#but this song has been stuck in my head for two days now its so sweet!

[finleyforevermore]

she candy hearts on my paper flowers till i know that we're gonna be okay no matter what. /ref

[iid-smile]

its fun to stay at the yyyyyy m c a 😎

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ here’s to hoping (cause i can’t stop calling) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.1k

summary: gojo calls, and you spend it half-wishing you weren’t broken up. 

contains: gn!reader, exes to ???, alcohol, mentions of going to the club, gojo is bad at being an ex, complicated feelings, ambiguous ending, kind of hurt/comfort. 

a/n: writing this as my copium, i haven’t written gojo outside of col in so long so this was challenging, but equally as exciting! some songs that inspired this are: better than this - lauv & oh, gemini - role model.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

“Well, well, well… miss me already?”

The clock on your kitchen wall reads some time between 2:05 and 2:10. Even when you squint, the little lines remain a drunken blur. 

You blame it on the alcohol. 

“Don’t be shy now.” the voice on your phone continues, shaking you out of focus. 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. 

Had you been any more sober, the throbbing in your head wouldn’t have persisted from the sound of—

“Gojo–” you sigh. 

“Satoru.” he interrupts, a full pause before he continues, softer, “It’s Satoru, remember?” 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t have even answered his call. 

You haul your bag up sluggishly, the chains of the strap clacking against your countertop. Patience is a ticking time bomb when you’re this inebriated, the heavy bass from earlier tonight still thumping its way within your brain. 

You can’t think straight. 

“Satoru,” a name now foreign but still so close to home; it burns on your tongue, trickles bittersweet down your throat, “you called. What do you need?” 

It’s stupid of you to ask, you know, because Gojo’s been calling you like this since the day you broke up months ago. You’d picked up the first few times, but quickly realized that it wasn’t good for the both of you—you’d never move on, and Gojo would never let you go. 

Except—

“You picked up.” 

—liquor makes for poor company when it only serves to soften the anger you’ve built up as protection. It really is all the alcohol’s fault. 

Your eyes burn as you squeeze them shut, sighing, a twisted exhale, “You have to stop, Satoru.” 

“Stop what?” he feigns, the lilt at the end a sure sign of the most insufferable smirk. 

The thought of it makes you sick, makes you ache with memories of pinching his nose at the sight of it. He used to giggle then; now, he chuckles on the other end. 

That’s the question, isn’t it? Stop what?

Since the break-up, Gojo’s been acting like nothing’s changed. He still calls you just as much, still texts you with undertones that tread the fine line between flirty and ‘just Gojo’. Your toiletries are still at his apartment, and his clothes are still in your closet. 

You’d find humor in it if not for the fact that all of it has been so goddamn confusing.

He started it; he broke up with you. 

Shouldn’t he be pushing you away? 

To this day, you have no full closure, no other reason other than an ‘it’s better this way’ followed by a continuous stream of mixed signals because how he treats you is still the same. 

“Stop calling,” a lump forms in your throat, an admission you’ve had to remind yourself again and again, “we’re not together anymore.”

“I can’t call a friend?” 

You snort, fiddling with the metal links of your bag strap, “Is that what we are?” 

A pause. Slippers shifting on floorboards. They sound just like the sleepless nights he’d shuffle out of bed. 

You can picture him on the other end, head tilted and leant back on the plush leather of his couch. He hums but doesn’t answer you—he never does when it can mean something. 

“You still sound the same.” 

And you don’t expect it at this moment, to get so choked up over how he sounds over radio waves, but he says the words a little too fondly for you not to notice. Gojo’s always teased that he can pinpoint your voice from the moment you speak the first word.

You don’t mean to give him any more authority over your feelings than he already has, but the words slip out before you can catch yourself, “You’re being unfair.”  

Another hum. His tone shifts to something lighter, more teasing, “Like you aren’t. Always typing, never sending…”

The huff that punctuates his sentences paints itself vividly with a small pout. 

“Stop staring at my chat box then.” is all you can muster, the ache spreading throughout your chest. 

“Afraid I can’t.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You’re impossible.” your eyes begin to feel wet, your sniffle concealing itself as you clear your throat. 

The silence that follows is uncharacteristic of your relationship with Gojo, even more of the man you know, but you find it filled to the brim with all the possibilities of what went wrong—of things you know he’ll never say out loud.

You know Gojo has issues; they presented themselves well enough in the year you were together. Being with him is accepting that you’ll be reading between the lines your entire life. 

He is simultaneously touchy but distant, vocal but elusive in his affections; he drapes himself over you every chance he gets, but when you touch him in places no one else has, you think a storm swirls cyan in his irises. Gojo gives compliments like candies on Halloween, but he keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked away like presents tightly wrapped under a Christmas tree. 

This is why you never saw it coming. 

This is why there was no hint, no sign of him ever wanting to break things off when he did.

‘Let’s stop dating’ with no warning. 

“Had fun tonight?” he asks so casually, like it doesn’t tell you a million things—how he still has your location on his phone, how he’s still checking on you, Six Eyes or not. 

Tonight was okay, all things considered. You don’t go to clubs often, but your friends kept you company; the music boomed just a tad bit louder than you’re used to, and the drinks were good, but—

“You would have hated it.” 

If Gojo were there, you would have stayed 10 minutes tops. He’d whine about being bored but you’d be able to tell, from the slight furrow of his brows and the clenching of his jaw that it’s because one of his migraines is forming. 

“Good thing I’d have you, then.” 

There are half-truths in jokes like this, a dangerous thing to say when you both know he could still have you if he wanted.

“Stop flirting, it’s annoying.” you try to steel your voice, pushing down the false hope rising in your chest. 

“You love it, though.”

The pain sears you, hurts when he says the word so lightly, as if he isn’t aware that you know love is the reason he had to break things off prematurely. As if he doesn’t know that you’re still in love with him, that you’re still putting faith in a tragedy. 

“Do you even know what loving something feels like?” 

The line remains silent, save for the softest sound of his breath hitching. 

You must have hit a nerve. 

He hums, an expected answer, but then he mumbles, words spoken so faintly, so quietly, you’re surprised they even came through. 

“Yeah, I do.”

a/n: wanted to use this as dialogue practice because i think gojo’s dialogue is one of the trickiest to nail! i also found it so fun exploring this kind of dynamic with him!! i subtly hint on some of gojo’s personal issues but don’t explicitly state it to leave room for interpretation! the ending is ambiguous for that same reason.

thank you notes: @stellamancer for helping me out so much with this 🥺 practically beta-ing it, really 🥺 ily niku 🥺 in my head, gojo does not exist without you 🥺 & @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @scarabrat @soumies for being my lil cheerleaders always 🥺 ily all 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[inkonparchment]

Class of '95

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

The tie rests in his pocket, feeling his throat constrict enough by the memories from a lifetime ago as Leon stands in his old high-school gymnasium. His breathing exercises carry him through the evening until his breath knocks out of him when he sees you again.

warnings/tags: older Leon. allusions to alcoholism. fluff. high school sweethearts.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i dont know if anyone has seen '10 Years' but this heavily inspired from that especially the song 'Never Had'. that and 'From Eden by Hozier'. also i know thats infinite darkness Leon in the banner but i had more death island Leon in mind. anyways, happy reading! this may be lame but its all i have to offer

Leon is glad he decided to forgo the tie, a last-minute decision he made sitting in the shadows of his car, staring blankly at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The silence had been too loud without the car in ignition, occupied by a sudden itch to grip the steering wheel and drive off, daunted too much by the expanse of his old high-school. He feels like a fraud returning, no longer finding any specks of the person who used to wander down the halls, sit in the classes and occupy the benches in the cafeteria, his carefree demeanour carrying him through the days. 

He could hear the muted drawl of music bleeding from the doors, the balloons and décor scattered across the entrance with a banner reading ‘Welcome Back Class of ‘95’ in greeting. God, that made him feel old, the constant ache in his back a constant reminder of the toll the years had taken on him. 

The walk in isn’t so terrible, wiping the sweat from his hand as he comes across the registration desk, a kindly looking face asking for his name. He nearly laughs at the ‘hello my name is’ sticker, the marker squeaking as he scribbles on his name and pastes it on his jacket right above his heart. 

Leon feels his fingers twitch when someone shouts his name in disbelief, turning around to blink in the face of two men who were previously occupied with their own conversation. He recognizes them in an instant, his teammates from the football team. Youthful faces drowned by wrinkles, grey sprinklings in their hair and torsos full of muscle now replaced with a softening belly; but their smiles are still the same. He walks over to them, gripping their hands firmly in handshakes, disbelief on their faces when they register that it is Leon. 

Where have you been, man? We thought you were dead! Wow, it’s been so long. 

It’s all the same set of questions and remarks he gets when he tours the gymnasium floor. Yes, he can’t believe it’s been so long. No, he’s just been busy with work so no time for a missus or kids. Ah, what about work? He doesn’t want to bore anyone with the boring mumbo jumbo. Yeah, he’s disappointed the police thing didn’t work out but what can you do? 

His words soon start to feel rehearsed, like an actor on scene waiting for his cue, a smile plastered on his face to dazzle the audience. Leon does a fine job of it, relaxing when he realizes that it’s easy with these people who are more eager to talk about their wives, husbands and kids. He feels envy grow within him as his eyes get stuck on their greying features, the softness of their added age and the glittering bands of their rings. 

It feels disorienting almost seeing his classmates living the life he had pictured for himself long ago, a life he didn’t realize he wanted so much now. Maybe there was something about coming stunningly close to death as of late, not that it wasn’t usual for him. Perhaps the one too many knocks against his head had finally straightened out his disarrayed thoughts into linearity.  

The praises that are aimed his way are quickly dismissed by Leon, shrugging all the ‘you look really fit’s and ‘your hair is in great condition, between the kids and job I don’t have the time to dye it’ like bullets clattering to the ground, puncturing him in the aftermath. He has nothing to show for his life save for the scar marks and the unhealed bullet wounds littering his body. Their voices would not carry a tone of wistfulness if they truly knew his reality. 

Leon needs a breather. And like a dog to a bone, he retreats to the bar in the corner. 

It’s mostly empty, smiling politely at the couple that walks away with their beverages. He leans against the bar, grateful for the coolness underneath his palm as he orders his drink. Whiskey on the rocks with a twist. 

Leon struggled with the concept of autonomy for the majority of his 20s and 30s, anger rippling through his system with his teeth grit whenever he would be dispatched at a moment's notice. Every reverberation of his trusty Matilda was doused in casual rage of the irony of his helplessness in deciding his fate as he ensured the normalcy of those back home. Mission success after success that Leon paid for with his freedom, his aching body and greying years, mourning the naive version of himself that saw the world with a gleaming lense. 

He accepted his fate soon enough, made peace with the life he knew he was too much of a coward to leave, courtesy of his survivor's guilt or hero complex, he doesn't know. He really doesn't want to find out. Perhaps it’s the shift in his reality, a peek into a life outside where he isn’t vital to the national or global security. It tugs at the strings of his heart when he realises there’s serenity here. This thought does little to alleviate the deep ache within his chest as he watches his old classmates. 

This is difficult for the reasons Leon never prepared himself for, bitterness flooding him as he mulls over the possibility of the life he could have had. Would he be like everyone else here? Would smiling come easy, a wedding ring on his finger and pictures of his kids ready on his phone, proudly brandishing it out on a moment’s notice? What does he have to show for himself apart from the scars and wounds that litter his body? 

The bartender slides Leon’s drink in front of him, parting with a polite smile. He stares at the amber liquid, ice floating on its surface and the itch in the back of his head that he had tried hard to bury returned. Leon grabs the glass, swirling it for good measure and brings it up to his lips. The whiskey barely grazes his lips when a familiar sounding laugh freezes him in place. His pulse flutters, a statue in poise, back turned to the crowd when the sweet noise filters through again to his ear. 

And suddenly Leon feels himself thrown back to the year 1995 on his own personal time machine, bubbling up memories that he had long forgotten, evoking emotions he thought he didn’t know how to feel anymore. The laugh is light and airy, so gentle and delicate, encompassing his entire being, intoxicating him once again like it did when he heard it for the first time during chemistry class. 

He remembers the softness of your skin when you two had accidentally bumped hands reaching for the popcorn, blushing bright in the darkened theatre before he gathered the courage to hold your hand firmly, never letting go again. 

Leon swears he can taste the butter on your lips when you had bravely kissed him on the doorstep of your home, a grin permanently latching onto his face. His ears ring with the sound of your cheers from the stands, louder than anyone, wildly waving your homemade posters for his games, always present come rain or hail.   

Leon is almost afraid to turn, not wanting to disturb the way his mind has painted you in beautiful strokes, conjuring up a picture so vivid that he feels he can touch if he reaches out. But curiosity gets the better of him, lowering the untouched drink down with a thunk and slowly turning around. Leon forgets how to breathe for a moment. Is it in, in? Out in? No, it’s in and out. He tries to catch up to missed breaths, eyes hung onto you. 

You look just as beautiful as the day he last remembers seeing you. It overwhelms him. Time clearly passed you by but not in the same way it had him; brutish, barbaric and aggressively tossing him on the hard concrete. No, time had been gentle with you, tenderly caressing you in its palm, nuzzling you softly as it swept you with it. 

Your smile is still the same Leon fell in love with, proud at having being the receiving end of it quite often, adoring the way you still throw your head back a little when you laugh. There is an air of elegance about you, evidence of the years that you had culminated, experiences under your belt that had transformed you into the person that was standing just a little distance away from him.    

Leon watches you intently as your eyes flicker over to where he’s standing, words fumbling from your lips as you jerk your head back up and do a double take. Your eyes blink furiously, widening in surprise as though you never expected to see him in a million years. You stumble off an excuse to the people you were talking to, eyes not daring to stray away from him. 

His drink is long forgotten, hands both nestled in his pockets, heart thrumming in his chest as he waits for you to make your way to him. There’s a certain peculiarity in how you do; a strange mix of shyness and disbelief. Your steps are light and airy, features softening as Leon grows more vivid in your line of sight. There’s something familiar in the way you walk to him, something akin to how he watched you descend the stairs of your house as he had waited at the bottom, staring at you in awe with a corsage gripped tight in his hands. Even in the picture your mom had snapped, Leon was still looking at you.  

Warmth floods him when you come to a stop in front of him, glee on both his and Leon’s face, hidden beneath timidness. He takes the first leap.  

“Hey,” Leon smiles. 

You laugh and it is oh so sweet, stronger than a shot of espresso. “Hi.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  

What do you say anyways to the most important person in your youth who you thought would be a constant? The breakup had been difficult but inevitable with the two very different paths you and Leon had picked out for yourselves. It was terribly heart aching with fingers gripping each other’s tightly, silent tears running down your face as you tried to inscribe every forehead kiss from Leon to memory with the sun setting in the far-off distance. Come morning he would be long gone, both of you deciding that it would be unbearable to start a new day without the sun shining on them both.  

What do you say after all these years have passed shaping you into different versions of the same person you once knew so long ago?  

“It’s really good to see you Leon.” Well you could say that for starters. 

A small puff of air leaves Leon’s throat, glancing down at the floor momentarily before looking back into your eager eyes. His heart clenches as he notices they still glow. “It’s good to see you too.” An understatement truly, it’s magical to see you again. He thought he never would again, his mind drifting to you in his moments of darkness, clinging on to the memories as they would rejuvenate him. His sentiment is a lot more loaded than yours, he realises, his guardian angel now materialised in front of his eyes.  

You flit about, mess with your hair, pull it behind your ears, trying to look at him whole with little glances. “I uh...I thought you didn’t attend these things.”  

“I didn’t know there were these things to attend,” He shrugged. Its true, it’s quite hard to reach him when none of his old contact numbers or emails work. Leon’s a hard man to reach. It was a surprise to him when Hunnigan had all but slammed the plane ticket and the print out of his old high-school reunion on his desk. He didn’t even bother asking how she got the information, feeling scrutinised under her hard gaze and her You need a break too, Leon. He’ll buy her favourite bottle of wine first thing back.  

“Well you know it is hard to reach you.” You tilt your head to the side, teasing glinting in your eyes. “No phone number, no address, no email either. Its almost like you vanished off the face of the earth.” 

Leon feels the tips of his ears grow hot, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed. You continue on with a casual shrug of your shoulders, “Every text or email I sent you bounced back so I just thought you didn’t want to catch up.”  

That turns him into a statue. What? “You tried to contact me?”  

A streak of blush colours your cheeks. “I mean not that frequently. Just like a couple of years back I guess? I don’t know I just did it on a whim. The text didn’t go through and neither did the email so...you know I thought you didn’t want to be contacted.” 

He didn’t know what to do with the information that you thought of him while he thought of you. He never imagined that you would actually try to reach out to him, why would you? Leon assumed you’d be well settled in your life now; husband, kids, the white picket fence. Isn’t that what the two of you would fantasise about, sharing whispered giggles huddled under the sheets?  

But there’s curiosity gnawing at his bones. He’s noticed the empty ring finger on your left hand about how you’ve spent ten minutes chatting with him here and no man has slipped his hand against your waist. You’re here, talking to him, in no rush to meet anyone else. Leon feels his fingers twitch, he would never let you out of his sight. 

He blinks, an easy smile settling on his lips, gazing at you softly at your confession. “I thought about you a lot too.” He wants to thread his fingers through your hair, tucking away the strands. “I’m sorry I went so far away.”  

You shudder, pursing your lips and looking away. You see to be shrugging your shoulders again. Cute. “It’s fine. Life gets in the way sometimes. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

The music doesn’t bother Leon anymore. He likes it, foot tapping with the beat, letting the soft tune wash over him. The silence is nice albeit heavy, he imagines there’s a barrage of questions on the tip of your tongue. A gentle giggle pulls his attention to you, “What?” 

“Nothing. Its just,” You shake your head, “I don’t know if I should be concerned or not over how little the gymnasium has changed since we went here.”  

“Oh,” His eyes sweep the entire place, amused at your remark. “You’re right. I don’t imagine they’ve been very enthusiastic about interior decoration .”  

“They really have not,” You marvel. You seem to get lost in your thoughts, pulling your back straighter. “You think they changed the bleachers outside in the field?”  

Leon locks eyes with you, unrelenting stare as he grapples with the meaning behind your words. He spent a lot of time with you on them; shyly running to you after practice, talking with you there for hours, glancing at you cheering him on during games, the summer day you two had spent there laughing and kissing before Leon had scratched the two of yours initial on its surface, sweetly outlining it with a heart. It’s not cheesy sweetheart if you’re blushing into my neck this hard.  

Leon quirks his eyebrow, matching your smile. “Let’s find out.”  

The night is cool with clear skies and a soft breeze blowing through. Leon feels ridiculous, not in the stupid sense but in the makes-him-feel-young sense. Your hand is wrapped in his instinctively, your soft palm resting against his with a practiced ease as he tugs you along with him towards the football field. The music thrums away into the background until there’s only the sound of your shared footsteps and your soft laughs echoing in the air. He can’t help but glance at you time and again, marvelling at the soft wrinkles dusting the corner of your eyes.  

He doesn’t like it when he has to let your hand go, standing between the stands as the two of you  unspokenly begin the search for the same heart shaped mark left years ago in the dim light. 

“So uh,” You say standing a little above from him in the bleachers, attention focused on the seats as you try to sound casual, “Did you come alone?”  

“Yeah,” He’s quick to reply. “My pet goldfish gets really motion sick on planes.” He pretends to search for a while. “You?”  

You hum in reply. “I don’t think ex-husbands are too big on attending their ex-wife’s high-school reunion.”  

Leon turns towards you to see you staring at him already, fiddling with your ring-less finger. “Dead?” 

“Divorced.” 

“When?” 

“Few years ago.”  

“Why?” 

“He got his secretary pregnant.”  

Leon blinks, scoffing and surprised at the spark of anger that ignites in him. “What an absolute piece of shit.”  

You laugh. “Yeah.”  

The two of you go back to searching, a lightness on your shoulders now. He relaxes too, the stiffness disappearing from his back. “I thought a lot about you. Thought you’d have your white picket fence house by now. It’s...why I never reached out to you.”  

You bite your lip, smiling at the memory. “It’s okay Leon, really. The white picket fence seems like a lifetime ago now. Seems a bit silly honestly.”  

“It’s not what you want?”  

“I don’t know. A lot’s changed since we last spoke. I’ve learnt it’s better to let things happen as they are.”  

“Not taking chances anymore?”  

You look up at him, a sweet smile as you share a knowing look. “No, I’m taking them as they present themselves.”  

Leon’s stomach does that flipping motion again, sweat collecting on the back of his neck. He mentally notes to buy Hunnigan the snack she likes so much too. They resume their search, beckoning the other to their spot as they find something funny or worthy to see. It’s fun, his worries melting away as he laughs away the night with you. But that heart is nowhere to be found, tired of squinting.  

“Ugh, this low lighting isn’t really helping,” You sigh, trailing back to where he’s stood.  

“Maybe some extra help then.” He pats the front of his jacket, digging into his inner pocket and then brandishing out his flip phone nonchalantly. You stare at it for a second, watch him as he flips it open and then burst into laughter.  

“What?” He asks in disbelief, watching you wheeze with amusement. 

“Wow,” You manage to choke out, “Well no wonder its so hard to reach you. Does your phone even have an email app?”  

“It works fine for me,” He grumbles, hoping you can’t see how scarlet he is under the night sky.  

“No, no,” You grin at him, pinching his cheeks. “It’s cute.”  

Leon almost jumps at your fingers connecting with his cheek, inadvertently leaning into your touch. You still, realisation hitting you of what you’re doing. But you don’t stop. Your fingers splay out, hesitantly cupping the side of his face. Leon watches you carefully, trying his best to control his breathing. You shudder as the bottom of your hand grazes against his stubble, thumb slowly caressing against his skin. Leon shuts his eyes under your soft touch, a sigh leaving his lips. 

He holds your wrist, keeping your hand against his cheek, bringing you close to him by your waist. His eyes don’t stray from yours, keeping you in place. Your eyes glaze over, a sheen in them as they collect water.  

“Hi.” You whisper.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispers back. 

“You look old,” You laugh, the sound mixing with a sob. 

“So do you.” He hums back, fondly brushing your hair back from your face.  

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in. “Where were you? I waited for you for so long.”  

He pulls back to see you properly, tilting  your face up by a hand under your chin. He leans in, lips brushing over yours. You push yourself up on your toes, lips connecting with his. You feel so impossibly warm against him, lips slotting against his seamlessly. He breathes you in, tastes you deeply, gripping you against his body like he never plans on letting you go. You gasp against his lips as he steals your breath and noises.  

He pulls away just an inch, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, not daring to loosen his hold on you. “Not going anywhere now, sweetheart.” 

[mooooonnnzz]

The Lamp Is Low // Neteyam x gn!reader

💙 You and Neteyam’s relationship headcannons 

the title has no correlation to the story 

had nothing else to call it so i named it after a song i was listening to while making this LMFAO

reader is gender neutral AS ALWAYYSS

neteyam is addicted to readers kisses fr

did not proofread I APOLOGIZE FOR MISTAKES

1k words

ALSO MY REQUESTS R OPEN RN SEND REQUEST (would love to see sum neteyam requests and some for lo’ak AND KIRI TOO NEED MORE KIRI CONTENT)

you kiss neteyam way too much

at least thats what lo’ak says, but how could you not?? 

neteyam had such a kissable face, how could you resist?

neteyam loves it though. 

the feeling of your feathery kisses littering his face made his heart full. he literally begs u for more kisses, like he can’t get enough 

♡ Your soft lips pressed against his forehead then his cheeks. “Be safe, Neteyam.” You placed one last kiss on his lips, a parting gift to take with him as he trains with his father. Neteyam’s tail wagged happily behind him, smiling brightly at you. “One more?” He asked. You shook your head affectionately and kissed his lips once more. “One more and I’ll go.” Neteyam said, closing his eyes and leaning closer to your face. “Neteyam.” You scolded playfully. You couldn’t ignore his request so you did as told, you gave Neteyam the kiss he was practically begging for. You patted his chest with your hand, pushing him away from you. “Okay, now go!” Neteyam stayed rooted in his place, a bashful smile on his face. “One more kiss?” 

my man is always deprived of your kisses he needs ur lips constantly on his face or he dies 

he has told u this once, like he was so fr he was like

♡ “You have to give me another kiss or I die.” He said randomly after you gave him a kiss on his lips. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “You are going to die?” You repeat slowly, watching how Neteyam nods his head vigorously, like if he nodded any slower he was going to be knocked out dead. You weren’t going to give in and give him that kiss. He’s had enough of them, any more you’re sure your lips would fall off. “You don’t have enough time Neteyam, you must go.” You say. Neteyam looks at you then suddenly gasps dramatically, his hand slapping against his chest. “I think I’m dying!” He rasped out, flopping his body against yours. You just stared at him, looking at him unamused. He opened one eye and then the other, huffing out, he whispered. “You are supposed to kiss me to bring me back to life.” You puckered out your lips, eyes narrowing as you pretended to think about what Neteyam just said. “I don’t think I will.” You said. Now this time, Neteyam’s gasp was real. He shot up and he genuinely looked so hurt.  “What? How could y–” You shut him with a kiss. You separated and you pushed him away. “You better not come back!” You say. “I make no promises!” 

you patch neteyam up whenever he comes back injured from whatever he was doing 

he sometimes gets hurt on purpose so he could feel your fingers graze his skin 

lo’ak had witnessed neteyam “accidently trip” on the roots of the trees just so he could have a scraped knee

its actually so embarrassing 

♡ “Bro, you are not fooling anyone.” Lo’ak said, crossing his arms over his chest. Neteyam got up from the floor, brushing the dirt and grime that stuck to his legs. “I’m fooling y/n, though.” 

is he though?? 

♡ “For Ewya’s sake, do you fight with your eyes closed?!” You gently pat down one of Neteyam’s gashes on his back dry. “How do you manage to come home everyday with a new injury?” Dipping your two fingers in the healing paste you cultivated earlier while the boys were out, you delicately glided the ointment along Neteyam’s wounds. His ears flickered, a hiss left his lips. “That hurts!” He said through clenched teeth. “Oh, so now you are complaining about the pain?” 

okay at first, he did fool you but after a few times of him coming back with a bleeding leg or arm, you figured he was doing it on purpose 

whenever Neteyam has a rough day or has been chewed out by his dad, he always comes to you to be at peace

you tend to rebraid his hair while adding more beads to his collection

he has said that it helps calm him down 

you also message his head he absolutely LOVES IT

♡ Your fingers intricately worked with each strand of Neteyam’s hair. Crossing the strands over each other, you woven each strand into a braid. Digging your fingers into the bowl full of beads, you plucked a few out, ornamenting each braid with a bead of their own. “How have you been?” You ask, fingers gliding down his newly done braid. A satisfied smile was pulled onto your lips, fingers rolling the stray bead that you had found on the grassy floor. “The best I can be.” Neteyam vaguely responded. You knew he wasn’t telling you the truth, he wasn’t the best at lying. You dropped the bead back into the bowl with a sigh. Throughout the whole time you have been braiding his hair, Neteyam has been cold and quiet. Only uttering a few words to you when needed. A stark contrast from how he usually acts. You threaded your fingers through his hair. “How was the hunt with your father?” You watch as Neteyam’s body physically tenses at the mention of his hunt. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” He lies straight through his teeth, his fingers anxiously wrapping themselves around the grass. “Neteyam.” You sternly said. You got up and moved around him, sitting right in front of him. “I know when you lie.” You tell him, narrowing your eyes at him. He shrinks under your intimidating gaze, his tail flicking nervously behind him. Neteyam sighed out and finally allowed himself to open himself up. He began to explain how his father blew up on him during a hunt, how he yelled at him for not getting his aim right after various corrections from his father. After he ended his rant, you offered him a piece of your advice and what you thought about the situation. You helped him regulate his emotions and calm down. Neteyam had visibly relaxed and his mood perked up after you and him talked about it. He laid his head down on your lap. Wordlessly, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pressed the tips of them on his skull. You slowly messaged his head, fingers skillfully moving from the next point onto the next. Neteyam sighed, closing his eyes. With you by his side, he could overcome anything. 

if you wanna be in my taglist comment or dm me! <3 + my requests are open!

Taglist: @writingsbybirdie @tzurue @lokisblueskin @slaypussypop-21​

[fandomfucker]

Hey can you please write a story for me about the reader wanting to please her self well Rhea was on the plane coming home from a show. But when Rhea comes home she finds you breaking one of the rules and intense to push you.

Bonus: could the reader give Rhea some Messy oral. 

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT!! (oral, bondage, handcuffs, usage of strap-on, dildo, slight praise and degradation)

Word Count: 2,427

Reader's POV

It had been a long day, with a lot of pent-up stress and frustration. Not to mention, I had been sexually frustrated for the whole two weeks my girlfriend has been away now.

Rhea had a rule though, I could touch myself, but under no circumstances was I allowed to fill myself with anything. That was for her and her only. As far as rules go it was a pretty mild one.

I generally didn't do much of anything without her anyway and she knew that so the rules were pretty lax, but tonight just seemed like it would be one of those nights.

Getting home from work, I immediately threw my shoes towards the closet, too tired to even bother throwing them inside. My purse was placed on the counter as I happily greeted the dogs.

Having made sure that the pups were happily fed I then walked towards the master bath, deciding that a nice hot bath would do wonders.

Smelling salts, bubbles, music, and candles set the mood for me as I settled in. Closing my eyes I hummed along to the lyrics of whatever Motionless in White song was quietly playing as I thought of my girlfriend.

She was supposed to be back earlier this afternoon but had gotten held up with some work thing and now wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow or possibly the day after and I was tired of waiting.

Sliding a hand up my stomach and over the mound of my breast I gently toyed with a nipple. My other hand roamed over my thigh, drawing circles on the inside with my thumb just like Rhea would normally do.

My core began to ache and I craved my toys, which were only second best but better than nothing.

Hastily climbing out of the tub and pulling the plug for the water to drain, I dried myself off (taking care to blow out the candles) before making my way to my and Rhea's shared bedroom.

I walked over to the giant dresser, squatting down to open up the bottom drawer filled with toys.

Eventually, I landed on 'fuck the rule' and picked out a medium-sized purple dildo. It wasn't my favorite, but it would have to do until Rhea came back with her strap-on and fingers.

Feeling a little bit adventurous now, I walked over to the big mirror hanging on the wall in front of the throne in our bedroom.

Getting down on my knees, I used the suction cup on the bottom of the dildo and stuck it to the mirror.

I began to gently stroke the purple dildo before taking it into my mouth, coating it in my own saliva. I pulled back, spitting on it before massaging the spit around its girth.

Reaching down between my legs, I traced the lips of my pussy before moving inwards and beginning to rub my clit.

I thought of Rhea and how she would look between my legs, watching me get wetter and wetter for her as I got off to her. How her lips would feel on the inside of my thigh, coating me in black lipstick after winning a match.

Beginning to feel my wetness drip down my leg I turned myself away from the mirror and backed up into it, looking back just long enough to direct the dildo's tip to my entrance. I rocked back on my knees and seated myself on it.

I had now officially broken Rhea's rule but it felt so good that I couldn't just stop now.

I fucked myself on the mirror as I switched between massaging my clit and my nipples. I was beginning to feel the familiar tightening in my gut. I was so close. I kept my eyes on the carpet below me as I began to pant slightly, a light sheen coating my skin.

Suddenly my head was jerked backward, towards the sky, by the roots of my hair. My eyes watered from the slight burning pain. But there, in all her glory, stood my pissed-off girlfriend.

Immediately I stopped in my tracks, my face dropped and lost all its color. I was so fucked, and not in a good way.

"H-hey, babe." I smiled nervously up at her. She wasn't supposed to be there for at least another few hours.

"What are you doing?" She asked me rhetorically, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Nothing." I tried nonchalantly. Much to my dismay, as I said that a large droplet of my secretion slid down around the dildo, which was still fake balls deep inside of me, and hit the floor.

Unfortunately, because of just how smart I am having chosen a mirror, Rhea managed to get both a front and back row seat to just how wet I was.

Squatting down to be eye level with me, Rhea dropped the handful of hair she had fisted, now opting to grab my chin instead.

"I thought we'd talked about this." She chided disapprovingly.

I pretended to think about it for a second before innocently responding, "You know, we might've. Probably just slipped my mind."

Not liking this answer, she gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from the mirror, dislodging the dildo from my pussy where it had so graciously set up camp while I talked with Rhea.

I moaned as it slid out, slapping against the mirror wetly as it dripped with my lube. Missing its warmth I looked up at Rhea, pleading with my eyes.

"Nuh-uh." She tutted me. "You know the rules."

Sliding her hand up the back of my neck, she grabbed a fistful of hair at the roots and dragged me towards her, forcing me to stand up.

Now standing on my feet, my legs were shaking terribly. To the point where it was extremely noticeable and drew Rhea's attention.

Looking down at my trembling limbs, a small smirk grew on her face. She gently kicked one of my feet, telling me to spread my legs apart.

I did as she told me and spread my legs. I could feel my secretion, (only made worse by Rhea) as it slid between the folds of my pussy, dripping down onto the floor.

"You're such a slut. Now, is that for Mami? Or is it for that filthy cock?" Rhea growled at me, tugging my head back to look her in the eye.

I whimpered quietly in pain before answering her, "For you, Mami. Only and always you."

Rhea grinned at me and slid her hand from the roots of my hair to my neck, gripping it like a vice. Guiding me by my neck, she turned us around and walked me backward towards the bed.

The backs of my legs hit the bedframe, stopping me in my tracks as I slightly bent backward as Rhea kept coming closer.

Looking me up and down, Rhea reached her other hand up and placed it just below my belly button. Taking her time, she slid her hand further up my stomach, stopping just below my ribs before pushing me down to lay on my back on the bed.

She then tapped my knee, motioning that she wanted me further up on the bed. I followed suit, scooting up towards the top of the bed, and laying my head at the bottom of the pillows.

Rhea began to undress, never breaking her eye contact with me as she did so. She slipped off her shirt and shorts before dropping her panties, leaving her lacy black bra on.

Getting up onto the bed on her knees, she crawled forward so that she was above me. Her hands lay just above my shoulders holding her up as my hips lay between her knees.

"Since you're just so eager to please yourself, you're going to have to wait now. I'm going first." Rhea spoke lowly.

I nodded hungrily as I tried my best to maintain eye contact and keep my hands to myself.

The only thing I liked more than my own orgasms were hers, and I'd do anything to be the one giving them to her.

"Please Mami, let me pleasure you," I begged, just wanting to taste her.

Rhea ran her tongue along the edges of her teeth in thought before patting my cheek in approval.

Grabbing the pillow that was just above my head, she threw it to the floor so that there wouldn't be as many obstacles before crawling up the bed, her wet pussy now just inches from my face as she held herself above me.

"And what do you do if you need to breathe?" Rhea asked me, demanding that I answer before we keep going. She could be cruel sometimes but safety was important to her.

"Tap twice."

"Good girl," she purred, her knees sliding apart as she dropped down onto my face. My hands immediately came up to grip her tatted thighs, holding on like they were my lifeline as hers went into my hair.

I breathed in her scent as I immediately stuck my tongue out, lapping at her wetness. My nose rubbed up against her clit, causing her to moan and grip my hair harder, only encouraging me.

Wanting to please her, I stuck my tongue into her pussy and began thrusting in and out, faster and harder each time. My left hand gripped her thigh for leverage as I brought my right hand to her clit, switching between gentle and rough.

I was starting to run out of air but I'd rather die than be pulled away from her. Luckily, I could tell she was close and thrust my tongue even faster, adding in two fingers as my thumb continued to massage her clit.

Hitting her climax, Rhea exploded all over my face, her legs shaking and tightening around my head as I continued to gently lap at her, helping her ride it out.

She laid back on my stomach, her head on my thighs as I continued cleaning her up. She spread her legs further apart to give me some room to finally breathe as she caught her own breath.

I could both see and feel the strings of her cum as she was pulled away from my lips. Her having left my face a sticky mess of pleasure.

Deciding that she was clean enough, Rhea rolled off of me to sit on her knees next to my stomach.

A look of contemplation came over her face before she got up and walked over to the drawer of toys.

I lifted my head to see what she was grabbing but she was intentionally blocking my view to prevent me from doing just that.

I laid my head back down and waited for her to come back. And when she did, she held a pair of purple fuzzy handcuffs.

Smiling devilishly, she secured each of my hands into a cuff above my head before tying each of my feet to the end pillars of the bed frame using the rope that was permanently situated there.

As much as I was growing nervous as she continued tying me up, I grew excited too.

I was already so close to orgasming that just a single sensual touch from her would send me over at this point.

Hell, just having her come multiple times on or by me would make me come myself, no touches required.

Finally securing the ropes to where she wanted them, Rhea looked up at me, grinning as she saw the growing discomfort on my face.

"Use your words, Princess." She teased as she trailed the tips of her fingernails across the inside of my thigh, tracing circles as she went higher.

"Mami, please. Please, fuck me Mami." I pleaded hungrily.

I made grabby hands from where my wrists were cuffed above my head, motioning to her that I wanted her bra off.

She chuckled lowly before reaching back and unclasping it, sensually slipping it over her breasts and down her stomach before tossing it over her shoulder to the floor.

"Mami, you're teasing." I groaned in impatience and wiggled around for just the slightest bit of friction at this point.

She gripped my hip, hard, to stop me from moving, her other hand taking hold of my throat.

"No, I'm not." She stated gruffly as she harshly inserted her ring and middle finger into me with the hand that was previously holding my hip.

I gasped as her fingers entered me and immediately began pumping at a quickened pace.

Her fingers mercilessly pounded in and out of me, my gasping and whimpering only encouraging Rhea to add another finger, going even harder and faster.

She never failed to make me a writhing, moaning mess. And I was so close. "Mami, please. I'm almost there." I moaned, begging her.

Suddenly, Rhea fully stopped everything she was doing and pulled her fingers out of me. I whined at the loss of contact after being so fucking close to coming and looked at her in confusion and desperation.

"What? You didn't really think you'd get away that easy did you?" She questioned me. "Close your eyes."

Begrudgingly, I did as she said and closed my eyes. Not two minutes later I felt her hoist up my legs by the back of my thighs, along with her using her fingers to slightly stretch my opening again. 

My eyes flew open as I felt something much bigger than her fingers be inserted into me. I looked to where Rhea was and my mouth watered as I saw her kneeling in front of me, my legs propped around her hips, on the bed, wearing her strap-on. I threw my head back, closing my eyes in ecstasy as she tore into me, fucking me hard and fast with her strap. 

"Mami, I'm close," I whined. I always had to have her permission to come and I was ready and wanting.

Rhea smirked at me as she picked up the pace, bringing one of her hands up to massage my clit. "Go ahead, Sweetheart." With the added stimulation on my clit I came almost immediately after being given permission. My legs shook violently as Rhea slowed down a bit, helping me ride it out. I gasped for air as my orgasm ripped it out of my lungs.

She began to untie my legs before climbing on top of me to undo the handcuffs.

I stared up at her in awe as she did so, still trying to catch my breath.

She noticed my staring and got off me, opting to sit next to me instead. Brushing a piece of hair off my sticky forehead she leaned down, mere centimeters from my lips. "If you're going to pleasure yourself when I'm not home, at least next time facetime me. Yeah?"

I nodded my head at her, agreeing to anything and everything she could ever say, relishing in the sweet kiss she gave me in response. Maybe I should break the rules more often.

[sturniolo04]

I Don't Know Why I'm Crying C.S.

Bf!Chris x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

Having a youtuber boyfriend and bestfriends definitely had its pros and cons. You and Chris had been dating for a little over a year, which was the part of the relationship where you two have become very comfortable with pranking each other on a daily basis which has opted you both into the ongoing prank war you were currently in. Which leads you to now, sitting in front of your boyfriends desk whispering into the vlog camera, you asked nick for telling him you were pranking Chris today.

"ignore the singing in the back but-"

you trail off whispering into the camera as you fall silent in your thought hearing the shower and Chris singing along to whatever song he had playing in there with him.

"anyway so i am going to be pranking chris today by randomly crying and getting randomly sad about literally anything-"

you state into the camera in front of you making frequent shifting eye contact with the bathroom door to make sure Chris doesn't catch you in your sneaky act.

"and we have a busy day today too so this should be good but we are getting ready to meet up with Tara and film with her and then probably go to lunch before heading over to their parents house to hang out with them and Nate maybe-"

you state simply closing out your introduction to the video which ironically was going to be uploaded on the Triplets channel on Friday

A few minutes passed and by this time both and and you chris made your way upstairs to be greeted by Matt on the couch and Nick in the kitchen, both on their phones.

"good morning weirdos"

Nick greets you two panning the vlog camera that was already recording seeing that you guys were the last ones to get ready for the day given really Chris' late sleeping schedule.

"i think you mean good afternoon condsidering it is-"

Matt corrects Nick flipping his phone to the pair displaying his cute lockscreen with his girlfriend on their 5 month anniversary, making you smile a little because she was you best friend and how you two ended up dating a pair of brothers was beyond you guys.

"2:15pm in the afternoon"

matt states finishing his statement and point he was making resulting in an eyeroll from chris

"shut the fuck up dude like-"

chris replies to his brother turning on his heels making his way downstairs to the car.

We finally made it to Tara's house, all hoping in her new car her ex-boyfriend got her a few days ago, getting ready to film a video for her channel.

"hello guys welcome back to my channel today we are stuck in a car with-"

she trails off as you all scream in unison announcing your presence.

"oh my god it's the triplets and my bestie"

she exclaims reaching back and linking you guys hands.

As you all got into the main parts about Tara's video you were helping her film you decided to create the first incident which was going to essentially be the start of the random crying outbursts for the day. You allow yourself to zone out of the conversation thinking of the most tragic and sad thing you could think of to put yourself into a fit of tears.

"hey you okay"

chris whispers to you noticing how you fell super silent as he turned his head acknowledging your emotion shift, which resulting in you just nodding you head. Chris was most often times the one who always knew not only when you were upset but also would be able to acknowledge when he did something to make you upset so this was definitely going to throw him off when it is just random.

" hey what do you think about this"

Nick questions you as everyone's attention turns to you. You continuing to let yourself fall down the rabbit hole of the sad thoughts that you were making up In your mind to get you to the point of crying.

"um-"

you trail off sniffling a little feeling like the tears could start flowing at any second, running a shaky hand through the ends of your hair seeing you had already styled it for the day and god forbid you mess it up already with this prank, falling silent again.

"are you okay love"

tara finally asks as everyone's eyes remain fixated on you.

"im sorry i just"

you finally get out as the tears start rolling down your cheeks as you open the car door hopping out, walking to the nearest curb to sit on In the empty parking lot you guys were parked in, leaving everyone worried.

"what was the about"

matt asks looking a chris as if to ask if her and him got into a disagreement earlier which resulting in this mood, which resulted him in shrugging his shoulder with him honestly not knowing whats up.

"is she okay i feel bad"

tara states honestly looking out the side window to see you with your hands on your face 'sobbing' your heart out.

"chris go check on her for real"

nick states as he looks over tara's shoulder seeing you still in a fit of tears. Chris climbs out of the car making his way over to his girlfriend.

"hey my love whats going on"

he asks kneeling in front of her placing his hands comfortably on her calves.

"im fine chris"

you reply agressively wiping your tears to act like nothing is wrong, which in reality nothing is wrong.

'you dont look fine"

chris responds his pale blue orbs gazing up at your face, seeing the denial written all over your face, slowly running his palms up and down on your bare calves seeing you were wearing a sports skirt today the skirt he absolutely adored on you, which also happened to be in his favorite color, orange.

"I am it was nothing i dont know why I started crying it was so stupid"

you mumble out picking at freshly manicured nails letting out a deep sigh.

" you know you can tell me"

he replys to you maintaining his concerned/worried gaze towards you.

" i know im fine it's nothing"

you sigh out seeing you stopped the tears.

"promise"

he questions as you simply nod your head in response. You and Chris finally head back into Tara's car.

" you okay babes"

Tara asks as everyone shifts their focus back to you once you two got back in the car.

"yeah sorry it was stupid im fine we can finish filming"

you reply back as Nick makes subtle eye contact with Chris to see if he really believes everything is okay knowing how he is.

it has know been an hour or so and by this time you all had finished filming with Tara and headed to go and get lunch. You guys had ordered you food and deciding ultimately you guys wanted to eat in the van in a random parking lot. You had ordered something simple and normally when you order food it almost never comes back incorrect in quality but today your order was definitely 'incorrect' which gave you another opportunity to have another crying fit for no apparent reason to confuse your boyfriend and his brothers even more.

You let out a huge exasperated sigh, definitely catching everyone's attention.

"you okay, whats wrong"

matts asks looking at you through the rearview mirror

"nothing"

you huff out clearly still emotionally about something.

"you sure"

nick questions you noticing you simply playing with your food rather than eating it.

" did they fuck up your order"

he states asking the different question considered he noticed your simple act with your food.

"GOD yes"

you exclaim dragging the 's' out beginning to let the tears fall.

"that like never happens"

you continue to exclaim placing your head in your hands continuing to cry.

"hey its okay we can ask to get it fixed"

matt reassures you, turning in his seat as nick does the same as everyone fixates their focus on you.

"hey you dont have to cry about it whats going on with you? you have been crying pretty much all day randomly"

nick states honestly looking a Chris.

"yeah whats going on did chris do something?"

matt follows up.

"baby is it that time like you don't cry this much ever"

chris mumbles fixing his gaze on you seated next to him.

"CHRIS"

nick exclaims shcoked that was even a question that came out of his mouth exchanging a shocked looks with Matt in the front.

"what the fuck chris no"

you exclaim responding to your boyfriend almost wanting to giggle and end the prank there but continuing with the act.

"what sorry but its not like you to cry ever hour like"

chris defends running a hand through your messy hair seeing you took it down from the half up half down style you had it in earlier.

"i know"

you state simply letting a out a sigh leaning into Chris' touch.

"so do you want to get your food fixed"

nick questions you again resulting in you shaking you head 'no'.

'okay then are we ready to head over to mom and dads then"

matt asks everyone as he begins to start the car to head in that direction as everyone simultaneously agrees.

You guys finally made it to their parents house which was only about 15 minutes away from where we were earlier, standing at door waiting for someone to answer.

"you want take a nap after we say hi to everyone"

chris whispers to you resting his forehead on your temple after placing a kiss to it. You just simply nod agreeing to his ask.

"oh my goodness hi"

matt's girlfriend screams greeting them immediately jumping up in his arms, him catching her with his hands landing on her ass.

"oh my goodness hi"

he exclaims mocking her.

'i missed you"

she breathes out as she leans her forehead on his, resulting in Nick clearing his throat.

"hey there hate to break up the love fest but can yall like move out of the door way so we can come in, well so I can go see mom and dad"

nick states with a eye roll as matt's girlfriend giggles.

"nick fuck off"

matt huffs out frustrated with the simple request, resulting in his girlfriend gasping at his response to his brother, smakcing him softly on the shoulder.

"be nice and move"

she replies as matt rolls his eyes complying, proceeding to make his way into the house with his girlfriend still in his grasp into the kitchen.

"hey you guys"

marylou greets as you all entered the kitchen giving nick a hug first and continuing on with chris and you.

"hi mom"

chris mumbles out into the hug they were sharing.

"are you not going to give me a hug or just continue to hug you girlfriend"

marylou giggles out to her middle child. Matt chuckles out letting his girlfriend drop to her feet, hugging his mom.

"howdy mama"

matt finally chuckles out.

'your dad is in the living room If you guys want to go see him"

she states out simply as the boys start heading in that direction.

"hey girly pop how are you"

matts girlfriend greets you hugging you. You need to tell someone you have been pranking chris all day and not being able to tell some one was killing you.

"um so i have been pranking chris all day"

"what how so"

she exclaims quietly so they dont hear her.

" i have been crying randomly"

you giggle out.

"does not know yet when are you going to tell him"

she asks

"i am soon i think i am going to have another random burst of tears and then yeah"

you reply simply.

You guys have all made your to a quiet comfortable vibe in the living room watching some random movie Im pretty sure nick chose. Matt and his girlfriend were cuddled up on the far end of the couch while nick was sat in a chair with men and chris sharing the other end of the couch. I wasn't really interested in the movie which resulted in me being on my phone, trying to figure out when to start my next random crying outburst.

A few minutes pass from me scrolling on my phone and both Marylou and Jimmy found comfort as well in the living room. You begin to let out subtle sniffles. Chris gazes up at you seeing hie was resting his head in your lap.

"baby"

he exclaims dragging out the 'y' sitting up and catching everyone's attention as you being sobbing more uncontrollably.

"oh my goodness whats wrong sweetie"

marylou exclaims coming over sitting next to you on the couch running the palm of her hand up and down your arm as you continue to sob.

"whats wrong"

jimmy asks looking at the boys as matts girlfriend stays quiet knowing what really going on.

"i dont know she has been acting like this all day"

Chris states simply

"Nick go get her some water please"

marylou asks a he gets up pausing the movie heading into the kitchen

"breathe sweetie okay talk to me"

marylou says comforting you as you placing you head in you hands resting them on top of your knees as nick returns with your water.

"baby are you sure your not"

chris asks the same question he asked earlier as his face morphs into a confused one as you start giggling out of no where.

"what is happening"

matt asks confused.

"it was a prank you guys"

you giggle out

"what are you kidding"

nick exclaims as you look over to chris as his face drops in relief.

"we were really worried about you"

chris sighs out.

"im sorry and im sorry marylou and jimmy as well"

you giggle out as they simply chuckle along with you.

"dude i thought it was your time of month from how random you were crying"

chris chuckles out scratching the back of his head, as marylou gasps reaching over and playfully smacks the back of her youngest's head.

"chris you never ask a girl that"

his dad states chuckling.

"i know i just didnt know why she was acting like that; dad she literally cried because her food was messed up"

chris defends.

"yeahh but in all seriousness on that note I have been PMSing all day so I might start it tomorrow"

you mumble out as chris chuckles.

"see i know my girlfriend guys"

he exclaims grabbing you and resting her head on his lap with you giggling at his response.

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @dirtylittleheart333 @wh0resstuff @spicymuffins03

@aaliyahsturn @stayingstromboli

[emeraldenha]

MIXTAPES.

pairing: idol bf!taesan x gn!reader | genre: idol au, established relationship, fluff, slight angst | w/c: +1k words | warnings: overworking, reader is a college student

You always wished the two of your schedules would align better than this.

Not that you weren’t well aware of the hardships of dating an idol. It wasn’t designed to be easy. Rather, it was anything but easy.

Just when your boyfriend, Taesan, got the day off, it happened to be the day in which you were bombarded with due dates from all your college courses.

So here you were, slouched across your desk, fingers glued to your keyboard, while Taesan was sitting on the edge of your bed offhandedly brainstorming lyrics onto his notes app. You felt guilty for boring him and making him wait, but he insisted that anything was fine as long as the both of you were together. Even if that only entailed being in the same room.

“When do you think you’ll be done?”

It isn’t until then that you notice he’s no longer positioned by your bed and is instead standing directly behind you, hunching to the point where his chin ghosts over the top of your head.

“I’ll be done soon enough! I just have to power through it,” you promise.

Taesan rests his hands on the back of your chair and observes you for a moment as you continue working, gradually losing focus of the words jumbled on the screen before staring off into space.

“Hey, I love you and everything but I get a little self conscious when you’re peering over my shoulder like that. It makes it a little hard to concentrate,” you hesitantly comment, lips curled up slightly to signal that you weren’t really mad or annoyed. You just needed to get things turned in so you could spend actual quality time with your boyfriend.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. He shuffles his feet until he’s leaning against the open door frame. “Do you need anything? Snacks, water…?”

“I’m okay,” you reply dismissively, already back to being immersed in your studies.

Taesan leaves your bedroom to find where he left his bag in your apartment. Spotting it on the couch, he searches through the front compartment until he pulls out what he’s been meaning to give you for weeks now. Headphones, check. Cassette player, check. Mixtape #1, check. Carefully taking the mixtape out of its case and plopping it into the player, Taesan’s face heats up by the sheer embarrassment of gifting this to you. However, he knows that whatever he can do to make you happy will squander his embarrassment any day.

Getting caught up in his busy lifestyle, sometimes it takes him a bit longer to realize just how hard you have it too. You work yourself to the bone yet are so patient and understanding when it comes to him. He wants to be there for you, much more than he physically can be.

When he reenters the room, he sees your lips pursed, eyebrows stitched together by a needle of stress. It’s the kind of expression you make when you’re stuck.

Taesan isn’t sure if he should bother you again but decides that it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

Pressing play and setting the device aside, he tucks your hair behind your ears before placing the headphones right over them. His hands then linger to brush through the strands of your hair, as if your inability to hear has somehow obstructed your other senses too. You let him off the hook this time. The gesture is thankfully more calming than distracting.

“Ah, Oasis, right?” You instantly recognize the voice and melody of the song despite not being able to put your finger on it. “Which album is this again?”

Taesan loves sharing music with you, and it’s a passion of his that you’re glad he’s introduced you to, because it consumes such a big part of his life that you like being a part of as well. Though despite having his favorite songs and artists, he rarely ever shows you the same song twice. It’s always something new.

You also never miss out on supporting his own group’s releases, spending time on the phone just to let him point out the lyrics he wrote or any other insider facts from song to choreography to music video shooting. It’s like a whole other world from how he describes it.

But when he admittedly gets sick of hearing the same songs over and over again in the practice room, he’s listening to the thousands of other songs on his playlist for hours before he goes to sleep. He makes sure to send you one by the end of the night, and he plays it as soon as you’ve seen the text so it’s like you’re there listening to it with him. He also has a collection of vinyls—vinyls that’d be all worn out if he didn’t keep them in such pristine condition—stacked away in his dorm, and even a small bundle of slightly lesser used cassettes, which you’re assuming is what he brought for you today in his portable, faded blue cassette player.

“Oh, it’s not an album actually,” he answers, nervously blurting out the words before he can stumble over them. “It’s a mixtape.”

“For me?” You point to yourself, eyes wide in surprise.

He gives you a shy nod. “It’s nothing, really. Just some songs that remind me of you.”

Songs that remind him of you.

Trying not to reveal how flustered you are by the statement, you swivel your chair away from him and face down at the desk. “Thank you.”

He hums, even though he knows you can’t hear him over the blaring drums and guitars kicking in.

But despite that, you can still sense his gaze on you, so looking over your shoulder, you give him a soft smile and say, “I love you.”

As you turn back around, Taesan is finally able to take his eyes off you, letting himself lie back all the way on your bed with a peaceful sigh.

“Love you,” he whispers to the ceiling, because although you still can’t hear him, the words will always reach you anyway. Whether said or unsaid or sung in song, his love will always reach you.

main masterlist

[adverbally]

Scarred for Life

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day fourteen prompt “bats” | wc: 724 | rated: T | cw: canon-typical violence and trauma | tags: established relationship, Eddie’s tattoos, coping with trauma | title from the song by Rose Tattoo

———

Steve delicately traces his fingertips along the lines of Eddie’s tattoo.

It’s a lazy Sunday where neither of them has anywhere to be. They’ve dozed through most of the morning, cat naps interrupted by gentle touches that never seem to escalate. It’s easy to rest in the cozy space they’ve created together, warm and held and cocooned together in Steve’s bed.

With his head pillowed on Eddie’s shoulder, Steve can’t help but get distracted by the ink decorating his body. He’s never been a particular fan of tattoos, but they suit Eddie– dark on his pale skin, macabre but artistic, spindly lines and patchy shading speaking to their amateur application but still making a statement. There’s just one that Steve hasn’t grown fond of.

The cluster of bats on Eddie’s forearm is no less aesthetically pleasing than any of his other tattoos, but Steve finds he can’t look at it for long. One bat might have been okay, even a couple. But six? Six is far too many. Six suggests even more bats not far behind, swirling in a screeching cloud, swooping in to attack, to bite, swarming Eddie while Steve screams his throat raw– 

“You okay?” Eddie murmurs. Half-asleep, his fingers absently rake through Steve’s hair. His other arm rests with his palm on his chest, putting his forearm neatly within Steve’s line of sight. He can’t help but touch even though the bats repulse him.

“How can you stand to look at them?” Steve asks after a moment.

Eddie blinks his eyes open in concern. He frowns, processing the question now that he’s fully awake. “The bats?”

“Yeah.” Even though it’s just the two of them and Steve knows Eddie would never make fun of him for this, his voice is still small and embarrassed. 

“I, um.” Eddie adjusts his position, shifting down so he and Steve are face to face. “I couldn’t, at first. I would wake up from a nightmare and I would see it and…” He shakes his head. “It was like I couldn’t escape them. I was already stuck with the scars they gave me, so the tattoo was just one more reminder of what happened.”

Steve’s voice is still a little croaky from sleep when he asks, “But they don’t bother you now?”

“Not really. The scars do, sometimes, when they itch or get sore, but the tattoo has been healed for ages. Since I don’t feel it, I don’t notice it as much, and it feels more like a part of me. Like it was supposed to be here, you know?” Eddie settles a hand on Steve’s hip. “I think it means something different now, after everything. I’m here, and the demobats aren’t. So I guess it kind of became a sign that I survived. I won.” 

It shifts Steve’s world on its axis, hearing that. They did win. The demobats disappeared when they defeated Vecna. But more importantly, Eddie is here in bed with him right now instead of rotting away in Hawkins’ cemetery. Steve is here with the man he loves instead of laying dead on the dry lakebed in the Upside Down. If Steve thinks of Eddie’s tattoo as a symbol of that success, rather than as a threat, those six bats don’t seem so sinister. 

He doesn’t say anything remotely as coherent as that, just a thoughtful, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Takes some practice to switch your perspective like that, but I think it’s worth it to be able to look at my own arm without having a panic attack,” Eddie says lightly, though Steve hears the truth beneath those words. 

He cranes his neck to kiss Eddie in a sleepy, uncoordinated collision of lips. “You’re incredible,” he tells him, mostly to watch the blush that stains his cheeks.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Eddie murmurs. He pauses for a moment before he decides, “I think our mutual awesomeness deserves some pancakes for breakfast, hm?” and vaults out of bed to grab his boxers off the bedroom floor on his way to the kitchen.

“As long as you’re cooking them, sure,” Steve agrees easily, already stretching in preparation to get out of bed. 

Eddie’s laugh echoes back to Steve from down the hallway. Such a simple pleasure he almost didn’t get to experience.

Maybe Steve will get a bat tattoo of his own one day.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

if you have time i would love to see what you do with prompt number #5 “i can’t believe i married you” with geraskier please!! i feel like geralt would say this when jaskier is being silly and ridiculous but also jaskier would use it when geralt gives him only one good morning kiss instead of two lol. but only if you have time!!!! 💖✨💖✨

Jaskier is still half-asleep as he shuffles to the fridge, his eyes bleary and unfocused after a late night of composing. Hoping for a few slices of last night’s leftover pizza, he opens the fridge, only to let out a little shriek of surprise when he finds a pair of bulbous eyes staring back at him.

“Geralt!” he yelps. “What the fresh fuck is in our fridge?”

His witcher appears in the doorway, already dressed and ready for the day. “A drowner head.”

“Right, good,” Jaskier says. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck is it in our fridge?”

“It didn’t fit in the freezer.”

“Geralt!”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “Its brains are useful for potions. I’m going to harvest them later.”

“Not in our kitchen, you’re not.”

“Would you prefer the bedroom?”

“Geralt, I swear to Melitele, if you get drowner brains on the duvet—” Seeing the grin on Geralt’s face, Jaskier breaks off, scowling. “I cannot believe I married you.”

“Hm. Jask, we’re not married.”

Ah, right. They’ve been together so long, Jaskier forgets that sometimes. Their friends and family are always complaining that they act like an old married couple anyway. “And if you keep putting drowner heads in the fridge, we won’t be!”

Geralt comes to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. “Go take a shower and I’ll make coffee and deal with the drowner.”

“You’ll make the coffee before you touch drowner brains, right? Avoid cross-contamination?”

“Drowner brains are good for you. Protein.”

Jaskier huffs and turns on his heel to leave the kitchen. “I want a divorce.”

“Again, not married.”

Jaskier starts up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Then we should get married just so I can divorce you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” Jaskier makes it to the top of the stairs, then pauses, registering what they just said, and turns around. “Geralt?”

From downstairs, there’s the rumble of Geralt’s answering hum. “Hm?”

“Did we just get engaged?”

“I think that’s traditionally what comes before marriage and divorce.”

Jaskier hurries back down the stairs so fast that he nearly trips over his own two feet. He finds Geralt standing right where he left him in front of the fridge. “Do you really want to get married?”

Geralt looks at him like he’s started singing in gnomish. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Jaskier lets out an exasperated laugh. “Geralt, my love, this is one of those things where I’m going to need an unequivocal yes or no from you.”

Geralt leans against the front of the fridge, frowning slightly. “I never thought you wanted to get married.”

“What?” Jaskier is bewildered. “When did I say that?”

“Back when you were dating Vespula.”

“Geralt, I was twenty-two when I dated Vespula! That was nearly a decade ago! Of course I didn’t want to get married.” Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. “I never thought you wanted to get married. All that witchers walk alone bullshit.”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “I think that ship has sailed by now, Jask. I think it sailed about five minutes after we met.”

“Well yes, probably,” Jaskier says. “So, Geralt, will you marry me?”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through just so you can divorce me over drowner brains.”

“Darling, you should know by now that it’s going to take more than drowner brains to get rid of me. I told you when we first moved in together and I’ll tell you now, you’re stuck with me.”

“Romantic.”

“You know you love it.”

Geralt’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of Jaskier’s nose. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The few times Jaskier has pictured proposing to Geralt, he’s imagined grand gestures: singing a love song in front of a crowded stadium of fans, holding a sign as he jumped out a plane, a moonlight boat ride and a four-string quartet. But standing with Geralt in the kitchen, still in his boxers with a drowner’s head in their fridge, somehow feels more right than any of those fantasies.

They just hold each other for a moment before Jaskier pulls away. “Want to go get breakfast to celebrate?”

Geralt’s eyes are soft with fondness as he watches him. “Did you propose just for an excuse to go get pancakes and mimosas?”

“Like I need an excuse to get pancakes and mimosas.” Jaskier is smiling stupidly. “Let me go get showered. I can be ready in twenty minutes.”

“See you in an hour.” 

“Har.” Jaskier turns and hurries up the steps. In the bathroom, he draws back the shower curtain, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his shriek at what he finds inside. “Geralt!”

“What?” Geralt calls from downstairs.

“What the fuck is in our shower?”

“Oh,” Geralt says. “That’s the rest of the drowner.”

“Excellent. Just so you know, I’ve changed my mind about that divorce!”

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[shortnotsweet]

APPLES IN THE SKY (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [1] [2] [3] [4]

[ Henry’s face is unreadable. In the background, desert mountains and vegetation rush past. Smoke rises in the distance, backlighting ambiguous red shapes that could be plant life, flaming crosses, or even ominous figures. The camera cuts to the back of the car with the invalid license plate reading “HERO”, speeding towards a red horizon. Ray twists back in his seat with a smile, reflected in the lens of Henry’s sunglasses. In the review mirror, Henry’s expression is contemplative. The shot pans to a bird’s eye view of the car eating up highway miles. ]

Charli XCX’s “Apple” from BRAT (2024): “I guess the apple could turn yellow or green. I know there's lots of different nuances to you and to me—I wanna grow the apple, keep all the seeds, but I can't help but get so angry you don't listen to me. To the airport—the airport.”

PANEL NOTES:

The smoke is an implication of wildfires in the surrounding area, which Henry and Ray simply drive past because there’s nothing else to do. Maybe those days are behind them. Maybe they’re just not adept in the art of firefighting, and the bigness of a wildfire is too rural or too raw for them to even adress. I think there’s a sort of irony to it, and it’s either heroes ignoring a disaster past their prime or simple not caring; they’re speeding off into an undefined future and therefore no longer grappling with apathy, but sliding into it. Thus, the road is interpreted as a junction between natural conflict running its course and urban obligation.

This was vaguely inspired, albeit not lifted directly, from my millionth or so reread of “Cuticle Tear” by atbash on AO3. Granted, it takes place in a broken-down truck and is not needlessly melodramatic, but AO3 user atbash does more with obligatory dialogue and omitted assumptions than I could do in 20 panels or so.

Specifically, the lyric “‘cause I’ve been looking at you so long now I only see me. I wanna throw the apple into the sky, feels like you never understand me, so I just wanna drive…” struck me as somewhat in line with the feeling—and example—I got from the fic.

Of course, neither yellow or green are used in the actual color palette, but the song carries themes of intertwined identity and generational effects passed down. I think Ray has imparted a lot of the best and worst things about himself to Henry, through the means of their friendship, professional, and mentor relationship. He’s not his dad. It’s worse, almost, that he’s not, because then it would at least be hereditary.

“Apple” is my favorite BRAT (2024) song right now, so of course it’s stuck in my head; I think there’s a flippant, escapist quality to it and can imagine two friends listening to it on the highway, checking out, but also—there’s not quite a realization, more like an unspoken feeling that what you are is a product. And it’s someone else’s fault. And when you look at each other, you’re seeing something else, or maybe you’re trying to. There’s something distantly escapist and obviously upbeat about the song, but there’s a disdain there, too.

It’s hardly visible, but the license plate on the car reads “HERO” singular, which is invalid but implies they have either a fake plate or Swellview is just so strange that their town itself has exceptions as to how they’re issued, again violating the laws and conventional physics of surrounding territory. They’re a weird exception, as always, and they’re getting away with it.

Their identities are so intertwined at this point that theyre conflated, so there’s an obligatory ego flattening going on as well as an erasure of both or one of them—most likely Henry’s—to accommodate. You might call it being a teammate, although how Henry feels about it after all this time is unsure.

Ray did this to him, the good and the bad doesn’t matter; it’s the fact that he did it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Between the Lines 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, Lee is rude, customer service triggers. and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Lee Bodecker

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

‘So no one told you life was gonna be this way…’

You nearly clap to the theme song stuck in your head. You resist and continue your patrol of the aisle. The lyrics are oddly poignant as you traverse the bookstore. Two degrees and this is what you’re left with. This is far from what you expected.

You don’t hate the job, only the customers. Sometimes. You love books and when you got the call, you were all too happy to trade in your Starbucks apron for collared shirts and dark slacks. As much as you miss the free drinks, you’re more confident around literature.

You come down the main aisle of the store, around the tables in the middle with stacks of best-sellers and promotions, as a woman enters. She’s striking in her pencil skirt and sleek cinched trench coat. Her hair is immaculately highlighted blonde and gold and highlights her beauty. She doesn’t see you in her hurry, surpassing you for the Biography section.

Another customer follows her in the door. He looks after her as he stops just inside. Your curiosity stitches in your forehead. He’s rather intent on trailing her. His jacket has a star pinned on its chest; a cop.

Oh, shoot. Not another thief. You go to greet the officer, “hello, sir, can I help you?”

“Nah, thanks,” he waves you off, his knuckles nearly hit you in the cheek.

You back up and let him pass. You could be wrong but you can’t risk shrink on your shift. Not again. You casually head in the same direction, pretending to fix some book spines as you peer down the aisle where the woman looks back and forth elusively. Hmmm.

You stride towards her and put on your best smile, “hello, miss, is there something I can help you with?”

She looks at you, almost breathless, “um, do you have a bathroom?”

She cranes to peek over her shoulder again. She shudders as if disgusted. You hear the cop down the next row, slowly pacing. You point her towards the back. You don’t see how she could be hiding anything, her jacket is open and her purse isn’t that big.

She hurries off, heels tapping, as she escapes towards the bathrooms. You shrug and continue on, rounding the end and continuing towards the officer. He sees you and frowns, turning his interest to the graphic novels. Your favourite.

“Anything I can help you find?” You ask in your most chipper tone.

“No,” he grumbles, glancing over the shelves towards the fading click of the woman’s heels.

“Um, is something wrong?” You wonder.

“Can you mind your business?” He asks as he turns on you, “I’m a man of the law, I don’t needa explain myself to you.”

“Of course, sir,” you swallow, taken aback by his tone, “I didn’t mean too. I just thought… if you need help. I’m sorry. I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

You show your palms, meekly excusing yourself as you back away. You turn and take a step, skin blazing in embarrassment. You feel as if you’ve been slapped across the face.

“Now, wait a minute, sweetheart,” the officer calls after you, “I should be sayin’ sorry. I wasn’t meanin’ to be so rude. I’m just… long day, ya know?”

You stop and slowly face him. You do your best to shake away the tension. It’s work and it’s not often you get an apology from a customer.

“Yeah, I know,” you give a rocky half-chuckle, “um, so… what did you come in for?”

“Ah, you know, lookin’ around, uh, these comic books,” he points beside him, “they got lots of pictures?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer as you face the shelf, “do you have a specific genre in mind? Superheroes? Apocalyptic? Mystery? Anime?”

“Well, I got this nephew, he’s real into this stuff. Nerd type things,” he scoffs, “that Batman guy and his car.”

“Oh, looking for a gift? Birthday?” You prompt.

“I ain’t seen my sister in some years and she asked me over. Long story, don’t matter, but I don’t wanna show up empty handed.”

“That’s sweet. A family reunion,” you turn and peruse the shelf, “well, you could get a couple of issues, we’re having buy two get the third free, but an anthology would go a lot further. A bit pricier though.”

“Hmm,” he peruses thoughtfully as he leans in, “you probably don’t know too much either, being a lady and all. But you could help me with my sister. I heard about some writer, Hooter or something?”

“Colleen Hoover? Uh, sure, most people like those and they’re an easy read,” you explain, “but if you’re looking for comics about Batman, I have many suggestions. The Dark Knight is a good read, way better than the movie–”

“I got it figured,” he reaches to slide out Batman: Year One. Not a bad choice, actually. “Now you show me this Hoover whatever. Sounds like a dang vacuum.”

He’s demanding but you’ve dealt with worse. Besides, it’s easier at least when they know what they want. You take him around to the table of popular authors.

“A lot of people like It Ends With Us,” you point to the pink cover, “Maybe Someday also tends to be a hit.”

“You talk a lot, don’t ya?” He grumbles as he puts his hand on his hip, his stomach straining inside his jacket.

“Oh, I’m s-sorry, sir,” you take a breath, neck prickling as you feel your nerves spike, “I’m only doing my job. If you don’t need my help–”

“Did I say that? You ever let a man sit in silence?”

You blink at him and your smile evaporates. What a jackass. You could blame it on the badge but you suspect he’s just a completely intolerable person. No wonder his sister didn’t talk to him for so long.

“Sir, you can pay at the front counter. You can also ask any questions you have up there.” You lean back on your heel, “I have stocking to do.”

“Now, don’t you give me that look. Customer’s always right, ain’t they?” You press your lips in a firm line. You glare at him as he snickers, “you got no respect. Ladies these days seem to forget what that means.” He grabs a book from the table without checking the cover, “I’ll be certain to tell the manager how helpful you were, sweetheart.”

He nears and you stand your ground, taking measured breaths as your wits threaten to crack. He looks you up and down and snorts. He winks as he cradles the books in one arm, reaching to boop your nose with his index. You pull away as your chagrin ripples across your face.

“Some ladies just needa learn their place,” he drops his hand and continues on, swaggering in his victory. Pathetic, it’s not that hard to demean someone who can’t talk back.

[crepuscularious]

mansion

another imagine inspired by a song LMOAFJSOFA

in this, miguel is a ceo of alchemax, ironic isnt it? lol, i couldnt think of anything else

also how come doja is the most problematic artist but could still manage to keep a song stuck in all of our heads?

lastly, thank you!?!?!? i was so surprised my shit is suddenly getting like 100 likes and reblogs, im kinda running out of ideas for songs but yall could req anytime. to the most sweetest fluff as well as the most sluttiest smut! <3 thank you!

ceo!miguel x fem!reader

"baby, can you call me back? i miss you. its so lonely in my mansion"

you had married a man who you hardly even known at first, no lie. you guys met through an app and it just stuck. you went through all kinds of dates and all kinds of sloppy, full of drool kisses. he later revealed to you that he was a rich man who was a ceo. apparently, he never showed his face to the public, he was some kind of lady gaga 2.0

miguel was the sweetest, yes he was protective, and gets mad easily, but he knows his limits, especially towards you. someone hurts you? off with their heads! someone said you werent good enough for him? off with their heads! you get the point

it has been a week since you last saw him, normally he would let you accompany him everywhere, whether its a personal matter or he needs to go overseas for his work. but this time, you had stayed at home

"im sorry, amor. i really want you to let you come with me. but you know how it is at work, i wont be able to spend time with you there anyways" those were the words miguel said before leaving.

now, here you are. waiting for your dear husband, patiently, a little horny, but most of all, lonely. you couldnt help but sleep with his pillow wrapped around your arms and a leg on top of it, pretending youre snuggling up to him at night.

*incoming call from: mi vida ❤️*

miguel looks down at his phone, even if he was in the middle of a very important meeting, he would stop anything for you. what if it was emergency? what if she was bored? or worse, what if she was in the mood for phone sex!?

"hello, amor? whats wrong, mi vida?" miguel asks, holding a finger up to the line of his workers sitting down, as well as the person who was presenting a presentation to him

"i miss you, when are you coming home?" you asked, an obvious pout on face

"mi corazon..." he said in a certain tone, as if he was telling you he already answered this question a thousand times and was tired of hearing your pleas of coming back home.

"im sorry, i know youre busy. i just miss you, i cant sleep at night, you know" you said

"i know, mi vida. please understand, i love you so much. ill come back as soon as possible. okay?"

this scenario happened a few times for a week. he told you he was coming back in two days, but days has passed and hes still no where to be found. not to mention the very small texts he has been sending you

you were so saddened about everything, you missed your husband, very dearly. you just wanted to cuddle and squeeze him to death

*calling: mi guapo <3*

the text on your phone said, but he doesnt answer and it goes to voicemail

"baby, can you call me back? i miss you, its so lonely in our mansion"

[xeriprincess]

Spark - Kim Hongjoong

━━✫・*。in which you run into Hongjoong before your first Ateez concert

pairing : idol!hongjoong x atiny!reader

genre : comedy, fluff, just vibes

warnings : smoking

word count: 1,3K

A/N: 100% delulu hours. we don’t talk about it. can you tell who my bias is. hj has black hair in this because its my story and i make the rules

You were queueing up for your very first Ateez concert, which you were super excited about. So excited you couldn't really process it. Only about two hours remained until the venue opened its doors, and you had decided to go for a stroll around the arena to get yourself warmed up. Cold wind and remnants of white snow made standing in line for hours feel like a test of endurance. Checking the time to make sure you were good, you informed your friends of your plans and took off.

The long queues stretching all around the arena never failed to amuse you. The way fans from all around the world showed up at ungodly hours just to stand a chance at getting close to the stage. You were no different though, so it’s not like you could judge.

The walking was starting to return feeling to your toes, which was a god-send, and you picked up your pace to warm up the rest of your body.

Sun was shining, ateez songs were playing, the vibes were great.

In honor of this beautiful day, you decided to allow yourself a celebratory cigarette. You only smoked on special occasions, and today was honestly as special as it was gonna get. You thought it wise to wait until you made it behind the arena, where no queuing was going on, so you could damage your lungs in private.

Slowly distancing yourself from the front, you noticed large trucks stacked with stage equipment parked behind the venue. Just where you were hoping to have your smoke break. You looked around for any signs of the area being off-limits, or any staff running around, and after not seeing any indication of trouble you happily strolled towards the row of trucks. You figured standing in between them would cover you nicely, and the sun was hitting the area perfectly.

Even before settling down, you whipped up your shiny pack, eagerly sticking a cigarette between your teeth. Rummaging your pockets for a lighter, you caught a glimpse of a figure out the corner of your eye. No biggie, this was a nice spot after all. You couldn’t have been the only one to clock it. Coat coming up empty, you stuck your hands down your back-pockets in search of a spark, mumbling profanities under your breath.

Without even having to look up, a sudden awkwardness weighed in the air, as you felt a pair of eyes burning themselves into your face. You mentally prepared to nonverbally tell whoever it was to fuck off, the absence of your favorite lighter having wound you up. But, when you looked up, what you found was probably the thing you expected least in the world.

The pair of eyes boring themselves into you were attached to Hongjoong, who was stood like a deer in headlights. With his back against the wall, he held a half-finished cigarette gingerly between his fingers. He seemed completely terrified to be seen by you, but the experience was so bizarre that your brain couldn’t process it at all. So you broke off the eye-contact and continued searching your pockets, determined to have that damn cigarette. Though you didn’t react outwardly, your thoughts were doing all the work.

I’m tripping so hard right now. There is just no way Hongjoong is having a cig right before his own concert.

Frustration grew as you double, triple, and quadruple checked every pocket on your person, coming up empty every time. Letting out an exasperated breath, you mentally prepared to return to the queue with no nicotine, before your head snapped towards the unexpected voice sounding from your right.

“Need a spark?”

The man beside you found your eyes once again, a sheepish smile now painting his features instead of the frightened grimace from before. His fingers were decorated with fancy rings as he held a stupidly boujee lighter up to your face, which made for quite a peculiar sight.

You didn’t trust yourself to say anything, so you silently leaned into the tiny fire with a cigarette pressed between your lips. Hastily inhaling, you savored the first drag you’d had in a very long time.

“Thanks man,” you said with an exhale, finally trusting yourself enough to break the brief silence. “Lifesaver.”

Hongjoong’s attention remained on you as he put his lighter away, eyes tinted with amusement. There was no doubt he realized you were an atiny- an ateez logo painted onto your jacket by yours truly- yet the fact seemed to freak him out a lot less than before.

“Why are you smoking all by yourself?” you ask, not wanting the conversation to die out. Your heart might be pounding it's way to freedom, but you’d be damned if you let this experience go to waste. Some stars must have aligned up there for this moment, so you were gonna put those stars to work.

“I’m not by myself,” he said, taking a drag of his dying smoke and turning to face the sunlight. “I’m with you.”

Reality finally dawned on you in that very moment, as you dared to stare at the man in front of you. From where you were standing, his side profile was on full display, afternoon sun painting his face golden. Eyes closed, lashes brushing his cheeks, lips curled slightly up at the corners, he looked like an angel sent to ruin your life.

“Damn, I see how it is,” you said, snapping Hongjoong out of his meditation and bringing his attention back to you. “What happened to ‘hello, my name is’,” you continued teasingly, hoping to at least get a tiny chuckle out of him. Hongjoong smirked, that amused sparkle never leaving his eyes.

“My deepest apologies," he said, voice tinted with sarcasm.

"Hello, my name is Hongjoong,” he went on, challenging you with his gaze. You both knew damn well that there was no need for an introduction on his part. “What’s yours?” he asked, taking one last drag of his cigarette before it burnt out.

“You come here often, Hongjoong?” you teased before adding, “I don’t think I’d miss a handsome guy like you.” Hongjoong openly laughed at your words, eyes turning up into crescents.

“It’s my first time actually,” he replied, sparkles dancing in his eyes. “Now please tell me your name.” Feeling satisfied with his reaction, you threw your cigarette bud to the ground before replying,

“It’s y/n.”

Hongjoong turned his face towards the sun again, closing his eyes, and you felt like he was doing it to taunt you.

“y/n?” he asked, leaning back against the wall.

“Yup,” you confirmed, lighting up at the sound of your name leaving his lips. “Can you say it again?” you asked, leaning back and closing your eyes for the sun just like he did.

“y/n,” he repeated, slightly confused.

“One more time.”

“Am I saying it wrong or something,” he asked, turning to face you with a puzzled expression. You cracked one eye open, taking him in. Black hair slicked back messily, a few loose strands swaying in the gentle breeze, confused face illuminated by golden sunlight. You selfishly wondered if you were the first to ever see him like this.

“Nah, just liked hearing you say it,” you chuckled, carefully looking to see his reaction. His eyes widened slightly, before he let out a defeated sigh and returned to his previous position.

“You’re good,” he replied, words tinged with a chuckle.

“I know,” you replied cheekily.

The two of you stood there, enjoying the silence for a few more moments, before you were reminded of the friends you had to get back to. They probably thought you died.

Reluctantly pushing yourself off the wall, you felt a bit dazed from your short sunbath (and the nicotine). Sensing your movement, Hongjoong opened his eyes to look at you.

“This was fun,” you started, squinting a little as you faced him, “but I have a concert to get to.”

Hongjoong’s face turned up into a smirk, eyes dropping down to the ground as he adjusted his stance.

“Come smoke again after?” he asked, looking back up at you with that damn smirk.

Even if you tried, your friends would never believe you.

[hwaightme]

In memoriam

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

⚪ pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader ⚪ genre: angst (sorry seonghwa), smut, time leaping, magical realism ⚪ summary: what would you do to get your life back? what would you do, if you found out that you could turn back time? park seonghwa knows his answer, and does not care for the price he has to pay. ⚪ wordcount: 8.3k ⚪ warnings/tags: husband!hwa, language, implied major death, crying, time leaping, barista!san, magical cafe, turning back time, grieving, discussion of habits, a whole lot of coffee, hope, love, loss, lmk if anything else ⚪ taglist: @doom-fics @legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @hoshischeekss @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld ⚪ a/n: after severe ult bias wreck, I have been in a -state-, and after listening to suggested songs (under cut) + me generally loving the film The Girl Who Leapt Through Time and the book series Before The Coffee Gets Cold... this happened. Hope you enjoy, much love, all reblogs, comments thoughts and notes welcome~

⚪ nsfw tags: no protection, cum inside, praise, seonghwa being very soft, everything is very vanilla tbh, slow sex, slight overstim, focus on feeling of closeness

⚪ playlist: suffering for love by eden (a/n:what sparked this), somewhere by o3ohn, dancing with your ghost by sasha alexa sloan, holo by leehi, stay here by gaho, i wanna cry by seori, not too late by ateez

The ticking of the clock, giving rhythm to his trepidation, the second hand measuring out the beating of his heart devise a believable steadiness. In two minutes and three seconds, you were going to brush strands of your hair behind your right ear, sighing at the necessity for the repeated motion. You were curled up the impromptu reading nook that you had crafted out of an array of pillows and a throw – items that Seonghwa had meticulously picked out to fit the interior of your shared apartment, now a creative installation with you as its centrepiece.

He was exactly where he had been, and where he would be should he wish to relive this moment again: leaning against the dining table, hands pressed into the edge of the lacquered wood, coolness spreading to his trembling fingertips, stuck in a permanent dilemma. He studied you as though you were a heavenly mirage, admiring every inch of your form as faint fragments of the sun streamed through the window and graced your delicate skin. Seonghwa was never sure whether the glow that enveloped you, that blissful haze so innate, so intricate, was from the mellow rays or from the boundless light that you possessed, so strong that it permeated through you, and yet too precious for this mortal world. So, he had settled, even then, for the only explanation that seemed logical, no matter how irrational the concept seemed to someone who had not had the chance to know you.

“Angel, are you sure you don’t want me to get you anything?”

There it was, the brush of the hair, that dazzling smile, heart-melting expression as you turned your head towards him, placing a finger down on the cream-coloured page to mark your line of immersion.

“Yes, Hwa I’m good. Though actually, if you could grab some more gochujang paste, that would be great. I promised your mom a recipe exchange so not running low on ingredients is probably a good start.”

He beamed, though the incessant ticking induced a heaviness in his chest. That was right, in a week’s time his mother would be visiting the two of you with a crate of goods from home, and you would spend the day cooking together, constantly shooing Seonghwa out of the kitchen so that he ‘would not interfere with the production line’. And then, they would not let him leave until he tried every dish.

“One of these days my mom will kidnap you, I swear.” He responded, running a hand through his hair to mask his agitation.

“Well, I am already dressed like her kid, and I do like naps.”

“Now for humour…”

“… I know, I know, much better than you so she’ll figure the switch out straight away.” You winked, and before Seonghwa could respond, returned to the novel, your attention drifting from the conversation in a matter of seconds. How could he not love you?

That morning you had been cheeky enough to steal one of his shirts, parading in it and uttering phrases in dialect, in as low a voice as you could muster, eliciting amused laughter from Seonghwa. The light blue and white striped linen suited you more than it did him, he had decided. At least, it suited the joy that you experienced when he, faking vexation from your antics, had wrapped you in his arms, peppering you with soft reminders of his adoration on your cheeks, nose, lips.

In thirty seconds, he was to push himself away from the table, amble towards you, and plant a kiss on the top of your head, resting his forehead against you before bidding you farewell. As he diligently completed the actions, you reached out to grasp his wrist, and pulled him closer. In nine seconds, you let go. In three, he mumbled he would be right back. And just as the clock showed three twenty-seven in the afternoon, he leaned down to put a pair of sneakers on in the entryway, and pushed the front door open to reveal a stunning, infinite expanse of white. Without fear, he stepped in, and was consumed by the pure, cleansing hue. The ironic embodiment of you.

It was overwhelming the first time. The migraine that had persisted then almost detracted him from the process, however as the number of attempts had grown into a routine, or rather, a habit, so did his resilience. Now, as he woke up from the trance, blinking away the blur that had occupied his vision, barely any physical trace of his venture remained. All except the dull ache. But that was a given, the torment was an old guest to his weary soul.

He was back. Back in the same café, sat at the table in the far corner, away from curious eyes, right by a living wall of ferns and succulents, so carefully tended to that Seonghwa had never once seen a single leaf be wilted; he would not put it beyond this place achieving a floral immortality – it was either that, or they were meticulously replaced to give the illusion of continuity. Even so, what would Seonghwa not give for that oblivious paradise? An easy listening instrumental track filled the air with semi-acoustic guitar and gentle waves of metal brushes on the drums. The rumbles and short hisses emanated from behind the counter, guiding Seonghwa’s gaze to the owner and main barista of the café, who was languidly cleaning a metal beaker while keeping an eye out for any new customers. Even though he knew full well that while the remnants of the time shift were still suspended in the air, the space, completed in white and wooden tones, disappeared from the consciousness and vision of a passer-by.

Gradually, feeling returned to Seonghwa’s hands and feet, and he stretched his hands out in front of him, scrutinising the digits. Was it really the dark chestnut table that he touched? Was it really your hair that he caressed and your voice that entranced him so? The disentanglement from what had been and what could be was always the most agonising aspect of his commitment. But for the sake of keeping you in the present, this was the least he could sacrifice. As he blinked away the last of his emotion, steeling himself for the day ahead, Seonghwa turned to the large shop window to peer at the metropolitan commotion. The forlorn palette of greys that guided his interpretation was reflected in every building, every cloud that threatened catastrophic storms, every scowl on a stranger and in the cold concrete. Nothing new. Just a setting to let time pass by him.

As his heart beat to the pitter-patter of seconds, washing over him, Seonghwa hesitantly trudged to the counter and fished out the black leather wallet you had gifted him for your three year anniversary, stopping to brush his thumb over your picture that he inserted into the transparent compartment. A candid shot of you under the magnolias, a light squint of the eyes and scrunch of the nose as you had tilted your head to greet the sunshine that streamed through the brilliant white canopy. After the photo was taken, you had found a branch that had been snapped by the wind, and took it home, tending to the young blossoms that were protected by proud leaves, leaping into the air excitedly as they unfurled to reveal their apex of beauty. That time, you had admonished Seonghwa for not even sparing a glance at the flowers while complimenting them, but he was sure in his decision to not take his gaze off you.

“That’ll be three thousand won.” The barista sighed, a concerned smile on his lips as he studied the dark-haired man before him. The regular floated in a torpid melancholy, though his amiable expression and impressively polite discourse, be it with him or with another customer, had never let what he had seen on the first visit slip and shatter.

“Here you are. Thank you, San.” Seonghwa answered absent-mindedly as he handed the owner three glossy paper bills.

“Not a problem.” The barista and owner of the café Memento added the amount to the cash register with practiced motions, hands moving on their own accord.

Fluid, intrinsic, skilled. A repetition that served to mark the end of Seonghwa’s weekly visit. Except here, there was no way to guess what San would choose to do next, even though his uniform, his environment were all the same – there was no comfort in awareness of the future, and while that was a reminder that Seonghwa had successfully returned, the notion had recently begun to induce a subtle hum of distress within him. At least he was lucky enough to have found a temporary aid to the predicament.

“Back so soon?”

It was not Thursday, that much Seonghwa knew. For the past couple of months he visited strictly on Thursday mornings, and would be able to sustain himself and hold out until the next unscheduled visit, but one cemented in his routine. But the last few days had unfolded as though the universe itself was against him, proving that calamity was always lying in wait for the first sign of tranquility. He was distressed, on the verge of tearing himself and everyone around him apart - had he the power of Atropos, the floor would be decorated with abstract snippets of existence, grotesque and grim, but at least the act was committed at his own volition. Some fragment of control still remaining, albeit in his fantasies. This was why his feet led him here, to café Memento, through the heavy downpour outside which he had to experience in full force due to the ill-timed breaking of his umbrella. Seonghwa’s coat clung to him in a drowning desperation, giving him a sullen, forlorn appearance of a lost man. With haphazard motions he attempted to slick his hair back so that the accumulated raindrops would cease to run down his face, though that did little comically little.

Fumbling in the entrance of the café, the young man watched as the barista, turned passive confidante, stepped out from behind the counter, raising his index finger into the air as a sign to wait before disappearing behind the staff door. In his absence, Seonghwa attempted to peel the trench coat off, discovering that, for the most part, his shirt had been protected well by the waterproof material. So, it was almost like that evening he had been replaying in his mind the last three days, but not close enough. It was late June then. He was wearing a light cotton t-shirt, jeans, and converses, enveloped in the monsoon’s sudden attack while he had been circling the apartment complex where you lived, cursing himself. He had been more rain than man then. But the personal likeness did not matter, so long as he could get the coffee and take his practically assigned seat in the corner.

“Here, a towel, your collar’s getting damp, and let me hang the coat to dry… you absorbed a whole raincloud, didn’t you?” San had reappeared, and made a beeline for his friend, who was still standing at the door, water dripping onto the welcome mat, blending with the invisible chains of grief that were his loyal followers. A small, yet dazzling smile in thanks was shot in the barista’s direction as the dishevelled man accepted the towel, commencing to dry off his hair and neck.

“Certainly felt like it. And thank you. Sorry for barging in like this, I really don’t know what-”

“You want the usual, right?” the interjection cut right to the truth. Of course, what was Seonghwa thinking? After so many weeks of asking for coffee that he, in fact, despised, sitting in the same place and leaving the present to see visions of you, it would take someone who knew nothing at all to assume Seonghwa wanted anything else. Even the most distant acquaintance would probably make the rights guess. It was obvious that he was here to see you. He needed to, or his frustrations would eat him whole.

“Right.” Unintentionally curt, Seonghwa muttered his response while wiping down the droplets from his feverish skin. Concerned preoccupied him as he wondered if illness would prevent him from seeing you. No, he could not get ill. He still had so much material to cover.

“Figured. Life’s got you down?” either happily disinterested, or deciding to ignore Seonghwa’s shift in attitude, San continued in the same level tone as he finished hanging up the trench coat on the rack that stood in a corner by the door, obscured by an overgrown potted palm tree. Stretched over a couple of hooks, it looked every bit like a damp scarecrow, eliciting a sharp exhale through the nose from its owner.

“You could say that.”

“So down, that you walked here, in the rain?” using his beige apron to dry off his hands, the broad-shouldered man asked. Truth be told, it was not confirmation of his friend’s troubles that he was after. It was the cry, the realisation that he was going too far.

But much to the café owner’s dismay, Seonghwa saw no evil in his choices, instead choosing to rationalise them, supress the abysmal distress each one would inevitably bring by considering everything except the future. To this man, who obediently followed San to the counter, and waited for him to walk back around and take his usual spot, the suffering that came with each veering of the path was a divine, cleansing punishment that, at the end of it all, still brought him joy.

“Well, metro, then the walking in the rain.” Seonghwa stated as-a-matter-of-factly, draping the towel over his neck after gesturing to San whether it would be fine if he could keep it for the time being, and with a quick nod from him, gave a quiet word of gratitude and wiped a stray droplet that was threatening to roll down his forehead with the corner of the white fabric.

“Nonetheless, aren’t there… other ways?”

Seonghwa stared at the large coffee machine as though it was a beast, in slumber until the next press of a button, to avoid making eye contact. His mind had been far too hazy since early morning, and the myriad of repetitive work meetings had exhausted his ability to keep up appearances. He was toeing a line, a couple of phrases away from completely snapping, and studying the tiny coffee splatter stuck to steel decal at the top of the machine took off some of the edge, forcing him to refocus on the desire to wipe the damn spot away.

“Nothing like a nice hot americano to save the day.” He mumbled, glancing at San, only to be met with a questioning eyebrow and pursed lips.

“You literally do not even like coffee.”

“And you own a café, but drink decaf.”

“Touché. Alright then, the usual it is…” the battle was short-lived, overtaken by a tense quiet, subsequently filled by the ambient rumbling, shuffling and clinking – the sonorous colours of any ordinary coffee shop. It was clear enough that there was too much left unsaid, only to dissolve in the drink like a sugar cube turned sour. What was there to admonish? Love? Devotion? Never before had San seen such dedication in a customer when it came to the specially prepared beverage, he concluded as he murmured the incantations, concentrating on making the coffee bloom to its fullest. In situations such as this, he pondered what his life would be like had he not inherited this café, and along with it, the power to control time.

The torrential downpour outside was not letting up, and the droplets that accumulated on the shopfront’s awning were hammering down onto the pavement, spilling over and composing a cacophony. Seonghwa observed the enchantment, attempting to mentally follow the steps for the pourover, but ultimately failing even though San had gone through them, diligently, on the first three visits. As the grounds, with the beans freshly roasted and the final product all made in-house, were being wetted by the hot water pouring from the long spout of a black gooseneck kettle, cradled in the barista’s steady hands, the morose bystander imagined the city to be one big coffee cup, with the solemn concrete jungle resembling the rise and falls of the grounds’ dunes, taking and taking more of the rainwater and leaving behind exhausted, breathless shells called citizens. From far away, there was a unity, a name for the powder-like substance turned to a paste, but look closer, and each grain was lonely in its own special way, only there to dissolute, and diffuse into a bitter potion.

“Here.” As soon as the last of the substance was extracted and joined forces with the fluid in the cup, San set it on a white plate with a black rim, and carefully positioned the beverage onto an elevated portion of the counterspace, right above the display of baked goods and desserts, almost empty – reasonable, considering the late hour after a busy day.

“Thank you-” just as he reached out to grab the cup, excited to finally flee to his safe haven, the barista stopped him on his tracks.

“Seonghwa, hate to be that guy, but are you sure you do not need any other help at all?” the apprehension in his voice made the taller man’s stomach churn. Did he have to raise this point now, of all times? When Seonghwa wanted nothing more but to curl up in your arms and sink into a divinity only you two could share? He was not in the headspace to even mention the existence of alternatives. In his view, there was only one right path to follow, and it was one mapped out in scars on his heart.

“What are you insinuating?” he narrowed his eyes, hinting at an undercurrent of hostility.

“Nothing! Just, you know… This is meant to be temporary. There are only so many times you can bend time to your will before it snaps you.” Already anticipating a complete disregard for his warnings, San explained his worries much like he would explain the menu to a newcomer.

“But it’s all fine-” he gripped the plate tighter in his hands, lifting the ceramic off the counter and watching the liquid lap at the edges, a deep mahogany ocean. As he caught the glint of the lamplight reflected in its ripples, he could not help but search for the glimmer that was always in your eyes.

“Until it won’t be. Seonghwa, I know what this means to you, and I can see how you change after each leap but… I am worried.”

“Well… don’t, seriously. It’s fine. I just… I just need this. Okay?” he was met by a shake of the head, and a lean forward – San took the towel by its edge, and slipped it off Seonghwa’s neck, leaving it exposed to an unfamiliar chill. In a strive to supress the shiver, the exasperated man continued, choking out the words through a well-mannered filter: “And don’t I look like I am simply asleep when I am out there?”

“True that. Head down like the table is a pillow.” The barista responded, seemingly unperturbed as he flung the towel into a basket hidden under the workspace and wiped his hands on his apron. When he did not make any further attempts to prolong the fruitless discussion, Seonghwa’s feet moved on their own accord, spinning his body around, ready to dive into his long-awaited oasis.

“Alright then… catch you… later?” he threw out over his shoulder, casting San one final glance before striding towards the table, area dimly lit, but so cosy, promising the echoes of his real home.

“Mhm. I’ll be where I usually am. Not that you need me, but still. I’ll keep watch.”

“I appreciate it.” Words thrown out only to be swept away by the air conditioning, meaningless in the sense of emotion. Mentally, he was already in transit.

As Seonghwa settled into the chair, he felt lighter. As if the mere anticipation of seeing you once again was already capable of lifting some of his ache. He concentrated on the cup before him. A simple number, with the only decoration being those black lines, reminiscent of lines of misfortune that occupied an individual’s life. Ironic how this was to be his fated cup. The contemporary chalice that gave him the power to enjoy the moments he had mourned. As he did in every iteration of his new ‘always’, he pictured you, sat in front of him, in this very café, drinking the bitter black coffee, breaking out into a grin as you slipped into a child-like enjoyment. This black and white cup was the one you had held in your hands, commenting on how you and Seonghwa should try and find a similar set. To this day, he could not fulfil this little dream of yours. Maybe they were not being made anymore, and nothing merely similar would be up to standard.

Your figure became clearer and clearer before his eyes, until he could not distinguish between what should be, and what indeed was. This stage was the trickiest, for with every fibre of his being Seonghwa wanted to reach out to you, place his hand over yours and whisper just how much he missed you, how afraid he was that you were gone, not for good, not for evil, simply gone. It took training, resilience, and patience with himself to go further back, rewind the time until he hit the desired mark, and as the image was comparable to reality before him, he shut his eyes, and took a tentative sip of the coffee.

A flash. Pure white, drumming of the rain turning into deafening tick, tock, tick, tock. Sensation that felt like his body was turning inside out, collapsing and regrowing as he felt the ground beneath him, and the sky’s tears beating down on him, streaming down his face. With this, he regained his balance and sense of direction, and pressing a hand right above his brows to shield his vision from the rain, peeked at the scene. Just as he had expected, it was the little square, the pagoda with no proper roof to shield him, the paths, lit by weak yellowish streetlights. He was ready to go back home. To see you. To play the scene out and devote himself to you once more. There was a limit to what far removed, isolated worship could do.

He pushed himself off the soaked wooden seating that framed the inside of the pagoda, and stumbled out, still dizzy from the leap. Massaging his temples with the hand he had used as a visor, he tried to soothe at least some of the stinging, until it turned into a dull ache that was easier to handle, more customary. Before long, it melted into the buzz, the anticipation for what was to happen next.

He commenced a countdown in the form of footsteps as he stalked toward the complex, fully aware of you watching him from the windows. That was what you were going to say… later, but you were going to say it. You were going to reveal to him just how worried you had been, how you wanted him to come back as soon as he shut the door, and how his action had torn you apart. It really had been over nothing at all, but much like in the present, his week had gotten to him, but now there was no escape, except to break his routine, and sink into the feeling of you. Your voice, your caresses, your love. The world was moving slowly as he strode up the stairs to the entrance doors, fingers automatically finding the passcode although he could not consciously recall it. One step, two, and he was at the staircase that wound around the elevator, choosing the former to alleviate some of the tension.

To no avail. Instead, the adrenaline pumped with more vigour, causing his rationality to grow blurry and pulse to go haywire as he spurred himself on. Only a few more steps. And there would be you. Thirty seconds. Fifteen. He was at the door to the apartment. Seonghwa stilled himself, glancing back to take note of the trail of moisture that he had left, mentally apologising to the cleaners that would have to handle the mess the next day – he would hear them chiding ‘whoever this person was’ in the tomorrow of the past at precisely six thirty-eight in the morning.

He had only returned to this scene once before. A while back. And had promised himself to not do it again because of the toll it had taken on him. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And he desperately needed you. The familiar flicker of the lightbulb at the end of the hallway, footsteps that he could make out from behind the door as you approached were setting him ablaze. There you were. You. No one else. Not a replacement, but really you. It was your fingers that pinched the door chain and slid it out of position, your hand that took the door handle and pulled it in, it was you who was standing before him, teary-eyed, but obviously relieved to see him.

You were about to approach him and wrap your hands around his torso when you noticed just how soaked he was from facing the elements after his stress-induced outburst. He had chosen to exit the apartment instead of uttering as much as a single word aside from the command to not follow, leaving you disconcerted and peering out of the window into the starless night. It was a simple, common domestic argument that had set him off. Something or other about the arrangement of cutlery in the drawer, that then moved to the discussion of plates in the cupboards, and eventually grew into a back and forth about interior design. Any other day, Seonghwa probably would had stayed and talked it out, but this outburst which now served to be a perfect anchor for his travels, was the result of pent up emotion. It was odd, but he was grateful for having let his feelings overflow that day, otherwise this previous moment, this ethereal intimacy would not have been so prominent in his mind.

Seonghwa’s gaze burned into you as you hugged your own form, highlighting the curves hidden under the oversized t-shirt dress that you were wearing, the argument having taken place right before bed. Hair loose and slightly dishevelled, you look to have been playing with it – something you did when you were nervous. You would inspect the ends, twirl the strange, arrange and rearrange… and then when he would place a hand on your thigh, or take your hand in his, you would become aware of your state, start counting under your breath, resuming a shared tranquility. While he could not imagine the distress that you experienced internally, it was reassuring that even if for a fraction of a second, he could bring you peace from your loud mind.

Your eyes were reddened – likely from being rubbed to convince yourself that you were not about to cry over simple things. A light tremble of your lower lip as you took in his form, with Seonghwa exuding abandonment, regret, loss… a rocking from heel to toe as you propelled yourself towards him, reaching out to cup his face while ushering him inside. Who was he kidding when he thought that this would be easy to re-enact? He was guilty as charged. This was his doing. How could he possibly enjoy seeing you in pain? The preceding events objectively amounted to nothing, but your sadness was real, how you gasped and said his name was real. This was real.

Tears sprung to his eyes as you cooed and ran your fingers through his wet hair, forgetting about your own clothing as you approached to comfort him. Seonghwa was bewildered – no, he should be the one comforting you! How was this in any way appropriate, he should be strong, he should- he was struggling to form a single coherent thought as all prior resolve evaporated like snow on a hot summer day, and he crumbled under your touch. Your thumbs brushed over his cheers, carrying away tears that he did not know he was spilling, as you called out to him.

“Hwa, my love please… if you cry, I cry…I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry Y/N! My angel! Please… forgive me… I’m sorry… I’m so… so sorry…” Seonghwa wailed as his knees buckled under him, and barely having made it past the door frame, with you having just shut the door with a light kick of the foot, he slowly descended to the ground, with you promptly following.

“What? This was… this was just a plate, Hwa… both of us had a stressful week and-” you attempted to rationalise, failing to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat at the sight of your husband falling apart, words sounding choked out. You forced him to keep his attention on you as you searched for any kind of explanation in his widened eyes glossed over with sorrow.

“So sorry… I am so sorry I couldn’t do anything… Please I should have… I should have not let you go… I am so…” he slipped. He lost the plot, the phrases bursting out of him before he could do anything to stop them. It was no longer clear what it was that he was apologising for. He gripped the soaked denim, right above his knees, though the sensation of his fingers digging into his thighs did nothing to curb his disillusionment.

“What are you saying baby, I’m right here…” you whispered, one hand moving to pat his shoulder, gliding over the muscle and soon your arm was pulling the man closer and closer to you. He hesitated, afraid to soak your dress, though knowing that it was going to happen anyway.

“Y/N!”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry too. Come here.” Without any further waiting, he threw his arms around you. There you were. Your warmth against him as you rubbed his back, not caring for his blubbering, for his sniffling against the crook of your neck. He kept on mumbling apologies and your name, over, and over, and over again, as though those were the only words he knew, and his native tongue had otherwise departed from his consciousness.

“What has gotten into you, huh? It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ll even accept that I was wrong for putting the mug in that drawer.” You attempted to change the tone, adopting a more upbeat, lighthearted attitude while you wiggled to sit more comfortably. Your husband followed your every move, and soon enough you found yourselves sitting in a tight embrace right at the step that marked the difference between the entrance, and the apartment’s corridor.

“I’m sorry…”

“Okay, I get that, but what for? For being human and having a temper sometimes? We’ve been living together for two years, Hwa. Two. And you are here acting like we haven’t argued before.”

Two years. Two years, three months, and seven days, if he were to be exact. He had your history together memorised, and as he kept on leaping, the accuracy turned from weeks, to days, to hours, to minutes, and for some events, down to the second. In three, two, one – you kissed the top of his head, just like he had done to you many times.

“I am so selfish, Y/N…” he whispered, hoarse.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not like me.”

“No one is like you, and I mean that in the best sense. What kind of selfish are you even talking about Seonghwa?”

“I exhaust you. I repeat the same things, again, and again, tire you out and take you for granted.” He tried to explain himself, but his haze was refusing to let him abide by the regular scenario, instead letting him go off script and improvise.

You tapped him, signalling for Seonghwa to lean back and look at you. When his half-lidded eyes met yours, you muttered for him to sit down properly. Obediently, he twisted his body, and did what he was told. You remained by his side, one arm wrapped around his shoulders as you guided yourself to take a seat on his lap, effectively straddling him. One leg on either side, you pushed yourself closer, until your nose was against his, and you were peering into his pupils.

“I could repeat every moment with you forever, Hwa, never get tired, and always, do you hear me? Always, feel loved.” He took your words as gospel, as a clairvoyant portrayal that he would follow.

“I’m sorry.”

“How sorry?” you blurted, not thinking straight as you breathed against his lips, almost touching. Your arms draped around him, while he positioned his cool hands on your hips, more than aware of the proximity.

“Very.”

“Prove it.”

“Let me love you.”

“Now that’s something you should repeat more often, darling.”

You were supposed to kiss. You were supposed to sink into one another and blend into a loving embrace. Where were you? Why couldn’t he see you? A panic set into Seonghwa’s chest as his eyes shot open, and no matter where he looked, no matter how hard he twisted his neck, he was only met with the vast expanse of white. But his hands-

No longer holding onto you, they reached for thin air, only to fall, defeated, disappearing into a thick cloud-like fog. He yelled out your name, but was only met with a searing, piercing tone as though from an explosion blasting right into his ears, and no sign of his voice. He tried again, rushing to cover his ears on instinct as the high-pitched screech returned, though that did next to nothing, except proving that the colourless infinity was more merciless than nature itself. Slowly understanding the rule of not disturbing the soundlessness, Seonghwa blindly felt for the ground on which he was sitting. What if you were lost in this expanse with him? Where could you have gone? His best attempt would be to try feeling for any vibrations, and send some of his own. You must be in the minimalist hellscape with him, he convinced himself and knocked on what he had decided was the ground but was met with nothing.

His fist, then arm then the rest of the body fell through a chasm and in a split second, the white was cleared from his vision as suddenly as it had appeared. Perplexed and terrified, Seonghwa looked around, only to feel that he was stark naked, in the bedroom, with you under him. Slowly he turned his head to look downwards, and was greeted by your face, contorted in pleasure as you let out sultry moans, hands gripping the pillow that was supporting your head. You looked so beautiful, angelic as you whimpered his name, while he continued to thrust into you.

The sudden transition had thrown Seonghwa off kilter, and he inadvertently slowed down, hissing as he felt your walls contract around his throbbing member. The intensity of the intimate act had returned the senses to his body at an unprecedented speed, making him dizzy. Struggling to support himself with his outstretched arms, he lowered his body until it was flush against yours, and he was on his elbows. Every micromovement was a challenge while his cock was still inside you, though counterbalanced by the fear of this divinity being replaced by the white abyss once more.

“Hwa… ah… why’d you… why’d you stop?” you asked, breathless as your eyelids barely lifted to peek at him. Some stray strands of hair were stuck to your forehead, caught in a sheen of sweat that made you look ethereal in the light that had crept into the bedroom through the window, as the storm outside had calmed to reveal a timid moon, peering from behind the heavy clouds that lethargically moved across the sky. Your lips, rosy and plump, evidently from having been against his for long enough, were slightly parted as you panted shallowly. Seonghwa further lowered himself until he was hovering right above you, unable to stop himself from giving you a soft kiss, and whispering:

“I want to love you. Slowly.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” You quipped, a ghost of a smirk taunting him, earning a chuckle.

“Sorry, you know what you do to me.”

“No more ‘sorry’, darling, just give me all of you.” You moved so your hands were clasped around your husband’s neck, and sighed as he pushed himself up and bottomed out, the fullness making you see stars.

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you ah- too… Hwa.”

As promised, following his return from nothingness, he took things slow. With every thrust into your aroused core, he worshipped you, whispering praise after praise in your ear about how well you took him, and just how good you made him feel. Finely attuned to every change in your body, he adjusted his angle, his rhythm, until you were, once again, a whining goddess being brought to a magnificent ruin. Only this time, he was going to remember every picosecond. He noted how your eyes rolled to the back of your head underneath your lids, how your tongue flicked to the corner of your mouth, for just a split second, but enough to demand Seonghwa’s attention. In one sensual motion, he moved his cock deeper, and gave himself access for another, longer expression of his love. His tongue gingerly parted your lips, and you readily accepted him, appreciative of the caution and affection in his gesture. As you ascended in the adoring expression, Seonghwa decided that this was true timelessness. And the only one he ever needed. Only you and him, with only love between you.

Seonghwa had a habit of looking at you as though you were the only precious thing in his universe with those gorgeous brown orbs. And while you otherwise would glow at the realisation, tonight, there was something different. First, it was him apologising for ‘letting you go’, then it was him nearly completely switching character and nearly making you lose all sense of self as he pounded into you with a carnal desire, and now, it was a slow, sensual unravelling. The light pecks on your cheeks, trailing down to your neck, and the loving gaze as Seonghwa confessed his love to you as if this was the first and last time, were too much for you to take. There was an omniscience about him, otherworldly knowledge, like he was somewhere else entirely, aware of every nuance of your inner world and capable of changing your very fate. Your precious Seonghwa, your future.

Your high came suddenly and violently from the sustained length of each movement that made you concentrate on every detail, from the way in which Seonghwa had teased you by stimulating your clit with his leaking cock, to how he silenced you with a kiss, inhaling your uncontrollable moans.  As though you were a fragile doll, he embraced you as best as he could without collapsing on your chest, while he searched for the opportunity to chase his own release.

His movements began to falter as his own orgasm inched closer and closer, the knot in his stomach becoming nearly unbearable. The steady pace was broken into stutters as he rolled his hips, directing his member fully into your still-pulsating sex, the lewd melody emanating from him slapping against you only driving him further into his small death. The overstimulation was making you squirm, but you held on, and the way in which your nails dug into his back, and how you mumbled, barely audible, a soft and innocent ‘Seonghwa’ had sent him over the edge. Throwing his head back he groaned into his climax, euphoric while the viscous webs of cum painted your walls and labia as he pulled out in an attempt to control the trembling of his muscles. Rivulets of cum continued to pour from him, mixing with your sweet nectar, running down your smooth thighs. Unable to hold out much longer, he uttered your name, and in your blissful state, you responded by pulling him towards you, towards a comforting darkness.

The rise and fall, the pulse, the hum, your hand running through his hair, which was now mostly dry: all signs of you being real, being with him and sharing time and space. Seonghwa was home, everything was how it was supposed to be. You were excitedly talking about your work trip - a major design commission for a client abroad, and the post-coital somnolence was blocking his immediate awareness of this fact, until you addressed him directly.

“Mm… Hwa?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think the magnolias will be blooming once I’m back?”

“Yes, angel.”

They were a day too late.

"You have to let go, Seonghwa! You can't do this to yourself forever! You are not living!" San’s voice resounded through the café as he glowered at the man before him.

"I know you understand that I live when I am there!"

Clearly, for the state in which he had appeared in the establishment left nothing but exasperation. Pallid, his shirt crumpled, dark circles having grown even more prominent than before, the look was so uncharacteristic of Seonghwa that San needed to spend a couple minutes simply observing the customer in order to recognise him. But the stupefaction was rapidly dispelled as soon as he heard a familiar, low and dulcet voice order ‘the usual’. However, this time, this meant a ‘special offer’ from the owner himself.

“You only have so many leaps left. You know this whole thing is unstable. What if you don’t come back?” while he was aware that what he was doing was horrifically unacceptable, regardless of their so-called friendship status, San yelled across the room, only to be met with a matching boom.

“What would change?”

“Oh, you damn well know what would change, don’t do this to me.” San dismissed his customer’s challenge, slamming his hand onto the counter to control his rage.

“Look. San. I appreciate you trying to intervene, but I think that I can handle it.” The phrase, uttered by a poor soul, clearly addicted, induced a threatening scowl. After a painful minute of silence, with the two men standing, ready for a verbal duel, San fired first, promising Seonghwa’s worst nightmare.

“I can just not serve you the coffee.”

“And I can just… no, you wouldn’t do this to me.” Seonghwa had gotten used to the white flashes while he spent time with you. It was almost comforting, and had turned to be a device that brought him back to his senses so that he would not get too attached. Nevertheless, every time that he did slip into the realm, a new hope joined, that of the possibility of you escaping with him. Finding yourself in the white landscape, and promptly departing the past, following the ticking of the clock until it stopped, letting you enter the café, and return into Seonghwa’s life. San could not take this hope away-

“I will. The café is closed for business today. Because I said so. Seonghwa, get a grip. She is-” he began but was promptly shut down with a wrathful roar.

“No. She is not. Whatever you are about to say she is not.”

“Seonghwa you are not okay. Please. Please, just… please live for yourself for a second and stop looking back-”

He did not want to hear it. He did not want to hear what should have stopped him long before, prior to when he had the chance to experience the instant cure to his madness. So in a fit of indignation, he strode out of the café, not bothering to shut the door behind him. It was only a matter of time before he would be back. New day, same old scars on his heart, with each passing tick, tock, tick, tock, tearing at the amateur stitching until the wounds returned, infected by solitary lamentation, festering with cognizance of the colourless cosmos he had to battle, alone in a city of millions.

A month passed. Two. Without a word uttered about you. In silent melancholy he kept the memory of you alive, each detail in his routine turning into a memento mori, a subconscious devotion. From the chrome silver earring he chose to wear, to the loosely knit black cotton sweater, he did not have to be explicit in the pull towards the centre of his inner universe. When it was not you he saw, it was the shadows. When it was not you he heard, it was the echoes. Be it in an interlocutor, a passer-by, an illusion conjured by hope, the world seemed to be like you. All similarities, nuances, interpretations... but still so painfully distant.

Seonghwa listened to the same songs on repeat – songs that you had recommended to him over the years. Again, and again, and again until he heard them even in the lonely silence. A numbing balm to his unforgiving mind, the melodies were an extended monologue – a lifeline. At least they were not creations in the past tense. And one of your favourite artists was even on tour; a proof for the musical organism still pumping its melodic blood, one listener less. Would you go? Of course, you would. You lived for the memories. You had crafted your life to be a series of perfectly curated, picturesque moments, and time aided in cultivating the final selection to be your most precious. He had turned into a loyal spectator, watching with bated breath as the episodes passed him by, under your direction, starring you, produced by you. He could only succumb to the unchangeable fall through time and follow you until that last, unfinished sentence.

He wanted to hate you. He wanted to erase you. Seonghwa desperately wanted to banish you from his psyche, in which you were so deeply entrenched that he would answer to your name.

His love for you was his poison, and he knew that his friends were right. In the cycle, the circle he had drawn to trap what had remained of you and him, was to be his inevitable full stop. His sentence was far from being completed, and yet after what one could call his comma, he struggled to find words. Perhaps because there were none that he found worthy of ever competing with what had been. It was not possible to despise happiness itself, nor was it to not crave it. Just once more. One more time to experience that utopia. A bittersweet suffering completed in shades of a heartbreaking blue.

And that was how he found himself in that same park, under those same white magnolias. In a trance he studied your wind-swept hair, your white cotton sweater and baby blue, washed out jeans, making sure that you were wearing those earrings he had bought you for no reason in particular except to make you happy – perhaps an expensive gift for what would be only a month that you had been a couple, but your gleam had been priceless. His gaze travelled to your hands, spotting that there was still that tiny chip on your manicured left index finger.

Same words. Same motions. Like running through a script of his beloved drama, one that he knew by heart and uttered in his slumber. All going according to the heavens' loathsome plan, until your lips that were tinted with a gloss that he would find out in two weeks, and three days' time precisely was your recent favourite, were weighed down with a concerned frown, and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Why are you crying?"

Cautiously, Seonghwa lifted a hand to touch his cheek, finding a timid, glistening stream that had found its path from his eyed that widened in meek surprise. Another touch on the other side, and he rushed to wipe away the currents with the edge of his sleeve, stifling an agonising sob that threatened to burst out of his throat. His chest on fire, Seonghwa struggled to blink away the mist that settled over his eyes. He must not look away. He must not give into this cruel bleariness. Not when you were right there. You must be so worried. You were always worried about how deeply he felt, about how sentimental he got and would always wrap your arms around him, guiding him to relax into your body, whispering that everything was going to be okay. If only spectral, celestial embraces could comfort him the same.

"Happy to see you again..." he choked out, smiling helplessly as he saw your features return to your bright, hopeful beam, gaze nothing short of a window to paradise.

"Again? We've just seen each other last week, silly." You tilted your head as you responded - a motion he had seen time and time again and loved the same.

He desired to tell you. Tell you that you were meant to be. That there was a future, albeit with the horizon too close for comfort, but a future nonetheless, ahead of you with him. But he knew better than that. It would mean another lifetime wasted, and again, he would have to search space and time for signs of you. Yes, he was selfish, but how could he not be when the fruit of his love's greed was so sweet? He wanted to see all your reactions as if he had not committed them to memory.

"And yet, I feel like I have known you, and lived with you for many lifetimes."

"Then... here's to another?"

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And-

[agentnico]

Agatha All Along - season 1 (2024) review

Down down, down the road, down the Witches Road…

Plot: A spell-bound Agatha Harkness regains freedom thanks to a teen's help. Intrigued by his plea, she embarks on the Witches' Road trials to reclaim her powers and discover the teen's motivations.

I’m not going to waffle about my complaints with the current state of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I’ve already rambled on a substantial amount in my previous reviews regarding this subject matter, so let’s leave it at the fact that my opinion and thoughts have not changed. That being said, WandaVision was one of the few enjoyable projects in the post-Endgame MCU era, as it had that original and unique flavour with messing with different television formats, and additionally was interesting in how that show explored the effects of trauma and grief. Naturally due to its success, Disney being Disney and Marvel being Marvel meant a sequel or a spin-off was inevitable. In this case it’s Agatha Harkness, who was played with a lot of funky energy by Kathryn Hahn in WandaVision. As enjoyable as she was, I never considered her to need her own show. I guess really anyone can get their own Disney+ series these days!

Kathryn Hahn is the primary reason to watch Agatha All Along. She’s as enjoyable as ever, cackling and wincing her way through each episode, and it was entertaining to constantly question her moral code, if she’s a villain or if she was turning to the good side. Hahn is great, and I am so glad she’s getting the recognition snd good roles now. As for other cast members, they are okay. Joe Locke as the teen came off a little pretentious, and Patti LuPone was the only witch I actually cared about. Aubrey Plaza as the mysterious Rio ends up being exactly what you expect her to be, and though Plaza nails the sarcasm, it’s nothing you haven’t seen her do before.

In regard to the series’ style, it’s really campy. The trailers in my opinion promised more horror aspects which were not present in the final product, but my main complaint is with the show’s look. It feels cheap. From the costumes to the sets, the whole thing is reminiscent of a CW or SyFy show, and you can tell Disney is probably tightening their budgets following the backlash of recent releases. But with something like Marvel you still expect to see something of visually interesting style, especially as they are sourcing a lot of narratives from comics and graphic novels, which one would assume would inspire more colourful and memorable set pieces. Unfortunately this show doesn’t offer any of that. The best you get is some rip-off witch costumes from other Disney projects, which I felt was more so for Disney to show-off how much Hollywood they own.

As for the narrative, for the most part this show is dull. It’s a very repetitive concept where in every episode our witches take on yet another trial, and though some trials do stand out more than others (episode 7 where a character time-jumps using tarot cards was particularly memorable) as a combined package it meant that catching up every week with a new episode was at times a chore. The other infuriating factor was the endless foreshadowing. This show consistently would bash you over the head with clues of what’s to come, but the clues were so predictable that when the reveals finally did pay-off they were not surprising even remotely. Reminded me a little of that Walk Hard segment where the kid says “ain’t nothing bad gonna happen today” only for him to get spliced in two 5 minutes later.

Superhero fatigue is real everyone! It’s happening! I’m kidding of course, I’m still holding out hope that Marvel and DC will get back to their former glory, but evidently there is still a long ways to go. Agatha All Along didn’t do it for me, however I do admit that Witches Road song is a banger and has been stuck in my head ever since!

Overall score: 4/10