain your grief but to no avail. “The break-up was difficult for me. And to be completely honest, it still is.”

You don’t know why you kept on talking. It feels like reopening old wounds that haven’t quite scabbed over, letting him in through the cracks he left.

Seokmin looks like he’s surprised. “It is?”

You nod. “I… I keep coming back to the day we broke up, and whenever I do, I’m overcome with regret. I still wish we’d done things differently.” You can’t put a brake on the words that spill out of your mouth, your pent-up emotions finally coming to light.

“I keep thinking of you,” you continue, your voice wavering. “And often, I wonder if you think of me.”

Tears are beginning to well in your eyes. You don’t realize you and Seokmin are no longer walking, having come to a stop in front of your apartment building. It’s time to part ways, but a part of you is having a hard time saying goodbye.

“I…” he begins. He seems like he’s about to reach out to you, lifting his hand briefly towards you only to drop it to his side. You hold his gaze, his brown eyes so striking yet warm. The bangs that frame his face. That small mole on his cheek that he used to hate but you adore so much you helped him change his mind. The perfect curve of his nose, the faint, crimson tinges on his cheeks.

You try to remember the little details, because you know this will be the last time you’ll ever get to see them. The last time you’ll ever get to see him.

Seokmin says nothing in return. He just looks at you, his face inscrutable, and you curse yourself for having let yourself be vulnerable. For putting him in a more uncomfortable position. It’s embarrassing, how you yearn for him when he clearly doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“I’m… I’m really sorry for having said all that. I was speaking nonsense, really. I just… I think my brain’s all muddled after today’s shift and all.” Your courage wanes, and you wish you could disappear right now. Fishing out the apartment keys, you gesture towards the door, not stopping even as Seokmin looks like he’s about to say something.

“Thank you for walking me home, Seok. It’s really good seeing you,” you utter quickly, unable to face him. It’s too much.

“Wait—”

But you don’t, walking away from him with tears in your eyes. It’s embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing—

“I’m still in love with you!”

You stop in your tracks. You can’t believe your ears.

Are those words meant for me? You turn around to see him gazing at you, something like longing and desperation in his eyes.

“I’m still in love with you,” he repeats, quieter this time.

This time, you’re the one who’s speechless.

“You said you wonder if I think of you.” He continues, slowly closing the distance between you both. “There’s not a second that I don’t. My music, all those lyrics I’ve written—they’ve always been about you. You’ve always been my muse.”

He stops moving when he’s within arm’s reach. “I’ve tried to move on, but I can never seem to let you go. I can never forget how happy and complete I felt when I was with you, and there is never a moment that I don’t regret breaking up with you.” His voice breaks, but he goes on. “I promised myself that if I ever get the chance some day, I’d try to make things right. And when I saw you during the concert, I thought it as a sign.”

What he’s saying is so hard to believe that you have to ask him again. You have to make sure.

“Are you saying that you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped.”

You can’t help the smile that slowly spreads across your face. “I’ve never stopped loving you too, Seok.”

He lets out a laugh of relief, lifting his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Even after all this time?”

You don’t answer, closing the gap between you both. Touching your forehead to his, you shut your eyes to revel in the moment. The midnight sky above you, millions of stars strewn across it. The rustling of the wind that moves the trees. The person you love right in front of you. It’s too good to be true.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs, his breath fanning your cheeks.

“Yes,” you reply immediately. “God, yes.”

And then his lips meet yours, soft as ever. His fingers graze your chin, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss, and your arms find his sides in a way that reminds you how familiar this is.

This, you realize, tucked in Seokmin’s gentle embrace. This feels so much like coming home.

106 notes · View notes