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kamiversee · 10 months ago

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 30 || The Breakdown

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, & semi-heavy angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.7k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——FREEZING COLD AIR slaps against the exposed skin of your body as the man carries you outside.

The exposure to such a sudden chill made your arms tighten around his neck, holding onto him so desperately even as you both continued to kiss.

Gojo's hands were warm against the underside of your thighs, holding you carefully whilst he walked with you. Your back soon made contact with the cold exterior of his car for a moment, the contact making you gasp and shiver within Gojo's grasp.

A hand left your leg for a moment and you felt your body shifting around in his arms. The man held you up with one arm, still kissing you fervently, as his other hand worked to open his car door.

You were inside the backseat of Gojo's car before you even realized it, letting out soft hums into his mouth as he made out with you.

You didn't even hear him shut the door behind you, so consumed with the way he kissed you like there was no tomorrow.

Groan after groan left his lips, the sound flowing right into your parted ones. His tongue was warm and wet over yours, both of your breaths shared in heavy pants against each other as the kissing progressed.

Gojo was on top of you, his sounds fading from groans to moans as he completely lost himself in the feel of you. And you took in every second of it, tasting the mint that's always on his tongue, savoring the soft moisture of his lips slipping over yours again and again.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it's only for a second, a heavy string of saliva hanging in between the two of your lips.

Gojo croaks out your name, his voice husked and lost with emotion, "I love you," He whines, his voice strained as he struggles to catch his breath, "Love' everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kisses, your touches, anything and everything that's you-- I love it, I love you."

You pant heavily, trying to figure out what to make of his confession. "S-Satoru, I-"

"If you're in love with my kisses," Gojo whispers, lowering himself to you once more. His lips brush over yours as he speaks, "Then I serve no other purpose than to do just that."

His lips, so wet and so damn soft, like pillows you'd love to lay your head on, they simply mold into yours yet again. You can feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest against your own, his body flush with yours in the back seat of his car.

You move your lips over his, slotting his lower lip in between your teeth and clasping it hard enough for him to whine completely unashamed.

With low-lidded eyes, "Satoru," You utter as you release his lip, "You can't just-"

"I need to," He whimpers, his voice cracking suddenly.

Air gets caught in your throat, "W-What?"

Your eyes fully open and you take in his expression completely.

Gojo's face was completely flushed, bright red and pink decorating his cheeks. His breaths came out so heavy, so shaky. You watch the way he inhales, hearing the sniffle that suddenly follows that last slip of oxygen into his lungs.

Your hands go to his face, cupping his cheeks in your palms, "Look at me," You whisper, your brows furrowed in reaction to the pure distress on his face.

He doesn't, he refuses to, keeping his gaze low and not wanting to lift them to yours. Gojo shakes his head and his voice is so small, "I c-can't..."

"What's wrong?" You whisper, "I don't understand, w-why are you so... emotional all of a sudden?"

"You said..." He takes a moment to get it out, trying to keep himself together, "Y-You said you loved the way I kiss you so, I just want to keep doing that."

"You can't kiss me forever just because I love that about you."

"Yeah I can," He argues, smiling just barely, "Til' you tell me to stop... I just... I liked the way that f-felt. To hear you say you love something about me, it makes me... you make me whole, sweetheart."

"Satoru I don't understand."

"We're the same, y'know..." He suddenly says, his voice breaking again, "We both want someone so terribly bad but our situations prohibit us from getting that person."

"You could've prevented all this though..."

Gojo sniffles and you feel a drop of wetness slide down his cheek and slip against your palm. The man was crying? Why?

"S-Satoru?"

He finally raises his sights up to your eyes, that beautiful blue gaze of his clouded with water as tears soak his eyelashes and slip from his waterline. "I'm sorry," Gojo chokes out, his voice shattering under your gaze, "I'm s-so fucking sorry."

God damn the way your eyes grow teary at the sight. "W-Why are you apologizing? Satoru what's wrong, just talk to me-"

He sniffles and his expression breaks, he breaks, "I'm sorry for loving you, f-for doing this to you, I just..."

You're biting back your own tears as best as you can. Seeing this man so sad in front of you is heartbreaking. And to make it worse, you're just confused. Is it regret he's experiencing? Or is there something else?

Tears are streaming down his face, wetting up your hands. You open your mouth to get something out to the poor man but he's leaning in toward you again.

His eyes shut and his lips press against yours so delicately that it's almost as though the connection was never made. You move your hands to his chest and carefully push him off just a little bit.

"Kissing me isn't going to fix or explain anything, Satoru," You whisper, your voice running so gently into his ears.

Gojo keeps his eyes shut and you tilt your head at the man.

"Tell me what's wrong," You hum, "Please? I'm just confused right now and I want to understand you. W-Why are you crying-"

"Run away with me," Gojo suddenly voices out.

You stop talking, completely thrown off by his sudden offer.

You scoff, just barely, "What? Run away with you? Where? Why-"

"Anywhere." He says, his eyes lift to yours and you're met with the gaze of a broken man. "Just leave this city with me."

You give him a comforting yet confused little smile, "Satoru why would we just leave together? What are we running from-, no, what are you trying to run away from?"

"Everything," Gojo claims, "J-Just leave with me. We can forget the l-list, forget my debt, forget all our troubles, and i-it'll just be me and you."

"I... That's insane... What about the life I have here, hm?" You ask softly, your voice alone bringing him comfort. "My friends? My family?" Choso, though you don't say his name aloud.

He's quiet for a second, a long second-- a moment even. Gojo just looks at you, eyes dull and tired.

His mouth eventually opens but his lips are quivering. You watch the way his eyes gloss up again and you can feel the stress exuding off the man.

Gojo shuts his eyes, allowing his tears to flow again before dropping his head down into your chest. Finally, he just allows himself to break down.

"I'm sorry, i-ignore me," Gojo sobs into you, his voice is so heavy with emotion, so thick and choked up with his crying.

You've never seen a man cry like this before and you don't know what to think or do for a moment. Your hands are a little shaky but they eventually wrap around him, one stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing his upper back.

You can't say anything other than a sweet, "Shh, it's okay," To the man, having no idea what's going on in his mind or why he's crying.

Gojo shakes his head and he mumbles something into you, something you don't hear and you don't ask him to repeat.

A thousand questions are running through your head. You have no idea why a simple phrase such as 'I love the way you kiss me' had driven this man to this point. Where is this hurt coming from? What's really going on?

You know there are a lot of questions he avoids answering but amid it all, it's so clear that Gojo is going through a lot more than he lets on. How deep does his debt really go? What about it has stressed him to this point where he's crying into your chest and holding onto your smaller frame like you're the only thing keeping him together?

You wish you could understand it all. All it'd take is for him to explain some things to you, that's all you want.

Part of you hates how soft and sympathetic seeing him like this makes you-- as if he's not the same man who's explicitly expressed that he'd expose video evidence of you toying with yourself to the school and even threatened to ruin your life with the exposure of your acts done with Mr. Fushiguro.

Even with all that he's put you through, none of it matters when he's crying into you. Gojo's fingers are curled into the fabric of your dress, his knuckles gone white with how hard he's gripping onto you. His breathing is ragged at he's just letting his tears flow down onto you, releasing all that he's held in for god knows how long.

Every now and then, the man would croak out another broken and distressed 'I'm sorry', repeating the phrase like it's the only thing he knows how to say. You're stuck in a state of wondering if you should believe his apology.

Sure, he's crying and being completely vulnerable but an 'I'm sorry' isn't the 'you don't have to finish the list'. You're not looking for apologies, you crave freedom, and Gojo's yet to give you that.

So above all, his emotional breakdown does nothing more than confuse you to a new degree.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Gojo cried for maybe thirty minutes before he got a hold of himself. You felt awkward cooing soft words to him as he did so, saying things like 'it's okay' even though everything was far from okay.

When he stopped, your hand still rubbed the back of his head and you comforted him by running your nails through his white locks, weaving your fingers through it, and calming him down. His head had turned to the side, cheek pressed snuggly against your breast as his, now dull, blue eyes stared at the car seat.

He was resting on top of you but you didn't mind, his body felt warm against yours. Gojo's breathing took a while to calm down but when it finally did, the most you heard from him was a sniffle.

You didn't know what to say and neither did he so the two of you just lay there for quite some time.

Sounds of people walking by the car would be heard every now and then, muffled chatter and drunk laughter filling your ears.

Gojo's eyelids hung low after the crying he just did, his eyes puffy and red and his face flushed with emotion. He didn't want to look at you, he felt so ashamed of himself for breaking down in front of you, like he'd exposed a part of himself to you that he never intended to.

After some time of playing with his hair, you so sweetly called his name, "Satoru?"

The hum he lets out is low, tired, and beautifully deep, "Hmm?"

You lay your hand flat atop his head, "Are you okay?" You whisper.

Gojo swallows, "I'm jus' fine, sweetheart." He mumbles extremely low.

"You uh, you don't seem fine... at all," You point out.

Normally he'd smile at your concern but the man was so utterly drained that he couldn't even force one to his face. Gojo's expression remained void of anything, eyes almost lifeless, and the rest of his face completely drowned in sorrow.

"M'fine," He grumbles, "Ignore me."

Gojo then uncurls his fingers from your dress, his knuckles gone almost sore from how tightly he'd clung to you. His hands go to the seat of his car and lay flat against it, soon working to push his body up and off yours.

The movement allows a woosh of air to skim up along your body as you simply peer at Gojo with pure confusion and concern in your eyes.

He holds himself up but doesn't move away just yet, turning his head in the opposite direction and avoiding looking at you for even a second.

You stare up at Gojo's side profile, spotting the redness around his eyes, cheek, and nose and seeing the evidence of his cries. He looks so tired and lost above you, so much so that you instinctively reach a hand up to his cheek.

Gojo's dull eyes shut at the contact and he melts, no, dissolves into your touch, his cheek pressing into the palm of your hand and a heavy but shaky sigh leaving his lips.

"Satoru," You whisper, his eyes squeeze themselves closed even further as if that'll drown out your voice and he moves a hand over yours.

Gojo turns his face, finally facing you, but keeps his eyes shut. He tips to the side a little and kisses your palm softly, nearly desperate.

"You uh," His voice is husked, "You weren't ever supposed t'see me like this..." Gojo whispers, voice cracking slightly amid his words.

You frown, "Satoru-"

"Please," He begs, his eyes squeezing a bit more as his brows twist up almost in pain, "S-Stop saying my name like that..."

"Like what?" You ask.

He shakes his head, "I don't even know..."

Your thumb swipes under his eye, ridding his skin of the remnant tears, "What's going on inside that head of yours?" You whisper curiously, taking in his depressed appearance.

Gojo draws his lower lip into his mouth, biting back another breakdown. "A-A lot, sweets..." He murmurs, his eyes still shut.

Another one of your hands goes to his face and you pull him down to you slightly, completely cupping his moist face in your palms. "Talk to me," You requested in a sweet and comforting tone.

Gojo shakes his head to decline and your frowning furthers.

"Please? Or at least open your eyes and look at me." You hush out.

He swallows hard, "I can't..."

"Why?"

"M'ashamed, sweetheart." Gojo admits, "Never' wanted you to see me like this."

"There's no need to be ashamed, 'Toru," You nickname suddenly, the sound going straight to his heart, "You're human, it's okay to have feelings and be stressed."

He heaves out a shaky sigh, "I m-missed that-," He chokes, nearly breaking down all over again.

His eyes crack open but they don't meet your face, quickly glancing off to the side to avoid eye contact.

You grin, "Missed what? The nickname?"

"Mhm," He nods gently within your hold.

Your thumbs slide under his eyes and even up and slightly over his eyelashes, wiping all the wetness from his face with care.

"Don't get used to it 'Toru," You whisper teasingly.

For the first time in a while, he cracks a soft smile, "No promises, love."

His face gets closer to yours as you pull him down even more. Gojo has to shift himself so that he's propped up on his elbow but he still refuses to look at you.

You bring your lips up and kiss the tip of his nose, "Look at me."

He finally does, lazily dragging his dulled blue eyes over to meet your gaze. Gojo looks like he needs sleep more than anything, his eyes evident with sadness as redness coats the area that's typically white.

You give him a smile, "That's it," Your voice is low in a whisper, "Good boy."

Gojo sighs and he can't help the lazy smile that spreads across his face. A quiet weary sigh leaves his lips, "Did you just praise me?"

"I did." You say simply.

"Tryna' make me feel better?" Gojo asks with a raised brow.

You flash a sheepish smile, "Is it working?"

He shakes his head, "How am I not supposed to love you when you're like this?"

You furrow your brows and he goes on to explain.

"I'm treating you like shit and yet you go out of your way to make me smile jus' cause' I shed a few tears?" Gojo scoffs, "You're far too kind, y'know that?"

"Listen, I don't know why you cried like that or why you got so emotional and I have no hope of getting an explanation out of you but," You caress the side of his face and sigh, "I didn't like seeing you act so..." Your eyes narrow, "Distraught."

He swallows, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." You hum, "Whenever you're ready to open up to me and tell me the truth about what's really going on, I'm all ears."

"I wish I could tell you," Gojo replies.

"Why can't you?"

"It'll make things worse."

"How?" You ask, so desperate for some kind of explanation.

He turns to kiss the palm of your hand, "You'd hate me a whole lot more."

You frown, "Satoru unless you've killed someone I love, I don't think anything could make me hate you any more than I already do."

He chuckles and rests his eyelids, "True but, I've already dug a hole for myself. I think it's about time I put the shovel down."

There he goes with explaining everything but what you need him to. What the hell are you supposed to make of his words?

"Right..." You sigh.

Gojo opens his eyes and then moves to sit up, resting on his heels as you too shift around.

"Can you forget this ever happened?" Gojo requests.

You chuckle, "Satoru, you just sobbed into my chest like a damn baby for half an hour, I can't just forget that."

He shrugs, almost playfully, "Sure you can-"

"You asked me to run away with you." You recall, "And you started breaking down from the moment I said I loved your kisses. I'm not gonna be able to stop thinking about that, let alone forget it."

Gojo swallows down the lump in his throat, "...I was just... I've been stressed lately and hearing you say that made me..." He shrugs, "I dunno, break?"

"No shit." You scoff, "But if you're not gonna open up to me and explain why you just broke down, then I'm not gonna forget this."

Gojo nods understandingly, silently agreeing with your words. It's only fair after all, he should be explaining himself right now but he can't.

With a long and heavy sigh, "When it's all over," Gojo begins, "Like, wayyy after it's all over, and I mean like years after, I... I'll tell you everything."

You blink, "I have to wait years for you to explain this to me??"

"I mean, only if you still care by then..." He mumbles.

You scoff lightly, "Whatever it is, it better be really important and mind-blowing."

Gojo shrugs, "It'll be up to you how you wanna interpret it."

Okay, whatever that means. You're unsure what to do with his claims. Years for an explanation? You have to wait years to understand why Gojo has tormented himself by blackmailing the woman he claims to love?

It sucks to be in this situation and you're simply dying to know what's truly going on. There are far too many questions and you idly wait for the day it'll all be revealed.

Until then, you guess you have to return your focus to the list. And then after that, you'll be off to Choso...

Right?

That's what you still want, right?

Surely the night you just spent with Gojo doesn't change anything... You're definitely not seeing Gojo any differently, right?

Okay well, maybe you can feel your hatred for him fading. Only a little bit though, he's still blackmailing you after all.

But, he does spoil you and his full confession has left a lasting impression on you. You're not sure if the bar is low or high at this point. If you don't hate Gojo anymore then what's become of your standards?

You tried to act like his tears and emotional breakdown don't change anything but it does-- there's no way someone who was so hellbent on exposing you just confessed his unwavering love for you and then sobbed in your arms after you told him you loved one thing about him.

You gave Gojo a glimpse of reciprocation and he became so utterly vulnerable, revealing to you just how weak you actually make him. That effect you have on him is dangerous, too dangerous. There is too much missing information to the situation for you to easily continue hating the man.

A true asshole would not act like how Gojo just did.

These thoughts pester you for the remainder of the list, questions swirling through your mind at any given moment.

So much so that you nearly forgot that you have to meet with Sukuna next week. Then, after him, you'll have to wait another week to meet Nanami. And who knows how long it'll take you to actually seduce Nanami...

But after all that's done, Gojo promised to get you with Choso. And that's exactly what you think you want but now you're conflicted.

Would knowing the truth about what's really going on with Gojo change your feelings for him-

Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?

Have you lost your mind?

Did you really forget who the hell you're dealing with??

Gojo Satoru has threatened you multiple times into doing things you wouldn't normally do. That man has made it very clear that you're nothing more than a tool for him to use, did you truly forget??

He probably just had that outburst to distract you...

Right?

...

Okay, you're conflicted beyond control.

Do you really hate Gojo? Is he just fucking with you? Were the tears fake?

There's too much to think about and none of it will be explained to you any time soon...

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

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whispereons · 1 year ago

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Oracle!Reader Part 16

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 15, Part 17

Warning! This is sagau imposter so expect some gore and manipulation this chapter! At least no death this time :D

Each step of your dirty shoes on the bare rocky terrain held more weight than Azhdaha's heart and soul. His body shuffled and shifted, resisting the urge to ram the barrier trapping him.

"Don't be so impatient, Azhdaha. You've waited for millennials, surely a minute for me to reach you is nothing." You slow your steps purposely to tease him with a deceivingly gentle smile.

The ground rumbles briefly as Azhdaha settles in place and rests his head on the ground. If he had fur instead of stone, you would believe he was just a giant dog.

"Forgive me your grace. The leylines I command are constantly blooming with power at your every step."

"Was it not the people of Liyue who harmed the leylines causing the events that led to your imprisonment here?" You ask, selecting your words carefully.

Red eyes carved from ruby stare at you as you stop right outside of the barrier surrounding his body. Not wanting to accidentally disable the barrier, you rest your hand on the closest pillar.

Pillars with the same design and origin of the one who was a little too late to save his dear friend from this fate.

"Was it not the ruler of those people that failed to reach you in time?"

"Even you, your grace, are aware of the shameful state I have been reduced to. Morax may have provided me with these defective eyes but at least now I can view your glorious prestige."

Surprisingly there is no rush of anger and violence in Azhdaha's movement and tone. He moves closer till his face is gently pressing against the Geo-decorated barrier.

"I beg of you, Creator of all things. Let me feel your skin, your warmth. The memories of my creation are lost to the erosion of time. Whether it be your hand or foot, I will adore it all the same. I am nothing but the groundskeeper to your playground called Tevyat."

A originally blind dragon has no need for eyelids so all he can do is gaze pleadingly at your silent form. Blue crystalline clink on the ground as it drops from his eyes as the silence persists. Even still you stare at him with a blank expression until his head is completely bowed to the ground.

An isolated dragon desperate for even the slightest bit of affection was like wet clay for you to mold to your liking. The only thing that ruined any plans you had for him was that dreaded erosion. You seriously doubted that he could stay calm and lie to match your facade the way Beisht can.

"Rest easy now, Azhdaha." Your hand moves through the yellow barrier, which thankfully doesn't deactivate it, to lay on his rocky forehead. "A dragon like you, who I have created with my own hand before this vessel, is not easily forgotten. Many of your brethren have perished before I could return."

Cupping what little of his wide, rough jaw, you tilt his head to stare up at you. A delicate expression with sadness and love swirling together is what paints your face. "You have done so well to persist this long, Azhdaha."

A loud roar of anguish is let loose as he tries to move further into your touch. Ignoring the threat of scraps, you pet his stony exterior with a smile.

"Your grace! Your holiness! Those words are what fuel my pitiful existence. The feel of your skin on this degraded body brings memories of my creation from the clutches of erosion."

Mindlessly stroking the weeping dragon, you think deeply on his words. 'Memories of my creation' is what he called it. Azhdaha was struggling at first due to the contrasting information from the eyes corrupted by the Gnosis and the leylines of Teyvat. All it took was your touch on his body for him to fully give in to you.

Perhaps the other dragon sovereigns and primordial beings will recognize you easily with your touch as well. Could it work on the Archons too?

"Are you okay, your grace? I know that day, you were injured due to my own careless ruling. I failed to control my subjects and you suffered from it. If death is my penalty for my negligence then I will accept it wholeheartedly."

The strange and unexpected words laced with guilt made you confused. Caressing the rugged layer of stone near his eyes to grab his attention, you ask carefully. "What do you mean by that?"

His tail lowers onto the ground as he speaks lowly. "Not long ago, the Geovishaps were making their rounds on maintaining the leylines when two hatchlings got lost."

Oh, you knew where this was going.

"When they dug back up to the surface, they were in the city. While trying to escape, they hurt someone. They hurt you." That last word is said with bubbling anger. Resisting the urge to yank your hands away from the dragon capable of turning into a volcano, you brush your hands further to distract him.

"Teyvat had already warned us elemental beings about someone injuring you with malicious intent. To feel the leylines in your area go into a frenzy from that incident made my blood boil. It's only fair that the perpetrator suffers the bare minimum consequences."

So, it wasn't Teyvat that had the hatchling kill the other. It was Azhdaha.

Despite the harsh truth that Azhdaha just admitted, your hands seemed to move on their own to keep Azhdaha subdued. You aren't necessarily scared of Azhdaha, you're just more cautious on how to approach leaving him.

You couldn't just teleport out, who knows how Azhdaha's battered and worship-obsessed brain would interpret it. You didn't need a bunch of Geovishap and Geovishap hatchlings chasing you throughout Liyue.

But the thought of returning back to the city takes less priority than your current one. A dragon one head scratch away from rolling over at your command is vulnerable to your words. Just what could you strip from Azhdaha for future use?

"Azhdaha, you love me don't you?" You ask it with a deceivingly shaky voice as your hands halt their stream of pets. His reaction is immediate.

His claws scratch the ground as he stands to his full height. Even still, his back hunches trying to keep himself respectful to your much smaller form. "My love for you will exist even after my death. Every Geovishap that roams this world and every leyline that reacts to your presence is proof of my love for you, beloved Creator."

A small, sad smile crosses your face at the words he utters with zeal. It was so easy to get his deteriorated brain to fall for your expertly crafted facade of vulnerability. It's not like he was your first or last victim to this 'side' of you.

School faculty couldn't turn a blind eye to the way you paled at the cost of lunch. Empathetic, heroic, and kind students wouldn't resist the urge to defend, tend to, or help you when any bullying started. Even strangers with bleeding hearts had no problem giving you food or money when you were a roaming teenager with nothing but a backpack.

The money you saved by not paying lunch almost always went straight to the locked box you had for when you would be inevitably moved to a new guardian. All the bullying incidents were helpful in making the other students invite and accept you into any group of your choosing. It's not like anyone would believe that meek and polite you could jump the bullies on their way home with a malicious smile and a blunt weapon, nor would a passing stranger that helped you be aware of the man and cat that you returned to completely contrasting the story you spun.

"Then you're willing to protect me, right? Ei, that Bakufu was intent on seeing me as an imposter. She tried to take my life right when I just returned. It's due to that, that I have to live in fear of this mask being removed."

Moving closer, you rest your forehead against his head, trembling in fear of the horrid memory.

"I'm sure if I arrived in Liyue instead of Inazuma, I would be able to walk on Teyvat with you proudly on the surface with me. You would protect me, you would fight for me. You would die for me, would you not? Dragons are known for their loyalty after all."

Azhdaha continuously repositions himself as he breathes heavily. There's no doubt he's torn between anger against Ei, happiness at your trust, and excitement at the prospect of being on the surface.

"You have my word, my grace. I would fight any enemy, defend any stronghold, obey any command you have for me. Simply relay your order and I will fulfill it to perfection. And if it pleases you, allow me the honor of destroying the Shogun for her unforgivable sins."

"But can you really protect me with those imperfect eyes?" Your words are spoken gently with a smile laced with sweet poison. "You are putting me in danger by using those corrupted eyes to watch over me. Do you not know why I crafted you without eyes?"

A sole finger touches the edge of the red jewel eyes as silence permanence the air. He doesn't flinch from the fleeting fingertips despite the slow unraveling of your intentions.

"Geo lifeforms that stay underground don’t have eyes as they have no need for it. And as thankful as I am that Morax provided you with eyes to enjoy the surface, it wasn't my original design for you."

Experimentally tapping his eyes and smiling at the crystalline texture, you speak with a low timber. "You were always meant to stay underground to properly care for the leylines. You didn't know it at the time, but accepting these eyes had the same effect as accepting Celestia's lies."

You let Azhdaha think deeply on your revelation as you pet the area around his eyes. The mere fact that he was contemplating it was a good sign, those eyes are proof of his contract with Morax after all.

"Your benevolence, are you requesting the destruction of my eyes?"

"Of course not, Azhdaha!" Laughing reassuringly, your fingers dig into the corner of his eyes ignoring the way he flinches in pain. "I'm commanding you to give me those eyes. I cannot bring you to the surface with me, so bringing a remnant of you will soothe my aching and lonely heart. It's convenient that those eyes prevent you from doing your job correctly too."

A low pained groan leaves his jaw as your other hand mimics the action of the former. Nails digging into his eye cavities, you feel the ruby eyes lift from the force. Azhdaha's body shakes, alerting you that you pushed him far enough. Releasing his eyes you take a step back to be out of the barrier in case he makes any attack.

"I once yearned to see the sun, that blazing ball of fire that lights up this world providing it with the warmth to live. All because I knew that you must shine even brighter than it. In those days of old, envy and despair consumed me as did the love and joy I felt being embraced in this world that you crafted. I know better now. I know that even without these eyes that I enjoyed from that traitor I once called my friend, I could still make out your glorious form. Every leyline on this planet shines like dull cobblestone in comparison to the gold figure that stands in front of me."

"I have no way to wretch these crystal eyes out of the unneeded cavities. Take them from me, your grace, take any part of my body that you desire. My sole regret is that I could not offer you my original body to pick from."

An excited smile stretches across your face with a heartfelt caress to the bridge of his nose. "Thank you Azhdaha, do not fret. The day that I craft you eyes worthy of the dragon you once were is near. Thank you for being such a good boy."

Despite the condescending tone to your last words that slipped out, Azhdaha still rejoices with the same fervor of a real dog. The tree tail wags slowly, revealing his happiness.

Carefully, you dig your nails into his right eye. It's heavy and hard to pull out. This would surely be easier using your sickle but you didn't want Azhdaha to feel even more pain. At least with you using your hands, he feels some comfort in your skin.

After a tough tug, the eye is finally out and stuffed haphazardly into your bag. Blue crystalline liquid coats your hands and flows from the now-empty cavity. Wiping it off on your clothes carelessly, you give Azhdaha a break by petting him.

"Just one more Azhdaha, then it'll be done." He leans into your touch without a single sound escaping him. You aren't fooled by that tough facade. He's silent in fear that speaking will only result in his pained cries.

The red jewel chips slightly as you dig it out of his head. Beads of clear blue roll down as you grit your teeth. It finally comes out and that trickle becomes a stream. Putting the eye into your bag, you peek at the now blind dragon.

A slow, continuous dribble of aqua crystalline stains his face as the cavities slowly stitch close. The cavities closing simultaneously are heard by the cracking and grinding of rocks. Azhdaha curls into himself from the pain but refuses to allow any sound escape him.

Your body moves on its own to hug the suffering dragon. Murmurs of praise and thanks leave your lips as the rocks creak louder and faster. The tear tracks left on his face stain your clothing blue yet you can't find it in yourself to care.

A selfish person, that's what you were to your core. There are no words you can use to justify what you have done to Azhdaha. You may never have the power to craft new eyes for him. You may not even live long enough to research how. Yet, you still manipulated him into giving it up. The bitter self-hatred and burning feeling of loathing yourself builds up inside you.

"As sad as I am to surrender my eyes, there is nothing that brings me greater joy than to be of use to you your grace. I will readjust to living without eyes."

Releasing him, you stare at his now-healed face. The cavities have been completely sealed shut as if there were never eyes to begin with. His voice is deep and rumbles softly.

"The leylines of this world relay to me more than elemental crystals shaped in the visage of eyes can."

The words do little to ease the guilt you feel for your cruelty but before you can do anything, a loud sound interrupts your thoughts. Frowning, you adjust your bag back onto your shoulders and look at the entrance to Azhdaha's lair.

It's silent and it only makes you more suspicious. Taking a few steps toward the lair's entrance, a glow behind you makes you whip around quickly. Azhdaha's body glows with white cracks throughout his body as he roars ferociously.

Backing up in confusion, you watch in disbelief as Azhdaha's body shrinks and compresses. Loud bangs echo from the lair entrance in sync with Azhdaha's deafening cry.

That loud bang is accompanied by the sound of the seal covering the entrance shattering. Deciding to focus on the unknown intruder first, you catch the sight of a tall figure walking with powerful steps toward you.

A sole amber eye is what catches your attention first.

Brown hair with glowing tips loosely drapes over an earthy-colored hanfu. Only a stub can be made out from inside one of the dark sleeves as the tall man looks at you with an emotionless expression.

"Zhongli. It sure is a surprise to see you here." Your mind spins as it tries to comprehend just why Zhongli was here. Azhdaha's unwavering roars, his missing eyes, just everything about this situation was suspicious.

His other arm, which thankfully hasn't been cut off, raises to cup your face. Gloved fingers are featherlight on your dusty cheek as you stare up at him with perplexion clear on your face. He leans closer to speak with unwavering confidence.

"Why did you leave?"

He's got to be kidding.

"Why wouldn't I leave? I wasn't interested in being a third wheel to your conversation with the Creator." You answer back with a disbelieving tone before getting startled at the slam of a hulking body hitting the ground.

"MORAX! How dare you reappear in my prison after all that you had done?! What audacity have you fostered that let you dare to touch the Creator?!"

Fuck

Shit, oh fucking hell.

Thousands of curses swarm your mind at Azhdaha's words, you keep your face in its confused expression as you run through any plan or excuse to survive.

"You're making Y/N uncomfortable with your insane claims, Azhdaha. They're an Oracle sent from the world the Creator is residing in." Zhongli is calm in his refute to Azhdaha's tantrum.

Pushing Zhongli's hand off your face, you turn to look at Azhdaha who is now much smaller. His stature is exactly like you saw when you played Genshin. That bright light must have not only degraded his body to the erosion-damaged body but his brain too. It's simply too suspicious that he became this wildly angry at Zhongli's presence.

Looking up at Azhdaha with sad eyes and a kind voice you speak gently, as if trying to soothe the dragon with no idea of what he claimed.

"I know my presence is similar to the Creator due to my otherworldly origin, but I'm really just Y/N. The erosion must be so painful that it even brought you down to this point. The creator hasn't forgotten you, I can promise that."

Zhongli frowns as Azhdaha tries to refute you. "NO! Don't you see, your grace?! That traitor is merely trying to keep you from reaching your full glory to keep you to himself!"

"How can you say that when you can't see at all?" Zhongli's voice is chilly as he places his gloved hand on your shoulder. His grip is tight and you try to step away. He doesn't budge and merely pulls you closer to him.

"Solidify!" The familiar line is yelled before a dome-like shield completely covers you and Zhongli. Your confusion on his action is answered when rocks from the ceiling start to rain on the shield. His hand positions your head to look back at him.

"Why won't you look at me Y/N? Do you still hold bitterness against me for my doubts against you? I was proven wrong utterly and completely, I apologize for my rudeness."

His voice is pleading and his lips tug down into a sad frown. You really can't understand why Zhongli's just ignoring all the suspicious things in this situation. Was the attachment acolytes feel towards you already affecting him this strongly?

"I'm not mad at you. Sure, it was annoying that you kept suspecting me despite all my efforts but you do believe me now after sacrificing so much. Actually, just what and how much did you offer? The sky lit up quite a few times."

An excited smile graces his lips as he takes a step closer to you, but unexpectedly sways making you grab his arm in worry. He laughs gently before speaking.

"After I noticed your disappearance, I gave as many offerings of my body as I could. Not only as my repentance toward the Creator but also as an apology to you."

Your eyes trail down his change of clothes. The hanfu is black with brown, gold, and white parts to it. The Geo symbol sign is clearly stitched into the inner robe.

"Is that why you have a change of clothes and are swaying so much? Be honest and tell me what part of your body you gave."

With closed eyes and shaky breaths, he places your hand on the top of his head. His hair is ticklish to your bare palms. "This human body wasn't nearly enough to make an impactful offering. But my Exuvia is adequate for our beloved creator. Naturally, my horns were the first to go."

The slight nub you feel between his locks must be the stump from his horns. You aren't sure whether to be sick or amazed. But Zhongli doesn't stop there, he takes advantage of your bewilderment and takes hold of your other hand.

"My spines were the next to be cut off. Those jagged ambers were more helpful for flying than anything else." His head nuzzles your hand on his hair as he takes your other hand to the spine of his back. You can feel the ridges of the amber remnants.

"My tail was in a similar position, useless in my current form. If only they didn't bleed so much. If the creator took any longer to accept my offering, I would have passed out from blood loss."

Even more worried about his physical state, you try to pull your hand away from his back and graze his side making him hiss in pain. He's quick to grab hold of it again and press it deeper into his side. Your jaw drops as he groans in pain and gives you a pained smile.

"I severed my claws yet got no response. I really believed I would have to stop at that point but I remembered another draconic part of my body that I could offer."

Your eyes filter between his happy and pained smile and the hanfu that was starting to blossom with red. Just where the fuck was he going with this?

"My skin, or rather, my scales were still in my body. Each clink of the scales as they were torn or cut out of my body may have left me lightheaded from the gushing wounds. But nothing could compare to the feeling of the Creator accepting me."

Blinking in pure shock, your mind struggled to comprehend the mere insanity of his actions. You were joking about him having the possibility of sewing his mouth shut from finding his idle annoying. This motherfucker would actually do it!

Zhongli takes your reaction, or rather lack of reaction, in stride with him pulling you closer to him. Your hands rest on his body to not be pressed against him but that only has him wincing in pain. He stubbornly holds you closer as you cringe from the feeling of wet blood seeping through his hanfu and onto your skin and clothes.

"Stop. Doesn't this hurt you? Just how long will it take you to heal, let alone regain those dragon features?" Asking him with the purpose of distracting him, you speak in a rush. He merely hums as his arms stay around you firmly.

"Elemental beings like myself will always recover. I'm exceptionally strong with my status as an Archon, I'll be fully healed within a month at most."

You couldn't even linger on the idea that in a single month, he would be completely back to normal. The ground shook as more and more rocks fell on the shield. You couldn't stay trapped in Zhongli's embrace, at this rate you couldn't even stay in Liyue for much longer.

The slight sway of his movements, the slow speech pattern, and the rising of his body temperature permeating through his clothing gave you an idea.

Halting your resistance to his hold, your hands trail up his clothing with a pitiful smile. Rough and dirty hands from all the hardship you faced to get here cup his face enhancing the contrast of his smooth skin. His eyes immediately close at the contact with a deep rumbling sound coming from his chest.

"Still, it must be painful. Not just physically but mentally too. You have gained and lost so much over your lifetime. I have no doubt that it won't stop here. Just stay strong a little longer, won't you? Be patient till the Creator arrives and rewards you properly."

Zhongli's features soften till his eyes droop and his lips tremble. His full vulnerability is on display as he nuzzles into your palms shamelessly.

"Just what kind of ability do you possess? Young as you are, your ability to perceive and empathize with feelings is beyond your years. Do not stress for me, I have already been awarded by the Creator."

You frown slightly at his last words, not fully grasping at what his 'reward' from you was. The sacrificial method? The artifacts and weapons? He smiles at your confusion with half-lidded eyes.

Grasping your hands, he brings them closer to his mouth and kisses your knuckles with a smoldering grin. You aren't completely sure whether the pink decorating his cheeks is from embarrassment or a fever from his injuries.

"What greater reward than an Oracle sent from our God to soothe my soul?"

Suddenly you don't like where this is going. The thundering sound of rocks being thrown agrees with you.

"As fellow devoted servants to the Creator, should we not join in union? Marriage is a contract till death does us part after all."

There's no way this was happening. You were not getting proposed in a basement with a raging dragon just a few feet away from you.

Sensing your hesitation, Zhongli continues to speak with a romantic timber as he places a kiss on your palm.

"This may be sudden but I can assure you that I'll take care of you. I'll protect, provide, and love you as the closest person to our beloved creator. You may not love me now but just being from a different world has caused many problems for you. You are the only person who can match the amount of devotion I hold to our creator."

If this was a true confession of love at first sight or any other extremely fluffy trope, you would seriously contemplate saying yes. He wasn't wrong about your life being much easier with him by your side.

But it instantly died when he revealed that it was from you being such a strong believer and being the most intimately connected to the creator. It killed any romantic prospect of the situation. All you felt was dread and a longing to just leave.

You truly hope that he was only saying this shit from the blood loss getting to him. The annoyed expression you wear isn't even covered up, letting Zhongli see it plainly. His affectionate expression breaks and his lips part to ask you something but it's cut off by a bang.

It seems Azhdaha unknowingly agreed to break you out as a rock finally breaks the dome shield that had been protecting you all this time.

"Succumb to my fury Morax! Not even addressing the creator properly during your whole conversation is a disgrace to the Geo element and dragons alike!"

Wrath seemed to have consumed Azhdaha enough that one of the pillars of the barrier broke. Zhongli summons his spear and walks past you to stand protectively in front of you.

"Do not fret Y/N, I'll subdue Azhdaha so that he does not cause any more problems. Permanently." You absolutely did not want that but at the same time, you really wanted to escape this whole situation.

Azhdaha is going insane, Zhongli's bound to realize what you had taken from Azhdaha, and the duo of women are bound to get closer from the activity. That's not even counting how close this cave seemed to be from collapsing.

"Azhdaha is still the creator's loyal creation! He may have deteriorated from the erosion that you failed to prevent, but don't kill a loyal and faithful follower like him!"

Hitting Zhongli with such a sharp remark, you watch his deadly glare weaken. Azhdaha begins to make careless attacks toward Zhongli's vicinity which, unfortunately, you're still in.

Picking you up with ease, Zhongli dodges the many attacks and stops near the lair's exit. Azhdaha does his best to give chase but isn’t much of a threat in that size.

Setting you down and wiping away the small pieces of rock from your face, Zhongli gazes at you warmly.

"You should return to Liyue Harbor. I'm sure many things require your attention considering how much trouble you seem to get into. And when we meet again, I expect an answer to my question."

Trying to ignore his last words, you wave to him before he jumps back into battle with Azhdaha. As soon as his back is turned you book it out of the lair. Leaving the small cave entrance the night sky shines above you.

Thousands of stars shimmer as you stand in silence. It felt good to have a break from everything going on below ground. Walking slowly your eyes gradually climb up the Dragon-Queller tree trunk to admire its full beauty.

It seems you were correct in assuming that the crystalline blue glowed brighter at night. The cerulean-colored branches pulsed with an eye-catching glimmer. The orange leaves blew in the night air as the pink petals of the flowers below you swayed.

You spot a familiar-looking constellation in the sky that seemed to twinkle for your attention. Lapis Dei, Zhongli's constellation, was lit up by four points. It was pretty incredible that you went from a C0 to C4 in a matter of hours.

But, just what effect did constellations have on characters other than making them stronger? It was closely connected to your creator power so it must be important outside of the game. Would whatever effect it have differ between humans and archons?

What would have happened if you had gotten Zhongli to C6 before coming here?

Setting those lingering questions aside, you gaze up at the Dragon-Queller tree one more time before bringing up your game screen. You've finally witnessed everything about this area giving you a sense of satisfaction.

Creak

The sound makes you pause and lift your head up from the screen in confusion. It's silent for a few moments until Teyvat bombards your mind with a sense of something going wrong.

CRACK

Ice. Lots and lots of ice spring up from the ground circling around your feet. Quickly moving back from the ice, a sharp and cold solid spike tears through your calves. A cry of pain leaves you as you stop in place. Red drops of blood stain the spikes of ice that impaled you.

Did it break your bones? Was it an important muscle for running? If you pulled it out, would you lose too much blood?

Those thoughts swirled in your mind as the pain blinded you from the fact that Teyvat never stopped warning you.

Keeping a hand to your heart trying to slow your breathing and push down the rising sobs, you focus on what you can do now. But it's already too late. Something glints in the distance and a swish of air is heard before pain blooms from your chest.

Scalding water leaves boils on the right side of your chest as an arrow stays embedded into it. Tears of pain and anger stick to your eyelashes as you carefully move your head trying to spot the woman.

You knew Yelan and Shenhe were somewhere here. Even with the tears sliding down your mask, your lips were curled into a defensive snarl.

The small breaths you let out don't feel wet or painful, therefore your lungs are unharmed. Yelan had the skill and power to hit your lungs if she desired. This means she wants to speak to you, she wants some information you have.

She won't kill you yet.

Commanding Teyvat to show you where they were hiding, you blink sluggishly at the elemental sight being activated. Teyvat creates a path of Anemo leading to two separate points making you smile through the pain.

"Yelan, Shenhe. Shouldn't you both at least reveal yourself when taking a hostage?"

There's no need to play dumb at this point. They already suspect and harmed you to the point where it just wouldn't be smart to act ignorant.

After a beat, both women leave their respective hiding spots and make their way to you. Yelan is relaxed with an easygoing gait showing that she has all the time in the world. Shenhe is more ferous in her approach, weapon on hand, and a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Except Shenhe begins to sprint at you once you lock eyes with her. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart at her stance, you stay still not wanting to show that you could escape when needed.

As expected; Yelan grits her teeth in annoyance and activates her skill to catch up to Shenhe. Shenhe is just a few feet away from you, her spear is held out prepared to slash when she's pulled back by Yelan's lifeline. A sigh of relief escapes you as you slump into place.

"Not yet Shenhe, I need them alive for my job first. Afterwards, you can kill them as you please." Dropping Shenhe from her lifeline Yelan sighs in exhaustion.

Shenhe doesn't react much to Yelan's attitude. Merely brushing off the dust and repositioning her weapon while watching you.

"Eyes over here Y/N." The sound of your name from Yelan's lips catches your attention. She smirks at your wary glance and spins her bracelet. "Why don't you and I have a little chat?"

It's done! This one didn't take as long since I have been getting settled into school. If everything is cool and I'm fast then I could finish a chapter every weekend. But let's be honest. I'm far too unlucky for that. This was edited by my annoying dear editor @serpent-benediction . Don't pay attention to him tho. That was mostly a joke! I know the Zhongli cutting limbs wasn't as much as one would think since he goes around without his dragon features most of the time anyway. I just couldn't find a good reason on him cutting off his legs and still managing to fight Azhdaha. So, I hope everyone isn't too disappointed by that and can enjoy the most yandere character so far! Personally, I would not accept that marriage proposal. But now we get to focus on Yelan and Shenhe! I've taken great care to keep Yelan's intention very vague, but I think those that have read her story have a good idea on why she's here. The next chapter should be quite exciting! Taglist - remember if you're username is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you! @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months ago

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This 1889 home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin is the consummate Gothic Victorian. A lot of the decor is uniquely DIY, which makes it interesting, to say the least. 3bds, 3ba, $439,900.

The original doors in the entrance hall were given a couple of coats of shiny black paint.

The stairs were trimmed in gray and it looks like they stripped and refinished the railings.

This reception room has an original fireplace and pocket doors.

I can't say that the built-in cabinet it original, b/c it's a very different style. It looks like an old farm piece and the owners used a crackle paint finish to make it look chippy.

This middle room is 2 stories high, has a balcony, and the owners added some architectural salvage molding pieces. It also appears that the stone on the corner fireplace was replaced.

This is the ceiling in the room.

Old pocket doors missing hardware were given a distressed finish and the dining room ceiling is like a bronze/brown.

The kitchen reno is completely DIY, made with architectural salvage pieces.

Look at all the things.

It's very creative and look at how they fit the ovens into that green piece.

In the powder room they found a very different style door to fit the pocket.

On the 2nd floor, I'm not sure if this open room is supposed to be a bedroom, but it does look like one.

The hole in the ceiling exposing the window above may be the result of a new ceiling. That gives it a very unique feature.

There's a washer/dryer up here, and a kitchenette unit. Notice all the ceiling light fixtures.

I like the color scheme of this bedroom and the wall was taken down to make an open en-suite.

Interesting arched ceiling in the bath and that's some piece they chose for the sink.

So much in this home has been reconfigured. You can tell that the walls are new. So, this is the turret.

At the base of the rear stairs there's a newly configured nook.

This open room has been turned into a bath with a sauna.

This is quite the large bath.

It actually looks like most of the attic is bathroom.

At first glance I thought that this was a hot tub, but it appears to be some sort of platform or stage.

The basement's very big, has some creepy-ish gray stone walls, and lots of fun potential.

The exterior gothic architecture on this house is stunning.

The yard is fenced, but it needs landscaping. 4,791 sq. ft. lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3402-W-Saint-Paul-Ave-Milwaukee-WI-53208/40470662_zpid/?

#gothic victorian #DIY house #houses #house tours #home tour

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inkmonster21 · 2 months ago

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Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: Smut (fing fem reviving)

Part 10

Series Masterlist

Drawin’ Hearts ‘Round Our Names

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

You and Hugh had arrived in the United Kingdom to begin filming the highly anticipated Deadpool and Wolverine movie. Cameras were set up, costumes were prepared, and the cast and crew were buzzing with excitement and anticipation.

You turned to Megan, your question catching her attention. "So where am I staying?"

Megan smiled, a hint of mischievousness sparkling in her eyes. "Oh, you'll be staying with Hugh," she answered, her tone light but suggestive. Upon hearing Megan's response, Hugh's heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his cool exterior intact, but on the inside, his mind was racing with curious anticipation. Staying with you, in the same home, under the same roof, for four months.

You leaned your head on Megan's shoulder, a sense of affection and gratitude in your gesture. "Did I tell you you're the best assistant today?"

Megan chuckled and playfully ruffled your hair. "Yeah, yeah," she replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "I know I am. But thanks for the compliment, anyway."

Hugh pushed open the door to the luxurious apartment, and you were immediately struck by the sight before you. The spacious and tastefully decorated interior exuded an aura of comfort and sophistication. Large windows allowed natural light to flood the living area, making the space feel airy and welcoming.

Hugh wrapped his arms around you, the warmth and security of his embrace enveloping you. He whispered against your ear, "Welcome home." The words hung in the air, filling the room with warmth and a sense of belonging.

A soft giggle escaped your lips, a reflexive response to the comfort and safety of Hugh's strong arms around you. The sound filled the room, a sweet melody that only made Hugh's heart beat faster. You nestle against Hugh, basking in the warmth and security of his embrace. As you muse against him, he can feel your body mold against his, an almost perfect fit. "I like the way you say that," you confessed, your voice soft and content.

Hugh smiled, his heart swelling with a mix of affection and pride. He held onto you tighter, his fingers tracing gentle circles against your back. "I like saying it," he replied, his voice a low, raspy whisper.

Hugh chuckled in response to your suggestion, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. "So, do we... break this place in now or later?"

He pulled you closer, his hands roaming across your waist, his touch causing a flutter of anticipation within you. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave lower, laced with a hint of desire. You pushed back against him, your body molding against him, your voice filled with sultry promise. "I say we-"

But before you could finish speaking, Hugh's hands gently wrapped around your wrists, pinning them down against the wall. His mouth was a mere inch away from your ear, his breath hot and seductive against your skin. "Not yet, love," he whispered, his voice low and commanding. You look back at him with a scoff, “Not now? Are you kidding me?”

Hugh chuckled at your reaction, his eyes flickering with a mixture of lust and control. "Not yet," he repeated, his voice firm. "Not now."

He held your wrists in place, his grip firm but gentle, preventing you from moving closer to him. "Patience, love," he purred, his lips tracing a slow, maddening path down your neck.

One thing you had come to learn and love about Hugh was his tendency to worship your body. He loved to trace, explore, and memorize every curve and contour as if he were painting a masterpiece on your skin.

His lips would brush against your skin like a soft, warm caress, leaving a trail of sensation that sent shivers down your spine. His touch was both tender and possessive as if he was marking his territory with every kiss and caress.

Hugh pressed you up against the wall, his body pinning you in place as one of his large, strong hands held both of your wrists in an unyielding grip.

The other hand began a slow, tantalizing descent down your behind, tracing the curves of your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “You don’t know how badly I want you.” Your breathless confession sent a jolt of desire through Hugh, his eyes darkening with lust and need. He leaned in closer, his body pressing flush against yours, as he whispered, "Oh, I know exactly how badly you want me."

With a fluid and dominant gesture, Hugh tilted your chin up to face him, his gaze locking onto yours. Before you could speak, he leaned in and claimed your lips in a passionate kiss.

His lips moved fiercely against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth with a fervor that mirrored the desire burning inside him. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, need, and claiming, a declaration of his possession over you. Despite the obvious desire and need pulsing between the two of you, Hugh displayed remarkable restraint. It amused him to see how desperately you craved him, how your body and mind were already begging for his touch.

He knew exactly how much you wanted him, but he was determined to draw it out, to tease and tantalize you until you were begging for his release. Hugh's words broke the charged silence, bringing you back to reality with a slight jolt. "We have dinner plans," he spoke, his voice steady and firm.

The realization that you committed to be somewhere quickly sobered you, though your body still hummed with the electric energy caused by his touch and the heat of your desire.

You let out a sigh, your body and mind still craving his touch, your desire for him not yet satisfied. As a solution, you suggest, "Cancel?"

Hugh chuckled, his eyes dark with a mixture of amusement and desire. He released your wrists, his hand moving to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "Oh, no, love. We're not canceling."

He stepped back, giving you some space, but his gaze never left yours, still filled with an intense hunger.

"We have dinner plans," he repeated his voice firm but edged with a hint of huskiness. "And we're going."

The idea of having to wait and contain your desire for him seemed torturous. You could still feel the heat in your body, the desperate need to feel his touch, the ache for his body against yours. But Hugh's determination was steadfast, and you knew he wouldn't give in so easily.

“Fine.” You began to undress, removing your shirt and pants, leaving only your underwear on. "Then I'll have to change," you said calmly, feigning nonchalance as you attempted to play his game.

Hugh's jaw clenched, a visible sign of his restraint being tested. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in every exposed inch of your skin. He swallowed hard, the movement of his throat betraying his struggling self-control.

Despite the visible struggle within him, Hugh maintained his composure. He was determined to test your limits, to see how far he could push you before you broke down and begged for him.

You sit across from Hugh at the dimly lit restaurant, the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance. The intimate setting is perfect for a romantic evening, and you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation as you watch your date for the night. He's a fox, the greying strands of his hair and rugged features exuding an irresistible charm, and, he's all yours.

As you pick up the menu, Hugh's deep voice interrupts your perusal. "Don't bother with that, sweetheart. I already know what you're craving." His eyes sparkle with mischief, and you feel a tingle run down your spine.

"Oh?" You play along, putting down the menu. "And what's that, Mr. Know-It-All?"

"You're craving me," he whispers, leaning forward, his intense gaze fixed on your lips. "And I plan to give you a taste."

A rush of heat engulfs you, and you shift in your seat, suddenly aware of the wetness between your thighs. The waiter approaches, and Hugh orders for both of you, his commanding voice leaving no room for objections. "We'll start with the oysters and a bottle of champagne. And for the main course, the rib-eye steak, medium-rare." He winks at you, adding, "I know how much you love a good, juicy steak."

You swallow hard, and your mouth suddenly dries. The innuendo is clear, and you can't help but wonder if he's referring to more than just the food. The oysters, a well-known aphrodisiac, only add to the sexual tension building between you.

The waiter scurries away, and Hugh leans back in his chair, taking a sip from his glass of water, his eyes never leaving yours. "Tell me, do you like being teased, darling?"

You feel your cheeks flush, knowing full well that he's referring to more than just playful banter. "Maybe," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "But only if the tease is worth it."

Hugh chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Oh, it will be worth it, I promise."

As the waiter returns with the oysters and champagne, Hugh's hand finds yours under the table, his thumb stroking your palm in a slow, deliberate motion. The touch is electric, and you struggle to focus on the meal. You swallow an oyster in one mouthful, savoring the briny taste and the subtle hint of the sea.

"Mmm, delicious," Hugh murmurs, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the flavor. "But not as delicious as what's to come." You blush, taking a sip of champagne to hide your embarrassment.

The bubbles tickle your nose, and you feel lightheaded, a pleasant sensation that only adds to the growing desire. "You know, I've been thinking about this all day," Hugh continues, his voice low and husky.

"How I'd taste you, feel every inch of your gorgeous body." His words are like a caress, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You set down your glass, your heart pounding. "Hugh, we're in a restaurant. Keep your voice down." But even as you say it, you want him to continue, to say all the dirty things you've been fantasizing about.

He grins, a devilish glint in his eyes. "I can't help it, you're just so damn sexy. Those lips, the way they part slightly when you're turned on..." He trails off, his eyes roaming over your body.

Your breath quickens as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth exploring every inch of your skin. You shift again, crossing your legs to ease the throbbing between your legs. "Patience, my dear," he says, seeing your discomfort. "The night is young, and we have all the time in the world."

The waiter returns with the main course, and Hugh wastes no time in cutting into the juicy steak, the pink center exactly as ordered. He offers you a bite, feeding it to you with his fork. The meat is tender and flavorful, but it's the way he watches you eat that makes your stomach flutter.

"Delicious, isn't it?" He leans in, his breath warm on your cheek. "But not as delicious as what I have planned for dessert."

You swallow, your throat dry. "And what's that?" you ask, your voice hoarse. "You'll see," he teases, taking a sip of wine. "But first, I want to savor every moment with you."

As the restaurant begins to empty, you realize you've been so engrossed in Hugh's company that you've barely noticed the passing of time. The candles have burned low, casting an even more intimate glow.

Hugh signals for the bill, and once it's settled, he takes your hand, leading you out of the restaurant. The cool night air washes over you, doing little to cool the heat between your legs.

"Where are we going?" you ask, your voice laced with anticipation. "To a place where I can finally have you all to myself," he replies, his grip tightening around your hand.

He leads you to his car, opening the passenger door, he helps you in, his hand lingering on your thigh, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

As he gets into the driver's seat, you can't help but notice the bulge in his pants, a clear indication of his desire. The thought of what's to come makes your breath come in short gasps.

Hugh starts the engine, and the purr of the powerful machine seems to echo your growing anticipation. He drives with one hand on the wheel, his other hand resting on your thigh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin under your skirt.

"Are you ready for what's next, my eager little vixen?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

You nod, unable to speak, your body on fire with need. He chuckles a deep, satisfied sound. "Good. Because I've been waiting far too long to have you." As the car pulls up to a secluded spot overlooking the city, you realize this is no ordinary date.

The view is breathtaking, the city lights twinkling below, but it's the promise of what Hugh has in store that truly excites you.

He kills the engine, and the silence between you is thick with anticipation. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, a rhythm that matches the pulse between your legs.

Hugh turns to you, his eyes dark with desire. "Now, my beautiful girl, it's time to give you what you've been craving."

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, hungry and demanding. You part your lips, inviting his tongue, and the kiss is fiery and passionate. His hand cups your breast, squeezing gently through the fabric of your dress, making you moan into his mouth.

"That's it, let me hear you," he whispers against your lips. "Tell me how much you want this."

"I—I want you," you manage to say between kisses. "I've been aching for you all night."

His hand slides down your body, finding the slit in your dress, and he teases the bare skin of your thigh, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. "I can feel how wet you are. Do you want me to touch you here?"

You nod frantically, unable to form words.

Hugh's fingers trail upwards, brushing against your wetness, making you gasp. "Oh yes, you're so wet. I love how responsive you are."

His fingers delve deeper, finding your swollen clit, and he rubs in slow circles, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You arch against his hand, desperate for more. "Please, Hugh," you beg, your voice hoarse. "I need more."

He chuckles, his breath hot on your neck. "Patience, my love. I want to make this last."

With that, he leans back, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Your chest heaves, and you struggle to regain control of your body.

"You're incredible," he whispers, his eyes roaming over your flushed face. "So responsive, so beautiful. I can't wait to feel you cum around my fingers."

He resumes his touch, sliding two fingers inside your drenched pussy, stretching and filling you. His thumb finds your clit again, and he strokes it in rhythm with his fingers, sending you spiraling toward ecstasy.

"Oh god, Hugh," you cry out, your hips moving in time with his hand. "I'm so close..."

"That's it, let it build. I want to feel you come apart for me," he encourages, his voice thick with desire.

Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure, and you cry out, your body shaking. Hugh's fingers continue their relentless assault, drawing out your pleasure, making you feel things you never thought possible.

As your climax subsides, Hugh leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "That's my girl. Now, it's my turn.” Hugh smirks, “show me how good you can be."

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

A/N: I would love if y’all would send me some ideas or suggestions on where this story should go…

#hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine

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thetxtdevil · 5 months ago

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The Haunted House

~Chapter 1~

Ghost Beomgyu x You x Ghost Taehyun

summary: You move into a very obvious haunted house, but you're not running away since the house is cheap and you're not afraid of any ghosts. Only afraid of talking to them.

content: introduction, paranormal themes, human fem.reader, beomgyu and taehyun are implied but not truly introduced

word count: 1.6k

Chapter: 1 -> 2 -> 3 -> ...

Dark cloudy skies loom over the old wood of the house before you. You could’ve sworn that creaking sounds came from the house almost tipping over. It was an original Victorian-style mansion not considered a mansion in these modern days but still big for you to live alone. The brick exterior made the building look taller than it was, with steep roofs that pointed sharp making birds awry to conjure about it. Its intense atmosphere however had some fun characteristics with rotted-away gold trimming, faded colors of stained glass windows, and the wooden porch steps indented in the middle as a sign of once frequent use.

There was no doubt that this place was haunted. The place even contrasted with the neighbors’ bright green grass lawns and summer-colored houses. Never been on the market for its history, but of course, you had to blab your mouth to the real estate agent and say that you don’t have a lot to offer and you come from a long line of spirit mediums. The agent put two and two together and now you’re here, taking your first step the wood crumbles underneath your feet. Looking up in disgust at the agent the woman laughs and continues to show you around.

The front door creaks open revealing an even darker interior, coated with dust each step you take leaves a trail of footprints not to mention the suspicious footprints you see already made going into another room. Heading into the family room the space was cozy, your eye caught the grand fireplace walking towards it to take a better look. You imagine the crackling sounds of the fire and the warmth hitting your face. Looking up on the mantle the only decorations left in the house seemed to be two framed pictures of young men. Inquisitively picking up one photo surprised by the stark blond adorned on his dark hair, quite unusual at his time.

“This house does need a lot of fixing but it's been taking up a valuable lot so we would give you extra money to help renovate if you take it”

Putting the picture back on the mantle, you chuckle “So you’ll pay me if I move into this house.”

The lady nods, fear consuming her aura, eyes watering, eyebrows tilted, you can tell she wants to make a deal right away so she can leave the place. You lean your head up breathing in the dust almost reminding you of the scent of pages of a book. You continue to look around at the beauty that hides behind the vacancy. Going back to the two pictures of the men you suddenly feel an unexplainable warmth blanket you.

“I’ll buy the house.”

❈❈❈

You come from a long line of spirit mediums but your body and mind have yet given in to the gift of speaking to ghosts. Maybe your mother was wrong and you didn’t have the power or perhaps you secretly didn’t want to have any connections with the dead. You became tired of the constant tarot card readings depicting you as the fool, your mother constantly saying it’s telling you to embrace the tradition but you ignore it. Not making a life as a medium you went another route of becoming a nurse in the ICU. You’re still surrounded by death but at least you can cheat it and not have to see what comes after the heart monitor stops.

You have become accustomed to brushing sounds for the past few weeks. It was taking a lot of your time trying to scrub years of dust off the cracks and crevices of the house. The first thing to do is fix the porch stairs you broke through and the rest of the porch wood. Calling builders who were experts in renovating such things you divert your attention to other matters the molded torn wallpaper. The leftover burgundy wallpaper was faded, and some parts drooped down showing off a dirty cream wall. Tearing away the paper a domino effect happens, you jump at the sudden movements of all the wall coverings being torn down. Walls cleaned and primed you open a can of emerald green paint, dipping your roller brush, and you start covering the panels.

“Wow, do you need help?” a worker from the porch says. You look at him with disgust, you just started painting why would he judge so soon? Bending down to absorb more paint into the brush you straighten your posture to notice the walls already covered with the vern color. You spin around seeing the whole house was already poorly painted. Walking closer to an area of the wall that hasn’t been touched you study the way the paint has finger-like swipes running through the yet-to-dry pigment. Your head starts to feel heated a warmth consumes you making your vision falter, a green handprint materializes before you slowly streak down. Your mouth dry you decide to walk away, thinking the toxic fumes are already killing most of your brain cells.

❈❈❈

The Victorian house was restored to its former glory, it was less daunting than before but you kept its darker aesthetic to match the peculiar nature. The musky scent of mature wood was long gone and now had a fresh new car smell mixed with your vanilla candle enveloping the entire estate. The walls were cluttered with pictures, shelves as little trinkets, and cozy furniture that made the house seem a little smaller than it was. All is well except for one thing, you constantly have to vacuum up dust bunnies that trail around the house. Another thing that you have yet to renovate is a locked portion of the house. You would think the realtor would give you the key but that wasn’t the case. The dusted footprint trails to this mysterious room all the time, you were not excited to see how overgrown it looked behind the closed doors.

Rummaging through each closet, drawer, and corner of the house to find the key. A glimmer shines in your eye when you walk past the entertainment room. The wooden floors were sturdy and creaked every so often but the shine came from one tiny hole in a floorboard. Kneeling, you curl your finger in the hole opening the floor and there you see a key. Eyes widen in victory once you move your hand to grab it a sudden chill rushes through you the wood falls and slams on your hand. “OW” you hiss grabbing your hand and rubbing the pain away, “you really don’t want me to get in there do you?”

You were talking to yourself and the key, but after thinking over the unexpected motion of the woodboard you might be talking to someone else. Quickly reaching for the key, your suspicions came true when you watched the panel lift to drop down where your hand would have been. Someone doesn’t want you to go through the locked doors. Contemplating the consequences that might occur when you do go through those doors, you stare at the key in your hand the metal feels weird against your palm. One second the item felt warm and heavy pushing your hand down and another second the metal turned cold and light.

You made up your mind, this is your house and you’re going to see everything you own. Snatching the key so the sensations stop, you get up to walk toward the double doors. The closer you get faint wispy sounds evolve into whispers however the conversation isn’t quiet it seems like an argument between two people that you couldn’t hear clearly. The voices stop when you push the key into the keyhole. The doors went flying open revealing an extraordinary library, walking in and spinning around to see the walls filled with books you felt like the beauty who was shown the beast’s castle library with high ceilings to fit the many bookshelves that shined from the tall windows. The curtains were outdated and probably held a family or two of spiders, and the books seemed in good condition compared to everything else in the room as if they were constantly opened and read. Turning around once more to see another fireplace in the house and above it a big painting of the two men from the mantle of the living room’s fireplace. As you walked closer, you couldn’t help but feel like their brown eyes were following you. Strangely alluded to the men, their beauty seemed more advanced almost touchable. How you would love to talk to them, play with the long strands of hair on the taller one, slice your finger against the other’s sharp jawline.

As your arm extends to touch the delicate colors of the painting a big smack awakens you. Looking around to find the cause of the sound you see an open book on the floor. Forgetting the two men’s painting you walk over to pick up the novel. Getting closer to the open page you’re hesitant at the illustration that is shown before you the book was a guide to tarot readings. The page shows Nine of Swords, from your memory of the meaning someone wants you to fear them, you felt sick instantly getting anxious as to what is to come. Looking back at the big painting you see the two men were gone, a painting of deep reds and black. An unexplainable gust of wind strikes you like a cold sharp dagger into your gut sweeping you off your feet.

You lay there unconscious shivering with closed eyes hiding your fears.

-> Chapter 2

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

#txt devil #txt imagines #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt thoughts #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu scenarios #taehyun scenarious #taehyun imagines #taehyun x reader #beomgyu x you #taehyun x you

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ancientrome · 2 years ago

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Glass bowl fragment with erotic scenes. Roman end of 1st century BCE–beginning of 1st century CE. x

This fragment is highly unusual not only in its erotic subject matter but also in having the maker’s signature, which is now only partly preserved in Greek letters to the left of the central pair of lovemakers. Other couples decorate the rim and the center of the exterior of the bowl. Together with a fragment from the same mold in the British Museum, it is the only example of a cast or pressed glass vessel with relief decoration on both sides.

#ancient rome #rome #roman #glass #bowl

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cherryxhaze · 4 months ago

Text

One Step Away From You (Chapter 17)

Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader

Series Masterlist

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Chapter Summary: When Eddie takes you to look for apartments in Indianapolis for college, he can no longer fight the fears that come with it or stop them from affecting his mood. WC: 3.2k Warnings: MDNI. A short angsty chapter with fluff and comfort at the end. Explicit language. Eddie's moody in this one. Continuing their growth together. We're getting close to the end of this series and this will be the last of the angst to come! Series taglist: @littlexdeaths @siriusmaraudeers @amandahobblepot @eddie-is-a-god

Sunday, May 18th, 1986

The classifieds section in the latest edition of the Indianapolis Star sits in your lap, red ink circling the multiple destinations on you and Eddie’s agenda for the day. You take a deep, reassuring breath in an attempt to settle the anxiety creeping into your gut as the highway exit for Indianapolis appears, willing excitement and hope to take its place instead.

With your choice to attend Indiana University in the fall solidified, now it’s time to find a place to live and the prospect of living in a dorm does little to excite you. Many of the classified ads for apartments in the paper appeal to the working college student, promising the perfect fit with a close proximity to campus.

“Where to first, babe?” Eddie asks from the driver's seat. With a quick look at the coordinated red markings on the classified ads and map of Indianapolis, the van follows your directions toward the first address.

After a few minutes, the van slows to a stop in front of an apartment building. Outer walls made of faded red bricks rising 5 stories tall, dark fire escape stairs settled near the white edged windows. Nothing fancy, but decent enough to fit the bill. With a quick glance to Eddie, he gives you a tight-lipped smile before you two depart from the van and head inside.

The expectations from the outside coincide with the inside. A one bedroom apartment. The smell of cleaning products provide some relief as you look over the cream colored walls paired with worn cherry wood floors and molding. Slightly dated white appliances match the tile flooring in the small, but adequate kitchen. Big windows fill the rooms with soft sunlight, allowing a view of the heart of the city. Exploring the bedroom and its attached bathroom, you can’t stop yourself from visualizing all your belongings filling the quaint apartment. What you’d put where, how you’d decorate it. Imaging Henny running through it and napping on the windowsill.

Only a mile away from campus, it checks everything off your list.

“I really like this one, it’s practically perfect.” you remark to Eddie as you stand in the bedroom. He follows, giving a quick glance around.

“It’s alright, I guess.” He sighs as if unimpressed, an impression that’s solidified when he doesn’t return the smirk you give him, only continuing to look around and walk back into the living room.

You shrug it off, holding onto the hopeful feeling that comes with the ease of imaging yourself here. With every inch fully explored, you and Eddie return to the van. Making sure to mark a star next to this listing before you’re onto the next stop only another mile away.

The next apartment you have marked is only 2 miles away from the first, and in the short drive it becomes clear the area is less than savory. The whole area seems darker almost, even in the clear light of day. Darker bricks and cement lining the buildings, dirtier sidewalks less populated than the last. Some buildings in clear need of some TLC, while others are completely rundown. Spots of glass are settled on the sidewalks, whether from windows or broken bottles you aren’t sure. The van slows in front of a dark tan building that looks not much different than the ones surrounding it, corresponding numbers to the address you have circled on the exterior by the front door. A double take to the newspaper in your lap confirms it.

“Well… this is it” your voice wavers slightly at the announcement, eyes raking over every crack in the foundation.

“Absolutely not.” Eddie retorts without hesitation, foot resuming on the gas pedal to continue down the street.

“Wh- Eddie! Come on, this is the cheapest place I could find!” You look between your boyfriend and the apartment building now fading behind you.

“Ha. Yeah, no wonder.” He scoffs, voice hard as steel.

“Come on, we didn’t even give it a chance!”

“Oh I gave it a chance, Sweetheart. I don’t need to be worrying every night about my girl getting mugged on your way home from school.” He doesn’t spare you a glance, only a shake of his head with his decision finalized. You recede with a huff, sinking back into the passenger seat. With a couple more listings to see, you hope the rest of them are as decent as the first.

The next address takes you to the outer edges of the city, away from most of the hustle and bustle where there’s more greenery and less of the constant noise found closer to the heart of the city. There’s less apartment buildings and more houses, including the one at the next circled address. It’s clear the house has toughed out many seasons but still emanates a cozy, inviting atmosphere with off-white singles and a small yard. The information in the ad details the house is split into apartments with the shared living space of a kitchen and living room, ideal for college students with the university only a short drive away.

When Eddie shifts the van into park, you barely waste a second climbing out and onto the sidewalk, almost anxious your boyfriend would quickly find something wrong and drive off again. You hear the familiar scuff of his Reebok’s next to you as you both eye the place and the neighborhood.

“You uh, got some big girl job I don’t know about?” You giggle, looking at his features that are scrunched in confusion. “How are you gonna afford renting this whole house?”

“I’m not renting the whole house, Eds. The owner rents out rooms.”

When you look from the house to Eddie again, his eyes are now on you. Only he’s looking at you as if you’ve just spoken to him in another language.

“Nope, no. Too risky.” He argues, curls swinging as his hands move with his words.

“Eddie-”

“You don’t know these people, Y/N. They could be freaks, real freaks!”

In the middle of a deep sigh and roll of your eyes, you spot who you assume to be the owner stepping out from the front door. An older man with salt and pepper hair, hunched over onto the stair railing with a pipe in hand.

“Look, Eds. We’re already here and the owner’s already seen us so let’s just take a look, alright? Please?” you beg exasperatedly with big, bright eyes pleading up at him. He meets them, looking over you before his chest raises with a deep breath, sparing a glance to the old man on the porch watching.

“Alright, fine.”

The owner is friendly enough, ushering the two of you through the well-lived in living room and kitchen that is in need of some light cleaning and personality. After following his slow but steady steps up the stairs, the owner whom you now know as Fred, grumbles towards an open door before leaving you and Eddie to explore the small but amble room on your own.

There’s not much to look at; gray speckled carpet lines the floor of the room and beige flowered paper is glued onto the walls. With a look into the closet, you’re skeptical of its capacity to contain your wardrobe but you’re sure you can make the space work if needed. Though you love the idea of having your own apartment, renting a room out of a house is a cheaper option while still giving you the chance to live with other college students. You can make due.

“Oh, hi!” an unfamiliar husky voice coming from the hallway catches your attention, turning around to spot a tall, tan-skinned, and muscular guy standing in the doorway. “I’m Mark, you?”

“Y/N”

“Eddie”

Mark's gaze only flickers to Eddie for a split second before it’s back on you, flashing his pearly whites.

“I live in the room right at the end of the hall. Are you moving in?” You don’t miss the flirtatious smirk on his nude lips, nor the way his eyes quickly look over your body and neither does Eddie.

“No-” “No.”

You laugh awkwardly as you take in Eddie’s rigid posture that’s now angled toward Mark. The tension hanging in the air between them is nearly visible to the eye.

“I’m just looking right now before the Fall semester.”

“Oh, are you going to Indiana University? I’ll be a Senior there this year myself. What major ar-”

“Well, like she said. We’re just looking right now and I think we’ve seen everything. Right, sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice is cold and features firm as he looks toward you, hand outstretched for you to take with your own. With a stunted breath you grab Eddie’s hand, forcing a smile while he leads you out of the room. You offer Mark a polite wave goodbye as you pass him and follow Eddie right out of the front door.

“Like I said, freaks. No way. That guy was a total creep.” He spits out the final word once you’ve re-entered the van, quick to turn the keys in the ignition.

You exhale and lean back into the clothed seat, deciding to let Eddie take the win on this one too. Out of the three you’ve seen, only one is still a viable option with the list now dwindling. Any rooms for rent or ‘bad’ neighborhoods out of the question, you’re unsure what, if any kind of list will be left by the end of the day.

The sunshine that once illuminated the city now hides behind clouds, peeking through only momentarily as drops of rain splatter onto the van’s windshield. The hope and excitement you had at the beginning of this trip is disappearing with it.

By the time every circled address has been checked off, that hope is a far gone memory with Eddie finding something wrong at every place, nothing was good enough. Though his protectiveness over you and concern for where you’d be living was endearing at first, as you make your way onto the highway back toward Hawkins, it’s downright pissed you off. The light drizzle of rain has now turned into a downpour, the squeak of the windshield wipers rapidly sliding across the glass to keep up with the water is the only sound filling the van beyond the Dio tape playing through the speakers.

You aren’t sure if it’s just you or if the heat filling the van is the cause for your cheeks to burn red hot. Eddie hasn’t said a word since you parted the last apartment on the list and neither have you. Leaving you to ponder what the hell is wrong with him for the whole ride home. His mood has been off from the get-go today, before you even left Forest Hills Trailer park and has remained steadfast till now. You hadn’t expected the way he acted today at all, but what irks you even more is how much his sour mood has leaked into yours, chipping away your excitement bit by bit, listing by listing. Leaving you teetering on the edge of a snippy comment you’d later regret if provoked.

When the van returns to the gravely driveway of Wayne’s trailer, silence continues to permeate the space between you. Following Eddie wordlessly into the trailer, you wonder if you even want to. Considering if you should just return to your trailer, let Eddie sulk in his shitty mood and try to salvage yours. But still, your heart tugs you along after him into the bedroom. You lean against the door frame, watching as he yanks off his vest and jacket to fall on the floor, digging around his drawers for the weed stash.

“Maybe I should spend tonight at home.” You test the waters, watching and waiting for any reaction reminiscent of remorse or guilt, any kind of change from the mood he’s given you today.

“If that’s what you want.” He mutters without meeting your gaze, sitting on the edge of the bed and sprinkling bud into a fresh paper to roll.

Your jaw clenches and you’ve officially been pushed over the edge you’ve walked the last few hours. You fully step into the bedroom and slam the door behind you, finally drawing his attention.

“What I want is to know what the hell has been up with you today?!” you cry out in frustration, but he only looks back down at the weed in his lap.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit you don’t! You’ve been in a bad mood all day, constantly nitpicking and shooting down every single place we saw. I don’t understand!” You take a breath as you read his body language, tense but slouched shoulders with his head hung low. Taking another step closer, your voice comes out softer. “So, please… help me understand, Eddie. What’s wrong, baby?”

The sincere desperation in your plea finally breaks through his walls, his shoulders slumping with it.

“I’m scared, okay.” He admits sheepishly.

“Scared?” You prod, disposition going soft while your eyebrows knit together in confusion as he takes a shaky breath.

“I’ve been able to push down the thoughts about what’s going to happen when you move to Indy and start college for awhile now, but I couldn’t run away from it today. I had to face the reality that you’re leaving and yeah, I know it’s only an hour and a half away but it’s not across the street, or in my bed almost every night.” His own voice betrays him as it cracks toward the end and it feels like a vice grip on your heart, pulling you until the bed dips with your weight next to him.

“And of course, I can’t help but think about what happened the last time you moved. You’ll have a whole ‘nother life there, new friends, shit, maybe you’ll meet some guy like Mark and decide you like him more than me.”

You bite back the retort the bubbles up from your throat, intent on letting Eddie air out all he’s been holding back in this moment of vulnerability. His watery brown eyes look up from his lap to meet yours, effectively putting a lump in your throat and summoning tears to well in your own.

“Tonight on the drive back, you were so quiet and I know it’s because of me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if you were thinking the same thing I’ve been. Wondering if there will be better for you at college, better than me… better without me.”

The grip on your heart tightens with his confession; the worries about your love, the insecurities on his ability to hold yours with the uncertainty of the future. It pains you that they blind him from seeing himself the way you do, from seeing the undying love you have for him. You reach for his hand and interlock your fingers, taking a deep breath as you look over his face with love and admiration.

“Eddie… I can’t act like I know what the future holds but I can tell you this with 100% certainty. I love you, and I can’t see myself falling as hard for anyone else as I have with you.” You search his eyes, seeing the way they soften as he takes in your words. His hand tightens around your own while your thumb gently strokes his skin. Your teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your bottom lip, contemplating making the offer that’s been floating in your head for months.

“And… I um, think there’s a simple solution to all this. All those places we saw today, Eds… they’re big enough for two people.”

His eyes widen with the realization of your offer, body turning to full face yours. Weed tray put off to the side of the bed so he can take both of your hands in his.

“Really? You want me to move with you?” With a nod of your head and a soft smile, one of his own spreads across his face. “I’d follow you anywhere, baby.”

“Eddie,” You breathe out. “I don’t want you to ‘follow’ me. I want you to be with me, you know, build a life together. But I don’t want to get in the way of your dreams, either. If you want to give the rockstar thing another shot then-”

“Sweetheart.” He stops you in your tracks with a dry chuckle and a shake of those dark curls. “Yeah, I could give it another go if I wanted to. Do another demo with the band and try to get signed. Move to LA, maybe even become famous for a few years and hopefully not lose myself in the process. But, I don’t even know if I really want that anymore, especially if it’s not with you.” His tongue darts out to wet his pink lips before he leans in closer to you, holding your undivided attention. “All the dreams I have about my future, you’re always in them. The only future I want is with you, my love. No matter where we are, no matter what jobs we have… as long as I have you, I’m happy.”

A wet laugh bursts from your lips as a tear breaks free and your forehead falls to rest against his. The rough skin of his thumb gently wipes the tear from your cheek before cradling your face. Faces slowly inching together until your lips collide, desperation in every seamless movement. Desperate for each other's touch, desperate to convey your love.

Gasping breaths escape your mouth each time your lips part before they meet again in a soft and slow tantalizing dance. A dance that only intensifies and deepens when his big, warm hands grab onto your thighs, pulling you to straddle his lap. You fall into the position eagerly, arms sliding behind his head, fingers losing themselves in his curls. The wet sounds of your mouths and the muffled whimpers leaving them fill his bedroom. Losing yourself in the pillowy softness of his lips and the tight grip of his hands kneading the fat cushioning your hips.

As you part for a breath, you’re overcome with how much you love Eddie more and more everyday. The thought only intensifies as he flashes you a wide smile, dimples on full display. Your finger twirls around a loose strand of hair framing his face.

“So in all honesty, which place did you like the most today?”

“Think I’m gonna have to go with the first one.”

He swears his heart skips a beat when you smile back at him, the kind of smile that spreads to your nose in a cute little scrunch.

“That one’s my favorite too.”

When your lips meet again he doesn’t waste time licking into your mouth and breaching your lips, tongues engaging in an impassioned, lewd wrestle. You let him lay you back onto the pillows, your legs eagerly wrap around his waist as you fall into another night in your boyfriend’s bed, conveying your love and passion for each other for hours to come.

#one step away from you #bf!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #best friend eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #bsf!eddie #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x plussize!reader #eddie munson x y/n #boyfriend eddie munson

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outtheoiseaux · 1 month ago

Text

The Blue Room

(An excerpt from a story)

Celine’s grandfather- along with the help of a young, spry and altogether cooky intern he hired fresh out of her masters degree at the Oxford school of Anthropology- manages to uncover a previously unknown storage room buried beneath the ashy ruins of Pompeii in the summer of Celine’s first year of middle school. Nicknamed the “blue room” for its cerulean wall paintings which feature profoundly vibrant frescoes of scantily clad female figures, The Blue Room is a true gem of history in that it is not only believed to have once served as a sacrarium- an ancient Roman room in which sacred artifacts would be stored for future use in rituals- it was also filled with stacks of hulking amphorae -massive vases used by slaves and artisans for artifact transportation- and sloping piles of discarded oyster shells which Celine’s Grandpa and his yellow-bellied intern believe to have been discarded by onsite workers who happened to have been using them in local renovations when the eruption occurred.

Much of this information Celine can readily skim from the crust of her mind solely because of the sheer amount of times she has heard the words repeated when her older cousin- an awkward and altogether bumbling seventeen year old boy from Cambridge who had been living with her and her grandfather for the last three or so years since his grandmother suddenly and tragically perished- would turn to her grandfather with his great, big, buggy black eyes prewet with wonder and stutter out yet another line of inquiry into the stoic old man’s exploits as an adventuring archeologist.

Grandpa Haber’s miraculous discovery of The Blue Room was of course the most miraculous in that it bolstered his reputation so thoroughly and impressively in his field that not even two years after the initial find, Celine found herself, her cousin and of course, her grandfather’s oddball of an intern-turned-assistant soaring across the globe from the quaint and sunny beaches of Punta Gorda in southwestern coastal Florida to the mild-climated, kitsch and colorful college town of Ann Arbor for his brand spanking new position as a professor with the University of Michigan.

“You know, it really does remind me of when my gran first got her position at Cambridge.” Joey whispers to her from behind the navy blue canvas veneer of Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion. “It really is bloody wonderful for the ego to come from a family like this; I mean, if we’re both descended from professors in their respective fields, it’s probably safe to assume we might have inherited some of their hereditary IQ.” From her window seat, Celine watches fat, slimy clouds spin lazily below, growing larger and larger with perspective as the plane makes its descent. If her great aunt’s intelligence is hereditary, she thinks to herself privately, then she really does hope that the woman’s fatal heart issues aren’t.

Their new home, Celine learns as her grandfather moseys up the winding paths of a spacy suburban sprawl in the rental car, is located in a sleepy, lightly forested town in the residential garden hills of northern Ann Arbor. The house itself is a beautiful thing; a historic unit with delicately patterned Tiffany windows, a charming, oaken porch which cuts into the first floor and wraps around the front, thick, wooden beams, charmingly kitsch vintage furniture, art deco wallpaper, wrought iron window decorations, a series of increasingly aged light covers hanging from the center of the Victorian ceiling moldings and a tasteful exterior which has been (to Celine’s admitted delight) painted entirely in a warm, dusky purple. Celine decides to call it The Purple House.

“How in the world do you think Mister Haber managed to afford a beaut like this?” Joey, entirely bug-eyed, marvels at the rows of inlaid bookshelves that wrap the walls of what appears to have once been an office room but must have been transformed by the previous residents into their private library of collector’s editions. “I mean, he’s not hard-pressed for funds by any means but for heavens’ake, you don’t make this kind of money in his sort of research, and the man isn’t a socialite!”

“A socialite?” Celine wrinkles her nose. “Why would he need to be a socialite?”

“This is a socialite’s house.” Her cousin dutifully informs her. “The only thing you could think to do with a parlor this dreadfully impressive is to host equally impressive gatherings.”

She would never let the poor thing know it, but Celine sometimes thinks that her cousin enjoys needless frivolities with a suspiciously intense sort of vigor. So suspiciously intense, in fact, that she’s starting to suspect he would benefit more from finishing school than a university education. Out of the corner of her eye, the gold inlaid label of Antigone flashes from a handsome, red, hard-cover canvas binding.

“You wanna go check out the rooms?” She bites out through an oh-so-innocent grin. Best to distract him before he can get his hands on some old tome from the previous tenants' personal collection.

“That depends,” Joey throws his head back in a hearty guffaw and his unit of a fringe flops around in earnest, “on whether or not you’ve got the guts to race me for first dibs?”

The Purple House, Celine eventually learns, is actually called the Hallisbury House- or at least was upon its construction by a couple of Nouveau-Richie gilded age socialites years ago. All of this she gleans from a series of tastefully arranged picture frames hanging along the walls in such an order that, if one were to trail slowly down the halls and view each image in order, she would witness the building of the home, the renovations over the years and the process of the lives of the original owners. Morbidly, the last hanging image in the series- an exorbitantly decorated framed print hanging over the fireplace as a centerpiece to the already elaborate mantle- depicts an artistically framed black and white shot (clearly taken on a modern, digital camera) of the original owners’ gravestones. Whoever lived here last had, she thinks, a very strong sense of humor.

Beneath the photograph, on a gilded, silver plaque, an engraving reads:

A beautiful photograph from a beautiful Daughter.

Celine’s new room is on the second floor, directly above the kitchen, and is the only bedroom in the house with a window that faces out to the front yard and driveway. These three facts are perhaps the only ordinary thing about the place. Much like the house’s exterior, Celine’s new room is almost entirely made up of various tasteful shades of purple. There’s a lilac shag carpet and a stained-indigo oak closet and a painted-plum oak dresser and a violet bean bag and a mauve mattress and byzantium tasseled pillows and an eggplant duvet. Everything from the floor to the baseboards to the walls to the Victorian ceiling moldings is painted in the color, so much so that Celine begins to wonder if the visual fatigue will make her see yellow the second she steps out. Everything from the floor to the baseboards to the walls to the Victorian ceiling moldings is painted the color purple- everything, that is, except for the bright, blood red velvet curtains draped in theatrical arcs and ruffles over the ostentatiously gothy bedside window. The other rooms in the house are perfectly normal looking, if a little antique. She checked every last one of them, and this is the outlier.

“A beautiful room,” Celine giggles out to the empty room, “for a beautiful daughter.” She takes great care to adopt a disgustingly thick Oxford drawl when she says it, then she giggles even more because it makes her sound a little too much like her cousin who used to live there.

#creative writing #writing #short story #origibal character #original fiction #mystery #fiction

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sezja · 9 months ago

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Housewarming

"It could be a good deal worse," Esmena says cheerily, opening the shutters, letting out almost ten years' worth of stale air. Thaffe looks around the small house, with a good deal more trepidation than excitement - his parents' house, almost untouched since the fever had claimed them years ago.

His house, now.

This had always been the plan, he reminds himself, feeling strange in his own skin as he helps Jeryk's mother clean: he had always intended to move out as soon as he'd seen sixteen summers, was working a steady job (as steady as any in Twine these days, at any rate), and could stand on his own two feet. His parents had left him the house on their deathbeds - the only thing halfway safe left to leave him. Most of their belongings had been burned, in case they still carried whatever illness had swept through Twine.

Maybe that's what's got him feeling strange. The house doesn't look the way it does in all his memories of the place: the furniture's gone, repurposed elsewhere in town; the little decorative touches - framed sketches, little knickknacks - his mother had favored are long since gone. Weathered away by the passage of time or sold for enough coin to keep food on the table, Thaffe supposes; there's little room for sentimentality with all the life bleeding out of the dying mining town.

Which is part, of course, of why he has to move out of Esmena and Ardin's home. He's got a year's worth of work in the mines under his belt now; he can put food on his own table.

...Though it's thanks to them he even has a table to put any food on.

"Thanks again for the furniture, Ma," he says, for what must be the third time.

Esmena steps back from the last of the windows, dusting off her hands - a bit prematurely, Thaffe thinks; there's still ten years' worth of dust built up everywhere - and smiling. "Oh no, love, thank you; Ardin wants a new workshop, and with how few visitors we're seeing..."

The furniture, of course, comes from one of the unused rooms at their family's inn; since the Stoneworks' departure, Twine no longer plays host to visiting engineers and officials from far-away Kholusia. The occasional stray traveler or historian interested in the nearby ruins isn't enough to require every room in the inn to be kept well-furnished.

And it'll make less waste for them when the time comes to leave it all behind, Thaffe thinks, with the familiar twist in his gut.

He shoves it aside, listening instead for Jeryk - he and Ardin, his father, are doing some repair work around the exterior of the house, patching up the scars of a decade of neglect. Sure enough, with the windows open, Thaffe can hear his best friend chattering away, with the occasional half-interested hum from his father in response.

"That's enough smiling, you," Esmena teasingly scolds, holding out her much-used broom. "The dust has dust in here; let's see to it before we start trying to haul in linens."

He accepts it with a grin. "That's life in a desert for you."

"Where I'm from," she says, setting to the task of cleaning off the countertops, windowpanes, and walls, "there would be mold, and we'd be tearing up the floorboards to be rid of it. The air's altogether too dry here, but I suppose it's good for something, hm?"

Thaffe bends himself to the task of sweeping, gathering up dust and cobwebs, trying to listen with half an ear for just what in the world Jeryk's going on about. From the sound of things, he's explaining the history of trolleys in Nabaath - with some creative liberties most charitably described as speculation - to his long-suffering father, who knows the history at least as well as any man born and raised in Twine.

Esmena sings quietly to herself as she works, just as she always does when she's doing chores - be it her own or the locals' laundry - and Thaffe listens with half an ear to her, as well.

It's going to be very quiet, living on his own.

You may as well get used to it.

He grits his teeth, shoves the thought aside, and focuses on sweeping. There's a lot of work to be done, after all.

They work through the morning, cleaning away a decade's worth of abandonment; once Esmena is satisfied that the inside of the house is clean, she summons Ardin - and Jeryk - inside to perform a few small repairs. A creaky shutter here, a broken cupboard there. They begin hauling in the furniture: not much, but the stuff of a small life. Table, chair, dresser. A new bed. Little by little, the little two-room house begins to resemble a livable home.

"Linens," Esmena sighs, exhausted, wiping an arm across her brow and brushing her sweat-drenched blonde hair out of her face. "After lunch. Wash up, boys!"

Back home, then - back to their home, anyhow. Thaffe's few meager possessions are already packed for the trip next door: the room he's shared with Jeryk for years already looks emptier.

"I don't suppose I'll know what to do with all the extra space," Jeryk says, joining him in the doorway. There's something strained beneath his friend's usual cheer, like something caught in his throat - and he won't quite meet Thaffe's gaze, even more than usual.

"Make it a workshop," Thaffe suggests, with more levity than he feels. "Like your dad's doing with the free inn room. You're taking on more of his jobs, after all; like as not you'll need somewhere to work."

Jeryk makes an noncommittal sound, brushing past him into the room and sitting heavily on the bed - their beds, long since pushed together, yielding to his younger friend's tendency to climb into his bed with him to spend the night chatting. Jeryk's bed now, Thaffe supposes, now that he's getting one of the - substantially larger - beds from the inn. Thaffe tries not to think about what it'll be like to sleep alone for the first time since he was a child, choosing instead to sit next to Jeryk on the bed.

Like they have a thousand times. Like they might never again.

They've not talked about it, not really, not exactly. It's always been the plan. Thaffe's talked about it since they were small - moving into his parents' old place, once he was old enough.

It's just that the actual day of it came up a lot faster than he thought.

"This is ridiculous," he hears himself say, rubbing his stinging eyes; no tears have fallen yet, thank the gods. "I'm moving next door. We'll see each other every day. Ma insists I visit for dinner at least once a week or she'll hound me-"

"Like she'll hound us if we don't hurry to lunch," Jeryk cuts in, with a wobbly smile. His eyes look too bright. "You know how she gets!"

So they wash up and hasten their way back for lunch; Thaffe thinks he's made a decent recovery of it, but Esmena's green eyes linger on him a touch too long - a little too worried, a little too knowing. And Jeryk's quiet. Jeryk's never quiet.

But she doesn't pry.

After lunch, linens. Esmena sets Ardin and Jeryk to the task of hanging curtains - curtains she'd stitched herself, no less - while she helps Thaffe put the sheets on his new bed. They're old, but not quite threadbare... and they smell like home, the scent of the soaps Esmena uses in the laundry waft from the fabric as they work. It smells like a thousand hot afternoons spent helping Esmena and Jeryk scrub laundry and hang it up to dry.

His throat feels tight.

They'll be right next door, he scolds himself.

But a quieter voice wonders, For how much longer?

Jeryk's still quiet as he helps hang the curtains; quiet and pensive. Thaffe wonders what's going through his mind - if he recognizes that his parents will have to move away soon. The inn's not making enough money; they both know Esmena and Ardin have been skipping meals so their boys might eat. Even with Thaffe scraping in his own meager income, things are tight. Soon, they'll have to do as so many other families have done, and...

Well. Just as well he's going to be getting used to living alone, right?

"This is what you want, isn't it, love?"

Esmena's voice startles him out of his woolgathering. "Yes," he replies, too quickly. "Yes, of course."

She glances up from putting his clothes in the new dresser, gauging his expression with maternal skepticism. "If you're sure. You're always welcome back home - you know that, of course? Jeryk's going to be lost without you."

I'm going to be lost without him. "He'll do alright," he says, glancing toward the other room, where Jeryk balances carefully on a chair, hanging the last of the curtains. He's learned a great deal from his father all these years - no matter where Jeryk and Ardin wind up, they'll find work. There's always a need for steady hands and a knack for fixing what's broken.

It's not the work Jeryk wants to be doing, but the days of Twine's trolleys are long over.

"He'll be fine," he says, a bit more firmly. "Like I told him: I'll still see him every day."

She nods, closing a drawer. "I worry you're only doing this for us, Thaffe - that you're leaving the nest a bit too early."

He feels his face heat. "I'm old enough to support myself, Ma. I don't want-"

"You were born in this very room, did you know? I was one of the first people who got to hold you." There are tears glittering in Esmena's eyes, and she turns away to conceal them, smoothing out the bedsheets - but not so quickly that Thaffe didn't see them. "And then your poor mother... we swore, she and I, that if anything happened to one of us, the other would always, always look after our children."

"I'm not a child-"

She turns again, composed, and reaches up a hand to touch his cheek. It occurs to him, again, how strange it is to look down on her - just as it has every day since his growth spurt, years ago. "You'll always be a little bit my child," she says, quietly. "And it's always going to be a little bit my responsibility to look after you. You're not a burden, Thaffe."

He feels six years old again, sobbing into her skirts as his parents are buried. She'd rested a hand on the back of his head, offering soft, quiet words of comfort, telling him how much his parents had loved him; how much they were going to love him now: that he was family, that he was wanted, that he was safe.

And if it were all as simple as that-

He takes a deep breath. Swallows. "It's really just time I had my own place, Ma. My parents wanted that, too; that's why they left me this place."

She lowers her hand, smiling wistfully. "I suppose they did, didn't they? You'd make your mother proud, shadows rest her soul. Gods know you make me proud."

"That's the last of the curtains!" Jeryk bounces into the room, his mood evidently thoroughly recovered; if he notices the sentimental tension he's interrupting, he gives no sign of it. "What's next?"

Esmena sighs. "Next, we leave, and let Thaffe get settled in," she says, winding an arm around Jeryk's shoulders and steering him back out of the bedroom. "Say good night, love; you'll see Thaffe after he gets home from the mines tomorrow, as always."

Jeryk squirms. "But-"

Thaffe, too, feels a stab of alarm at the idea of being left alone... but that's childish; isn't this what he wanted? This very thing? He can't get used to living alone if he's never properly alone.

So he makes himself smile as he walks Jeryk and Esmena to the door, where Ardin is already waiting.

Esmena tugs him down to kiss his cheek as she bids him goodnight; Ardin shakes his hand and quietly congratulates him on the new house (with an assurance that if any repair work still needs doing, Thaffe's to ask for it without a moment's hesitation), and the two of them slip away, leaving the boys alone. Thaffe doesn't doubt that if Jeryk lingers too long, Esmena will return to usher him out of Thaffe's hair.

Even if it's the last thing Thaffe wants.

"So," he says, awkward.

Jeryk takes a deep breath. Then, "What if..."

Thaffe waits.

Nothing.

"What if?" he prompts... but Jeryk shakes his head.

"Nothing," Jeryk says, smiling. "Nothing, never mind."

Obeying a sudden impulse, Thaffe simply pulls his friend into his arms, giving him the tightest hug he can manage, until Jeryk squeaks in not-quite-protest, getting his own arms around Thaffe in the process. They haven't held onto each other like this since... since a year or more ago, when for a heart-wrenching few minutes, Thaffe had been certain Jeryk had been killed by sin eaters - or worse.

Then, as now, Thaffe had wondered just how in the world he was meant to carry on without Jeryk.

"I'll be right here," he says, reminding himself for what seems like the thousandth time that Jeryk's going to be right next door, at least for the immediate future - he can worry about the eventuality of his family leaving town later. It's going to be hard enough to make it through the night alone.

Jeryk pulls away, blinking hard; teardrops cling to his long eyelashes. "Right," he says, with none of his usual enthusiasm. "Right, of course. Thaffe..."

He puts his hands on Jeryk's shoulders and leans down, resting their foreheads together. "You can visit any time," he says, around the lump in his throat. "Any time, any reason. Alright?" He waits until Jeryk nods, then gives the boy a little shake. "Right. Best you go on home, then, before Ma starts wondering if I mean to keep you."

And with one last see you tomorrow, off Jeryk goes, closing the door reluctantly behind him.

Alone.

Thaffe stands alone for the first time beneath his own roof, in his own home. The old floor creaks under his feet as he drifts from one window to the next, closing the shutters for the night against the blinding Light outside. He lingers for a moment, watching as Esmena, Ardin, and Jeryk walk home; Jeryk's dragging his feet, fiddling with the old scarf he always wears - something he always does when he's anxious, as well he might be now, facing his first night alone in years...

Thaffe closes the shutter, closing out the sight. He sighs, resting his head against the window, wishing his chest didn't ache; wishing... what? That he'd find some miracle ore down in the mines, or something; anything that might sell for enough to keep Jeryk and his family here? That the trolleys might run again, that the Stoneworks might come back?

That somehow, somehow, the inevitable future won't catch up to them?

Jeryk...

He takes a deep breath and hauls himself away from the window, making his way through the darkened house to the bedroom. The bedroom, where the bedsheets still smell like home. Thaffe strips off his clothes for bed, leaving them on the floor - Esmena would scorch his ears for it, but she won't see it - and heaves himself into bed.

There, with no one around to see it, he buries his face in his pillow and lets the first of the tears flow. Homesickness, heartsickness. Loneliness.

The pillow smells like Jeryk; it's from the bed they'd shared for years.

There's comfort in that. Some, anyway.

He tries to sleep. The hours creep by - after a year in the mines, he's already got a decent sense for the passage of time, but it seems to him these hours must be a lifetime each. Bouts of fitful melancholy set in: he sheds more miserable tears, rises to pace around the room. Tries talking to himself. A thin ray of Light slices through the room from a crack in one shutter - need to get that fixed; maybe that's what's keeping him-

A knock at the door.

"Who'd be visiting in the middle of the night," he wonders aloud, grumbling as he manages to tug his trousers back on... though a part of him knows.

Specifically, his heart, which had leapt at the sound of the knock, and it's pounding now.

It's Jeryk, of course.

His friend stands grinning on his doorstep, still dressed for bed - looking, in fact, as though he'd rolled directly out of bed: from his frizzy, tousled blond hair all the way down to his bare feet. If he's slept at all, it doesn't show; his bright green eyes are red-rimmed and weary, though his smile is cheerful as ever.

"Jeryk," Thaffe says, fighting the urge to smile.

"Hello, neighbor!" Jeryk offers a little wave. "I was wondering: are you all settled in yet?"

He feels his lips twitching. "Settled enough to have company over for the night, maybe?"

Jeryk's smile fades, ever-so-slightly. "I'll go right back home if you want, I swear it," he promises. "I just... couldn't-"

"Couldn't sleep."

"-Couldn't sleep," Jeryk finishes, only a little sheepish.

He's never going to get used to living without Jeryk at this rate, Thaffe thinks, but he steps aside anyway, letting Jeryk in. He tells himself it'll be easier if he... weans himself off; lets himself get used to it little by little - that's why he lets Jeryk lead the way through the dark house to Thaffe's new room, as though he lives there. Jeryk doesn't even wait for a further invitation; he just hops right into Thaffe's bed, settling in.

"I think this might be bigger than our bed back home," Jeryk says, already drowsy, as Thaffe strips back down and climbs back into bed.

"By a sliver, maybe." The inn's beds had to be big enough to hold Ronso, after all; they're a more than fair fit for two humes. The bed doesn't seem half so large with Jeryk in it - and the night doesn't feel half so long with Jeryk's voice chattering to him in the quiet.

The ray of Light still slices through the room, enough to illuminate Jeryk's hopeful smile. "Can I come over every night?"

"Do I have any hope of stopping you?" Thaffe teases, rolling over to face his friend. "Who else is going to talk me to sleep about trolleys?"

It makes Jeryk laugh, ending in quiet giggles. "Well, now that you mention it-"

"I suppose I asked for this, didn't I."

"-I've been looking at some of the old manuals from the Stoneworks, and I reckon I can work out how to start mending some of the old tracks, if we can get some decent steel..."

Thaffe closes his eyes, and lets sleep claim him, still smiling.

It's good to be home.

#twine boys #my writing #thaffe morhand #jeryk motplowe #this is set like......... just a few months before magnus and agna return #so they're like JUST on the cusp of things really starting to change in twine #(it's also like two years before their first kiss but i kind of want it to be clear there's SOMETHING already brewing here)#(they're young and not looking for it but it's There)#(you know??)

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