#deadbolt photos

[tyforthevnm]

Frank Iero and the Patience at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY on April 18, 2017 | Keeyahtay Lewis

[wileys-russo]

revenge of the missing eyebrow II barça femeni

another christmas fic, part of the pollito universe revenge of the missing eyebrow II barça femeni

"i'll get it!" you'd already spoken when the buzzer rang, darting past alexia who almost fell over with the speed you raced past by, popping up in front of the security box.

confirming the parcel was for you you buzzed in the delivery man to the lobby downstairs, your key already in hand as you shot out the front door, alexia starting with one word before it promptly slammed closed again after you and cut her off.

you tapped your foot impatiently as you waited for the elevator, stepping inside and smiling politely at one of your neighbors, and then rolling your eyes when they just started at you blankly not returning the greeting.

none the less you shot out first when it reached the ground floor, the delivery man at least returning you a smile and not seemingly too interested in small talk as you signed his clipboard and took your parcel.

"necesita ayuda?" the man asked with a slight frown of concern as you lugged the suspiciously large box with you toward the elevator, which from the floor rose up to your rib cage and was nearly as wide as you were.

"no, lo tengo, gracias!" you waved him off as he shrugged, wishing you a happy holidays and heading for the front door as the middle aged couple coming out of the elevator you stepped into gave you a strange look.

"tiempo de navidad." you explained with a curt nod as the woman hummed, her eyes baring into you with an air of judgement before the doors closed and you pulled a face.

"nosy." you rolled your eyes, grunting as the elevator reached your floor and you tugged the package out a strange wooshing sounded as you dragged it down the carpeted hallway toward alexias apartment.

not bothered to fish your keys out you simply kicked the door three times, hearing the deadbolt unlock and once again nearly knocking alexia over as you barreled inside and made a beeline for your room.

"hold it!" you froze, halfway there as the door clicked close and footsteps sounded behind you, alexia stepping in front to block the way with narrowed eyes and arms folded across her chest.

"that is the-" she held up a finger, pulling her phone out of her pocket and tapping around on the screen with her free hand for a moment. "-thirteenth package, just this week!" your captain read off the notes tab she'd kept track on.

"en qué andas pequeña?" the older girl asked, hazel eyes burning in warning not to mess her around as you sighed, dropping the package to the floor with a thump.

"christmas capi. gifts!" you replied in a duh tone with a roll of your eyes, shrugging your shoulders which had locked up from lugging around the heavy package.

"show me." the girl demanded with a raised eyebrow as you scoffed. "no! it could be for you. i do not know what is in it!" you defended gesturing to the lack of label on the box as alexia only hummed.

"confía en mí ale!" you smiled charmingly, picking the box up again with a huff, causing alexia to wince as you began to drag it toward your room again.

"trust you? yo no soy idiota!" alexia called after you, stepping aside as you marched past her, grumbling something inaudible under your breath before keys sounded in the door, alexia immediately distracted now olga was home allowing you to shut yourself away and have a little privacy.

"finally. el último!" you grinned happily, clicking the lock you'd fought tooth and nail for to have on your door and dropping the package to the floor, wasting no time wrestling to open it, eventually doing so with a determined huff.

"one hundred and one, one hundred and two, one hundred and three." you counted your final tally, snapping a photo with a grin and sending it to vicky, one of the only other people you'd entrusted to know your little plan.

within seconds your phone rang, your back hitting your mattress and your body bouncing a little as you clicked accept. "hola rata!" you greeted, and though you couldn't see it you knew she was rolling her eyes.

"this is not going to work amiga. for one there is alexia and she-" vicky warned as you faked a yawn, letting her go on the same rant she'd tried to spew at you for the last few weeks as you'd carefully started to align all the little pieces of this vengeful puzzle you were creating.

"are you done?" you sighed when finally there was silence on the other end of the line, a hum sounding in response. "alexia is going to her mami's tomorrow morning, olga is going with her. they both think i am going home to mi familia, and that my cousin, that they have not met and do not have a number for but have seen photo evidence exists, will be picking me up." you started to explain your master plan.

"my mami thinks i am coming on monday, and that i am staying with mi novia over the weekend. mapi and ingrid are leaving for norway, tonight, and yesterday they dropped bagheera to patri." you continued to explain, vicky sighing every now and then.

"frido is leaving for sweden tomorrow morning. i will use my spare key to frido's, to get her spare key for mapi and ingrids. then you, mi novia, martina, pina and alba will meet me there, and you know the rest!" you finished cheerfully, eyes flickering to the door every now and then to make sure no one was listening in, alexia having a habit to hover and try to hear through your door.

"dios mío pollito, we are so dead." "we are not! by the time they get back and see, we will have a water tight alibi."

christmas time, everyone had their guards down, heads focused on the celebrations ahead and the upcoming break, ready for time spent with loved ones and to engorge in enough food for an army.

christmas time, also known as the perfect time for revenge.

~

sure enough, everything went as smoothly as you could planned, bar one of fridos neighbours assuming you were breaking in and calling her. but with a rushed excuse that you just wanted to leave her her christmas gift to come home to which wasn't a total lie, you were back in the clear.

once you'd arrived to the apartment in question, belonging to the norweigan you were quite fond of and the zaragozana you and your freshly grown eyebrow were not, the plan was simple.

gift wrap, everything.

walls, doors, furniture, the roof, the cat tree, the books, the mirror, shoes, clothes, footballs, kitchen utentisils, whatever you could manage in the two days you'd lied your way to having free to wreak a little christmas havoc.

and with the help of your girlfriend and a few friends, you managed a good chunk of it, getting in and out pretty much undetected given mapi had unknowingly provided you with all the tools you needed.

with your teammates all scattered around the globe with their families, and your time spent with your own family keeping you well occupied, you'd almost forgotten all about your little holiday prank.

key word, almost.

~

"oh eres tan hermosa princesa, the most gorgeous in the-" mapi cooed fondly, adoration in her eyes as she stroked her hand softly over bagheera's little head, gentle purrs and chuffs sounding as she did.

"maría!" ingrid called out, snapping her back to reality as she glanced over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "a little help please?" her girlfriend scoffed, struggling to pull their bags out of the car.

"i am helping!" the spaniard held up the black feline tucked away in her arms, a fierce glare sent her way having her shrinking beneath the green eyes locked on her own.

"lo siento princesa, i will help." mapi hurried back to the car, putting bagheera into the carry crate she'd been picked up in and gently nudging her girlfriend out of the way, hauling out the last of their luggage with a grunt.

it took two trips back to the car and a carry on holding the elevator open but eventually everything was loaded in and headed up to their floor, door once more held open this time by one of their neighbours as the two quickly moved everything.

however as they arrived in front of their door, the alarm bells started.

"did you do this?" ingrid questioned with a confused frown, their once brown oak door now covered with red nosed reindeers with a huge bow tied in the middle, the wreath once nailed to the centre of it hanging on the door handle instead.

"no. did you do this?" mapi echoed the question, cautiously poking at the door, frown deepening when she realised it was covered in wrapping paper.

"did-" but the spaniards question fell short, glancing to her side to see ingrid already with her phone up to her ear, a brief conversation with their swedish blonde teammate confirming she also did not do this.

"the building? decorating for christmas?" ingrid guessed, the pair of them really running out of options now as mapi could only shrug, just as clueless though a brief walk up and down their floor showed it was only their door decorated.

ever so cautiously the couple pushed their key in, mapi going first and kicking the door open, wielding an umbrella making her girlfriend roll her eyes.

however they didn't stay that way for long, both girls jaws dropping as they took in what was once their apartment, but now seemed like something out of a cheesy hallmark movie.

both stunned to silence they dropped everything in their hands, bags hitting the ground with a thump and bagheera mewing unhappily from in her crate still by the front door.

however they had much, much, bigger things to worry about.

"who did-why did-when did-" ingrid stammered out, finger tracing the walls which were also plastered with wrapping paper. "the books. they even did the books amor." mapi breathed out, slowly tugging one out and dropping it to the floor in shock.

"oh my-the kitchen. maría, the kitchen." ingrid gasped, every cupboard door, utensil and appliance all neatly wrapped, some even with little bows stuck to the top.

then, they both shared a panicked look of realisation.

"the bedroom!"

feet thumping they burst through and both nearly dropped to their knees, mapi dragging her hands down her face with a sharp inhale, ingrid rubbing her eyes sure this was some sort of horrid dream.

"but who-who-who-" the norweigan stammered, sounding more like an owl than a footballer as mapi paused, sniffing the air and holding up a hand, silencing her girlfriend.

"amor do you smell that?" "what? paper?"

"no. tom ford perfume, vanilla body wash and...pizza?" mapi frowned, ingrid also sniffing the air as within seconds their heads whipped toward one another with wide eyes.

"pollito!"

~

"oye alexia all i am saying is that it was not even two weeks!" you groaned, repeatedly pushing away the tall blonde as she suffocated you in a bear hug every few seconds, sniffing your hair or pinching your cheeks, mumbling about how she'd missed you.

"get a grip." you huffed, shoving her off you as she attempted to wrap her arm around you in a headlock of sorts, racing off ahead toward the training centre.

though no sooner did you push through the doors did you choke as arms grabbed you, lifting you off your feet and squeezing tightly. "thank you for my present liten stjärna!" frido shook you side to side, kissing your head and placing you back down.

"you liked it? good! i could not remember if it was the right one." you sighed in relief, pulled into another hug by the tall swede which this time you returned.

"it was! i have already read it." frido grinned excitedly, you having fited her the latest book in her favorite series, which given it was in swedish was not easy to find.

"todavía? you have been back for two days!" you looked at her in disbelief, her arm settling over your shoulder as she walked with you down the hallway toward the changing rooms, both of you greeting staff members as you passed them.

catching you up on her time in sweden and you about your time with your family eventually you reached the changing rooms, broken apart by being pulled away by various teammates.

"oh pollito!" then, you heard her, and everything you'd almost forgotten came rushing back as mapi strolled over to you, slowly and with a terrifyingly calm smile on her face.

"hola! cómo estuvo noruega?" you plastered a smile on your face, trying desperately to hide the fear bubbling up inside you, knowing the moment the older girl caught a whiff of it she would pounce.

"bueno. qué tal la navidad? did you work on your...wrapping?" mapi asked, cornering you as vicky caught your pleading look and hastily turned her back and you bit down the gasp you nearly let out at the betrayal.

"sí! my mami runs a tight ship. because that is where i was all break, my mami's house." you assured with a less than confident smile as the defenders eyes narrowed, sizing you up.

"alexia! cuándo se fue?" the girls head whipped around, finger pointed accusingly in your direction as a few of the other girls watched on curiously.

"ehh, the 19th? same as me no?" alexia directed the question at you this time as you nodded quickly. "you dropped off my present on the 19th?" frido now chimed in with a curious frown as alexia's eyes slowly narrowed, catching the slight red tint of your ears.

"i thought you were at your girlfriends until the 22nd?" ona chimed in and you shot vicky a glare who winced and hid her face again. "so...where were you? maybe eh...santas workshop?" mapi laughed but there wasn't an ounce of humour in it as you shrunk.

"do you see my hands diablo? the little cuts? the paper cuts?" mapi continued to walk toward you as you tried to back up but only hit the wall with a wince.

"eh ¿feliz navidad? ¿feliz año nuevo?" you tried with a weak smile.

then ingrid walked in, and with one look at her girlfriend, and then at you, all hell broke loose and in the blink of an eye mapi lunged for you and you darted around her and took off running as she sprinted after you with ingrid hot on her heels.

"you get back here tonta! first i am going to shove a whole roll up wrapping paper por el culo and then i am going to shave your head!"

[moonchildstyles]

rosemary

rosemary part one: harry has a lot of secrets and has perfected the art of being alone. y/n likes to wear bows in her hair and tries harder than anyone harry has ever known.

wordcount: 14.5k+

—————

The sound of the lock clicking in place as Harry twisted the deadbolt on his front door had his shoulders relaxing. The kind of comfort a locked door brought was something he'd never take for granted. 

He kicked off his shoes beside the door, the dingy carpet making his beaten Vans look a lot cleaner than they really were. His keys clamoring atop the rickety side table he had set up next to the door had him wincing at the volume. He didn't like loud noises much anyway, but especially not after one of his longer shifts. Harry bypassed the single curtained window in his apartment, leaving the drapes heavily closed despite the morning light crawling over the horizon. 

First order of business was changing out of his work uniform. He hated nothing more than relaxing in the same pants he had worked all night in, even if the dress code of the grocery store was on the lax side. He flung the maroon collared shirt into his hamper, followed by the set of stiff, dark pants he wouldn't wear ever in his daily life. He could have melted as soon as he threw on a heather grey t-shirt and tattered sweats. 

The second he sunk into his bed, springs creaking under his weight, he felt the knots in his muscles begin to loosen. He'd never worked over nights before at any of his previous jobs, and he hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to adjust to falling asleep when the sun came up and the challenge his body would pose over working when he should be resting. At least, he was home. 

His studio apartment wasn't heavily furnished—or even lightly furnished, if he was being honest. This was his seventh home in the last handful of years, and after a while the idea of lugging furniture around and anything other than the essentials made him just as exhausted as the actual process of moving. It was easier to pack up and leave when there wasn't much for him to miss. Instead, he often bought secondhand, or anything cheap whenever he settled in a place that seemed good enough for the time being.

This particular move left him with a plain bed frame, the legs uneven but fixed with the help of a couple of old books. His pillows were thin, matching the frayed sheets he had stretched across his mattress and the threadbare comforter topping the whole thing. Like with most of his past apartments, the carpets held stains from before he moved in, walls yellowed from cigarettes he didn't smoke, and the kitchen appliances worked at their convenience. The only things that were truly his, that he never parted with in any of his moves and made this place less of a crash pad, were the few well-loved books under his bed that weren't being used to prop up the frame, and the small photo of his mother and sister sitting on a shelf he was lucky enough to have found at a garage sale when he moved in. 

Despite it all, Harry liked this place. 

The town he'd landed in was on the quieter side, too small for much trouble to rise up. He hoped that would make it an easy place to stick around for a while.

His body felt heavy when he forced himself to stand from his bed and pad over to the tiny kitchen tucked in the corner of the space. As exhausted as his body was, his brain was still very much awake and urging him to eat something before he settled any.

His kitchen was made up of limited cabinet space, a trio of stubborn appliances, and a square of loosely-laid tiles marking the confines of the space. The flimsy cabinets were barely hanging onto their hinges, from before even Harry moved in. The shelves were sparsely dotted with canned food and boxed snacks. They were the easiest and cheapest things to grab, even if they weren't necessarily bites that he liked. Plus, they were easy to travel with if he needed to leave in a split. 

The stubby refrigerator manning one of the walls held only the bare essentials, leaving the shelves and door more bare than not. The appliance mostly held the frozen meals he was able to get a discount on through his job. The microwave embedded in the wall stunk like burnt hair every time he ran it for longer than ten seconds. The stove was the most reasonable method of heating up food in this apartment, Harry had found, even if only two out of the four burners operated on more than a simmer. He had never used the oven in the three months since he made this his home, despite the fact it had been cleared by his landlord on move in day. The exposed wiring sticking out of the back looked like it would cause a house fire instead of just heating a lasagna. 

Harry bypassed it all as he rifled through his near-empty cabinets. To be fair, this wasn't the worst place he'd ever lived, so he'd take it if things were on the rundown side and carried an odd smell if he paid close enough attention. It was a routine the way he pulled out a can from his cupboard, a Spaghettio's label wrapped around the tin, before reaching for the misshapen pot he kept in a lower cabinet. His movements felt robotic as he went along, forming his meal out of habit more than any conscious thought. His brain happily turned onto autopilot as he stirred the runny tomato sauce, noodles floating through, until boiling bubbles broke through the surface. 

Taking it off the heat, Harry scooped it into a bowl. This was good enough for him. 

With the pot in the sink to be washed and the can in the trash, he moved on tired feet back to his bed. He didn't have a dining table to eat at, and he didn't really care if he was honest. It wasn't as if he was hosting dinner parties or entertaining guests. He was happy enough with nestling into his blankets and eating on his bed. 

Tucked underneath his pillow, Harry pulled out a well-worn book. A dog-eared page marked his place in the oil-softened pages. The spine no longer cracked when he folded open the pages, the stiff set in the glue having settled somewhere after his fiftieth read. The bent and frayed cover no longer phased him anymore, nor did the name inscribed in the inside cover that wasn't his. No matter the state, this book followed him through every move, every change, and every sleepless night.

He knew this love story like the back of his hand; the pages one of the only constants in his life of transiency. 

Harry wasn't even that much of a reader the first time he had picked up the volume. He had only been looking for something to escape into when he first started going on jobs, the stress and guilt beginning to warp his mind. These pages still hadn't lost their shine in his eyes, this story having been one of the only bright points when he swore he was digging himself to rock bottom. 

Absentmindedly spooning bites of his meal into his mouth, Harry slipped into the familiar story. The comfort was almost enough to have him lulled into something safe enough that he could have fallen asleep where he was sitting, memories of every sleepless night when he had turned to this book hitting his system. It was a feat little else had been able to achieve, and Harry was grateful for that. He couldn't keep staying up at all hours now that he had the challenge of flipping his days with this new job. 

Sitting on his well-loved bed, a well-loved copy of his favorite book in hand, and something that could pass as breakfast if he squinted hard enough, Harry felt at peace for a moment. 

He didn't mind being alone, not when it was like this anyway. He hoped he wouldn't have to move on from this place for a while. 

—————

Cardboard scraped against Harry's forearm as he reached into his box, digging through the packages of cookies and crackers that filled this specific shipment. The fluorescent lights above him felt especially fried now that the sun had gone down, washing out his skin and paling the ink of his tattoos. 

While the rest of the night crew were paired off and working together to stock the shelves, Harry was commissioned alone. He worked better by himself, he knew that, and it was nice to have his boss know that now too. It only took almost two months into his employment until everyone realized he wasn't the kind of person that enjoyed idle chatter or wanted to get close to any of these people around him. Now, he was able to enjoy his music in peace, the white wire connecting the buds hitting his chest as he moved. 

Harry had a system with the way he worked. He wanted to finish as fast as possible, and not waste any more energy than he had to. He tried to organize his boxes as much as he could on the cart before he was stocking each line of product as quickly as he could, extras being cast aside until he could make a trip to the back room. It was all a system, something he planned out without even thinking. If not for the fading ache in his shoulders and knees he would feel at the end of his shift, he wouldn't even really remember his movements. 

Given this focus, there wasn't much that could distract Harry as he worked. His goal was to finish as fast as possible and move onto something else to fill his mundane nights, not to linger on the guests of the grocery store or fill the silence with small talk he didn't care about. There was a reason he gravitated towards the operations side of this job and not the customer service aspects.

That's why he didn't give it much of a thought when he saw a pastel streak flash in the corner of his eye. He continued doing his job, organizing his box some, as he filtered through the packages of biscuits and sweet crackers, soft sleeves of cookies, and bags of other products. It wasn't until the pastel streak drew closer did he instinctively glance in its direction. 

Her back was to him as she held her gaze upwards. She was scanning the shelves, this woman, complete with an overlarge cream sweater and a peach colored bow in her hair that shone in the light like the velvet fuzz of the color's namesake. One of the grocery store's signature maroon baskets was at her side, the handles tucked in her elbow. There was barely anything in her basket, but that isn't what had Harry's brows knitting in the middle by the time he stitched his attention back on his work. 

It was way too late for anyone to be doing any menial shopping in his opinion, especially not a girl who looked as if she might deem throwing flower petals in the face of an attacker to be sufficient self-defense. But, that wasn't his business, he reminded himself. It didn't help soothe the tears in his mental health to imagine the worst possible scenarios starring those around him. 

A centering breath was sucked in through his nose as he flicked the switch in his brain that had him thinking only of his body's movements. He curled around himself, stepping out of the way as much as possible so the pastel-peach girl could go about her business and disturb Harry as little as possible. The less approachable he looked, the less he'd be approached. 

He didn't know if she wandered that aisle for the next couple of minutes or traced down the shelves on the other side before coming back, but that telltale shift in the air around him told him she was now behind him. The static told him she was right there, at his back. 

Harry didn't acknowledge her presence, instead making it clear he was working and didn't want to be disturbed. He hoped she could see the wire of his headphones that much clearer against his dark shirt. He wasn't inviting her presence; if she needed help, Brett and Fawn were just a couple of aisles down and much more friendly. 

As with some attempts at camouflage, it didn't work in Harry's favor. Some people didn't always see what was clearly in front of them, he knew that. 

A small hand, complete with pearl polished nails and skin smelling of something sweet like honey and the savory bite of herbs, landed on the crook of his elbow. "Excuse me?" her voice leaked through his headphones. 

With a tick appearing in his jaw and a pace of breathing he was sure looked just as forced as it was, Harry halted his work with a sleeve of graham crackers in his hand. His features felt stiff when he turned towards this girl. 

He spoke as he twisted in his spot with a hand yanking his headphones out of his ears, her touch falling from his arm just as quickly. "What?"

When Harry's gaze brushed over her, cataloguing details to add to the pastel streak he had thought her to be before, the same attention that went into his work was now employed in keeping his features stoic and muscles hard. This woman... was very pretty. 

Her cream sweater he had seen from behind was actually a cardigan, buttoned loosely over her torso with a pale peach top underneath. The buttons were pearls, matching the shifting light that characterized the varnish on her nails. Her jeans were high waisted, ripped in places that lead to a pair of pristine white tennis shoes, complete with a set of pink laces threaded over the tongue. The bow held back pieces of hair that would have normally fallen around her face, leaving small strands fluttered as if matching the tendrils of her bow that drifted down her back. 

In the time he was trying to figure out who was standing right in front of him, she blinked at his harsh tone, almost recoiling as if she'd been struck. Her hands became a bundle at her middle as he squirmed under his gaze. Harry swallowed harshly. 

"Sorry to bother you," she started, recovering some with a short smile on her lips, "I was just wondering... God, this sounds so much more dumb out loud than I thought it would." She cut herself off with a soft laugh, dropping her gaze from his to settle on the cardboard box on his cart. "Do you have any of those white chocolate raspberry cookies that come in the bag in your box? The soft ones?" she tired again, shuffling her toes against the linoleum, "I didn't see any on the shelf, so I was hoping you might have some in one of your boxes. They're my favorite so..." 

Harry wanted to be annoyed, he really did. There were hundreds of less offensive situations he'd been in that bothered him more than he knew his mother would be proud of him for, but this just couldn't be added to the list. And that annoyed him. Though, there was something in him that felt a bit contented knowing that there was still a heart buried somewhere inside of him that wouldn't allow him to get upset at someone like her. 

"Let me look." His voice was gruff as he brushed a knuckle under his nose. 

He knew exactly what she was looking for, the packaging coming to mind. He liked this brand too, though he rarely ever felt as if he could spare the cash to indulge. He'd never tried the raspberry variation, though. 

Working stiffly, he rifled through the box until he found the bottom layer of product. A white, rustic looking bag was tucked in a corner. The brand name stylized as if it were embedded on a wooden board was printed on the white bag, with the name of the cookies and the variation underneath. 

White chocolate chunks with bites of real raspberry in a soft cookie. 

That's the one. 

Fishing it out, Harry unceremoniously presented it to her. He made a point to keep his eyes from lingering on her for too long. He needed to keep his clear head. 

"This one?" 

She lit up in a way Harry couldn't ignore. Her eyes had to have been holding glitter behind her irises the way the color brightened, matching her smile. Creases appeared around the corners of her eyes, soft lips stretched and complemented with laugh lines. 

"Yes, yes, those ones!" she chattered off, reaching out to take the bag from him. 

Harry shoved the crinkling bag into her grasp, watching as she stumbled back some before placing it in her basket among what he could now see was a bundle of rosemary and a package of noodles. Nonetheless, her smile didn't falter as she turned towards him again.

"Thank you..." she trailed off, her gaze dropping to his chest where a name tag was pinned to the breast, "Harry." 

There was a lag in between the second he heard her voice wrap around his name and the beats of Harry's heart resuming at a rapid pace. His throat went dry for a moment, something he couldn't believe was happening to him over something like this. When was the last time someone learned his name just because they wanted to know him? 

He swallowed that line of questioning down as soon as it popped up. "Um, yeah," he told her, turning back to his box as soon as he had the words out. 

His headphones he had dangling in his grasp were replaced in his ears, his music still playing on, a different song now filtering than the one that had been when he ripped them out. Harry pushed his objective to the forefront of his mind, leaving little space to keep up with the way his stomach tightened hearing this girl's voice saying his name. He didn't want to focus on the fact he could still feel her presence for a moment after he had dismissed her. He wasn't going to let any of this fluster him—or whatever it was that could happen to a person who barely had any feelings left. 

Calculating his movements was the only viable distraction until he could feel that static of her presence flitter away. It was only then that he dared to indulge himself in a short glance aimed in her direction. He caught the barest view of her wobbly bow and the edge of her loose cardigan before she disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone once more. 

He was going to forget her, Harry decided. Whatever reaction he just had, wasn't going to happen again. 

—————

Gazing down at his hands, Harry only saw red. It wasn't his blood that tainted his skin, but there was a pain in his body that made him want to argue that there was no way he wasn't injured. From somewhere far—but not far enough—away, a crashing sound rumbled through the warehouse. He felt his bones vibrate and his head go fuzzy. More blood dripped from his skin. 

Another crash sounded, this time much closer to where Harry couldn't move his feet. It was as if he were bolted to the spot. More blood, more scars. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone. They were walking with a purpose, heavy on their feet. 

His hands still shook even when he took his eyes off of the thick crimson dripping from his fingers. The person coming towards him looked familiar. Too familiar. 

The second they were close enough, Harry recognized that it was himself. There was a gun in the clone's hand, the barrel pointed right at his head. 

Another loud crash.

Harry woke with a start, rocketing up in bed. His breathing was heavy, thick and humid, with his hands shaking where they were clutching the thin bedding askew over his form. There was a sheen of cold sweat covering his body, his hair clinging to the back of his neck.

Looking at his hands, untangling from the bedding, Harry felt his heart rate go down a notch when he no longer saw blood coating the appendages. His vision still blurred at the edges as he came down, his lips mouthing a mantra he wanted so badly to believe: 

It's not real, it's just a dream. It's not real, it's just a dream. It's not real, it's just a dream.

He didn't live that life anymore, he reminded himself. That was a part of his past, but it's all over now. Those scars would never reopen and his hands would never be stained that way again. He would make sure of that. 

As he talked himself down, the rest of his apartment came back into view. The edges of his vision sharpened, showing him the rest of his full bed, rumpled sheets, and the book he had dropped when he finally managed to fall asleep in the middle of a passage. He busied his hands as fixed his book, righting the bent cover and smoothing back the crease that folded into the page he left on. With that sweat on his bare chest and thin comforter falling to his lap, he realized just how cold his apartment was.

Taking a deep breath, his lungs shuddering as he fought to regulate the pacing he lost in his sleep, he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He worked slowly as he replaced his book back to his rightful slot underneath his bed. Lethargy weighed down his limbs as he searched for his phone somewhere on the floor as he sat with his legs crossed underneath his bottom, the scratch of the carpet dragging across his ankles from where his pants rode up grounding him. 

The screen of his phone was far too bright when he powered it up, the time being of no surprise to him even if he was disappointed. He only got a few hours of sleep before that dream woke him up into the real world, plenty of time left before he should begin getting ready to go to work. 

This was how it always was for the past handful of years. Harry was lucky to have slept at all really, as some days he wasn't that fortunate, but there was no way he was going to be able to drift off again. But, he'd gotten rather good at finding ways to fill his time. 

Standing on wobbly legs, Harry took his time stripping his bed. There was time to get through some laundry, he figured, hauling both his bedding as well as his full hamper to the rickety washer and dryer stationed in the hall closet. 

Every movement was a distraction: separating the colors of his clothing, the measuring of the detergent, and the three times he had to set the cycle before the machine finally came to life all did their part to keep him from obsessively staring at his hands as if they would do something bad if he wasn't watching. It was routine the way he didn't allow himself to dwell on the dreams he could no longer forget like he could when they first started sporadically. 

Harry felt like a shadow as the hours passed, even after a cold shower shocked his nerves and a bland meal had warmed his stomach. But, at least he was awake. 

—————

Watching his hands as he stocked and stocked the shelves in front of him, more and more of himself came back to Harry. This was the perk of the more manual of jobs he had. He could use his body and keep track of every movement he made, every stretch of his muscles coming from his own volition. 

It felt like a ritual the way a pastel flash struck the corner of his vision. 

It'd been almost a month since the first time he'd seen her, and she made more trips with a basket tucked into the crook of her elbow than he had seen most other patrons. Maybe he only noticed her now that he recognized her and the phantom ache that touched the muscles of his stomach every time he saw her wander close to him. Nonetheless, he saw her more often than not, barely anything in her basket but small items and snacks, never once with a full shopping cart or a list in hand. 

In an odd way, he'd almost begun to expect her—look for her. It was a part of his shift to see her drifting through the aisles in something comfortable, a ribbon in her hair, and that ever-present smile on her face. He'd never admit that though, even to himself. 

Instead, when he saw her drift into his aisle—the frozen meal section tonight—he kept to himself. Harry didn't even bother to look up at her for more than a glance, even when he paused his music as he listened to her footsteps padding over the floor. Just like she always did since the first night she went out of her way to read his name tag, she offered him a soft smile of recognition as she passed by. Even though Harry hadn't reciprocated a single one. 

Just like that, she kept moving, Harry's ear trained to hear her pad off until he couldn't distinguish her footsteps against any of the other noises filtering through the grocery store. He played his music again then, allowing something else to fill his head before she could wiggle her way inside. 

Though he would rather not acknowledge it, there was something about the fact that the haunted feeling that had clung to him since his nightmare earlier in the day, finally began to dissolve. That turning in his stomach every time he saw one of the thin scars of his hands turned into the residual flaps of a butterfly's wings, even if he didn't dare give the feeling a name or even think of the cause. 

Despite the fact there was something loose in his muscles now as he worked, his head a little bit more clear with that dream tied up in a peachy bow in the back of his mind, Harry was going to ignore it all just as he had every time he saw that girl. 

—————

"Thank you, Harry!" 

The bow girl's chirping gratitude only had Harry looking at her stiffly with a grumbled Yeah falling from his lips. Just as she had done the last couple of months since she made herself a presence during his shifts, she simply gave him a smile before bouncing away with her basket only containing a carton of banana milk and her favorite cookies. She was no longer perturbed by the standoffish responses he gave her. Harry couldn't decide if he liked that or not. 

It was like this at least a couple of times a week. She never did a big shop, only stopping by at later times to pick up individual ingredients for a dinner she had chatted to him about, or little snacks she couldn't seem to go a day without. During at least one of her trips, she found an excuse to talk to Harry; she asked him about his day if she was close enough to feel comfortable starting a question (Harry never gave her a good answer, honestly), she told him about her own day and what she was shopping for if there was anything specific she had in mind. She almost always had a bow pinned to her hair, fluttering behind her and matching whatever soft piece of clothing she had cinched around her form. Harry had even begun fishing out a pack of her favorite cookies from his boxes if he was stocking that aisle, just to make it easy if she came in and asked him for assistance. It made the interactions quicker and less bothersome—at least that's what he told himself. 

He knew more about her and her routines than he had any of the hundreds of people he'd met in the last handful of years since he started moving around. Even if that did make him feel a bit guilty knowing that she didn't have a clue about who exactly she was sharing these parts of herself with; she didn't know the mess she was tiptoeing around every time she interacted with him. 

Tonight was no different, her leaving a rattling in Harry's bones that he wanted nothing more than to ignore like every other part of his life. If he was superstitious, he would think she could have cast some kind of spell on him with the way she and her little bows lingered in his brain long after she had checked out and gone on her way home. 

That rattling followed him as he made his way into the backroom, his empty box needing to be replaced. An exasperated sigh fought to leave his chest when he saw almost half of the overnight team huddled in the area, puttering about as they chattered and pretended to work. He didn't like being roped into their conversations, and that almost always happened when he ran into more than two of them at once. 

Harry didn't say a word as he broke down the cardboard box on his cart, pushing it off to the pile of the other flattened boxes before he reached for another. The conversations had quieted some when he walked in, but he could still hear what sounded like Brett and Fawn flirting in the back corner with a cart of refrigerated items that needed to go on the opposite end of the store, and Theo talking to two of the other guys that Harry hadn't bothered to remember the names of. 

"Busy night, huh, Harry?" Theo started, dropping whatever topic he had been rambling to his friends about just a moment before. 

"Yeah," Harry answered, voice stiff. It wasn't any more busy than any other night as far as he was concerned. Besides, he had other things he needed to worry about than to be making conversation with a coworker he barely knew. There was still a peach colored ribbon tying his stomach in tiny knots that he needed to fix. 

Soon enough, a silence fell through the backroom when the others made their way out. Only Harry and Theo were left, Harry doing his part to semi-organize his chosen box before heading out on the floor again. 

Maybe it was the rattling in his bones, or the vision of a peach colored bow that he saw every time he blinked, but something in Harry felt a little reckless when he peeked over at Theo focusing on his own box. 

"That girl," Harry rumbled, feeling odd in his skin as he spoke, "The one with the bows in her hair... She comes in a lot." 

Theo looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes wide with furrowed brows as he looked in Harry's direction. He even glanced over his shoulder as if there were anyone else there for the conversation to be aimed at. Harry had to keep from scoffing, dropping his gaze back to his working hands. 

Floundering over his words, Theo tried to catch up once he realized Harry was voluntarily talking. "Um, the—uh—the one with bows in her hair?" 

Harry hummed in response. "She's in a couple of times a week." 

"Ohhh," Theo sounded, familiarity touching his tone, "You mean (Y/N)?" 

Harry swallowed at the sound of her name. He'd never asked for it himself. "If that's her name." 

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Theo nodding his head. "She comes in a lot, yeah. She's not good at keeping a list and always forgets stuff if she tries to do big shops, so she just comes in when she wants something or runs out." 

Though he didn't want this information to mean something to him, Harry felt a part of himself slowly being fulfilled the more details he learned. She didn't tell him these kinds of things when she rambled about her dinner choice for the night. 

Keeping his gaze tacked to his hands, Harry kept his words measured and calculated. "Oh," he started, "Is she from here?" 

"She's lived here forever, yeah. Why?" 

A beat passed as Harry opted to ignore the second part of Theo's response. He didn't need to have any details as to why Harry was asking after someone after working together for five months with only a handful of interactions. Even if he did want to share that, Harry didn't have any real answers to that why, anyway. 

"Does she... What does she do?" Harry asked, the phrasing of his words feeling awkward falling out of his mouth. He was lucky he was so used to shielding his emotions and staying stoic, otherwise he would have cringed where he stood. 

"Like for work?" Theo asked, his eyes warm on Harry's profile. 

Lifting his shoulders, Harry only shrugged in response. It was probably a good idea to keep his mouth shut. 

"She—uh—she works at the bakery over on Windsor. She and my sister work there together," Theo told him, acting as if Harry was supposed to know what bakery he was talking about and who his sister was. "(Y/N)'s pretty nice, though." 

"Right," was all Harry offered by the time he finished organizing his box. He didn't bother to give anything more in response or wait for Theo to elaborate before he was walking out on the floor again. Even when he could feel Theo's eyes stuck to his back.

No doubt would this interaction make its way to the rest of the team before the end of the shift. 

It was harmless curiosity, Harry argued. He just had to believe the harmless part. 

—————

It's funny the kinds of things that happened in the day that then were transported and highlighted in a dream. Stranger's faces, odd conversations, a passing thought, things that normally wouldn't have been catalogued at all by a waking brain but were held tightly in the middle of sleep. 

Despite the fact Harry made it home from work at three in the morning, he still ended up waking in the early morning after a lingering dream. He didn't remember much about the scene the longer he was awake, but he knew there were swaying bows in pretty hair. A soft voice could have been there too, along with a subtle smile, but he couldn't remember. All because he had seen those ribbons and heard that voice the night before. 

For a split second, when he was surfacing from sleep, he wanted so badly to just roll over and continue whatever play was running in the back of his mind. But, sleep didn't come easy for him; he'd have to take whatever small amount of hours his body allowed him and be grateful. 

That left Harry to lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling above him, peeks of sunshine beginning to filter through the heavy drapes on his single window. He pretended as if he wasn't waiting for flashes of the dream to come back to him, even as he reluctantly found his footing in the real world. 

He was off work for the next two days. Forty-eight hours he would have to fill with the kinds of tasks he dreaded almost as much as actually reporting in for a shift. 

Grocery shopping was at the top of the to-do list as well as the hated tasks list. He hated going into his work on his day off just so he could shop the canned food aisles and dodge small talk from the dayshift coworkers that pretended as if they had met him more than once during his training shifts. A trip to the library was due as well, his borrowed books packed away under his bed and read from cover to cover in the week since he'd last visited the building. There was also always cleaning and laundry to be done, more things to keep him busy before he would undoubtedly retire to his bed for the rest of the day and read as much as he could to keep his brain from going to mush. 

Harry sighed at the day's agenda. This was the life he wanted, though, so he was going to appreciate every day of the boring tasks and the mundane dredge. 

By the time he had a load of laundry running in his machine and his hands buried in the sink, doing dishes he put off until his weekend, Harry's mind was already wandering somewhere outside of his apartment. 

Theo had been complaining last night towards the end of the shift about how his sister needed him to pick her up from work today. She was opening and had stayed the night at her boyfriend's before, but he wouldn't be able to drop her off and pick her up. That left Theo to take up the job in exchange for gas money and whatever treats his sister could sneak from the bakery. Theo kept droning on about how since it was Sunday, the bakery opened up early, leaving him to have to fight to stay awake after going home so he wouldn't miss picking up his sister. 

Throughout all of the petty complaining and meaningless rambling, the only thing that stuck out to Harry was the hours of this bakery being narrowed down. He didn't mean to pay attention, not now after knowing who else worked there, but it was just another one of those things that stuck in his brain like a dreamy detail. 

An early opening could mean that his bow girl—(Y/N)—might be there as well. 

Harry's hands flexed under the soapy water. It wouldn't be such a bad thing to go to a bakery on a Sunday morning. No one would think anything of it—and neither should he. He liked pastries as much as the next person. Even if trying out one of the town's baked goods wasn't necessarily his goal for the outing didn't mean that it would be a bad idea. He had more self-control than most people—a bit of indulgence wouldn't break him. 

Before he could get too far ahead of himself, Harry focused on washing the dishes in the sink. He laid each piece gently out on the tea towel flattened out beside the sink, taking extra care as if his slow pace could prove that he still had all that control he was boasting about. If he was really on the edge of breaking—about to make a bad decision—he wouldn't be so in control, he argued. He even waited for the load of laundry to make that erratic beeping noise that notified him that he could trade into the dryer. 

Still clad in only a pair of sweats that acted as his pajamas, Harry lazily reached for his phone before looking at the time. Just before nine a.m. According the Theo, the bakery opened at eight in the morning today, right when he was picking up his sister after her early morning shift. Harry held onto that air of nonchalance as he looked up the open confectionaries around him, finding a link at the top of the page for The Flour Pot. 

They were marked as open, hours laid out on the same popup. Only a handful of miles away from the grocery store and on the same block as his library. It wouldn't take him longer than fifteen minutes to get there. He could even stop by the library on his way back or do his grocery shopping. 

There, he cemented. That just proved this whole thing wasn't just to see a fluttering bow or hear a soft voice. He had other things he needed to do, and after hearing so much about this bakery, he could try it out while he was in town. 

With his laundry rumbling in the dryer and his dishes laid out to dry on the counter, Harry changed out of his sweats and threw on a hoodie to keep him warm against the chill in the morning air. He tucked his library books under his arm and started out the door, locking up behind him just like any other day. 

Just as he figured, he was back in town in less than twenty-minutes, the directions on his phone taking him just a few buildings down from the library. With the early hour, he couldn't see the bakery being especially busy, but when he found a parking spot across the street from the building, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. 

Through the lit windows, he saw a line inside. Morning sunshine kept the glass especially translucent, even through the decals pasted to the panes boasting the bakery's name and pots of leafy plants to play on the pun of the title. He could spot glimpses of patrons lounging in the few tables provided while others were waiting in line, the queue long enough to have others shuffling aside when the door behind them swung open. 

Harry's heartbeat quickened at the sight. He never liked being where so many people were crowded. It was hard to keep track of so many and what they were doing and saying when they were packed in a tight space. He thought—hoped—that with the early time he'd be beating out the crowds. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry reminded himself that there was no harm in having more than ten people in one space. This was something he needed to work on anyway—something he was working on. There was no point to becoming so nervous over something like this. The odds of someone recognizing him or something out of his control happening were slim to none. 

The whole point in leaving those years ago was to have a normal life. This was part of that. 

Before he could dwell on the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Harry swung open his door. He planted his feet on the solid ground, stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, and trekked on. 

Keeping his eyes on his feet as he walked, Harry didn't look up until the entrance to the bakery was right in front of him. He had his phone gripped in one hand, prepared to pull it out and fiddle with it in an attempt to sate his nerves, while the other reached out for the golden handle embedded in the glass and wood door. 

One peek through the crystal had his hand falling from the handle. 

Behind the counter was (Y/N). 

She had her back to the door, but he knew that bow. She'd worn it before. He knew that silken pearl color, the slightly lopsided loops, the fabric nestled in with the mess of hair on the top of her head. He knew that if she turned around, even spared a glance over her shoulder, what kind of smile would be painted over her features and the soft set of her features that was practically her trademark. He wanted her to turn around just so he could compare that smile to the ghost of the one in his dreams

It's the fluttering in his stomach and the pacing of his heart behind the cage of his ribs that had Harry turning around. He didn't care if anyone saw his reaction, if anyone noted just how weird the whole moment was. He wasn't able to make those extra steps to go inside. 

He shouldn't be that happy to see her. That wasn't the kind of reaction someone in control would have. That only showed him the kind of weaknesses the walls around him had, the bits of crumbling stone that he was going to have to solidify before he could boast about all of his self-control. 

This was the reason he never allowed himself to grow attached to anyone. The fact that she was the only person in five years to even bother attempting to penetrate those stone walls should have no bearing on how he conducted himself. He knew better than to let her soft smiles and fluttering bows and gentle conversations get to him. He was the one who knew better in this situation; (Y/N) didn't know what kind of person she was offering those niceties to, and it would be wrong of him to accept and even seek them out. 

She didn't deserve what could happen if he let this loss of control continue. 

Slamming his car door shut behind him with a reverberating rattle of the frame, Harry vowed that whatever had caused that flutter in his stomach and the clench of his heart would stop now. He can't feel that way about anyone or anything. He was taking back control now. 

With his hands tight around the steering wheel and the thought of the bakery wiped from his mind, Harry hoped he never dreamt of bows again. 

—————

Harry pretended as if he couldn't hear the conversation happening at the end of the aisle from him, a couple loudly wondering where they could find the artisanal bread. He didn't want to help them. 

This was why he hated coming in any earlier than the call time for his overnight shifts. Even with the fact he was only covering a couple of extra hours—coming in at six instead of eight—the difference in clientele was too stark for his comfort. It was too early in the night even to justify sticking in his headphones and drowning out the noise of others. 

Instead, he hoped that the slight frown on his features and the furrow in his brows would be enough to warn people away from him as he continued his stocking of the soup and other canned goods he was tasked with for the time being. The outfacing shelf gave him the advantage of leaving his back facing most of the customers that walked through, though he made a point to drift away whenever a patron stalked a little too close to his personal space. 

Despite it all, a part of Harry was grateful for the distraction of work and the extra people around him. That was why he had been picking up hours here and there throughout the week. Anything to keep his brain busy since he had recoiled from the bakery a week ago. 

He'd done a good job in his opinion, of keeping (Y/N) and all of the bows in her hair off of his mind. His resolve was being rebuilt brick by brick, reminders swirling in his brain of why he's never experienced those kinds of butterflies and the anticipation in his heart before. He wasn't the kind of person that needed that kind of feeling—deserved that overflowing of joy in his veins. He kept himself tucked away for a reason, and he needed to remember that. 

His shifts no longer held a current of anticipation, waiting to see if this would be the night she would wander on by, sparing him a smile and a breath of her attention. Her place in his brain had been corralled to a back corner that he was adamant on keeping the barriers to steady and clean. 

That was why when he saw a pair of white sneakers with pink shoelaces threaded through, he pretended as if his brain didn't go to one person immediately. It could be anyone in the world—should be anyone else. He shouldn't be able to recognize her from such a minute detail, but there was already that beat against the ladder of his ribs that told him everything he needed to know about how poorly he had maintained that corral in the back of his mind. 

With a tick in his jaw, Harry reminded himself of his resolve. He kept his focus on his cart, taking more time to dig around while he waited for those shoes to disappear from the corner of his eye. 

Of course, he couldn't be so lucky. 

"Harry?" that soft voice asked him. 

A slow breath was sucked in through his nose as he stood to the full of his height. He turned to find her looking at him with those eyes he could only remember glimpses of from the haze of his dream. Her face was clean from makeup, hair twisted back into a clip as she had forgone a bow for the day. Comfortable clothes adorned her body, slouching and stretching with pastel hues stitched through her top and flowers adorning her leggings. In her hands, nails sparkling with a pearly white polish, she had a solid block of cheese. 

Harry didn't bother to offer a response. (Y/N) was used to it by this point, though. 

"Do you know if this is any good?" she started, emphasizing the cheese with a flick of her wrist, "I googled a recipe for a grilled cheese today, and it wants this kind of cheese, but... I don't know. I just want to make sure I'll like it before I buy it, and all. Have you tried it before?" 

If Harry could draw his eyes away from the dewy planes of her face and the glimmering sheen of her eyes, he might have been able to read the label on the block she had in her hand, but that didn't seem to be an option his body was willing to follow. 

He knew he had been following the line of her nose and pillows of her cupid's bow for a beat too long when she tipped her head, a crease appearing in-between her brows. Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze from her eyes to fall in the neckline of her top. He schooled his features, keeping himself in line as he brushed the tip of his nose with the knuckle of his index finger. 

Skimming his gaze over the white cheese in her hand, he shrugged some. "Um, probably," he mumbled, voice a rumble.

That glimmer in her eyes flashed to amusement. "You've probably tried it before?" 

Under layers of the stoic front he put up, Harry could feel himself cringe. He knew he wasn't giving her a smart answer, but he didn't anticipate sounding that stupid. 

Again, he shrugged. That was as much of an answer as he could formulate at the moment. 

That same part of him that cringed at the lame answer he gave her, curled in on itself when he saw for the first time, (Y/N) grow crestfallen. She had always been very stubborn in her sunny disposition, only having been taken aback the first time they had met. Other than that, no matter how much of a downer he acted, there seemed to be a smile on her face she didn't mind offering to him, even if he didn't deserve it. 

This time, he watched her brows pinch in the middle, her smile falling some to leave a barely there, lopsided curl that didn't reach her eyes. She dropped her gaze down to the block in her hand. Even her body seemed to shrink under his gaze, drawing her limbs close to her body in a recoil. 

"Well, thanks anyway," she got out, the tone the same chirping pitch as usual, but there was no current. Nothing authentic sat beneath. 

He watched as she lingered for a moment longer, her eyes attached to the label pasted to the cling wrap fitted around the cheese, before she began to head in the other direction. He'd never seen her so dejected before, even if she was only matching the energy he constantly gave her. 

Guilt pooled in his stomach. It wasn't a nice feeling to see a light like her's becoming extinguished, especially from his own hand. 

Before she could trail too far away, he peered over her hand and read over the label attached to her cheese. He recognized the French name from when he would help his mother in the kitchen. He knew this as one of the ingredients she would use for her macaroni and cheese; shredded and added to a pot to melt before being added to the spirals of noodles. He remembered how his main job when he was too young to properly help was to stir the cheese sauce, his eyes following the swirls and strings tracing through the cream. 

Harry wasn't even aware he was taking a step to follow after her until he felt his toe push against the linoleum. "Actually—um," he started, watching as she turned to face him, features lightening, "That's a good cheese. Melts really nice. It'll probably be good for whatever recipe you found." 

Instinctively, he wanted to curl back into his work, give himself a distraction and soothe some of that rattle in his bones. Instead, he forced himself to stay firm in his spot as she made those few short steps back to him. 

(He couldn't help but to feel a bit silly, if he was being honest. All of this over a conversation about cheese. It verged into the territory of ridiculous if he wasn't actually experiencing it). 

"Really? Thank you!" That genuine contentedness he had missed from her voice before was back, lilting and molding her words. "I read that it was good for melting, I just wasn't sure if I should slice it or shred it. The page didn't really tell me much on that." 

Shrugging, Harry pretended to care about the box left on his cart he still needed to sort through and stock. "Shredding is good," he offered, "It melts easier that way, I think." 

(He actually knew that, but he didn't really want to get into the story of the time he had tried to make his comfort meal shortly after he was separated from his mom. He had gone about it all wrong, having sliced it without thinking only to have to go through the too-long process of watching it melt in a puddle of milk. He would have attempted it again after that, but money was especially tight right after he left home and the ingredients for a single meal were too expensive. Besides, it would never taste as good as the one his mother made, and he didn't need to break his heart any more with the attempts).

Decidedly, (Y/N) dropped the block in her sparse basket. "I'll try that tonight and I'll let you know," she told him, the stray tangles of her hair swaying as she spoke, "Thank you, Harry." 

Harry nodded his head, reaching into the cardboard box piled with different soups. "Yeah." 

It was hard to breathe when she heard him say his name with that smile on her face. 

But, (Y/N) didn't leave right away. She lingered for a moment, a step between leaving him behind and staying right there with him. He couldn't decide which outcome he was hoping for. 

A beat later, she swung back to face him. "Have you ever been by the bakery a few blocks over on Windsor Ave?" 

He swallowed. The vision of The Flour Pot immediately came to mind. 

"No, I don't think so." 

(Y/N) looked at him with a smile with shy edges, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Well, we have these cheesy breakfast soufflés that we only make on Friday mornings, that are really good. I bet you'd really like them if you like cheese and stuff." There was a slight wince and a huff of a laugh falling from her lips as (Y/N) finished. 

She must also realize how silly they both sounded, too. Breakfast and cheese, the great unifiers, Harry supposed. 

With the faint amusement bubbling in the back off his mind, Harry still felt something in him catch. Her recommendation felt something like an invitation. An invitation to go somewhere she would assumedly be. 

Harry checked his expectations as he dropped his gaze to his hands, rolling a can of loaded potato soup so the barcode faced him. "I usually work all night Thursdays, so Friday mornings can be a little hard to make when 'm tired." 

That nervous rocking continued even with the bright smile molding (Y/N)'s features. "I work there, so you can let me know when you have time to stop by and I can make sure we have an extra one for you," she told him, hands bundling together at her middle, "Or, just pop by whenever. Everything we have is really good, so." 

Around him, Harry could still hear the annoying couple from before complaining about the layout of the grocery store. The overhead lights were mismatched on this section of the store, leaving some amber spots to combat against the stark fluorescents. There was a buzzing to the left where the refrigerators were keeping the cheese section where she had shopped from cool. But all of his attention was placed a few paces before him. 

Harry spent years pushing people away. Not once had anyone ever been able to wiggle through even one layer of the protective walls he had around him. He made a point of that; it was the way it was supposed to be for everyone's safety. He didn't invite anyone into his life, and no one invited him into theirs. 

Of course the first person to do so would be someone like (Y/N). She would be the one to dare to cross that line, offer a hand out to someone so adamant about not wanting anything of the sort. He knew those butterflies in his stomach were a warning; they were creatures to be heeded, not cradled. 

Despite it all, Harry nodded. He looked at her, leaving his idling hands to play around without him. "I'll see what I can do." 

It was the smile that bloomed across her lips that had Harry remembering that there were flowers that were meant to unfurl in the night. 

"Cool," she said, something giddy replacing that authenticity, "Have a nice night, Harry."

"Have a nice night," he got out before he turned on his heel, pinning his attention straight on the box awaiting him. It was an abrupt ending to the conversation, but he couldn't look at her any longer if he wanted to keep some of his head. She was driving him mad again already. 

When Harry looked up, he found her turning the corner of the aisle. Their eyes matched for a moment when she looked back at him too, a ghost of a smile stretching her cheeks before she was gone. 

Taking in a deep breath, he centered himself. 

Harry can not go to that bakery. 

——————

As much as Harry loved his comfort reads, the volumes that became like classics to him, he couldn't read them all the time. Besides, he liked libraries. 

While every building was different, the librarians with their own rules and nuances that ran the shelves, the spirit was always the same. Even the smallest of towns he travelled to had their own shelves to peruse. The crackle of the covered spines, some old enough to still be sporting checkout cards in the front cover, with pages loved by others, made him feel less alone. The library in this town was no different. 

A quiet librarian manned the front desk or puttered through the shelves, offering Harry a quiet kindness he appreciated more than if she had given attempts to get to know him any more outside of the process of getting his library card. All she wanted to know was what kind of genres he liked so she could recommend books when he came in the more regular he became. He was left to ghost through the shelves, fostering books as he went before returning them home once their time was up. He was able to be comfortable there. 

But, this town had to be mocking him at this point. 

While he's been making a point to keep his head down and focusing on only himself and definitely not (Y/N), old habits die hard. A hefty portion of his life was spent with his eyes sharpened, taking in every detail and every person and every place around him. Even with years away from the circumstances that had him looking over his shoulder with every step he made, he couldn't shake every habit. But those habits made it way too hard to ignore what was going on just down the street from the library. 

The Flour Pot was busy as usual when he stepped out of his car, library books held at his side with his fingers flexing around the plastic covering. A line was trailing out the door with as many people walking out with the brown paper bags or cake boxes as patrons were walking in with hunger in their eyes. Harry could almost hear the bell chiming above the door every time it opened, just like he swore if he listened close enough, he could hear a familiar laugh. 

It took effort for him to keep his eyes ahead of himself, fingers tight around his books. He didn't allow himself to linger on the sidewalk or his gaze to stray, heading directly into the library. 

Harry could feel his features twisted into frustration even as he stepped in the substantially quieter building. But even with his furrowed brow and the tight line of his mouth, Ms. Klarke didn't bat an eye. She had to be used to it at this point. 

A lined smile had her lips stretched, showing off white teeth. "Done with this week's, Mr. Styles?" 

He only nodded with a hum as he approached the desk, dropping the trio of volumes on the glossy wood. It was instinct the way he worked, pulling out his green library card. 

Ms. Klarke worked with familiarity, scanning the code on his card before clicking through his profile. Her eyes didn't move from the computer screen as she spoke, "We got some new books in yesterday. I saved a few that I thought you'd like in the back." 

Perking up at the prospect of the new arrivals, Harry felt his features smoothen out, a light falling into the usual rumble of his voice. "Really?" 

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, a short smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she slid his card back. "Mhm. I'll be right back." 

Taking his returns with her, she stepped into the backroom positioned just behind the front desk only to come back a moment later with another set of books. The volumes were freshly wrapped in the crinkling plastic, the covers still vibrant underneath without any smudging or scratching marring the art. 

"I've heard good things about these," Ms. Klarke said, spreading out the trio on the wood for him to look at. "The descriptions sound like something you would like." 

They were romances—the genre he had divulged to Ms. Klarke all that time ago. He recognized the covers and the authors, having read his own reviews and takes on the literature. Bright colors were splashed across, with the hallmarks of the genre coming in depictions of flowers or the minimalistic art that was becoming the norm. A twitch itched the corner of his lips seeing the pages she saved for him to have first. 

"Thank you," he told her, looking at her through the lashes as he kept his hands at his sides, "I've seen a lot about these, too." 

Ms. Klarke's lined features brightened at his words. "Gonna take them home with you this week?" 

"Yes, please," he answered in a rush, "If that's alright." 

Her brows pinched in the middle, already grabbing the books to scan them onto his profile for the week. "Of course it's alright. I saved them for you for a reason." 

Harry was struck then. He stood, listening to the sounds of her hands clicking the keys on her computer and the beep of the scanner reading the barcodes, his hands shoved deep in his pockets with his fingers clenched in tight curls. 

While Ms. Klarke didn't know really anything about him, she still had him in mind when she read these titles and made a point to save them off for him. She only knew him as far as the kind of literature he liked to spend his time with and the kind of care he treated each book with, but she knew him enough to trust him with these new reads. 

She knew him enough. 

He forgot what it felt like to be known. He missed the feeling of being known. Even if it was his fault that he was pushed into that forgotten corner in the first place. His impact wasn't supposed to be felt, even if he still felt the absence of the familiarity he had in a past life. 

Two people now, in this town, had given Harry more than a passing thought. 

The feeling was overwhelming. 

"Thank you," he repeated when Ms. Klarke passed back his books for the week, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

With his books in hand, he exited out onto the sidewalk. Down the block he could still hear the faint commotion from the bakery, but his stomach didn't sour like it had only ten minutes prior. In that kitschy shop was the one other person who was trying to know him, even when he insisted on being alone. 

The thought of walking in didn't sound so bad, even if he still kept on his path to his car. 

—————

Harry had a plan. 

Days after visiting the library, he had been tucked away in bed reading one of his new books when he couldn't get his mind off of (Y/N). The main female character was a baker with a softened heart, a bubbly demeanor shining through. Given the nature of the book, every peek into her heart was romanticized, especially in the first handful of chapters he was still working through. He couldn't help but to picture (Y/N) the more he read, disregarding whatever physical description the character was given. 

She hadn't left his mind since. 

Maybe it was the fact there was a scene written where the lead male character visited the pseudo-(Y/N) at the patisserie she worked at, but there was a niggling thought in the back of his mind that it might not be such a bad thing to take up her invitation from the week prior. While he was nothing like male lead—not in demeanor nor backstory—, he couldn't ignore the want he had for a moment like the one inked across the page. 

It felt entirely reckless to give into that want, the kind of idea that would come to him after too many hours spent awake and too many romance cliches floating through his thoughts, but he'd done worse. Indulging in the pattering butterflies and bruising beats of his heart would land at the bottom of the list of the most dastardly things he'd ever done.

Besides, if this Sunday morning was anything like the last, it wasn't like there would even be enough time for his defenses to weaken enough for an impact to be made. If anything, he would see her in passing, the flutter of the bow in her hair as she bustled through the shop, and that would be it. Maybe a smile in his direction, but he couldn't imagine any more being spared for him. 

He didn't need anything more than that, anyway. 

Harry would be careful. Butterflies weren't strong enough to break stone.

—————

His hands were clenched into fists in the pockets of his coat, the sign to The Flour Pot gleaming on the glass window from the corner of his eye. Though he knew well that there were just enough patrons inside to create a hustle within the shop, Harry kept his resolve strong as he stepped over the pavement. He didn't skip sleep for the last handful of hours since his shift ended just to run home without even taking a single step inside. 

Slipping inside, Harry forced his gaze to lift from his feet, a deep breath filling his lungs. Those small tables he had spotted from the windows were twisted wrought iron, the backs outlined with intricate shapes of flowers, hummingbirds, and shining suns. Cushions padded the seats of the chairs, a charming combination of mismatched patterns that all seemed to work together to make the space that much cozier. Customers Harry could recognize as some of the people he saw at the grocery store were littered about, though they looked decidedly much cheerier in this environment. Even with the chill in the air, hints of spring lingered within the confines of the shop. 

Butter and sugar kissed the air, twining with notes of lingering herbs and spices, different ingredients that made up the confections filling the display case up front. Tiny lights were embedded in the trim, shining right on the flaky crusts of croissants, glimmering glazes on sticky buns, and the golden skin of homemade baguettes. More intricate cakes and laborious treats were held in glass cabinets behind the desk. Warm wood made up the front cash register area, the grains twisting and curving in the way only real wood could. Hanging from the ceiling behind the desk was the menu with every treat laid out and priced, twirling descriptions following just underneath with every add-on available. A note on the bottom recommended talking to the bakers about seasonal specials and their favorite combinations. 

Everything looked new but second-hand at the same time. Harry didn't know what to compare the space to other than a home opened up for visitors. The treats in the case were just a bonus of being invited into such a home. 

The flapping of the cafe doors leading to the back caught his attention, pulling his gaze from tracing over the space that felt as if it lived within candlelight. (Y/N) emerged from what he assumed to be the kitchen, a pan in hand full of something golden brown and filled with herbs. She dropped that pan onto the back counter before disappearing again, a pearly gold bow pulling her hair back. Her uniform consisted of a long sleeved brown top with The Flour Pot printed in yellow lettering as if the words were dripping in honey. He felt like a moth the way his eyes followed each of her moves, her being the flame he didn't want to lose track of. 

That smile he pretended to not care about had her lips stretched with smile lines bracketing the curl. He watched on as she spoke to the dark-haired girl and the shorter boy working behind the counter, nodding her head with the tendrils of her bow going flying before she seemed to count out certain items in the case all before leaving to the back once more. In her hands, another pan reemerged with her.

As his eyes followed her, he was grateful for the first time for the amount of patrons occupying the building. The line in front of him gave him enough time to watch her—to get his fill to quell the battering ram made of butterflies in his stomach. Even if he wanted to keep his eyes to himself, drop them to his feet or find a blank spot to fix his eyes too, he didn't think he had it in himself. 

With the line moving, Harry shuffled forward a pair of spots. At that same moment, the cafe doors swung open once more, (Y/N)'s arms empty as her eyes scanned across the guests in her shop. She found Harry in an instant, her eyes brightening and smile blooming. She brought her gloved hand up to wiggle her fingers in a quick wave for only him. 

Before he could even lift his hand to wave back, she had sidestepped behind the desk and whispered something to the dark haired woman working the register. A quick conversation played out while Harry watched, (Y/N) whispering while the other woman gave small reactions. The conversation lasted only a couple of beats with the line still waiting before them, (Y/N) disappearing into the back after shooting Harry a look with bright eyes and a wide smile. 

In (Y/N)'s wake, the cashier gave Harry her own look. It was something quiet and knowing, a short curl only on the corner of her lips before she slid her gaze back to the patron waiting in front of her. 

(Y/N) and her bow didn't return again as the line slowly moved forward. Only the dark haired cashier and a shorter boy were working the counter, working as a team with the boy picking the pastries with gloved hands and the woman taking orders and collecting payments. The line dwindled as they worked, guests leaving with small paper bags and smiles wider than the giant muffins that took over the bottom shelf of the case. 

While Harry felt like he could breathe better with every person that exited, it all moved too fast. By the time he reached the counter, Harry's brain was filled with nothing more than a buzz. In all his distractions of watching (Y/N) and being a little too aware of the others around him, not once did he really examine the menu. He didn't have a plan of what he wanted to order, every quick glance at the menu hanging above was more panicked than the last, nothing being absorbed. 

The last patron in front of him worked quickly. The chatter of her voice was almost drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears, her order being rattled off in an instant out of practice before she was stepping off to the side to await her own brown bag of treats. 

Stepping forward to the counter, Harry couldn't help but feel a little silly. The amount of high stress situations he's been in in his life, the kind that warranted the kind of panic and fight-or-flight reaction he could feel himself building to was more than any person should ever go through. But in all of those moments, he remembered moving through them like an expert, not thinking before doing. 

This—ordering from a bakery—was going to be the one thing that broke his brain, it seemed. Figures. 

The dark-haired girl behind the counter held that same guest service smile on her face when Harry approached, only the ends curled that much more when she saw it was him. "Good morning! What can I get you today?" 

Harry's mouth dropped open, words intending to come out before nothing actually did. He barely recovered in the way he instead said, "Ummm." 

From the corner of his eye, the cafe doors to the kitchen swung open. A pan full of stacked baguettes were in (Y/N)'s arms, eyes trained on the pyramid before she chanced a glance up. That same wide grin pulled at her lips the second recognition filled her eyes. 

"Hi, Harry!" she chirped out over her shoulder as she deposited the pan onto the back counter, "How are you?" 

His dry throat finally began to work again when he swallowed, his nervous hands beginning to pluck at his cuticles in the pocket of his hoodie. "'M good, thank you," he mumbled, "You?" 

"I'm doing good, thanks!" She spun on her heel to take over the spot by the register. For a second, he saw the dark-haired girl bump (Y/N)'s hip with her own, before taking over the second station just to the left and tending to the line from there. It was a move that had to have come with a plan. "I wish I knew you were coming in today, I would have made you one of those soufflés I was telling you about." 

"Oh, sorry," he told her, shuffling on his feet as the rest of the line behind him meandered around him to the available register. 

The tail of hair she had pinned back with her bow bounced as she shook her head. "No worries at all! What did you come in for?" 

For the first time since she stepped out, he pulled his eyes from hers to the sign above her head.

Maybe it was the noise around him, the chatter of other guests, the way he was hyperaware of every inch of space around him and how close others were getting to him before hiking left to the other register, or the fact he knew (Y/N) had her eyes on him, but the letters didn't make any sense when he tried to take them in. He knew the words, could associate them with different treats, but there was nothing that connected his thoughts. 

Silence fell from his floundering mouth, the kind that felt too loud in a busy place like this. 

In a second, (Y/N) sidestepped to the case at her right, her eyes bright and still on Harry as she nudged the sliding door to open for her. "My favorite at the moment are the raspberry and almond scones," she bubbled off, using her gloved hand to grab the pastry from the tray, "I just finished a batch, too. They also come with this lemon cream kind of glaze, if you wanted to try it that way." 

Her energy didn't deplete as she spoke, showcasing the scone for him to see. She saved him from the way his throat was beginning to tighten the longer it took for him to come up with an answer. 

Chunks of raspberries were visible in the pale base of the scone, sprinkled with almond slivers. It reminded him of the cookies she so favored at his own place of work. 

"I'll try that," he told her, the even pacing of his breathing returning, "Thank you." 

"Perfect!" she chirped, looking genuinely pleased at his response. Nothing inauthentic touched at her features as she gazed at him. "Do you want the glaze and everything?" 

"Um, sure," he said, a nod of his head throwing a curl over his forehead. 

He saw as (Y/N)'s gaze tripped upwards, trailing along the length of that stray hair brushing the bridge of his nose. A glittering sparkled in her irises. 

The rest of the transaction went quickly, (Y/N) shedding her gloves and taking his cash as she asked about his work. Noncommittal answers were shared from Harry (he barely remembered the shift if he was being honest. His brain had been too fixed on this morning's plan). 

"I'll have that ready for you in a second," she told him, toothy smile and all, "You can wait over there in the meantime." 

A mumbled, kay... fell from his lips as he exhaled a deep breath. He nodded his head before he followed her direction and stepped off to the side. He half expected her to continue helping the line that had dwindled behind him, instead watching as she stepped off the side with his treats in hand. 

Dropping his gaze from her, Harry pulled his hands out of his hoodie to inspect the sore cuticles he could feel beginning to sting with every touch. Spots of blood had spread to the plate of his nails, skin frayed and irritated at all the picking. 

Harry expected to hear his name called when his bag was placed on the pick-up counter just as it had been for every other patron, only to have (Y/N) bounce around the entire case when she had finished puttering behind. The tendrils of her bow flowed behind her, skimming the length of her hair before she stopped in front of him.

For someone who didn't like mornings that much, she smiled a lot. 

"Here you go," she beamed at him, offering him the small paper bag with the business's logo inked on the front. Beside the picture was his own name written in looping script, a smiling heart printed beside it. "You have to tell me what you think the next time I see you, okay? These really are my favorites, so if you don't like them I don't know if we'll be able to be friends anymore." 

A breath of air caught in Harry's throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to swallow it down. Anymore, she had said.

"Got it," he forced out, taking the bag from her hand with their fingers barely brushing as he slipped his own under the handles, "Thank you, (Y/N)." 

At the sound of his voice wrapped around her name, her smile only widened. "Of course. I'll see you around, Harry." 

Before he could get too far ahead of himself, the indulgent butterflies in his stomach urging him to linger longer than he knew would be good for him, Harry spun on his heel and moved to the exit. He swore he could feel (Y/N)'s eyes on him up until he disappeared through the doors. 

There wasn't a thought in his head other than getting back to the safety of his car as he rushed over the pavement, loose rocks in the old concrete kicking up in his wake. The slam of his car door behind him left the cab going still. The air was silent finally, leaving him sealed away with the ticking of his heart evening out. 

Instinctively he locked his doors before reaching for his seatbelt. In that split second he seemed to forget the bag in his hand until he felt the warmth of the pastry in his lap. 

He hesitated. 

It would probably be best to eat it now while it was still warm, he decided. 

In his parked car across from the rush of The Flour Pot, Harry carefully extracted his treat. His fingers brushed a slip of paper clinging to the side of the bag, the end trapped under the cup containing the lemon cream she boasted to him about. Laying the boxed treat on the center console, Harry plucked out the slip of paper. 

It was a length of blank receipt paper, only to turn the page around and find that same looping writing that printed his name on the bag. 

Come by next Sunday and I'll have a souffle for you :) 

(Y/N)'s name was signed at the bottom, another smiling heart drawn beside the final letter. Another invitation.

Harry didn't need to take a bite of the scone to know that it was going to be his favorite too.

—————

Maybe he had been too giddy to see her again after those moments at the bakery, but Harry couldn't help but notice her the second (Y/N) walked through the glass doors. 

It was as if he had it all planned the way he had been stationed in the herb and spices section of the store tonight, an aisle that was conveniently situated by the entrance. He had a bundle of basil in his grip when he saw her walk in, a clip dripping with crystal flowers holding her hair back with a The Flour Pot crewneck on. Fatigue coated her movements as she reached for one of the maroon baskets stacked by the door, the handles tucked into her elbow before she started towards whatever aisle she was shooting for. 

There was a moment of her slowing on the front mat, eyes scanning through the shelves until she saw him, cart and all, and her expression changed. Her features softened and rounded, creases appearing by her eyes while her lips stretched into a smile. Her lips were soft and chapped, hair a bit messy, and sleeves dulled by a dusting of what had to be flour, but Harry still felt that knot in his stomach he did the first time he saw her all those months ago. Even more so, when his heart got carried away thinking that she may have been looking for him, too. 

Harry dropped his gaze when he saw her begin her way over to him. He didn't want to look too eager to speak to her again, especially not when he couldn't even admit to himself that he was looking forward to see her. 

"Hi, stranger," she greeted, voice lilting as the toes of her white shoes came into view of his downturned gaze. 

Swallowing around his dry throat, he slowed his work and looked up at her again, features schooled into something stoic. "Hi." 

Ever-pleasant and unperturbed by his attitude, she only looked to him with raised brows and expectant eyes. "So?" 

A pinch drew Harry's brows together as he looked at her. So what? 

When the beat of silence lasted too long for her liking, a teasing huff fell from (Y/N)'s lips. "What did you think of the scone?! You promised you'd tell me about it, remember?" 

For the first time in a long time, Harry could feel one corner of his lips twitch, the beginning of a titled smile. He thought of the length of receipt paper he still had folded away in his wallet. 

"It was really good," he started, shifting his weight on his feet, "The—uh—the lemon cream was really nice. Thank you." 

The look on her face at his compliments could rival that of the waning sunshine outside the windows. She was bright and shining, warm like the sunset colored sky. 

"I'm so happy you liked it!" she beamed, her shopping put to the back of her mind as she gave every bit of attention to him, "There's this recipe for a lavender version of the scone I've been wanting to try, but every time I tell the other girls they don't look as excited. They said it sounds like I'm trying to make soap." 

Harry didn't even realize what he was saying before the words were falling from his lips: "I'd try it." 

As much as he wouldn't—couldn't—say it out loud, he's sure he'd try anything she made. He wasn't lying about the raspberry scone.

Something sheepish touched at the corners of her smile as she dipped her gaze down to where he was now fumbling with a shaker of dried oregano on his cart. "Okay," she started, nodding her head, "I'll make some, and next time I see you, you can try them." 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed around the dryness coating his tongue. "Thank you." 

Under her attention, gaze peering through the fan of her lashes, those butterflies in his stomach and the beating of his heart traveled down to his palms, making them restless and the skin go clammy. 

All of this over another invitation.

—————

rosemary represents remembrance; looking back on the past with the future right in front of you

ahhhhh!!! hes finally here!!! im so excited to be sharing this story w you guys and letting you meet one of my kings thats sooooo in my heart!! def a little different of a story for me so I really hope you enjoy it!!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas or requests or just thoughts about this story !

[literaila]

Make a list of every single shenanigan teenage reader and Gojo have done

Doesn't have to be detailed I just want to know what these losers did to make Yaga so mad

• broke a vending machine because gojo kept trying to pull the drink reader wanted out of the machine with cursed energy instead of letting her pay for it

• accidentally bleached everyone’s clothes when it was readers turn to do laundry because gojo swore he “knew a secret”

• broke a tv remote when wrestling over it because gojo kept turning the volume up to 1000% when reader was trying to sleep

• set the oven on fire when trying to bake a cake for suguru’s birthday and then gojo “accidentally” pointed the fire extinguisher at reader instead of the oven and ruined her clothes

• picked the locks to the gym so reader could show gojo how to take the basketball hoops off of the wall

• spent a whole day scaring people by gojo teleporting them both around into peoples rooms for “practice”

• stole a car in the middle of the night just for fun

• when everyone was gone one weekend the two of them just went around everyone’s dorms and replaced the framed photos of their families with pictures of gojo

• developed a dance routine except the “dance routine” involved them tackling each other in the classroom and getting suspended from class for three days

• when reader found out that gojo was using his six eyes to cheat a look at his christmas presents and pulled his hair until he was crying from his pretty blue eyes

• sneaking away from group outings at popular districts to go and get dessert approximately 17 times

• sneaking out in the middle of night to get gas station food and inevitably getting caught each time because of the barriers around jujutsu high approximately 26 times (yaga but a deadbolt on the outside of gojo’s room to lock him in but then he learned how to teleport)

• “forgetting” to complete their chores and spend their time beating each other at video games instead

• hiding all of the food in the kitchen in suguru’s dorm and replacing it with empty bottles of suguru’s fancy hair conditioner that they’d both been collecting for up to six months

• pretending that the other died for multiple hours at least once each (everyone believed it)

• throwing everyone a surprise birthday party (so it wasn’t a surprise after the 3rd time) but timing it so that yaga would only show up after everyone was gone and the classroom was a mess

• changing the newspaper out with fake versions to mess with yaga (this is readers personal favorite. also includes more pictures of gojo)

• endless prank phone calls

• literally endless (suguru eventually stole satoru’s phone but they would just use readers instead and shoko threatened to stab them both where “no one would realize it wasn’t an accident”)

• kept messing with nanami’s coffee in the mornings until eventually he got a thermos with a lid instead of a mug

• reader picked haibaras lock and they drew on his face (he thought it was funny though ((includes chibi gojo))

• reader got geto to start collecting fly heads and he assisted the two of them in letting them go in the common room right before yaga came back from lunch

• stealing the files yaga had on the gojo clan

• using shokos medical books that she “studies” to make paper airplanes to see whose would fly the furthest

• gojo replacing readers sheets with digimon ones (she kept them)

• making six voo doo dolls of yaga and leaving them around campus (you know how he feels about stuffed animals)

• reader hiding all of gojo’s candy in the library where he would never find it (yaga sat him down the next day and accused him of using school space as his own personal pantry and got banished to the library for several sparring lessons)

• sparring so late at night that suguru would inevitably send a curse to bite satoru

[dalsofile]

remnant

You revisit the apartment you once shared with Jihyo after your breakup, only to be met with Jihyo’s cold indifference.

tags :: angst, breakup, post-breakup, cold jihyo

wc :: 1,239

cast :: y/n, jihyo

song :: can we talk again - purple kiss

The autumn chill hits you the moment you step out of the cab, the wind biting at your exposed skin. It’s late October, and the streets are littered with fallen leaves, their vibrant reds and oranges dulled by the gray overcast sky. The air smells of damp earth and woodsmoke, but you barely notice it. All you can focus on is the building in front of you, the place that was once your home.

You take a deep breath, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. The weight of it is nothing compared to the weight in your chest, that familiar, suffocating feeling of dread. You’re here to pick up the last of your things—just a few boxes Jihyo had texted you about earlier in the week. There’s no reason to feel nervous, you remind yourself. It’s just a quick trip in and out. But the thought of seeing her again, of standing in that apartment where everything fell apart, makes your stomach twist with anxiety.

Your fingers tremble as you buzz the door. The moments stretch out as you wait, the wind tugging at your jacket, the cold seeping through. Finally, the door clicks open, and you make your way inside, the warmth of the lobby doing nothing to thaw the ice in your veins.

The elevator ride feels endless, though it’s only a few floors. You’ve taken this ride countless times before, but now each floor that passes feels like a reminder of everything you’ve lost. When the doors slide open, you step out into the hallway, your feet carrying you automatically to the door at the end. Your old door.

You hesitate, standing in front of it for a moment too long. Your breath fogs in the cold air as you gather your thoughts. It shouldn’t feel this way—you shouldn’t feel this way. But then, this apartment, this life with Jihyo… it was supposed to be permanent.

With a shaking hand, you knock.

There’s a pause, and then the sound of the deadbolt sliding back. The door swings open, and there she is—Jihyo. Her eyes are hard, her expression unreadable. No soft smiles, no familiar warmth. Just cold.

“Come in,” she says, her voice clipped and detached. No warmth in her tone, no affection. Just an obligation.

You step inside, the air in the apartment colder than you remember. The smell of sandalwood still lingers, that familiar scent she always loved, but it no longer feels comforting. Everything feels different now. The walls seem bare, the furniture arranged too neatly. Even the silence feels strained.

“You can grab your stuff from the corner,” Jihyo says, her voice flat. She doesn’t look at you when she speaks, her eyes focused somewhere off to the side as if the sight of you is too much to bear. Or maybe she just doesn’t care anymore.

You nod, swallowing hard, and make your way to the pile of boxes stacked by the hallway. It’s just a few things—books, some clothes, a couple of framed photos you’d left behind during the breakup. You crouch down, opening one of the boxes to make sure everything’s there. You don’t say anything; the tension in the room makes it feel impossible to speak.

“Is that everything?” you ask, your voice sounding too small in the emptiness of the room. You don’t really expect a response, not a kind one at least.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she replies, her tone curt. She leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with a detached sort of interest. “Just take your stuff and go.”

Her words sting more than you’d like to admit. You knew this would be hard, but the coldness in her voice—the way she looks at you like you’re a stranger—hurts more than you expected. It’s like she’s erased everything, every good moment you shared, every memory you built together.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure as you close the box. “I didn’t think it would end up like this,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Jihyo scoffs, her laugh sharp and bitter. “What did you think would happen, Y/N? That we’d break up and still be friends? That you’d come back here, and everything would be fine?” Her eyes finally meet yours, and they’re cold—so cold it makes you shiver. “That’s not how this works.”

Her words are like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last. You can feel your throat tighten, your heart sinking as you look at her, really look at her, for the first time in months. The girl you loved, the girl who once held you when you were at your lowest, is gone. All that’s left is this cold, distant version of her, and it breaks your heart.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “I never wanted us to end up like this.”

She huffs out a breath, pushing herself off the counter. “Well, we did. It’s over. You made your choice, and now you’re here to pick up the pieces. Just take your stuff and leave.”

The harshness in her tone is unbearable, each word dripping with bitterness and anger. You wonder how things could have gone so wrong, how the love you shared could have turned into this.

“I didn’t choose this,” you say, your voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you, Jihyo.”

Her eyes flash with anger, and she takes a step closer. “But you did. And now we’re here.” She gestures around the room, as if to emphasize the distance between you. “So just go. We’re done.”

The finality in her voice leaves you breathless. There’s no more room for explanations, no chance for understanding. Jihyo has shut you out completely, and there’s nothing left to say.

You gather your things quickly, your hands trembling as you lift the boxes. You can feel her eyes on you, burning with anger and disappointment, and you can’t help but wonder when it all turned so sour. When did the love you shared become something so bitter, so cold?

As you reach the door, you turn back to her, one last time. There’s a part of you that still hopes, still believes that maybe, just maybe, there’s something left between you. But her eyes are hard, her expression blank, and you realize there’s nothing left to hold onto.

“Goodbye, Jihyo,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. She just watches you leave, her arms still crossed over her chest, her face an unreadable mask of indifference.

As you step out into the chilly fall air, the door closes behind you with a soft click. The wind rushes past, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and distant rain, but all you can feel is the cold emptiness inside you. You glance back at the apartment one last time, but it’s already fading into the background, just another piece of your life that’s been left behind.

The autumn breeze stings your cheeks, but you barely notice it. All you can feel is the ghost of Jihyo’s hostility, the sharpness of her words still echoing in your mind. The love you once shared feels like a distant memory now, and as you walk down the street, you realize that this moment—this pain—feels all too familiar.

[crushedsweets]

I'm the sweetest girl in town; so why are you so mean? Nina 'the Killer' Hopkins in Creeped PT 3: NEW MESSAGE

PT. 1: K-12 — PT. 2: PURPOSE — PT. 4: MISSED CALL (TO BE UPLOADED)

General disclaimer: This AU is an amalgamation of headcanons, fanon, canon, and the occasional rewrite. There is an overarching story that HEAVILY strays from their canon stories. TW for toxic relationships, murder, and violence. Please take care of yourself and only engage in content you can handle.

NEW MESSAGE

❥Nina’s nails anxiously tapped against the front desk of a shoddy motel. It was one of the first she stayed at when she moved to Tuscaloosa, so when ‘Mark’ asked to meet her somewhere discreet, she immediately thought back to her miserable nights here.

❥She paid for the night and awkwardly made her way to the room, long acrylics fidgeting with the key. She felt eyes burning into her. The receptionist glaring at her down the hall, the truckers peering through the blinds, roomkeepers casting judgmental glances. She kept texting Mark, asking when he’d show up. 

❥By time Nina entered the room, he stopped replying entirely. She deadbolted the door and sat on the dusty mattress, quietly running her hands along her thighs to self-soothe. She kicked off her baggy sweatpants, revealing a mini skirt and torn tights. Nina just wanted Mark to reply. She didn’t want to get stood up. She wanted to see him so badly. She dressed up for him in uncomfortable clothes, did her makeup especially pretty, washed her hair and shaved her legs.

❥An hour went by with nothing. She would pace around the room and send him a text every few minutes. Peek through the blinds, scanning over the dark parking lot. Rain poured hard onto the asphalt and the street lamps flickered. A few busted up cars were littered about the lot. She’d text him a photo of it, making a comment about how pretty it looked. Then, Nina would return to the bathroom. Reapply her lipstick, fix her mascara, re-do her ponytail. Then text him again. Then flip through channels. Then text him again. She eventually laid down on the bed, staring blankly at their messages. Her hopes were dissipating, until-

❥New Message! ❥”im outside, open the door. its cold”

❥Nina was quick. She shot right up out of bed, her head snapping towards the door and its peeling paint. She smoothed her hair back down, fixed her skirt, cleared her voice, and stood at the peephole. Standing on her toes, she could see a man through it. Maybe 5’6, in a white, rain-soaked hoodie. He had shaggy black hair and a black face mask. His eyes were piercing. 

❥”Mark?” Nina’s voice cracked through the door, more high-pitched than she intended. ❥”Open the door, Nina.” He rasped. Nina’s heart skipped out of her chest. She fumbled with the deadbolt, earning a sigh from the other side of the door. Finally, she cracked it open. He simply pushed it, nudging her to the side and slamming it behind them. Nina’s pulse shot through the roof, eyes darting over his entire figure. 

❥But he just let out a groan, pulling his hood down and walking to a chair. He plopped down, getting comfortable and leaning into it. His head tilted back against the chair, visibly exhausted. She watched his Adam's apple bob for a moment. Everything was silent. Just his slow breaths and her tapping against her phone. 

❥He sliced through the tension with ease. “How long did I have you waiting?” 

❥Nina laughed first, waving her hands and settling back onto the bed. She insisted it wasn’t long, she was just so excited. He nodded, finally craning his head back to look her in the eye. She couldn’t really handle it. He asked her a few more questions, mostly about the motel. How much it cost, how often she came here. He seemed to be accusing her of frequenting motels to meet guys online.

❥It proved too much for Nina. She began to stand, anxiously dismissing herself to the bathroom. She thought she was going to throw up. His head rolled to the side as she hurried to the bathroom, watching her curiously.

❥She stood at the sink for a moment, chest heaving. She wiped at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. Why was she so nervous? She was so comfortable with him online. She told him so much, and she thought he listened intently. Maybe it was the face mask? Could she ask him to take it off? Maybe he had a cold. Would that be rude? He could just be awkward. Not everyone is the exact same over text and in person. Or she caught him on a bad day. It was late and he seemed like he walked in the rain. She needs to calm down, give him a chance. He wasn't doing anything wrong. This was Mark, her friend.

❥There was a firm knock at the door.

❥”Why’re you hiding in there, Nina?” She didn’t even know how to respond. She didn’t lock the door, which they both noticed at the same time. He pushed it open, and Nina simply stepped back. She wasn’t thinking, just letting him put her where he wanted.

❥He wasn’t wearing the mask anymore. He was pretty pale, skin resembling an old classmate she knew with vitiligo. He had a few piercings, including eyebrows, a triple bridge, and snake bites. But these details were miniscule in comparison to the torn flesh of his cheeks. Violent, jagged scars from the corner of his lips to his ears. Mark really was a Jeff fanboy, huh?

❥Nina choked on a gasp at first, but the gasp turned to a cry when he violently shoved her back, forcing her into the tub and climbing in after her. His knee pressed into her gut and his forearm pinned her wrists above her head, uncomfortably grinding her bones into the tile walls. She was about to scream, but his palm fit harshly against her mouth. Nina’s legs were hooked over the edge of the tub, due to him shoving her in the short way.

❥He began whispering to her. It started with mindless rambles that were difficult to comprehend. Nina began to cry, muffled against his calloused hand. He leaned down, licking her tears and spitting to the left, now grumbling about her makeup. He kept it up for a bit, until he made a remark about her appearance. Something about a pretty girl like her liking a guy like him, how odd that was. Her struggling weakened by this point, eyes going wide as his head tilted into her shoulder. 

❥He kept going on and on. Bringing up how much Nina liked him, how obsessed she was. Bringing up posts she made in the past or mentioning his favorite photos of her. How he killed people just like she described. He'd ask her for ideas, and he'd share them all with her. It wasn't hypothetical, it wasn't a fantasy, it wasn't a story.

❥It was funny, actually. Despite her fixation, Nina didn’t even realize who he was. She thought this was Mark, a random Jeff fanboy ready to make Nina his first copycat victim. But the more he spoke and the more she frantically studied his face, everything set in.

❥This was her idol.

❥Seated on top of her, touching her, speaking to her, going on and on about how pretty she is. He stalked her page for hours on end, too, reciting all the posts that she’d made on him. To anyone else, they’d have understood it was from his own ego. To Nina, it was for her. Just like she dedicated the last three years to Jeff, he had dedicated one to her. He had been texting her. He asks her for photos. He tells her how creative and beautiful she is. He sends her images of Jeff’s crime scenes before she could even find them online. His crime scenes. 

❥He didn’t make sense half the time. He’d bring in random names and information totally irrelevant to her, or so she thought. He kept talking about a girl named ‘Clocky’ and how annoyed he was that ‘Clocky’ was hiding Nina from him. Something about her being a shitty wingman.

❥He eventually relaxed on top of her, removing the forearm that pinned her wrists to the bathtub wall. Instead of his knee pressed into her stomach, he placed them on each side of her. Her legs remained hooked over the tub, but she had long stopped kicking. She was sniffling a little, letting her sore arms drop to her sides. He made her agree not to scream if he let go of her face. She nodded desperately.

❥He removed his hand carefully, eyes scanning over her expression, watching her throat to see if she’s about to scream. 

❥”I love you,” was an insane thing to say. He stared at her for a moment, before throwing his head back and barking out laughter. His rough hands grabbed at her face, nodding along as he confirmed that he was well aware. Just like he spent the last few minutes going on his mindless rambles, she did the same. Whispering about what he meant to her, how strong he was, how much she wanted to be like him. How she’d do anything to fuck that bitch Claudia up the way he mutilated Randy. She shared what she did that one day, but began crying when he laughed. He joked about how weak she was, but she agreed with him. 

❥She clung to his hoodie. They sat like that for a while, having an uncomfortable, bizarre conversation in the bathtub. It largely centered Nina’s webpages, blogs, and forums. How it fed his ego. He kept making backhanded comments about her, but she warped them all into compliments. Eventually, he stood, yanking her out and making her wash her face. He liked her, unfortunately.

PUPPY LOVE

❥Nina was truly living out a long-time fantasy. Her and Jeff began to frequently see each other. Much to Natalie’s horror, Nina pulled her aside at work one day and shared this news. Brought up the ‘Clocky’ comments, and Natalie dragged Nina outside by the dumpsters and quietly scolded her. She tried to warn Nina, saying that regardless of her own friendship with Jeff, Nina was making a stupid choice. And it scared Natalie, too. Nina didn’t seem too stable. What if she started to run her mouth? Get Jeff in trouble, dragging cops along to her farmhouse?

❥Well, Clocky got an apartment that year. She kept in touch with everyone all the same, but she switched into a new career and housing situation. Leaving Jeff and Nina alone.

❥It started with Jeff tugging Nina along, bringing her to the forest and laying her down on his dirty mattress. They’d fool around, talk, he’d go through her blog right in front of her and laugh at her. Even if it made her nervous, she did a good job at convincing herself they were laughing together. They were bonding. 

❥Eventually, he began tagging along to her apartment. It was a cute, comfortable little place. It had heating and cooling, a stocked fridge, washer and dryer, a fucking kitchen for once. A TV, too. He began staying night after night. Nina always made him dinner, always washed his clothes, always let him relax. He’d bring her to lay down with him and she’d melt into his touch.

❥It seemed soft, at first. Jeff began introducing her to the messier parts of his life. She met BEN, she met Toby, she met Jack. They all scared her a little, but when Jeff threw his arm around Nina and made a comment about ‘his girl,’ she was over the moon. The group liked her a decent bit, and she clicked quite well with Toby. It helped that Toby was close friends with Natalie, a beautiful coincidence that made the three a solid trio. 

❥Nina wanted to integrate fully into Jeff’s life. She kept up her obsessive research on his friends, or whatever she could find. Apparently, BEN did a great job at wiping information online, which explained why Nina had such a hard time finding information on such an infamous killer. However, BEN didn’t wipe anything with Liu. Liu wasn’t an ally or friend to any of them. But he was Jeff’s brother, and Nina learned some fantastic news about him. He had moved to Alabama recently. Nina wanted to grow close with him, too. 

LAKE WATER

❥Outside of Nina’s blossoming friendships with Jeff’s crowd, the two began to get into some trouble together. Jeff would have Nina help steal alcohol, as they were only 19 and 20. He’d send her to talk to plugs for him, saying that Nina gets weed cheaper on account of her pretty face. 

❥One day, they were doing exactly that. They were hanging around a relatively empty parking lot in a dead shopping center, waiting for some guy to show up and sell Nina some weed. Jeff was in the distance, observing as the man pulled up to Nina leaning against one of the lot’s lamps. The guy parked, got out of the car, and chatted Nina up for a while. Jeff watched as the man pushed Nina’s hair back, leaning too close and saying God knows what. 

❥Jeff stalked up to the situation, pretending he was on his way to a nearby car. The guy didn’t even look his way, not until Jeff suddenly slipped into the picture. It was sudden and sloppy, but Jeff never needed to practice his violence. He pushed Nina out of the way and began to crash the guys’ head into the metal pole, repeating it until Nina was frantically crying and begging him to stop. The guy crumpled to the floor afterwards, blood pooling beneath him. The sight was too familiar for Nina. Images of 16 year old Claudia beneath her flashed before her eyes.

❥Suddenly, Jeff started rummaging through the man’s pockets. Yanking out his wallet, phone, some weed, a lighter, and his keys. He told Nina to get in the car.

❥Nina protested, but Jeff shouted it this time. So like the sweet girl Nina is, she listened. Jeff dragged the man into the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat. 

❥Jeff was reckless in every way. He was impulsive, brash, and unpredictable. In this random dude’s car, he began barrelling down the streets. It was night time in their fairly small town, leaving the roads quite empty. He had all the windows rolled down, laughing as their hair whipped around them. Jeff’s adrenaline was pumping violently, while Nina was crying and begging him to slow down. He was going 110mph down a random highway, doubling the speed limit. 

❥Nothing Nina said could stop him. He was at an all time high once again, a victim in the trunk of a stolen car and pretty Nina beside him, wailing and afraid. 

❥Nina didn’t know what to think when she saw him driving towards the biggest lake in the county. There was a poorly made pier leading far into the lake, but Nina swore Jeff was going to slow down. Please slow down. She panicked more when he reached over with one hand, unbuckling her seatbelt. What the fuck was he doing?

❥It surprised them both when the car actually flew into the water. Nina’s screams were cut off as she inhaled that dirty lake. Water immediately flooded the vehicle and moonlight reflected through the murky water. She desperately fought her way through the open window, swimming to the surface. She choked up the water and sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow. Fuck, she was so scared. She sobbed, trying to regain enough composure to keep her afloat, weak kicking and splashing. She barely made out the shoreline, desperately swimming her way there with chunky platforms and soaked clothes. Jeff got to the shore first, but returned to the water to help drag Nina out of it.

❥Before she could cry at how cruel that was, he lifted her up and crashed his lips into hers. His arms moved tightly around her waist, lifting her feet above water and laughing loudly as he spun her around. The muddy water splashed all over as he cackled, still pulling her further away from the lake in his arms.

❥”I fuckin’ love you, Nina!” He barked, still on a high as he dropped them both to the ground, smothering her in his excitement. That was the first time he said that to her. 

PT. 4: MISSED CALL (TO BE UPLOADED)

[hedgiwithapen]

DHD prompt: First and/or Second David in the roleswap AU where Maggie's on Team Leverage and Nate's oblivious and still with IYS?

 It’s a decent forgery, Maggie has to admit. Not good enough to fool her, but damn close. And even knowing how much she hates him, Blackpool won’t doubt her word.  Not over the Second David. She could hand him something from a high school ceramics class and it would take him a moment to realize, and the statute that Sophie and Hardison put together over the last weekend is far better than that. She’s so close. She can taste revenge in her smiling mouth, like the vodka Sophie took from her the night they met.  Ian will take the bait and look the fool.  It won’t bring back Sam. She got into this game too late for that. Her ex would have said this was justice, but it’s not, and she knows the difference. “Sophie,” she says into the coms. “Come on. I need you to close the deal.” “I’m a little busy,” Sophie’s  regular accent returnes, the Italian she’d worn for the evening melting away. “There’s someone here who, uh. Recognized me.” Well. Shit. Maggie knows who that has to be. There’s only one person here who’d see through Sophie’s guise, and it’s the same person who’s the only threat to the game she and the crew are running. Hell, he’d know all of them, if not by face by some other means. She’s fairly certain that Nate never actually caught up with Parker or Eliot, but Sophie and Hardison…. Maggie takes a sip of her drink, and thinks. Nate won’t be distracted for long, and while the Vatican angle isn’t strictly required for the con to work, Sophie being spotted on the same night the prodigal art examiner returns will draw suspicion they can’t afford. “I’ll let you think over my price,” she tells Ian, handing him her empty glass like he’s no better than the bussers, and slips into the minglers.   It’s a risk. She left. And Nate was never-- he loved her, she knew that. But he wasn’t all hers. He loved the hunt too much. Not enough that he’d stray, but she opened the barn door and bolted, the day she’d woken up in an empty apartment and a text on her phone saying he’d had to fly to Madrid on work. Their son was cold in the ground and he’d left because the man who’d put him there had asked. What if he didn’t look twice? What if he did and then away?

“Maggie?” he asks, his voice and hand snaking out to touch her, and as she’d hoped, turning away from Sophie. “Is that--you… you look…” he trails off.

“Nate,” she says, quietly. “You look… busy.” Has he always looked that tired?  Have his eyes always been that hard? Maybe she is simply looking at him the way Sophie’s taught her to evaluate a mark. The way she looks for falsehoods in a brushstroke. Everything about him rings sad, but trying.

“I am. Uh. There was a case with a stolen Manet last week. We could have-- I could have used you.”

“I’m sure you managed,” she says, glancing around the party. “Or you’d hardly be celebrating.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, hard. “No one’s heard from you since…”

Maggie files that away. She’d have thought James would have said something. That he hasn’t is worrying. “I don’t have time for this,” she says, brushing him off, the reverse of Eliot pulling in the would be movie star. Unapproachable is easy enough, when she doesn’t want attention. She’s not sure she doesn’t, is the only thing.

“Maggie, wait,” he says, grabbing her hand and looking at her, the way Ian looked at the photo of the statue. The way Parker stares at deadbolts in bank vaults. “What did I do wrong?”

“I think he’s forgotten Sophie,” Hardison says in her ear, helpful, helpful. “So you can scoot. Blackpool’s by the shrimp.”

Maggie fights her own feet. She can’t tell him the truth. He’s always been so black and white, right down to the canvas.  She can’t pour out the can of grey paint and thinner she’s carting around in her heart without destroying the man she used to love. She can’t pull away, either.

“It wasn’t you,” she says, though that’s never going to be the full truth. “Let me go, Nate. please.”

His hand drops as if she’d struck him. “Maggie…”

“I’m sorry, Nate,” she says. “Don’t look for me.”

She knows he will. She’ll just have to have a better lie, for the next time.

[xwritingdixonx]

Till Death Do Us Part | Chapter 3 |

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series masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl share stories of the life you spent apart but you can't bring yourself to tell him the complete truth afraid of what he'll think of you. So instead you tell your part through little white lies.

Warnings: language, grief, implied suicide, smut implied towards end, use of cigarettes

Word count: aprox. 2.2k

Tags: @onlyheretoread2 @catisnotademonn

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The rest of that evening was spent with the rest of the group, sitting around eating at the dinner table. You didn't exactly give everyone the big dinner you promised but for now, spaghetti would have to be big enough. Daryl hadn't left your side for a second, asking if you needed help with dinner, sitting beside you at the table, and you could always feel his eyes lingering.

"And this is mine" You cracked open the room to your bedroom allowing Daryl to enter. He entered slowly his eyes darting across the room trying to look at every detail he could to obtain some sort of knowledge of the life you lived without him. You seemed to have kept your character though. Your bed was made nicely from the last time you slept in it. Even your bed sheets weren't the typical boring beige sheets that every Alexandrian had in their home. Your comforter was a shade of forest green along with your pillowcases and Daryl could see the off-white floral sheets poking out from underneath. The nightstand from the side of the bed you slept on had a small handheld photo album along with a lamp. The other nightstand was seemingly empty, the only thing sitting there was an empty glass and a small vase of flowers.

There was what seemed to be "your corner". Daryl remembered, you always had your corner. The area now consisted of a dark green lounge chair that had a matching footstool, and a short wooden bookshelf full of books, candles sitting on top. Your dresser sat close by, your jewelry box sat atop it along with your hairbrush, a mirror hanging directly above. Your walls weren't disappointing either containing different shades of wood-stained frames full of all different types of art or family photos. There were a few plants here and there to make your room feel more lively.

"Sure as shit didn't lose any of yer' decoratin' skills" Daryl commented turning back to see you taking a seat on the edge of the bed. You took a glance around your room and smiled, "Yeah I try." Daryl was about to take a seat beside you before Luke's figure appeared in the doorway. "Uncle Daryl I-" "No no no" Tommy's voice disrupted him putting his arm around him and pulling him from the doorway "But I wanna talk to Aunt Y/n and-" "Nope, goodnight" Tommy reached for the doorknob and gave you a smile and a wink before muttering a goodnight.

You softly laughed and shook your head, "We're gonna have to deadbolt the door." Daryl let out a small chuckle before engulfing you in his muscular arms practically dragging you down to the plush bed with him. You snuggled into his chest giving him one good tight squeeze. The both of you stayed like that for a second relishing in the presence of the other. "How'd ya score this room?"

You had, what seemed to be, the biggest room in the house. You had your own bathroom attached and a small walk-in closet not to mention the room already being spacious enough. "One really intense Monopoly game" Daryl scoffed at your response and pulled away to look at you, "Yer' jokin'?" You shook your head at him with a cheesy smirk cheesy on your face, "No." You shrugged your shoulders and rolled out of his grip "Maybe that's when Eddie started to hate me" You got up from the bed, making your way to the bathroom.

Daryl let out a sigh, sitting up from his own position. He noticed the way you and Eddie danced around each other, never acknowledging the other. When one would talk it was almost as if the other turned their ears off from listening.

He waited for you to come back from brushing your teeth and combing your hair to ask any more questions. When you did come back you were only wearing your tank top and underwear, folding your jeans back up and away. Daryl shouldn't have been surprised, this was how you normally went to bed, but he just couldn't help but stare. You were more muscular and toned than he last remembered, especially in your arms. But you still kept your soft curves and held a fuller tummy from being well-fed in Alexandria.

He took note of the scars that lingered all around your body. Maybe he would ask you about them later.

You tossed a t-shirt at him from the bottom drawer of the dresser, "Here". But it wasn't any t-shirt, it was his t-shirt from before. You could read Daryl's confused expression as he glanced down at it in his hands. "We took a trip back home after a few months here. We mainly went back for Mom and Dan but." You shrugged your shoulders with a sad smile on your face, sitting back down beside him.

You remembered that trip. Deanna had Aaron go with you because she didn't fully trust your group yet but she respected your wish of trying to find your family.

The door to what once was your mother's and stepfather's home in Virginia. Dan's house was more isolated, pushed back down a long driveway in the woods. It didn't look to have been raided or broken into yet. "Mom?" You called out, still keeping your hand on the gun holster on your hip, just in case. You, Eddie, and Nellie piled into the house as Aaron waited outside by the car. The three slowly made their way around the house, trying to find any form of life. It looked the same as it did the last you remembered it. It was a bigger house, bigger than your original family home in Georgia. Dan was a lawyer, enough said.

"Y/n" Nellie called your name from the other side of the house, you made your way through the kitchen to the attached dining room. The same dining table you had endless dinners at. Christmas, Thanksgiving. Pouring out your Halloween candy. First, it was you and Nellie, then it became Jace and Luke. The same table you told everyone Daryl had proposed.

The only thing that lingered there now, besides memories, was a folded-up piece of paper. You could tell by the saddened faces that they had already read it, handing it off to you.

The letter read as followed: " To my beautiful children, please take care of each other. I don't know where you are but I hope you're together. If you're here -you're here if you're reading this. Take what you need. Take it all. The pantry and cabinets should be full, that's the way we left them. Dan left the guns in the garage. To Eddie, stop being so scared of love. You could learn a few things from Eleanor. To Elizabeth, take care of those sweet boys, don't let them turn like the rest of these people. To Y/n, keep your charm, your pride, and keep D. He's a good one. I left you all my cookbooks. To sweet Eleanor, never stop loving, I've always admired your persistent heart. Don't come into the master bedroom, it's gonna be a sight. I love you. Dan says he loves you too.

-Winny + Dan. (Mom and Dad) "

"The day everything happened, Lizzy came and picked everyone up and was going to drop us off at this safe zone area." All of you had to squeeze into Lizzy's minivan along with bags of everyone's belongings. You remembered Eddie yelling at Lizzy about how she had to go back for Mom and she yelled back saying there wasn't room and that she'd drop everyone off and then go back.

She didn't realize that once you were in the safe zone, you couldn't leave. Soon after they shipped the lot of you off to a stadium in Philadelphia that was being turned into a liveable safe area for people. And that's where you remained for the first year and a half in this new world.

"Why'd ya leave?"

You could give him a thousand reasons, tell him all the stories you had about the cruelty that took place among those walls. Ideally, it sounded like a perfect community, and at first, it was. It was secure and had reliable food sources. But people in power get too big of heads. You debated if you should tell Daryl the truth. He had told you the truth. Told you about the farm, the prison, the governor, the cannibals at Terminus, and the journey to Virginia. He talked about the people they met along the way and the people they lost. Specifically, this girl named Beth. He told you she would've loved you.

"It was uhm..." You looked off trying to find a word in your vocabulary to describe the 'safe zone'. "People in power, abuse their power."

Daryl nodded understanding everything you meant behind those words. "How'd ya leave?" Now that was a good question. Behind every person in power who abuses that power are people rebelling back. Which in a way, is what you did.

"We started a rebellion group" We gathered people to kill them all.

"It was.... a lot." We slaughtered them.

"But we did it." Like animals. Because they acted like animals.

"Hey," Daryl could see the ways your eyes drifted when you talked about it, "ya ain't gotta talk 'bout it alright?" He softly cupped the left side of your face in his hand rubbing his thumb along your cheek. His hands were rough from the years of hard work and the constant fiddling with his bow. He could tell by the way you looked up at him that you were waiting to feel his lips on yours. And of course, he gives in easily. Because how couldn't he?

Daryl had soft spots but you were by far his softest. In intimate moments like these, you tried to allow Daryl to feel as if he was in control. He was stronger than you physically so in a way he was. He could easily move you, dig his strong hands into your hips, hold you down. But you both knew you were the one truly in control. Daryl followed the rhythm you made and listened closely to the noises you made. If there was a noise that sounded even remotely close to any pain, he'd stop.

He knew every spot you liked, what spots were your sweetest and softest. Which ones made you whimper and grasp his hair.

And right now he just wanted you in every way. He wanted to make you forget about any hurt brought to you. Forget about the way he left you. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, was what he wanted every kiss along your neck to feel like. "I love ya" Daryl whispered as he placed a kiss on your collarbone, "I love you too."

-

“What ‘er ya doin’?” Daryl’s gruff voice startled you as you sat with your knees to your chest in the air of the late night. Daryl was woken up at first by some tossing and turning from you, you weren’t sleeping well. Daryl woke you up and told it was alright and held you as you fell back asleep. But he was awoken again when the space next to him was empty.

You blew the smoke from your mouth, “Nothin’ just needed air.” Daryl sat beside you, glancing down at the short cigarette that was held in between your fingers. “Give me that” He took it from your hands, finishing it off for you. You let him take it. You knew you shouldn’t be smoking and you knew if he saw he’d probably call you a hypocrite. All the times you told him it was bad for him, told him to take it outside. Which is precisely why you were trying to hide it from him. “When ya start doin’ this anyway?”

You were never a fan of cigarettes, you grew up around it. Your mom smoked, your dad smoked, you worked in a bar where the smell of cigarettes lingered in the air. The amount of second hand smoke you’d inhaled in your lifetime was probably higher than the average person.

“It made me feel closer to you.” It helped take away the taste of blood from your mouth.

That wasn’t a complete lie. It did, it reminded you of the smell that would linger on Daryl’s skin. That rough leather and smoke smell. But tonight, you woke up from your dreams with that awful iron taste in your mouth. Along with the dreadful memory that followed.

Daryl flicked the butt of the cigarette away and offered you a hand, “Come back to bed.”

[winterserra]

prompt… 13 and 23 for winterserra?

Sorry this took me so long to write! The fic is under the cut because it ended up being longer than I was initially expecting.

AO3 link

Ethan wanders around his empty house. Things have been pretty weird ever since Mia moved out. Their divorce had been mutual and amicable, both of them knowing that things just… weren’t going to work out. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt when he takes the photos of himself, Rose, and Mia down. He wishes they could have worked their issues out, for Rose to grow up in a two parent household, but with how they had been fighting since the whole…. Miranda incident… Mia had known the whole time that there was something different with him… He shakes the thoughts from his head. There’s nothing he can do about it now.

Ethan opens a bottle of wine, sitting down at the kitchen table, pouring himself a glass. This isn’t how things should have played out. He sighs before taking a sip of his glass. The fruity flavor hitting his tongue, making him pause. He picks the bottle up, looking at the label, Mia’s favorite. Of course he would pick this one to drink when he’s already feeling emotionally compromised. He sets the bottle back down, his head falling into his hands. If she had just told him… If Chris had just told him… If anyone had just talked to him instead of just expecting him to read their minds, maybe just maybe, everything that happened in the village could have been avoided.

He feels like his heart has been ripped in two. On one hand, he knows what happened couldn’t really have been avoided. Neither could the series of unfortunate events that was Dulvey. On the other hand, there were things that Chris had told them to do to make sure they were safe. One of them was to not contact Zoe Baker. Mia had told him that it would be fine. They were keeping their letters to each other a secret and were being as discreet as possible considering they were both being monitored by Chris and his team at all times, but still Miranda had found them. Miranda had taken Mia and Rose. He couldn’t help but blame Mia for that, especially after he realized that Mia had sent a picture of their baby to Zoe.

Thinking about all of this really depressed his mood. He stands up from the table, looking for anything else to do to keep his mind occupied from his dangerous thoughts. The wine and clean up was enough to reopen a wound he thought was closed for good. It's been months since Mia left. He picks up a couple of Rose’s toys, tossing them into the toy box. He still won’t see her for another week. Split custody hurts him more than the divorce ever did. Not being able to spend time with Rose as often as he would like… Just everything feels like too much.

A knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts. He’s not expecting guests, so he grabs his handgun, cocking it. If the two life threatening situations he’s been in has taught him anything, it’s that it's better to be prepared for someone to barge in and shoot you than to be unprepared and wishing you had done something to prevent it. He looks out the peephole to see an older gentleman. He looks worried. Confused even. Ethan takes the chain off the door, unlocks the deadbolt, and opens the door. 

“C-can I help you?” Ethan asks and the man’s face almost lights up.

He takes a step forward on Ethan’s porch before thinking better of it and stepping back. “I sure hope so, Senor. I’m a little lost and my cellphone is dead. Do you have a phone I can use?”

Ethan quirks his eyebrow, unsure as to whether he can trust this stranger. He looks harmless, but then again, so did Donna. “Open your jacket. Show me you don’t have any weapons.”

“What?” the man asks, but does as he’s told. Ethan doesn’t see any weapons so he allows him inside. “You have a weird way of greeting people, Yanqui.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Ethan says a little too aggressively. He directs the man to the phone on the table in the hallway. Leaving him alone to give him a little bit of privacy. He uncocks the gun and tucks it subtly into the waistband of his jeans, letting his grey hoodie fall over over it to conceal it. It’s not paranoia if people are after you, after all.

The man comes to find him, “A car will come get me in about an hour. Do you mind if I hang around here until it shows up?”

Ethan offers him a seat on the couch, “How did you end up here?”

“I… uh… well… I got a job nearby and well, I got lost on my way to the train station,” the man laughs. “I’m Luis, by the way.”

“Ethan,” he replies. “The train station is about 2 kilometers in the opposite direction.” Ethan laughs, feeling a little lighter realizing that the man, Luis, is not here to kill him.

“So, Ethan,” Luis smiles, “That’s a nice name. Of all the people’s doorsteps I could have ended up on, I’m glad it turned out to be someone as attractive as you, guapito.”

Ethan is taken aback by Luis being so forward. He blushes, “I’m just a guy, ya know. I’m no one special at all.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Luis laughs a hearty laugh. Ethan can’t help but blush more as he tries to avoid getting lost in his smokey eyes. “It takes someone special to let a stranger into their home. Especially with the way you answered the door. What was that about?”

Ethan freezes, taking his time before answering. “I’ve not had an easy life.”

“Maybe you could tell me about it some time?” Luis looks down at his watch. “Time flies when you’re having fun, eh, Yanqui? My car should be here any minute.”

Ethan looks down at his own watch. How had the time passed by so quickly without him noticing? “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“I’ll see myself out. It's just down the hall right?” Luis stands from the couch.

Ethan points towards the door, “Yeah, yeah. It's down the hall, past the phone.:

“Gracias. And thank you for your generosity. I won’t forget it,” Luis smirks then turns and leaves the room. 

Ethan instinctively follows him, making sure he doesn’t get too comfortable on his way out. He shuts the door behind Luis, locking the deadbolt and putting the chain back on the door. He puts his gun back in the drawer of the table by the door. He sighs, taking in the silence of the house again. Having Luis here was a welcome adjustment to his otherwise quiet home. He heads back to the kitchen, stopping by the phone. The memo pad has a small note on it that makes him flush bright red again.

Call me: +34 91 XXXXXXXX 

xo Luis

[puroresu-musings]

NJPW WRESTLE KINGDOM 18 in Tokyo Dome Review (Jan 4th, 2024)

New Japan Rambo **

IWGP Jr. Tag Team Championship - Clark Connors & Drilla Moloney vs. TJP & Francesco Akira ***1/4

NJPW World TV Championship - Zack Sabre Jr. (c) vs. Hiroshi Tanahashi ****

Yota Tsuji vs. Yuya Uemura ***1/2

Shota Umino & Kaito Kiyomiya vs. EVIL & Ren Narita ***1/4

NEVER Openweight Championship - Shingo Takagi (c) vs. Tama Tonga ****1/2

IWGP Tag Team & STRONG Openweight Tag Championship Double Title Match - Hirooki Goto & YOSHI-HASHI vs. El Phantasmo & Hikuleo ***3/4+

IWGP Jr. Heavyweight Championship - Hiromu Takahashi (c) vs. El Desperado ****1/4

Inaugural IWGP Global Championship Match - Will Ospreay vs. Jon Moxley vs. David Finlay ****1/2

Kazuchika Okada vs. Bryan Danielson *****

IWGP World Heavyweight Championship - SANADA (c) vs. Tetsuya Naito ****1/4

Photos.

This show ruled. Full disclosure, I've fallen behind with NJPW in the last couple of years, and only really get to fully see the major shows, so going in this looked like a solid little card on paper, so my expectations weren't exactly sky high. However, the New Japan crew knocked it out of the park with an excellent, Show of the Year contender. Things started as they always do: The annual "cram everyone humanly possible onto the card" Rambo. We all know what to expect here, and this was better than a lot of previous offerings, but the surprise appearance of Fujita "Jr" Hayato in this years really raised it up for me, as I'm always super pleased to see him back in the ring after all he's been through. Takashi Iizuka turning up was also a nice surprise (absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that), and it was a kick to be transported back to 2013 with him mercilessly going after poor Shimpei Nogami on commentary. The ending though was very deja vu, as I could have sworn some incredibly similar variant of this was the outcome last year. The final four of Great-O-Khan, Taiji Ishimori, YOH and Toru Yano advanced to face off for the KOPW Title tomorrow.

The main show started in style with the prerequisite Jr Tag Title Match, which featured TJP debuting his new demon gimmick, The Aswang, because he was locked in a casket when last we saw him, you see. My English feed froze at the opening bell on the Aswang mask for ages, and by the time I'd gotten back onto the Japanese feed, I'd missed like three minutes of this, there were brawls all over ringside, The Aswang was wearing a dog collar, and Moloney was bleeding. The final 5 or so minutes I did see were pretty damn good though, so that's what my rating is based on. TJP got this win for him and Akira after he blew the dreaded Dokukiri into Drilla's face, then Catch 22 hit the double knees to regain the titles at 9:38. Next up, President Tanahashi put an end to the 365 day TV Title reign of ZSJ in an excellent 8:53 sprint. These guys always have excellent matches together, and this was no exception. They worked a fast-paced thriller, which boiled down to them hitting a sequence of cradle reversals, before Tana counter a Zack Victory Roll into one of his own, and won the belt to a big pop. President Ace thanked everyone for coming in the post match, and wished us all a Happy New Year. Godly.

Career rivals Tsuji and Uemura had their first non-Young Lion outing on a major show next. This was a very good little match, I've always been high on both guys since they were rookies, and I firmly believe they have incredibly bright futures in New Japan, and are destined to be focal points in the years to come. Even though I do wish they'd do more with Yota. The guy came in super hot, with a ton of hype, and now he's kinda just floundering in the mid-card. And more mid-carders is most certainly not something this company needs! They always have really good matches, so add this one to that list, which ended at just under 11 minutes, when Uemura got the much needed win with his beautiful Deadbolt suplex. Fellow future superstar Shota Umino drove into Tokyo Dome on a motorbike to start his and partner, NOAH "Ace" Kiyomiya's tag match against HoT goons EVIL and Ren Narita next. This was going along really nicely, the three young guys all looked great, and the crowd were very much into, until the standard shenanigans started, which lead to a fairly abrupt finish, which saw Narita deck Umino with a steel plated push-up bar, then score the pin with his Double Cross finish at the 7 minute mark.

The fifth bout saw company MVP Shingo defend the NEVER Title against Tama Tonga in a hard-hitting war, which was by far the best match on the show up to this point. The near 30K in attendance were going crazy for this as they hit all their big spots, massive Lariats and Gun Stun counters. After Takagi scored a great near fall with Made in Japan, Tama went to the Bullet Club well, hitting a Gun Stun, Bloody Sunday AND a Styles Clash, before putting Shingo away with the DSD at 13:46 to claim his 4th NEVER Championship. Excellent stuff here, though seemingly Tama announced afterwards that he's finishing up with the company at the end of the month, so him winning is an... interesting decision. The double Tag Title match followed, which was a rematch of the Tag League Final between Bishamon and GoD. This was another great match, a fun sprint which saw the STRONG Champions win both sets of belts after ELP hit Goto with CRIII, and Hikuleo came off the top with a massive, but very unattractive, Big Splash to win the belts in 9:47. Just before this match, Nic Nemeth (the former Dolph Ziggler) and his brother Ryan turned up to sit at ringside. I think we all know there's some kind of angle coming here.

Speaking of career rivals, Hiromu and Despy faced off for the Jr. Heavy Title in the next bout. We've seen many versions of this match in recent history, and they're pretty much always excellent, so this fit that mould no doubt. Things started hot as Despy hit Hiromu with a Tope con Giro as he made his entrance, and they worked 100 mph from there. The challenger worked over the champions leg to set up the Numero Dos, but it wasn't to be. The finish saw Desperado escape the Hiromu Roll, then hit a Jay Driller, kept a hold and nailed Takahashi with a second Pinche Loco to win the strap at the 14:21 mark to end another great outing. We crowned an inaugural IWGP Global champion next, as Ospreay, Moxley and Finlay had a wild Triple Threat Match. This started with Mox and Ospreay agreeing to work together for the first 5 minutes in order to take out Finlay, then turn their attention on each other, before BC War Dogs Alex Coughlin and Gabe Kidd ran in. The babyfaces rallied a comeback though, which saw Ospreay put the invaders through tables with a Swanton Bomb to the outside, and Moxley took a post bump and gigged himself. Which I'm sure will shock many. The finishing stretch was insanely hot as Mox kicked at one from a Hidden Blade, but was put down with Stormbreaker, only for Finlay to hit Ospreay with his new Overkill finish, which is essentially a Brainbuster into a Go 2 Sleep, to become the inaugural Global champion in 22:17. In the post match, Finlay got into a shoving match and pull-apart with Nic Nemeth at ringside, which culminated in Nemeth chasing him to the back. So that looks to be Finlay's first title programme. Finlay going over was 100% the right call, with Ospreay leaving as a full-timer, they need to start making some top guys, and he's a good place to start.

Semi final time, and a true dream match next as Okada faced Danielson in a match I'd spent a good decade fantasy booking. After their slightly disappointing first encounter at Forbidden Door in June, due in no small part by Dragon legit breaking his arm during it, they came out with a lot to prove. And they certainly didn't disappoint this time as they had a superb wrestling encounter based around aggression and emotion. As anyone who's been watching Danielson since the ROH days can attest, when Bryan has a grudge with someone (Morishima, Nigel), he goes all out with the intensity, and it usually produces classics. The pacing, the limb-work, the storytelling, the drama... everything about this was essentially perfect. After Okada broke Danielson's arm in their previous match, Dragon obsessively set out to do the same here. And it lead to his downfall. The American Dragon was coming into this one with a fractured orbital bone, so Okada worked over that for a while too. Okada kicked out of a Busaiku Knee, Danielson locked on the same arm submission he tapped Okada out with at Forbidden Door, but The Rainmaker made the ropes. Dragon then stomped his f'n head in and locked in the LeBell Lock, only for Okada to hit a Rainmaker, but he was in too much pain from his devastated right arm, and couldn't make the cover. Danielson hit a big head kick and another Busaiku Knee, but rather than go for the cover, he elected to do the "Yes!" gimmick in the corner, and try another knee, but Okada hit an Emerald Flowsion, a Landslide, then another Rainmaker to fall on top of Dragon, and score the surprise win at the 23:24 (which it felt half of, by the way). This was a masterpiece, and I was legitimately shocked when the three count came. I could have watched this for an hour, it left me very much wanting a rubber match, and this is easily the best match of 2024 so far. They bowed to each other and shook hands in the post match.

The Keiji Muto fan club imploded in the main event as former LIJ stablemates Naito and SANADA (who was even dressed like Muto circa 1995), battled for the World Title. This was an excellent match, one that I didn't have a massive amount of interested in going into this show, but they had a really great clash. It's worth mentioning that something happened to SANADA here, I don't know if it was the biceps injury he's been dealing with since G1, or if he seperated his shoulder or something, but he was in noticeable discomfort through this, and it let to some wonky botches near the finish. They tried multiple times to do a Destino counter, but they couldn't pull it off. SANADA hit Dead Fall for the double down, then an Asai DDT, but Naito escaped a second Dead Fall attempt, and went for Valentia, but SANADA countered into an O'Connor Roll for a super close near fall. A Shining Wizard followed, but Naito turned another Dead Fall attempt into one of his own, finally hit Valentia, then finished the champion off with Destino to win his first World title at 25:42. It's worth pointing out that they clashed heads on the way down on the Destino, and Naito got busted open pretty bad over his eye. With Naito having finally won again in the main event of Tokyo Dome, he was about to Finish His Story, when EVIL and Dick Togo, of all people, ran-in in an attempt to ruin things like KENTA did in 2020. However, they hadn't bargained on SANADA, who nailed his former tag partner with a Shining Wizard, and Naito sent Dick packing with a low dropkick. SANADA then let Naito finish the story a decade in the making, and do his "De-Ja-Pon!!!" roll call to end the show and send everyone home happy. Whilst I applaud NJPW for giving SANADA a go, or just giving ANYONE NEW a shot at the top of the card (it's been very Groundhog Day for a long time up there, and this is something I've been encouraging since NAito at WK8!), I don't think it payed off liked they'd hoped. SANADA is a very good worker, and amazing athlete, but he's just missing something that would make him that major star. Which is obviously something Naito has in abundance, so I'm very pleased he got his big win here, as it was pretty much last chance saloon.

This was a tremendous card, not quite as good as last year's, I don't think, but still great, great stuff and well worth checking out. Especially the Okada/Danielson match!

NDT

[nobedofroses]

December 9th

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption, smut (unprotected p-in-v sex)

words: 821

a/n: little continuation of the last Javi blurb bc fireplace! photo prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

more Javi, Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

The first time Javi had lit the fire in the fireplace, first time ever since it was your first year living in the house, you had been ridiculously proud and happy. You’d said it called for a champagne toast, but all you had was wine and you were nearly as happy with that. So happy, you ended up having two glasses in about thirty minutes and started doing what you did when you got tipsy: loving on Javi. 

“You’re so smart and talented, you got the fire going so fast and it’s still going still,” you told him, managing to climb onto his lap from where you had been sitting on the ground next to him without spilling your wine.

“It’s not that hard, sweetheart, I can teach you next time in case you ever want a fire before I get home,” he told you, trying to get the wine glass from you, but you just wrapped your arms around his neck so it was behind him. And so you were very, very close. 

“And you’re so humble and sweet, I’m so lucky you’re my man, all mine and all man,” you dissolved into giggles but before Javi could say anything, you were kissing him. 

You were urgent and your mouth tasted like sweet wine, but Javi knew you were more drunk off of the holiday spirit and getting to fully utilize your new house than you were from the wine. 

It wasn’t long before you had set the wine down of your own volition, Javi had tugged a blanket off of the couch, and he was fucking you on your back with your knees pressed to your chest. 

You had kind of expected fast, hot and heavy, take your breath away sex, but that’s not what you got. This was even more intense, his slow strokes and the way it felt like he just kept going deeper and deeper until he was just a part of you. 

He was kneeling with one hand braced on your breast, leaving the other to relentlessly rub at your clit, with the same slow, smooth pace his cock filled you. It almost didn’t feel like enough until without warning you came. Gasping and moaning his name, pleasure ebbed and flowed through you in never-ending waves until Javi followed and filled you with his hot cum, using his last few thrusts to grind into you. 

A minute later while he was coming down, he used practiced moves to get you on top of him again without pulling out because he knew you’d make a fuss if he did it too soon. 

With the fire, you didn’t even feel the need to grab a blanket, totally relaxed and at peace. Eventually, Javi got up to fetch a washcloth and you dozed while he did, not a care in the world. 

You were nearly fully asleep when Javi came back and he pulled on his pants before sitting back down to help you clean up a little, the washcloth thankfully still warm. 

“You know you’ll have to get up soon, sweetheart,” he told you but you just swiped your hand vaguely towards him. 

“I’m sleepin’,” you told him, settling back again to relax more. 

Except that’s when you heard a strange sound: the deadbolt in the front door unlocking. Eyes widening in panic, Javi stood up, yanked the blanket from under you and threw it over your naked body. 

“Pop!” you heard Javi exclaim from half under the blanket. Then hurried footsteps, Javi hastily guiding him into the kitchen for a beer, and his father questioning why Javier wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

You dressed as quickly as you could while they were out of the room, then made a big show of joining them in the kitchen, making sure to say you had been upstairs folding laundry. 

Whether he believed the two of you, you didn’t know, but he didn’t say anything and that was all that mattered. You were able to muddle through the rest of the interaction, which was actually an invitation to dinner the next night, without any further hiccups and he was on his way before long. 

Once you were back in the living room, sitting on the couch with your wine in hand, you said, “What is he even doing out at this time of night? Shouldn’t he be in bed?” 

“Honey, it’s only just now 8:00pm,” he told you and you gaped. “Guess we were fooled by the sun being down.” 

“Maybe we should just never fuck in the living room again,” you said thoughtfully, because obviously you didn’t want a repeat of the terror that had went through you when that door unlocked. 

“No, I’ll just take the key back,” Javi said quickly and you laughed, knowing that you were in for a long night of negotiations on when and where exactly it was safe for you to fuck.

🌨️🌨️🌨️

[tyforthevnm]

Frank Iero and the Patience at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY on April 18, 2017 | Keeyahtay Lewis

[p-rtyboy]

Flag id: A flag with a series of horizontal stripes and a vertical very dark grey stripe dividing it. The horizontal bands stretch across the entire width of the flag, consisting of five colors. Starting from the top on the left, the colors are; very dark grey, crimson, dull brown, greyish cream, and cream, the colors are reversed on the right side of the flag. /end id

Sinvilockmona

Pt: Sinvilockmona /end pt

Specinviane term related to the image below in the context of being Monachoric [link]- it can be used on its own, as a gender, as an allion, as an aldernic term, etc

Image is: A photo of a knife stuck where a deadbolt would be, that appears to have been broken off. /end id

Coined on October 4th, 2024

Colors picked from the image and the contrast adjusted Monachoric flag [link] by @/lycandrogyne. For Day 5 of Cointober 2024 [link] by @rabidbatboy — etymology: sinvi + lock + [mona]choric

Tagging @radiomogai @obscurian @inviane-archive and @eparchclass

See also: Invibrokenlock [link] for the regular Inviane version

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Some things never change. It’s why Nancy is oh-so looking forward to coming home this summer, funnily enough.

She wants to have her mom’s meatloaf, pretend to be interested enough in sci-fi to sit through a movie with Mike, and stare at the photos posted on her vanity. She wants to feel like she’s seventeen again and worrying about studying for chemistry quizzes, not worrying about what Jonathan is up to right now.

If he’s talking to other girls. If he’s sliding up next to Argyle in the back of his van, too close for your average smoke session. If he’s having a blast with his time apart from her.

She knows they both need space — it still doesn’t feel good to dwell on it. She needs distractions or she’s going to blow a gasket.

Anything to alleviate the stress. Even if just for a night. Hell, even if just for a minute.

As much as it feels wrong to admit… she’s also looking forward to seeing Steve. To teasing him a little bit since she’s back in town, maybe flirting with him like she used to.

She has no idea what’s coming over her, what’s possessing her to have these thoughts — she doesn’t like Steve, at least, not like that, but just knowing that part of him will always love her brings an odd sense of comfort. It’s the normalcy that she’s craved while away at Uni. While she and Jonathan are taking a break.

It’s shitty. And she knows it.

After a quick ask around, she’s pulling up to a trailer at Forest Hills, parking next to the Beamer and stepping out of her car.

Steve might not have gotten into any of his choice colleges, but he’s making something for himself nonetheless, so she’s heard. Nancy wonders if he’s looking to reminisce about old times too when she knocks on the door, only… Steve isn’t who answers it.

It takes a few moments. Nancy can hear fumbling and a quiet curse before the deadbolt turns and the door cracks open.

“Uh… hey?” Billy greets lamely.

He squints in the sunlight, his posture hunched as he leans his arm on the doorframe. Nancy clutches her purse at her side, all of her scripting for this interaction bursting to flames in the back of her mind.

“Hey,” she says. Leans back enough to look at the plaque above the doorbell. “Am I at the wrong place?”

Back in school, she never really interacted with this guy. Just heard rumors, mostly. Saw him strutting around the halls like her worst testosterone-filled nightmare come to life. He doesn’t seem so big and tough now, confusion plastered all over his face.

She still doesn’t expect him to sound so gentle when he speaks.

“Steve’s out right now,” he says. Stands up straight and rubs his eye with the heel of his palm before gesturing over to the Beamer. “He took mine. Asshole always uses my shit.”

Nancy glances over her shoulder. Nods, more to herself than anything, and sighs.

This was a bust.

The door hinges creak from Billy leaning more of his weight into it.

“You, uh, wanna come in?” he asks.

Nancy presses her lips into a line, considering making up some lame excuse to run off until he spreads a little smile. It has her mind going blank in under a second.

Right. She forgot how charming this guy can be.

“Sure,” she murmurs.

Struts inside when he clears the doorway, trying to ignore the fact that she can smell the faded remnants of Steve’s cologne on him as she passes by.

Come to think of it, it looks like he’s wearing Steve’s clothes too. They fit better on him than they ever did on Nancy.

“I’m gonna make some coffee,” Billy says.

He shuts the door, and Nancy nods. Looks around, subtly trying to scope out the place. It’s not the stereotypical bachelor pad that she was expecting — the couch has a decent amount of pillows, the curtains match the rugs, and the posters on the walls are actually framed.

It looks lived-in, but not messy.

There are trinkets and tabletop things kind of strewn about, and it feels homey. More so than Steve’s parents’ house ever did.

The only thing that really catches her attention is the fact that there’s a single bedroom.

Billy brews a pot and glances over his shoulder when he opens a cupboard.

“Coffee?” he sighs.

“Sure,” Nancy says. Watches as he pulls two Garfield mugs out. “So, you guys… live together?”

“Mhm.”

He pours both mugs generously. Sets the sugar and the creamer on the counter so Nancy can fix hers how she likes. Surprisingly, he takes his coffee fairly sweet.

She half expected him to drink it black.

“How did that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Nancy stirs her mix vacantly until the color lightens, watching the way that Billy’s lips quirk up into a smile again.

He splays his free hand against the counter and leans into it, shrugging his shoulders.

“He begged me, really,” he lilts. “Or did you mean how did we become friendly?”

“The ladder.”

Billy nods. Sips from his mug and hums to himself.

“I dunno, it kinda just happened. He’s a lover, not a fighter, after all.”

He fucking winks at her, and her face starts to feel warm.

She wants to chalk it up to the fact she obviously woke him up when she knocked. His hair isn’t primped, his curls less defined and perky than usual, and his eyes are half-lidded. Like he hasn’t quite adjusted to being awake yet.

Something tells her that’s not the only reason, like a little siren in the back of her head is going off.

It’s the same feeling she got when she noticed the disproportionate amount of time that Mike started spending with Will, as opposed to their other friends. When she noticed that they started sharing the bottom bunk of his bed rather than splitting up during sleepovers.

Her eyebrows quirk up ever so slightly. Really, it should be obvious. Billy isn’t even trying to hide it.

“He always has been,” she says.

Amused, Billy leans forward a little more. Lowers his voice like he’s making accusations in church.

“That why you decided to swing by unannounced?”

There’s no hint of danger just yet. Nancy knows it’s lurking around the corner, though, so she chooses her words wisely.

“Just… wanted to catch up.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, still stirring her coffee. Billy nods, but his eyes suddenly look dark. Like the surface of the ocean at night.

Eerily still and almost black in the absence of the moon.

“Sure,” he says. Stares hard at her for a moment, like he’s picking apart everything, reading her mind. It sends a chill up her spine. “Y’know what I want?”

Nancy stops stirring when his eyes flick down to her hand.

“What’s that?” she asks, almost breathless.

He taps his finger against the countertop, and his smile returns. It doesn’t feel as charming and suave as it did earlier.

Reminds Nancy of the fake smiles that the preppy girls would give her at school when she first started dating Steve. Come to think of it, it’s exactly that.

“I want you to call first next time.” He chews his lip while he thinks. “I want you to keep this little visit between us when you catch up,” he warns. Chuckles after a moment and tilts his head to the side. “And I want you to say hi to your mom for me when you leave. Think that’s too much for lil’ old me to ask?”

Nancy shakes her head, face burning now. Billy seems fairly pleased with that.

“I’ll… let myself out.”

“Door gets stuck, so be sure to pull hard on it.”

He waves goodbye before she even moves. Once she does turn away, he grabs her untouched mug and dumps it down the sink. She breathes a sigh of relief once she’s outside and the door is closed behind her.

It doesn’t feel good, leaving the trailer park with this rotten feeling stirring in her gut. Funnily enough, she’s not even mad at Billy.

She’s mad at herself.

As embarrassing as it is, she needed this. She’s glad it happened this way, because simply knowing that Steve is taken makes her heart feel a little lighter. Like she didn’t fuck him up too bad to find love.

Like she can finally let him go.

The walk of shame up the driveway to her parents’ house still makes her sick.

“Back so soon?” Karen asks. She has a pan of meatloaf ready to go into the oven. “I thought you’d be out for a while, I was gonna surprise you.”

The look on her face is disappointed, like the highlight of her night was going to be presenting her daughter with a fairly average meal. It does good to make Nancy think.

About how she’s been putting too much thought into things that don’t matter. About how she’s been worrying about things that are out of her control. Obsessing over them, even.

It makes her think about how she should have just been excited to eat her mother’s meatloaf and watch shitty movies with Mike.

From the start.

Nancy smiles, and Karen mimics it even though her plans are clearly ruined. She thinks they can fix it together.

“Billy says hi.”

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Yall know whats crazy? I grew up in an actual haunted house lmao. Most of my friends wont even come over to my moms house now a days. My roommate hates it there

The phone is literally not plugged in to anything (it’s an older style that isnt wireless) and it will ring. And I mean it’s not plugged into the phone line or power.

Old clock chimes. Never mind that the chimes r just sitting in it not strung up.

Locked out? But that door is a deadbolt?

Ah yes the person who is standing in the kitchen looking out the window. Never mind that the sink and counter are in the way. (Got a photo of this one but the ghost only remained in it for a year before it disappeared)

Foot steps behind u in the hall? Don’t use the end bathroom then cause u will have no privacy. One of my friends had the door open then close while he was in there smh.

Random shadow hand covering up tour phone screen? Time to leave.

Don’t bring keyboards in this house if you aren’t ready to see them type. Don’t being computers if you don’t like the blue screen.

Do not sleep here unless you are ready to sleep like a coma so the ghost can’t wake you up at 2am.

Do not be here unless you are ready to be watched and never alone ( menacingly)

[misericordia-writing]

First Meet

“Honestly, sweets, I can’t believe the lack of hospitality you’ve displayed to me tonight. Is that any way to treat your biggest fan?” He huffs, clicking his tongue. “And to think, I was just trying to make sure you were safe. Don’t you know? There’s a killer on the loose, babe.”

Chapter 3 of Matchbook

Pairings: Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghost Face/Gender-Neutral Reader

Word Count: 400

Summary: Reader's 'first' encounter with the Ghost Face. ~1.7k words.

TW for canon-typical violence, threats of murder, descriptions of murder

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45585013/chapters/114940360

       The breath catches in your throat, and you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you with the force of a hurricane. Elevated from a normal panic attack, you are frozen. The tightening muscles in your legs are telling you to run until they give out, coiled so tight you fear they might snap if you don’t move, but your brain is pulling you to stand tensely in your spot, feet firmly planted- you can barely process the sight before you, eyes still foggy and blurred with sleep.

        The specter sits before you, one hand loosely holding a glass of water, and the other lazily folding a newspaper. As if you’d interrupted his morning coffee or something. One leg crossed over the other, a faint smattering of blood splattered over his ivory mask, rain dripping from his clothes.

        Thunder roars outside, and you hear the taps of precipitation knocking at your windows and roof- aside from the ajar one at the end of the hallway, blowing in your curtains with a frantic breeze, as if its open, screaming mouth is warning you of the predator in your midst.

        You’ve seen him before, in security photos pasted onto every single newspaper and channel across the country, and especially, across your small town. Bile rises in your throat as you recall the details of his killings- corpses mutilated and defiled, intestines and spleens scattered across rugs. Taunting notes written in blood or ballpoint. You’ve seen things others haven’t, autopsy pictures, crime scene photos - perks (debatably) of dating a reporter, you suppose.

        You snap out of it, unlocking from your momentary trance of horror-stricken eye contact with the figure. You bolt to the front door, desperately wiggling at the deadbolt (which really was supposed to do a better job at keeping things like this from happening.) You scream out for help, raggedly, hoping that a neighbor might hear you and call the cops.

        Before you can get the second plea out, a body crashes against yours with a thump, and you feel your ribs flare up with pain as a hand grips over your mouth.

        “Shut up,” He hisses, “Shut up, or I’ll rip your tongue out!” The man brandishes a knife to your throat, the blade gleaming and flecked with deep mahogany- looking eager itself to make the threat a promise.

        You can feel the rumble of his chest behind you, every wire in both of your bodies fraught with tension and ready to strike. You freeze like a rat, clasped deep in the jaws of a snake, though its fangs haven’t quite penetrated into you yet, delivering a final dosage of venom. You distantly think of Jed, and are glad he isn’t here. You don’t want him to die, too.

        Hot tears stream down your face, onto rough black gloves, and you nod violently, eyes squeezed shut with fear, pain, and defeat.

        He drags you back, shoving you down onto the kitchen floor. “Stay. And don’t go screaming your head off again, or I’ll chop it off.” He holds his knife up in the air, imitating a crude gesture of hand-guillotining you, and you sit there in pure terror, eyes wide and hair completely disheveled. He sighs, shaking his head, circling around you like a shark.

        “Honestly, sweets, I can’t believe the lack of hospitality you’ve displayed to me tonight. Is that any way to treat your biggest fan?” He huffs, clicking his tongue. “And to think, I was just trying to make sure you were safe. Don’t you know? There’s a killer on the loose, babe.” His voice is crackly with modification, words sounding like they are coming through landline.

        You quiver, sniffling up at him, afraid to speak and say something that angers him, but you’re overwhelmingly confused. “What?”

        “Oh, I’ve been watching you for months. I know where you work, where you live- obviously… What time you go to bed, what you order at that restaurant by the park, your hometown… Pretty much everything. I probably know you better than you do yourself.” He says cheekily, and you can almost feel his expression from behind that mask, as he puts a hand on his hip.

        Your eyes dart around, hardly listening to him, trying to identify a way out. You glare up at him, mustering your toughest façade. “Are you going to kill me?”

        “Kill you?” He says, planting his hand on his chest, clutching an invisible string of pearls like an aghast southern belle. “Of course not. At least buy me some dinner first, before you start getting all intimate. Forward much?” He tsks, crouching down in front of you.

        “I’ll admit, I’ve been entertaining the idea, especially with that attitude you’ve caught,” He growls out, before returning to a normal cadence. “But I’d like us to get to know each other first, wouldn’t you agree? Why rush to the main course? I’ve got time to waste. The better you behave-“ He says, emphasizing it with a grab and pull to your hair, yanking your head around with a steely grip, delighting in watching the way tears well up in your already puffy eyes, “The longer you live. Unless, of course, I get bored.”

        He releases you, drawing in close to your face, like he is about to let you in on a secret. “You see, I was just getting back from a little rendezvous with a nice lady… Works- or, worked,” He corrects, “For a law firm, two kids, slacker husband. Well, the kids were at their aunt’s house up north for the weekend, and so I took the opportunity.” He imitates a creeping motion, “Went right in there, and-“ He slams his fist into his hand- “BAM! Waited until right after she sprung the divorce papers on him. Then I divorced them both… each and every limb.”         You shake, crying out, gut twisting with disgust. He laughs, a wicked, wretched thing, and stands back up, wiping a tear from the empty black abyss of the mask’s eyes. You curse him with anguish. “How could you do that? They have kids!” You grab your face, pulling down. “Those poor children will grow up without a mother! Do you know what that’s like?” You stand up, balling your hands into fists, leaning down to the kitchen counter and cradling your head in your hands. “You’re a terrible person!” You say, glaring up at him.

        He stands there, posture unreadable, before tapping his hands on the table, moving to pick up the newspaper. You stare, quizzically, as he folds it open and begins to read. “’Ghost Face, Caught on Tape- In this footage, a dark figure is seen entering a house late at night… Lock your doors: a Killer is in our midst, roaming freely, like a ghost in the night…’” He trails off, chuckling.

        “Your boyfriend must have had a word count to meet, huh? But hey, I couldn’t have put it better myself. ‘Ghost in the night’… So poetic.” He imitates a swoon, fanning himself with the paper. “You think he’s got the hots for me? Seems like he spends more time thinking about me than he does you.”

        You tremor, knitting your brows. He starts, “As a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to pay old Jed a visit. What should I bring? Is he more of a wine or liquor person? Seems like a wine guy…” He taps his knife at the bottom of his mask, in pseudo-pondering. “How would he feel if the articles were about him? I could make him the next headline- ‘Overzealous Pain-In-The-Ass Reporter gets his Guts Rearranged by the Roseville Ghost in Stunning Live-Action Game of Operation’?”

        No!” You say, a cold sweat breaking out. “Don’t! Please, I’ll do anything! He’s an innocent person!” You’re so angry, fuming, but it’s overtaken by a helplessness. You can’t physically overpower him, you can’t mentally overpower him- all you can do is beg, like a broken prayer.

        “Relax, I’m still in the planning phase. I’ve barely even began to draft the two of your stories… So hang loose,” He says, mocking you with the carefree hand gesture in the face of the most tragic encounter in your life.

        “You’re sick,” you say, shoulders tense. He swoops in, suddenly, backing you against the counter, trapping you. He laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t put yourself above it, sweetheart. I’ve seen the way you can be sometimes. You act like you’re incapable of it…” He leans in further, the mask pressed against your ear. “But I bet you’d secretly like to try it, wouldn’t you? Just once?”

        You try and push him off, appalled. “No, I’d never. I’m not… I’m not like you! I would only kill people who really deserve it, and only if I had to! Not random people, and certainly not just for fun!” You knit your brows and struggle in his grip.

        “Sure,” he says, twirling his knife and backing up. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, doll.” You immediately move to the other side of the kitchen, staring at him quietly. He stares back, before tilting his head.

        “Well,” he sighs, “I’d best be on my way. Places to go, people to meet, things to see. I’m a busy guy.” He stalks towards you, and you flinch back, but stay put. He draws a hand into and out of his cloak, placing a small square into your hand. You look up at him, puzzled, but unmoving.

        “A token of my affection,” He says, before silently making his exit, slipping out the window.

        The thunder has stopped, and the rain is reduced to the occasional mist. You hurriedly shut and lock the window, then make your way around the apartment, double checking every single one, drawing blinds.

        You sit down at the table, looking at the little flat shape wrapped in brown paper. You don’t want to open it, but curiosity gets the better of you. You hastily unwrap it, and almost seconds later, find yourself running to the trash can to vomit.