#divider @uzmacchiato

[oftenwantedafton]

prize | dave miller fluff

1.8k words, general audiences/no warnings

Inspired by @utoarts adorable fanart featuring Dave Miller losing his plush Bonnie prize in a claw machine

He’s almost got it.

The claws close around the upside down plush rabbit’s figure, sinking into the neck and clasping one loop of its dapper bright red bow. The machine has always been finicky, but hours of free time have allowed him to hone his skills, making him an expert on collecting memorabilia from the now defunct pizzeria. He knows precisely how much pressure to apply to each button; the finesse required to get those oft flimsy bits of metal to clutch in just the right places. Of course he has keys to all of the prize machines and he could simply claim everything outright, but there is no challenge in that. And if there’s one thing Dave Miller likes, it’s a challenge.

It had taken him some time to maneuver the replica guitar-playing mascot into the correct position, knowing to attempt to retrieve the purple plush in its original position resting upright would never work. So he’d had to move it a bit, pinching a limb here and there until he’d gotten it into this current ideal placement. He watches raptly as the arm lifts, the object of his desire dangling scant inches from the sharp nose virtually pressing against the glass case, when a loud crash nearby startles him, making him jostle the machine, the seemingly secure hold on the toy rabbit suddenly loosening. He curses, his palm slapping the window in frustration, staring in disbelief as the stuffed animal slips free after this final grievance, tumbling back down to rest atop its brethren. It is now close to the side of the case, where he knows the bowed out shape of the claws will interfere with getting a proper grip this time. Virtually impossible, even for a skilled person like himself.

With a final disappointed grimace at the arcade machine, he finally turns away, intent on finding out what—or whom—had interrupted his near perfect performance. There seems to be a great deal of noise coming from the kitchen, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was Chica nosing around in there, but the animatronic is stationed onstage at the moment. All of the mascots were.

Which means this was someone else. An intruder.

It’s been awhile since the last break in, so he supposes it was only a matter of time before someone decided to invade the shuttered restaurant on some dare or in search of something of value to pawn. Whoever it was, they were clearly novice burglars; they were not even attempting to conceal their rummaging. The security guard has no trouble moving soundlessly into the kitchen, the beam of his flashlight training around until it illuminates the source of the disturbance.

A small cat is nosing around, searching for sustenance.

Dave relaxes his grip on the flashlight, frowning as the animal notices his appearance and turns to approach. He’s never really been a cat person, and he swears that all felines know this, still insistant on trying to convert him to be more sympathetic towards their kind. This one—young, not quite a kitten but not fully an adult yet, either—is clearly part of this group, letting out a soft cry and nudging his ankle with its head before rubbing the length of its body along his pants leg.

“Oh, don’t do that. Hey…” He sighs, already noticing the amount of hair it’s leaving behind on his ebony uniform pants. “How did you get in here, anyway?” He lifts the light again, shining it around the room, making the abandoned stainless steel shelving and appliances gleam briefly before discovering the panel covering one of the vents has been knocked loose. He moves closer, his new feline companion following, once again rubbing against his leg while he crouches down to examine the opening. “Rusted,” he murmurs, squinting at the screw he’s lifted from the floor. Well, that was remedied easily enough. He should probably check other portals of entry and egress like this during his next set of rounds. The building was getting older. Just like him.

The cat takes advantage of his new positioning to nuzzle his hand, mewing for attention. Dave frowns again. Easy enough to let the stray back outside, but…he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Getting soft, old man? he chides himself.

“I suppose,” he says to his visitor, deciding that talking to the creature wasn’t really any odder than anything else that happens around Freddy’s, “that a dinner break is in order.” There’s a turkey sandwich waiting in the small refrigerator in his office. He could spare a few morsels. After that, though, the vagrant was on its own, he resolves. He absently strokes along the animal’s spine before he even realizes what he is doing. He can feel the vertebrae. Too thin, like himself. In the beginning, his weight loss had been intentional, a deliberate choice to help disguise his appearance. As of late, consuming food has become something he does at random moments. Many nights the food he brings—if he even remembers to bring it—goes untouched, simply because he is too distracted by other things.

Dave shakes himself, standing up with a noticeable click of protest from his knee joints. He’ll repair the vent later, he decides. First, the meal. He actually almost has an appetite this evening.

“Come along, then,” he invites to his companion. “I’m not going to carry you.”

He would, in fact, if the situation required it, but the feline seems to understand his intentions, eagerly padding beside him. He flips the desk lamp on when he returns to his office, glancing at the surveillance monitors to reassure himself that there were no other threats lurking while he’d been distracted by the stray, then retrieves his bagged lunch and a bottle of water from the fridge.

Sinking into the office chair, the security guard begins unwrapping his sandwich, his eyes resting on the bottle of spring water he’d already begun consuming earlier in the shift. He supposes he should offer the cat a drink as well. Which means he’ll need a bowl. Which means he’ll have to head back to the kitchen again. Might as well just fill it from the tap while he’s in there.

“You’re causing quite a ruckus,” he mutters, noting both pants legs have now been thoroughly covered in white fur. The Tuxedo meows in agreement, once again following him back to the kitchen and then accompanying him on the return trip to the office while Dave carefully balances the small ceramic bowl to avoid spilling it.

“Alright. Here you go. Give me a second and you’ll have your supper.” He sets the bowl down on the floor near the corner of the desk and the cat immediately investigates, taking a few grateful laps. Dave busies himself with unwrapping his sandwich, pulling the top layer of honey wheat bread away, then shredding some of the turkey piled inside with his fingers. The intruder instantly notices this activity, perhaps smelling the food, hopping up on the desk and padding around the controls for the security cameras, mewing in eagerness.

“No, hey, come on, not up here. Alright, fine. But you’d better not get anything on the equipment,” he admonishes, laying a few scraps of meat down which the young animal eagerly gobbles down, making a pleased chirping sort of sound and looking for more seconds later. “We’re not going to make a habit of this,” he murmurs, deciding the cat needs the protein more, removing the rest of the turkey and feeding it to his new friend. Bread, mayo, and lettuce for himself it is, then.

“Still hungry? The vending machines have long since been picked clean, I’m afraid,” he says around a mouthful of food, taking a swig from the water bottle to wash it down while the cat licks his fingers. He gives it a few scratches between the ears. “Not that there was anything in there that would have interested you.” The cat begins purring, its eyes sliding shut as he lightly scrapes beneath its chin with his fingernails. “That’s the spot, huh?”

Green eyes reopen, regarding the benefactor. The black and white animal is on the move again, this time seeking out Dave’s lap. It begins kneading the man’s thighs before it settles, the claws still unsheathing and retracting, the purring continuing at a considerable volume.

“Hey. I have to get back to work, you know.” He strokes the cat from its head down to its tail. He can’t recall the last time he had an animal snuggling against him like this. He’d never allowed pets into his home despite his children’s many requests, citing they were a lot of work and no one in the family would be around enough to give them the proper care they deserved. He still stands by that decision, but maybe just one wouldn’t have been so terrible. A cat like this one, perhaps. Well, it was a moot point now. There is no longer a family to contend with.

For a time Dave continues sitting there, petting the cat who appears to have now fallen asleep. He doesn’t have the heart to disturb it, merely watching the monitors, letting his thoughts wander. He’s startled when he realizes just how much time has passed. He should be doing rounds. Repairing that broken vent. Having another go at the claw machine. Bonnie was a lost cause, but Foxy seems like a possible win. He’s already developing a strategy to acquire it.

But his plan will not be implemented his evening. Morning, actually. Nearly dawn. The end of his shift. It seems the other duties and tasks will go unfinished as well. Tomorrow night, then.

For now, he has to decide what to do with the cat.

The creature has since woken from his nap, sniffing around for crumbs it might have missed on the desk’s surface before hopping down for another sample of water. The former pizzeria owner regards the animal solemnly. He can’t leave it to fend for itself in the alley outside. The interior of the restaurant isn’t safe without his protection. That really only leaves one option.

“Fine,” he grumbles, rising to his feet. His companion blinks at him, waiting for the door to open. “But this is only temporary. Got it?” He gathers his coat and car keys from the locker nearby, leading the feline to the main entrance. Once the front doors are gated and the lock secured, he escorts the stray to his car. The cat immediately takes up residence in his lap, its two front paws resting on the steering wheel.

“I’m not sure this was the best idea. Maybe I should have put you in a box or something.” Dave readjusts his position, trying to coax the animal into a safer spot. There. At least it was lying down now. Luckily he doesn’t have far to go. His apartment is just a few minutes away.

Of course, there is the matter of food. A litter box. He’s going to have to stop at the store.

“I’ll drop you off first, then I’ll run back out to get supplies. You see how much trouble you’re causing?” He shakes his head as the cat begins purring again and he can’t resist sneaking in a few more affectionate scratches before he starts the engine. Not the prize he’d originally intended on taking home, but a victory all the same.

[evamame]

papa?

picking up your husband iwaizumi hajime after his days work at the gym is over with your baby wrapped up on your chest. something had gone wrong with his car, resulting in it currently at the repair shop being fixed. this left you and your one year old son in charge of pick up duty. you slide open the door and step into the vast gymnasium of japan’s national men’s volleyball team, greeted with the sound of shoes squeaking on freshly polished hardwood floor and the smack of volleyballs being spiked over the net. sitting on a bench off to the side of the court is hajime, writing some type of report in a notebook with a focused expression. you walk along the sidelines to him, holding your baby’s head to shield him from any unsuspected volleyballs that may fly your way.

hajime only looks up from his work as you seat yourself next to him, typical. he’s always so focused and invested in his job. only during his work hours is he like this, though—he always makes time for his two favorite people.

hajime smiles at you and places a kiss to your temple in greeting, putting his notebook and pen off to the side before shifting in his seat to face you more directly. “hey. didn’t realize you were here.”

“must’ve lost track of time again, right?”

“as usual,” he admits a bit sheepishly, “i really need to finish filling out this sheet of supply orders for next month.”

“hmph. you have that nice smart watch but you hardly ever pay attention to when you need to clock out of work,” you gesture to the sleek black band on his wrist as you speak.

“sorry, love i—” his words are cut off by the babbling of your son, who’s stubby arms are reaching for his papa. he looks up at his dad with wide and admiring eyes, dawning the same tan skin as his father and the same deep brown color in his wispy head of hair and irises. there’s not a doubt in sight that he’s hajime’s child; he’s practically the spitting image of him.

you two can’t help but chuckle at his efforts to cling to his dad, his movements restricted by the wrap holding him close against your chest. “you wanna give papa a hug?” you coo.

the restraint doesn’t give in, and your son looks up at you with an adorably frustrated face of confusion and surprise at the spectacle. “you can’t get anywhere in this wrap, huh?” you say as you gently pull him out of the restraint, handing him off to hajime.

once your son is in hajime’s arms, it’s within an instant that he wraps his small and chubby arms around his neck. hajime holds him securely against his chest, an affectionate laugh escaping his lips at the way his baby boy looks up at him with such adoring eyes. “looks like you really missed your papa,” hajime says fondly before placing a peck to the top of his delicate head. at this, your baby giggles loudly and begins to blabber incoherent sentences, ones that hajime pretends to understand nonetheless.

“you know, once we got here, he kept asking me ‘papa?’ the whole walk from the parking lot to the entrance. i guess he recognizes this place pretty well now.”

“oh, really?” at your words he peppers kisses all along your son’s chubby cheeks, “papa missed you too. so, so much.”

and it’s not without your son first being showered with praise and love from the team that the three of you leave to go home, praise that your baby accepts with innocent giggles and lots of squirming—all from the comfort of his papa’s warm embrace. undoubtedly his favorite place to be.

masterlist | taglist | tags: @scoupsworld @amaliaaliena @mires765

a/n: iwaizumi is such a good boy dad. a little self indulgent bcs i have big baby fever.

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[sexlapis]

Your Cecil works are AMAZING I was wondering if you’re possibly taking reqs? 🥹💕 I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he’s listening in or spying on a new hero or individual he’s unfamiliar with maybe doesn’t quite trust them yet and he just so happens to catch a private moment where they call out his name.

℘ private moments

₊⊹ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader

ns4w. no gender/pronouns mentioned. a tiny bit dark. EXTREME INVASION OF PRIVACY. voyeurism. pillow humping. male masturbation. begging. unintentional mutual masturbation. cecil being a paranoid pervert.

⤷ you like cecil more than you let on.

wc: 2.2k

a/n: thank u! and i’m just going to assume that by “private moments” you mean reader is jerking their shit…please correct me if i’m wrong…anyways. nonnie i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. i may have gotten a little bit carried away ^_^

masterlist

*

Cecil isn’t sure what to make of you.

Sure, you’re a competent hero. Smart, talented, courageous, strong. Not viltrumite strong, but strong enough to be considered in the run up for the new Guardians. That’s something.

You’re a sort of enigma to him. Outside of what he has digged up on your past and upbringing, the information he has on you is limited and your general personality does nothing to help that fact. With the few conversations he’s had with you, you’ve been quiet. Closed off. Aloof. Shy. Saying just enough to keep a tête-à-tête flowing but not enough to reveal anything deeper or private about yourself.

The thing is, what you don’t reveal in words, you reveal with your actions.

He’s the director of the Global Defence Agency. When you’ve held a position like this for over twenty years you tend to pick up on little behaviours and ticks that other people would gloss over.

Like how your eyes would always flicker around the room when in discussion with him, not once meeting his blue ones. How you steal glances at him when you think he and nobody else is looking. How you’d hurriedly fix your hair and brush off imaginary dust from your clothes when he appeared in front of you. How the rise and falls of your chest would quicken when he was in any sort of physical proximity to you.

Tiny things like that, invisible to others, were clear as day to him.

At first, Cecil was convinced that you simply did not like him.

This wasn’t new or even unusual. He’s the boss. He makes the rules. He’s tough on his employees and the heroes. In his position, such traits were essential for success. So, of course they wouldn’t like him. Of course you wouldn’t like him.

But something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this assumption was wrong. That he’s missing something. That you’re hiding something.

It’s not a surprise that he doesn’t trust you right away from these behaviours alone. It’s suspicious. You’re suspicious. Even if you’re accepted by the other heroes, to him you’re suspicious.

And after everything that has happened, Cecil won’t allow himself to be folded again.

He just prays that those cameras he told his men to install in your apartment pick up something good.

*

It all comes to light after a mission well done.

Cecil’s kept tabs on you.

And all in all, you don’t seem like a threat. You live a normal, average life. Running day to day errands, going to cafés to try new pastries, going to the gym, hanging out with your friends (of which he has also investigated), hell, even volunteering on your free days.

He doesn’t know if you’re actually safe or he just wants to believe that you are.

But with all the proof in front of him, you are no threat. That doesn't mean he’ll take his chances.

Wolves in sheep’s clothing are more common than one thinks.

Of course, the camera feed is for his eyes and his alone. He doesn’t want any of the creeps who he’s heard say, quite frankly, downright deviant things about you. Though, those cameras were admittedly overkill - his people who were tailing you and recording your every move was more than enough. But as he said, he’ll never risk it again.

Today was a good day.

The threat is taken down in record time, mostly thanks to you, a fact that Cecil makes sure to throw in your face.

Your reaction is a small, embarrassed smile, a glance down at your feet and the claim that, “it was just good teamwork”.

How humble. So damn perfect all the time.

It’s just him in the main monitor room now, watching you getting ready for bed, all the other workers having left hours ago to enjoy an actual life. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time.

Cecil sighs. He peels off his suit jacket.

You’re going through your night routine now; a shower, brushing your teeth, washing your face, what he thinks is yoga.

Active outside of superhero duties too. Other heroes could learn from you.

After watching you for a few weeks, he’s come to find this routine of yours therapeutic. Comforting almost. With all the uncertainty, the debilitating stress, the constant threat of danger pointing arrows at his head, the swirling paranoia and distrust that curls around his heart like poisonous vines, you remain stable in his chaotic life - a promise that some things never change.

He likes that.

Cecil looks away when you unwrap your towel from your body and dress into your pyjamas. It’s silly since he's already violated your privacy in ways that would get the average person thrown in jail, but he looks away anyway. He’s already done something terrible. He can be good, even if it’s just a small amount.

It takes no time for you to switch off the lights and curl up into your bed, snuggling underneath your sheets. At times like this, Cecil misses sleep.

For a while you scroll on your phone. Cecil rests on his back, lying his face on his palm as he observes you. God, the way people are just able to scroll on a small device for so long amazes him sometimes.

You spend a grand total of an hour and half doing that. Heroes these days.

He watches as you place your phone on your bedside table and stare up at the ceiling.

You get like that occasionally, Cecil’s noticed. At times, you’ll just be lost in your own mind, your daydreams, looking up to the sky and imagining all types of things. You speak to yourself too. A creep of guilt bloats up in his stomach. How can someone like him feel guilty about something as trivial as this? There are acts he’s committed far worse than this. Unspeakable acts. Things that he couldn’t even admit to a demon from hell.

But spying on some new, baby-hero is what makes him feel like shit. Great.

Cecil drags his hand down his face. A small throbbing ebbs in between his eyes.

Then he hears something from your bedroom feed. A moan.

He sits up immediately.

Are you hurt? Injured from the mission? You listen but he doesn’t think it’s beyond you to not seek medical treatment out of pride. Especially considering how you act around him.

Cecil looks up at the monitor.

You’re not in pain. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

When he was watching you just minutes ago, you were under the covers and seemingly getting ready to go to sleep.

Now? You’re not sleeping in the slightest.

Instead, your night pants have been thrown on your bedroom floor and you’re straddling one of your pillows, rolling your hips languidly.

…What?

What?

Yes, he’s put cameras all over your living space. Yes, he’s had people follow you wherever you go. Yes, he knows you have a life and you have your needs like everybody else in the world, hero or not. But this? Cecil’s never seen you do…this in all the weeks he’s been keeping an eye on you.

As if he didn’t feel bad for violating your privacy already. This goes far beyond digging for information about you, far beyond what is necessary.

This is just pure perversion.

So why can’t he stop watching? Why are his eyes glued to the way you grind your hips into the pillow? Why can’t he look away from the shirt trapped in between your teeth and the nimble fingers that play with your nipples?

He should stop.

Your gasps crescendo. One hand leaves your chest to grip onto your bedsheets. It seems like you’re close.

He should stop.

Cecil snaps out of his trance.

What is he doing? Spying - no, perving - on a hero, a new hero at that, one who is under his authority and guidance, one who looks up to him for help and stability in this job. What he’s doing is disgusting, it’s vile. If anyone were to find out about his actions, he would never be viewed the same way again, his reputation in fluttering tatters.

And yet.

“Cecil.”

That one sigh that flows from your mouth is a good enough encouragement for Cecil to throw away any sense he had left.

Is that why you’ve been acting the way you have? Those looks, glances, those lip bites - you’re attracted to him?

Now, Cecil isn’t blind. You’re beautiful, truly. You’re kind, sweet, eager and your almost skintight suit leaves little to the imagination - don’t look at him like that, he’s heard other people say the same things he has and worse.

To think those feelings are reciprocated? To an extent, at least? Shock doesn’t even begin to describe it. Cecil’s nothing special to look at. Even worse to know. He thought those days were behind him - times of people being attracted to him, wanting to be with him.

He stands corrected.

“Ah, fuck it.” He grunts out as he undoes the buckle of his belt.

Not like he has anything to lose.

He tugs his slacks and boxers down just enough to get his erect cock out. The show you’ve put on had already made him taut and aching in his pants.

He spits in his palm and lets out a staggered moan when his hand meets his warm, hard dick. It’s been a while. He doesn’t usually get a chance to do this often.

Cecil’s gaze flickers to the screen again.

There you are, still riding away - now both hands are on the mattress to stable yourself for leverage as you hump your own pillow.

Heat prickles in Cecil’s lower stomach.

It’s so…primal. Savage. The desperation and desire of your movements are so unlike you, so unlike how you present yourself to the rest of the world.

For a moment, he wonders how your hero friends would react if they knew you wanted to fuck the boss they all hated so much.

He winds his hand up and down his cock and gulps. Damn, this feels good. He forgot what he’s been missing out on.

Cecil can’t bring himself to look away from you for a second. If he thought you were beautiful in your suit and casual clothes, you’re stunning now, wearing only a night shirt and shorts as you fuck yourself to completion. Cecil doesn’t even think you’re wearing any underwear. His eyes roll back into his head at the thought.

He’s not lasting long.

“Cecil, please…”

Begging, too? You want him dead. He wishes you were like this with him in person and not so damn reserved.

He grumbles and speeds up his hand, trying to match the pace you’re going at - a fast, untamed one, borderline wild and animalistic.

“Cecil, please. Please, please, I wanna cum…”

Is this why you’re so shy around him? So tense and astute? You’re such a good, little hero. His hero. It’s no wonder that you act the way you do. You just need someone to help you let off some steam, you just need someone to take the edge off for you, someone who knows how to. You need him to take care of you.

All you had to do was ask.

Cecil’s hand is a blur over his cock. You’re obscene. Squeaks can be heard over the feed, squeaks and creaks from your bed, whining under the ferocity of your movements. God, you really need this.

“Cecil…Cecil, ‘m so close.”

“Fuck, yes.” Cecil loses himself in your pleading, your cries, your moans, your whimpers - they’re his redemption. “Fuck, yes. Cum for me. Go on, let go. Fuck, you deserve it.”

Like you can hear him, feel him, you do let go. Your hips stutter, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you find release on the pillow, rotating your hips through what appears to be an oppressive, shattering high. Small breaths escape you as it makes its way through your trembling body, battering you down to the bone.

And then you moan out his name, a soft, satisfied thing, your expression one of complete and utter bliss and that alone sends him over the edge.

He jerks himself quickly with more want than he wants to admit. Cecil’s hips follow his hands for a second. He grunts, thumbs his tip and cums. He groans, gripping the underside of his seat as he does, baring his teeth. His voice echoes through the room but he doesn’t care, not when you’re still faintly moaning his name as you fall from your heaven. His cum oozes out of him, squeezed out by his hand and seeps shamelessly onto the floor.

Yeah, he’ll clean that later.

“Fuck.”

His legs tremble. He looks at the mess in his hands and on the floor. Then back at you again.

You’re lying on your bed, out of breath, sweaty and content. Cecil wishes he was next to you, wishes he could wipe you down and clean you up, talk you through it and calm you over.

Maybe one day.

For now, he switches off the monitor. He stares at the black screen. Stares at himself

“Shit.” He curses, resting back into this chair. “I’m so fucked.”

*

a/n: i need him pregnant

[easterbonnet]

Tom Riddle Masterlist

. . .

headcanons

loving the loveless boy fic: part one part two part three

moodboard

fanart drawing (christian coulson)

note: he is also included in my hp boys react series on my masterlist

[rufescentmoon]

Love To Death (also available on a03!)

Fandom: The Life Series

Pairing: Pearl/Scott

Warnings: Yandere Behaviour, Kidnapping, Black Mail, Self Harm, Threats Of Suicide

A/N: Day 5 of Scott Smajor Appreciation Week: Favourite Ship! Wow... I wonder what ship I'll do for this day...

Word Count: 1k+

The air in Pearl's tower hung thick and sweet, cloying like overripe fruit. Sunlight, filtered through stained-glass windows she'd recently erected, depicting scenes of soulmates eternally entwined, cast kaleidoscopic patterns across the stone floor. It was a beautiful prison, meticulously crafted to reflect Pearl’s warped idea of romance, and Scott was it's prisoner.

His face was mask of barely-contained disgust. He desperately avoided looking at Pearl, who was currently occupied with meticulously polishing a silver locket. Inside it, nestled amongst crimson velvet, was a single strand of his hair.

“Isn’t it exquisite, Scott?” Pearl murmured, her voice a soft, honeyed tone that sent shivers down his spine. She didn't wait for a response, lost in her own warped world. “It’s a reminder, you see, that even when you’re not here… a part of you is always is with me.”

Scott clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to snap. He had been trapped in this gilded cage for weeks, weeks that stretched into an eternity of Pearl's increasingly bizarre affections. He understood the concept of soulmates– the universe, in its infinite wisdom (or cruelty, depending on your perspective), designated a perfect match for everyone... But the universe had clearly malfunctioned when it decided he and Pearl were meant to be.

Pearl wasn't just infatuated; she was obsessed. Her affection was a suffocating blanket, woven with fantasy and fueled by a desperate need for validation. And he? He felt repulsed.

He tried to focus on anything to distract himself from the oppressive atmosphere and the unsettling glint in Pearl’s eyes. But it was everywhere he looked. Pearl’s world of romantic pronouncements, hand-stitched portraits of him, and elaborate rituals involving candles and his fingernail clippings was… it covered every inch of the tower. And it was... unsettling, to say the least.

"Pearl, please. Just... leave me alone," he pleaded, his voice cracking. He hated begging, but he was starting to feel like he was suffocating.

Her face crumpled. "But, Scott… I don't understand. We're soulmates! The universe has decreed it! Why can't you just accept it?"

Tears welled in her eyes, but Scott noticed they didn't fall. They just shimmered there, like tiny, perfectly formed droplets of manufactured sadness.

"Because I don't love you!" he blurted out, the words exploding from him. He instantly regretted it, knowing it would only make things worse, but he couldn't take it anymore. He needed her to understand, even if it was futile. "I don't want to be your soulmate. I don't want any of this!"

The tears vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that chilled him to the bone. The mask of sweet, devoted Pearl shattered, revealing something darker, something unsettlingly calm.

"You don't mean that, Scott," she said, her voice dangerously low. "You're just confused. You're resisting the inevitable."

Pearl reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a small, silver dagger. The blade glinted in the dim light, its edge razor sharp.

“"Don't you see, Scott?" she said, stepping closer. "This is how much I love you. I would do anything for you. I would sacrifice anything. Even myself. Because, really, what use is living life if you're not in it? If I can't have you, well, I might as well just end it all. Put myself out of my misery." She mused darkly, flipping the dagger between her fingertips. "Go on, Scott,” she urged, her voice a honeyed whisper, a grin in her tone. “Tell me you don’t want me. I dare you.”

He remained silent, paralyzed by fear and disgust. He knew what she was doing. She was testing him, pushing him, manipulating him with the threat of their shared pain. He’d seen it before, countless times. This was her favourite game. And he was trapped, forced to play along.

Pearl pressed the tip of the dagger against her wrist, just above the delicate blue veins. A single drop of blood welled up, a crimson bead against her porcelain skin.

“This is all it takes, Scott,” she said, her eyes locking on his. “Just a little pressure, and it will all be over. For both of us.”

His breath hitched in his throat. He could feel it, a phantom sting on his own wrist, a chilling reminder of their intertwined fate.

“Don’t,” he gasped, the word ripped from his throat.

Pearl's smile widened, a triumphant, chilling expression that sent shivers down his spine.

“Then what do you want me to do, Scott?” she purred. “Tell me. Tell me what you want, and I will do it. Just say the words. Say you accept our bond. Say you love me."

He closed his eyes, his body trembling. He felt trapped, suffocated, utterly and completely helpless. He hated her. He hated her obsession. He hated their connection. He hated everything about this tower, this life, this twisted parody of love.

But he couldn't let her do it. He couldn't let her kill them both.

“Fine,” he whispered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “I accept it. I... love you.”

Pearl’s smile bloomed, radiating a sickening sweetness. She lowered the dagger, the threat momentarily suspended.

“That’s my darling, Scott~!” she cooed, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Her touch was cold, possessive, sending another wave of revulsion through him. "Good boy... I knew you loved me."

He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning. The tower was her canvas, and he was the unwilling subject of her masterpiece, a masterpiece painted in obsession, delusion, and the chilling promise of eternal, unwanted love. And he was starting to realize that escape was a fantasy more improbable than the twisted fairytale she was forcing him to live.

[jeannieiscool]

Difference || Chapter: 2 Nightmares or Memories?

It is very long, take breaks while reading it.

TW: super angsty, swearing, revealing past traumatic events, blood, knives, killing, a bit of psychopathic behaviour, angst, dying mentions, cry? (optional)

Word count: 10k

A/N: This one explains more about Jeannie. This chapter is solely focused on Jeannie and her past, explaining many things about her. I actually really enjoyed writing her, even though it was traumatic af. I just hope you guys will like her as much as I do.

Summary: "My own death does not frighten me. But yours? Oh, that is my biggest fear."

Many years ago…

“YOU’RE A WHA—?" Jeannie slapped her hand over Lucy’s mouth, and frantically looked around to make sure that no one else was present nearby. 

“Dude, keep your voice down!” Jeannie hissed, slowly removing her hand. 

Jeannie never even planned on telling her—it just slipped up. Lucy’s reaction after the initial freak-out was very valid. She was in shock for about 5 minutes. Like, she would open her mouth to ask something but then another question came in the way. 

“So, you’re—no…” A beat. “How did—wait…” 

Poor girl’s brain short-circuited. Meanwhile, Jeannie casually, unbothered-ly was sitting next to her, munching on candy, waiting for Lucy to reboot. 

“You good? Or should I get you a paper bag to breathe into?” 

──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

Jeannie used to be waaay different in her school life, mostly because Lucy was there. They initially started off as lab partners and simple, chatty friends, until one day. Two of her classmates were teasing Lucy by the lockers and Jeannie saw it. Let’s just say she didn’t kindly ask them to step away from Lucy. 

“Hey… c’mon, just do my project and we promise to return the favor.” One classmate murmured leaning down, smirking like a creep and glances at his friend with silent signals of trouble. He kept Lucy trapped between him, his friend and the locker in front of her. 

The other one leaned in as well, with a mock sweet tone and expression. “Plus, you’re adorable. We wouldn’t want to hurt such a pretty thing like you, now would we?” He looks up at his friend who snickers quietly.

In the middle of such a bustling hallway, no one paid any mind to Lucy’s situation, all except Jeannie—standing at the rows of lockers across the hallway. 

Her jaw ticked, watching those two boys cage Lucy in. She couldn’t stand there and do nothing so she shut her locker and walked over to Lucy’s locker. 

The boys stopped mid-sentence when they saw Jeannie walking up to them, Lucy also turned around when she saw her approaching. Jeannie flashed them a sweet, gentle smile—contrasting her inner annoyance and anger. 

“J—Jeannie! Hey, hey! You look good—” One boy stumbled over his words so badly as if he just saw a ghost or something. 

“Dude! Shut it—” His friend elbowed him with a nasty glare to his face before forcing a calm and nonchalant look towards Jeannie. 

“Jeannie, it’s so cool to see you—” 

“Back. The fuck. Off.” 

He blinked. Getting a bit tense from her intense growl. His friend nudged him roughly, snapping his attention back to reality before nodding stiffly at Jeannie quickly and skittering away. 

Jeannie watched them leave then focused back on Lucy—standing awkwardly still and even more awkwardly staring at her. Jeannie stepped forward carefully, her tone much more gentler. 

“You okay? Did they do anything to you?” 

Lucy stayed quiet before clearing her throat roughly and blinking. A lot of blinking.

“Yeah—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” She sounded genuinely grateful. 

Jeannie smiled, trying to play it cool. “Don’t mention it, just being a decent human being.” 

That last word was a bit strange on her tongue. Like a bitter pill that was necessary to swallow. 

Lucy chuckled, running a hand through her waves of red hair. “But seriously… thanks. I would’ve been dead meat if it weren’t for you.” 

Jeannie’s smile turned a little bashful but she tilted her head before Lucy could notice. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I had to help.” 

Lucy smirked, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “So, do you often scare off bullies like that? And how did those two even know you? They barely talk to you.” Her smirk faltered a little as she became a bit more confused and curious. 

Jeannie's smile turned into a short smirk. “Well, you could say I’m kind of a big deal here.” She shrugged, nonchalantly. 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, clearly curious for more answers. “How big?” 

Jeannie snorted, muttering. “That’s what she said.”

However, Lucy wasn’t so impressed yet, her lips—did—twitch a little. Jeannie smiled widely, rolling her eyes playfully. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll talk. You know Hansal? Hansal Adhikary?” Jeannie asked, despite already being aware of the answer. Because, no one—not even the very new kids -- know about Hansal. 

Lucy nodded, her lips pursing a little and her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, who doesn’t? What ‘bout him?” She tilted her head, focused. 

“I’m his sister.” 

Lucy simply stared at her. Like she just told her that grass tastes like peppermint. And before she knew it—but, Jeannie knew—Lucy burst out laughing. 

“Okay, okay! You aren’t just a bully buster but also—a comedian!” She cackled. 

Jeannie remained unfazed. She was used to this reaction, because— well, even Hansal and her agreed that they looked nothing and they meant—nothing like each other. His complexion was darker and hers was lighter. She took after their mother while Hansal… took after his father. 

“Not buying it, huh?” Jeannie probed, her voice calm and simple. 

Lucy wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Nah, man. There’s no way, Hansal—the guy who almost every girl has a crush on—is your brother. No offense to neither him nor you but, his complexion is a clear signal that screams—he’s not your brother.” 

Jeannie nodded, almost sagely. Looking down at the floor then at her watch then back up at her. “You got five minutes before after school? I got somthin’ to show you.” 

Lucy immediately perked up. She hummed, considering it. “Mm, alright, yeah. Sure. I can stick around five minutes to see this something.” That earned her a soft chuckle from Jeannie. 

Someone. Not thing. 

──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

After school, kids are rushing out of the school building. Many going towards the buses, some to their parent’s cars, some—them their own cars. Regular after school crap.

Lucy was waiting for Jeannie by the exit, rocking on her heels. Then there she was, Jeannie, walking smoothly down the hallway with many groups of kids waving at her. Lucy watched both facinated and confused. She’s been in this school for much longer than her, then how come she didn’t get to know what made Jeannie so popular. 

Jeannie finally came to a stop next to Lucy, her expression simple and realxed. “Hey, Luc, you look like you’re waiting for someone—oh wait, I’m that someone!” She laughed, a hand pressed on her chest. 

However, Lucy didn’t seem so entertained or impressed and she didn’t even push about the nickname. “Yeah, I have been waiting for you.” She muttered, before shaking her head and speaking a bit more seriously. “Anyways, what did you wanna show me?” 

Jeannie’s smile turned into a cunning smirk. “Right, see, here’s the thing, you’re gonna have to wait just a little longer.” She said, by showing her fingers pinched. 

Lucy groaned, feeling impatient. "Duuude, c'mon, spare me here, I got things to do."

Jeannie only chuckled. "And by things you mean Mr. Grey's calculus homework. God, you're such a nerd." She muttered, shaking her head.

Lucy snapped back, a slight pout on her lips. "Says the bigger nerd! You're the fucking prodigy kid." She folded her arms.

Jeannie laughed, almost mockingly. "Yeah, that is true. I am guilty, your honor." She raised her hands in mock surrender.

Lucy groaned again, shutting her eyes and beginning to walk away before Jeannie instantly stopped her with her arm.

“Uh-uh, not so fast, Strawberry shortcake, you’re gonna wanna see this.” She smirked, her eyes narrowed.

And almost right on cue a boy’s voice called out,

“Jeannie!” 

It was Hansal. He was standing next to his mum’s mustang, waving his hand to Jeannie as other kids walked by him caught staring or whispering. The girls giggled and the guys looked up. Literally. He was pretty tall for even his age.

Lucy froze, her jaw nearly hanging loose as she looked down at Jeannie then Hansal far away yet, very visible. She finally blinked once, then twice, then finally looking at Jeannie, who was grinning like a mischievous fox. 

Lucy choked out a few words but they were all over the place. “You’re—he—oh, god—I’m—” 

Jeannie pressed her lips to hold her laughter back at Lucy's expression. “No, no. No need to apologise ‘bout that, it’s all good, Luce.” She held her hands up and paused, examining Lucy’s state. “Do you need me to get you a paper bag to breathe into or?” She softened her tone slightly. 

Lucy immediately shook her head, her light green eyes wide and panicky. “No, no! I—It’s fine, I’m just…” She sighed, gripping the strap of her bag. “I misjudged you, I really didn’t know you were his sister, you both just look so… different.” 

Jeannie offered a small yet gentle smile. “Yeah, I know, we both know. And actually, you know, sometimes at night, when I’m ‘bout to go to bed, he walks down the hall looking like a fucking giant coming to hunt me down. It’s terrifying.”  That earned her a laugh from Lucy. And Jeannie let out a mock gasp, clutching her invisible pearls. “How could you cackle at my misery?!” 

Lucy laughed harder, her freckles scrunching upwards. Jeannie’s heart swelled with warmth at her laughter, it was sweet, free, innocent. 

Human.

Hansal’s voice snapped Jeannie out of her trance and she grinned at Lucy. 

“Will I see you tomorrow, luce?” She asked. 

Lucy smirked, eyeing her with a sultry look. “Why? Are you gonna miss me after you leave?” 

Jeannie grin widened and she took a deliberately slow step forward. “Maybe I will. But you didn’t answer my question, Strawberry shortcake.” She murmured, mimicking that same voice. 

Lucy then lost it she burst out laughing again, clutching her stomach and by that, Jeannie lost it as well. She banged her fist against the wall next to Lucy, cackling. 

She gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll see you, tomorrow, Brownie.” She snorted and Jeannie gasped. 

“Was that in a racist way or was that because you probably witnessed me eating a ton of brownies during lunch?” She asked, trying to sound defiant and offended, however, her lips kept tugging upwards. 

Lucy simply shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe both?” 

Jeannie scoffed, shaking her head. “Really? I save you from two mean bullies and this—this is how I get repaid?” 

Lucy chuckled. “Aww, don’t worry, Brownie, I promise to repay you tomorrow.” She raised her pinky at her. “Pinky swear.” 

Jeannie looked at the pinky raised in front of her and with no hesitation she interlocked her pinky with Lucy’s. She stayed quiet for a second before she smiled again, wide and almost touched. 

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Strawberry shortcake.” She said, pulling her hand away and beginning to walk away.    

“See ya, later, brownie.” Lucy called, waving back as she watched the girl who protected her, the girl with long, black hair and the brain of an artist. The girl who had spontaneously become her best friend. 

     ──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

Jeannie never thought she'd ever make such a great friend. They were the opposites of each other yet they shared almost everything. Jeannie told Lucy that she was the brightest person she's ever met. Literally. Lucy had green coloured eyes, red coloured hair and little brown freckles adoring her fair cheeks. Jeannie was the opposite. She didn't have much colour. Her eyes were dark, her hair was black and simple. Except, those three beauty marks she had on her face.

One on her right cheek.

One on the left corner of her mouth.

And the last one on her forehead.

Lucy adored those little black spots on her face. She'd say that Jeannie looked more like the muse than the artist. Which Jeannie didn't understand at that time in what way to take it.

Lucy's father ran a small woodcutting shop. They made little decorations or authentic wooden furniture. Lucy was more into the little trinkets, such as the decorations or ornaments. Jeannie would watch closely as Lucy carefully and skillfully worked on carving that little piece of wood into something beautiful. And sometimes, if Jeannie didn't distract or annoy her too much, she would get to paint one or two of them.

They were two young artists. They were practically soulmates.

  ──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

The sun was close to meeting the horizon and noon was about to turn into evening. The forest was airy and peaceful and Lucy was dragging Jeannie along with her by her wrist as she complained and the animals of the forest watched in silent entertainment.

"Luuucyyy!" Jeannie whined, "how much further is it? I swear if I get late to my karate lesson I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, yeah, Karate kid, we're almost there." Lucy told her, excitedly dragging her demigoddess bestie behind her. Her green eyes dazzling by the sun's beaming light from the cracks of the tree branches.

After more walking and Jeannie groaning dramatically, Lucy finally came to a halt. She stood Infront of Jeannie, her excitement practically seething off her.

Lucy took a step back, her hands up as if telling a puppy to stay in place. "Okay, close your eyes—No, no arguments." She held up a finger at Jeannie right before she was about to open her mouth, her expression humorously serious.

Jeannie opened her mouth again, but sighed heavily and reluctantly shut her eyes. She listened to Lucy's footsteps crunching on the dry leaves. Moving away for a brief minute before slowly returning back to her. She heard Lucy's voice in a soft murmur.

"Open 'em."

Jeannie slowly opened her eyes, to be surprised with Lucy holding a bow and arrow. A bow and arrow she made. A bow and arrow she made for her.

"Happy birthday, Brownie."

That moment was so precious, Jeannie’s eyes wide and flickered between Lucy and the bow in her hand. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, and Lucy’s smile being plastered into her memory for a lifetime. She blinked hard, making sure this was for real before instinctively pulling her into a tight hug. 

“How the hell did you make this?” She whispered, her voice a bit tight. 

Lucy pulled back slightly, but kept her hands on Jeannie’s shoulders. She was the only person who touched her without the fear of her mind reading powers because she had nothing to hide from her best friend. 

“You may be the daughter of lightning—but I’m the daughter of woodcarving.” She joked, and elicited a chuckle out of Jeannie. “You’re like… hmm, what was his name?” She squinted her eyes, thinking back and Jeannie waited patiently, looking pretty amused. “That one person from that story you told me about… Mahabharat—Right! That. And the guy’s name was Arjun. He was the son of Indra and was, like, one of the greatest archers of that time. And since you are also Indra’s kid, and also rambling about ancient weapons, alot—I knew what was going for my divine-blooded bestie.” She held out the bow and Jeannie took it gently from her hands, as if it was some precious artifact. 

Jeannie laughed softly, admiring the detailing in the dark, sturdy wood in her hands. In the middle of it—right near where the arrow is supposed to be perched upon—there was a small yet noticeable ‘L & J’ carved into it. “I can’t imagine how long this must’ve taken you… and also I don’t really know what to say…”

 Lucy clicked her tongue, her expression mockingly serious. “Hey… don’t you dare get all sappy on me. It’s your fucking birthday, enjoy your day, man!” That earned her another laugh. She grinned, nudging Jeannie’s shoulder. “That’s more like it. No tears, no dramatics, just take the damn bow and be awesome like you always are.” 

Jeannie huffed, shaking her head as she traced the small ‘L & J’ carved into the wood. “ You’re so annoying.” 

“And yet, you love me,” 

Jeannie just smiled, because yeah. She did love her alot. Her fingers tighten around the bow briefly. “Yeah… yeah, I do.” 

Lucy’s expression softened for a second before she clapped her hands together. “Alright! Enough feelings—time to see if you’re actually worthy of my craftsmanship.” She dramatically posed like a game show host, motioning to the clearing around them. 

Jeannie smirked, lifting the bow. “Worthy, huh? Watch and learn, wood goddess.” She knocked an arrow, drew back the string, and let it fly. The arrow struck a tree dead center, shaking the trunk from the force. 

 Lucy blinked, impressed. “Holy shit.” 

Jeannie turned to her with a smug tilt of her head. “What was that about being worthy?” 

“Yeah, yeah, not bad…” Lucy crossed her arms, pretending to inspect  her nails. “for a rookie.”

“Oh, you did not just—” Jeannie gasped, eyes wide. 

The red head took off before the lightning girl could grab her. They laughed loudly as Jeannie chased after Lucy, bow in hand, swearing revenge. 

Lucy’s wavy red hair flew in the wind as she ran towards their treehouse they built for hanging out, singing songs, or sneaking out at night to watch shooting stars. 

She nearly missed one step as she scrambled up and hoisted herself to the top. She looked down to Jeannie, still holding the bow tightly in her hands. “Sucks being short!” 

“Oh, you wish that was an insult!” Jeannie yelled back, grinning and without hesitation, she jumped—not climbed—grabbing onto the edge of the treehouse and effortlessly pulling herself up in one smooth motion. 

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “Okay, that’s just—” Before she could finish, Jeannie tackled her onto the wooden floor, pinning her down. 

“Say I’m the best archer you’ve ever seen.” She ordered. 

“Never!” Lucy shouted, squirming dramatically. 

Jeannie smirked, leaning in closer. “Say it… or I’ll tickle you until you cry.” 

Lucy’s eyes widened in horror. “You wouldn’t—” 

Then, with a wiggle of Jeannie’s fingers, Lucy screamed, kicking wildly as Jeannie launched her full attack, laughing the entire time

“OKAY, OKAY—YOU’RE THE BEST ARCHER—I SURRENDER—” 

Jeannie finally lets go, both of them breathless and giggling as they lay on their backs, staring up at the wooden ceiling. There was an intentional big crack which was for sky gazing, the late night sneaking out was always either super reckless or super peaceful. Never anything in between.  

A few moments later, Lucy broke the silence, her voice softer now. “You’re gonna do big things, Jeannie.” 

Jeannie turned her head slightly, blinking. “What do you mean?” 

Lucy sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re gonna leave this town one day. Do something crazy. Be someone bigger than just us.” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “And I’ll be here, carving wood, yelling at my dad, sneaking beers from his stash…” A light chuckle left her mouth. “You’re meant for something more, Jeannie.”

Jeannie frowned, staring up at the intentionally cracked ceiling again. She didn’t like thinking about that—about leaving, about changing. She loved this. Their little world. Their treehouse. She turned to Lucy and flicked her forehead. “Shut up. We’re both gonna do big things.” 

Lucy laughed, rubbing her forehead. “Yeah, yeah… whatever you say, goddess.” 

     ──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

It was a week after Jeannie’s birthday. She still had this gnawing feeling at her after Lucy’s little sappy speech about “You’re gonna leave and get big.” However, she didn’t bring it up ever after that, neither of them did. 

That week, Lucy often asked Jeannie many questions regarding hunting and monsters and weapons which could be used against them. Jeannie answered most of them thinking it was probably just Lucy’s curiosity. But, Jeannie also noticed how Lucy was avoiding her touch, it was in a subtle way but she still noticed. 

Jeannie kept wondering why her best friend kept acting like that. She knew something was up but clearly Lucy didn’t want to spill. So, Jeannie decided not to push, because perhaps Lucy was going through something and just didn’t want anyone she cared about to have to worry about her or take her problems onto their own shoulders. 

All until one night. 

  ──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

Lucy’s parents came up to Jeannie’s door, saying that Lucy was gone from the house and they couldn’t find her anywhere. Jeannie’s blood ran cold. 

Everything clicked into place. The questions. The physical avoidance. 

Jeannie snuck out from her window and ran towards the forest, but it was so dark already—nothing was visible. But that didn’t stop her. She kept running and running until she saw a faint light coming from the trees above. The fairy lights they hung up in their treehouse. That should mean Lucy’s up there, right?

Lucy must be there. She has to be there. 

Jeannie reached the treehouse and screamed. 

“LUCY!” 

She didn’t hesitate before grabbing onto the wooden ladder and jumping up. 

Lucy’s not here. And neither is the bow she crafted. 

She’s planning to hunt. She went hunting. 

No, no, no, Lucy please…

Jeannie jumped back down to the ground and stood in the clearing of the forest, spinning as she tried to make anything out in the darkness. 

“LUCY!!” She screamed again, her eyes wild and her hands tangling into her messy, black hair. 

Then, there it was,

“JEANNIE!!” Lucy’s scream. Echoing through the forest. But Jeannie couldn’t tell where it came from. 

She focused, listening carefully to figure out where her best friend is. She had to get there fast but her own breathing and pounding heartbeat made it so difficult. 

Then there was a muffled rustling coming beyond a few more trees. She knew that direction. It was towards the lake, where she and Lucy would throw rocks into. 

Jeannie bolted past trees, the sharp branches making small cuts on her skin but that didn’t matter, because she’d heal faster before anyone could blink. All that mattered was Lucy. 

Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. Lucy…

She made it to the lake. But Lucy’s not here. 

“Lucy?” She murmured, her breath ragged and uneven. 

And then—another noise. 

A rustle, heavy footfalls, the sound of something dragged through the dirt. 

Jeannie whipped around, heart hamming, and that’s when she saw it. A dark figure, half-shrouded by the trees. Something small slumped over its shoulder. And then—another sound. 

A weak, barely-there whimper. 

Lucy. 

Jeannie’s eyes locked onto the figure, and for the first time in her life, she felt something she thought she’d never feel. 

Pure. Unfiltered. Dread.

Her heart nearly stopped. She was burning with fury and agony. Like her own soul had been taken from her. Because it had. 

She screamed. No words. Just a raw screech torn from her vocal cords. Torn from her fibre being. The forest rumbled under her fury. The air crackled, electric and alive, as if the very gods themselves had turned their heads to witness her wrath. 

That monster—whatever it was—stopped in its tracks. It turned, its face still hidden in the dark, but she could see the way its grip on Lucy’s body faltered. Just for a second. 

And that second was all Jeannie needed. 

With another primal, guttural scream, she charged. The ground beneath her feet splintered with the force of her steps, raw energy surging through her veins, her vision tunneling to one thing and one thing only. 

Lucy.

She was going to get her back. 

She had to. 

No one. Not even Jeannie remembers what she did to that monster. But actually, that’s a lie. She does, but won’t admit it. 

She charged at the monster, and as soon as her hands touched it—a flash of lightning strung out of her palms and threw the monster to a tree trunk, which shook from the utter force of her power. 

Lucy fell to the ground, her chest barely moving with shallow breaths, her beautiful red hair was a mess, her skin was cut and bleeding. But Jeannie was too lost in her own rage. The bow was laying on the ground, she grabbed it without another thought and bashed the monster with it. Golden sparks charged with each hit. 

Blood and flesh splattered all over her, but she wasn’t screaming anymore, not even grunting, just controlled, heavy breathing. And eyes that had an unnatural glow, a deep, stormy purple. Even the forest froze, the sky darkened with heavy clouds and thunder rumbled ominously. 

But something weak and gentle pulled her out of that gruesome act. 

“J-Jeannie…” Lucy murmured, laying on the ground and reaching a weak, bloodied hand out to her best friend. 

Jeannie stopped mid-motion. Her hands and that bow—dripping with blood. She dropped it and rushed towards Lucy, cradling her head in her bloodied hands. 

Lucy smiled up at her, a lightning in the clouds made the forest light up. The blood from the monster, the blood from Lucy—all clear and already drying. 

Jeannie broke into a soulful sob. “Why, Lucy? Why?”

Lucy’s hand reached weakly for Jeannie’s face, wiping away a tear that had fallen from her best friend’s eye. Her voice was soft, fragile, but it held the same lightness that Jeannie had always admired. 

“I wanted… to be like you,” She whispered, her breaths shallow. “I wanted to protect people… like you do.’’

Jeannie held Lucy closer, but the guilt, the weight of it, was unbearable. Lucy had made a choice, one she knew Jeannie could never support, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lucy was there—dying in her arms. 

“I told you not to…’’ Jeannie choked, her voice breaking, but she couldn’t finish. Lucy managed a weak, almost playful smirk. ‘‘I’m the one who didn’t listen, right?’’ She tried to laugh, but it was more like a pained wheeze. “I thought… I could handle it… You were right. I wasn’t meant for this’’

Jeannie shook her head frantically, her heart aching. Her entire world collapsing down on her like a building made of bricks. 

‘‘No, you weren’t…’’

The storm raged above them, but Jeannie barely noticed. All she could focus on was Lucy’s fading presence. 

‘‘I’m sorry…” Her eye fluttered shut, her body growing still. 

‘‘No, no, no!’’ Jeannie screamed, holding her tighter, refusing to let go. ‘‘You can’t leave me… please, Lucy! You can’t—’’

But Lucy was gone. And Jeannie was left with the broken pieces of her best friend’s life, her rage still smoldering, but now, more hollow than ever. The storm didn’t seem so powerful anymore, and neither did she. 

                   ──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

I hate funarals. They’re gloomy, and sad, and in the US it usually involes the body to be buried in a wooden casket. I don’t like these sort of events. But I never thought I’d ever be responsible for any of the deaths. Not of anyone’s, not of Lucy’s. 

Jeannie barely slept after that night. The night when she had to leave Lucy’s lifeless body on the ground. The person who made her entire world filled with colors and light, now left… because of her. Because she couldn’t protect her—she couldn’t stop her. 

Her hands were clenched tight, nails digging into her palms and nearly drawing blood, but she didn’t even feel it. She was numb. As she watched Lucy’s parents sob and wail by her casket. 

Jeannie never told them what happened—could’ve happened. Just told them that—that’s the way she found her. And that? Was one of the worst lies she ever uttered. 

   ──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

Present day.

Jeannie wakes up. Her body is wet with a cold sweat, and trembling. Her eyes adjust to the darkness, and control her breathing. Her head was throbbing so much, like it that haunting nightmare of a dream was splitting her brain apart. 

She sits up, hands clutching her head, and nails digging into her scalp. But that doesn’t stop those voices. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Karate Kid.”

“See ya, Brownie.’’

‘‘Happy birthday, Jeannie.’’

It hurts. It hurts so much. 

‘‘JEANNIE!’’

‘��I… I wanted to be like you.’’

The apartment is silent. Too silent. Outside, thunder claps, and rain lashes against the windows. The dim glow of the streetlights barely reaches inside her apartment, casting long, lonely shadows across the floor.

She squeezes her eyes shut, gripping her head tighter.

It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t—

She shoots up from the bed, her breathing ragged, and stumbles toward the sink. Turning on the tap, she splashes cold water onto her face, gasping softly as the chill bites into her skin.

She looks up at herself in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes. Pale face. Empty stare.

She looks dead.

Her fingers curl against the edge of the sink.

"Happy birthday, Jeannie."

A sharp breath hitches in her throat. She turns away from the mirror.

She needs to get out.

Jeannie slips her jacket on and steps out of her apartment, outside in the cold, rainy wind, carrying the scent of the wet pavement.

The sky is a stormy blue with dark heavy clouds—but faint with the bright city lights. She keeps walking, she doesn’t have a destination—just needs something that’ll clear her mind. 

But then, she gets an itch on the back of her neck. Demon. Lovely.

She exhales sharply, tilting her head back for a moment as the rain pelts her face. Just her luck. She shoves her hands into her jacket pockets and keeps walking, her pace slowing just slightly. The itch at the back of her neck only gets worse.

Someone’s following her.

She takes a turn into an empty alley, the distant hum of the city still present behind her.

The demon makes its move.

A sharp gust of wind brushes past her, and in a blink, someone appeared behind her—too close.

"You’re a hard one to track down, little demigoddess," a low voice drawls.

Jeannie rolls her eyes before turning to face him. A tall, greasy-looking man, eyes pitch-black, a smug smirk plastered on his lips.

Jeannie blinks. "Huh."

The demon frowns slightly. ‘‘What?’’

She shrugs. ‘‘I dunno, you just look exactly how I imagined a sewer rat would if it walked on two legs."

His smirk drops instantly.

Jeannie smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. Just pure, simmering exhaustion.

The demon lunges.

She has too much rage inside her, too much power just buried deep— with Lucy.

The sky’s already in her field of power, and getting worse with her soldering emotions, crackling with electricity. And she doesn’t even notice that her eyes flash a deep purple, reflecting her inner strom.

Jeannie barely notices the demon before she moves.

Fast.

Too fast.

Her hand snaps up, catching the demon by the throat mid-lunge. It has no time to react, no time to even smirk or taunt her like they always do.

Lightning crackles across her fingers, burning through the demon’s vessel. Its black eyes went wide—not with arrogance, not with amusement—but with something Jeannie has only seen a few times before.

Fear.

"You picked the wrong night," Jeannie whispers, her voice barely audible over the thunder rumbling above them.

The demon claws at her wrist, trying to break free, but Jeannie wasn’t letting go.

The storm above churns, responding to her emotions. Thunder rolled, and a flash of lightning illuminates her face—her dark, hollow eyes staring into the demon’s soul.

And then, her grip tightens.

A single pulse of divine energy surges through her hand, and the demon doesn’t just scream—it burns.

Bright, fiery light burst from its eyes, mouth, and every crack in its skin. The vessel cracks and splits open, turning to dust before the demon itself could even think of smoke-curling away.

Gone.

Jeannie stands there, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

The storm slowly begins to settle, the darkness in her eyes fading back to their usual black.

She runs a shaky hand down her face, exhaling through her nose.

She should go home.

But as she turns, her reflection in a puddle catches her eye.

For a split second, she swears she sees Lucy staring back at her.

Not smiling.

Not laughing.

Just watching.

Jeannie swallows the lump in her throat and walks away.

──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

Jeannie barely feels the warmth of her apartment as she steps inside, shutting the door behind her with more force than necessary. Her chest’s still rising and falling too fast, her hands still trembling with the aftershocks of power.

She peels off her damp jacket and throws it aside carelessly. The fabric lands in a heap near the door, half-soaked from the storm outside. Her boots follow, kicking them off with less precision than usual.

For a moment, she just stands there, staring at the floor, fingers twitching at her sides. Her breathing uneven, her heartbeat still roaring in her ears like distant thunder.

Jeannie drags a hand down her face and swallows thickly.

She needs to sit.

She needs to breathe.

She moves toward the couch, collapsing onto it with a heaviness she doesn’t realize she has been carrying. Her muscles ache—not from exhaustion, but from holding back too much.

Lucy’s voice echoes in her mind, uninvited.

"Don’t get all sappy on me."

Jeannie clenches her jaw and exhales sharply through her nose.

Her fingers twitch again, and for a brief second, the lamp beside her flickers. The air in the room still carries that faint, charged scent of ozone.

She rubs at her face again, pressing her palms into her eyes.

She has control.

She always has control.

…Except when she doesn’t.

Jeannie holds her own hand, keeping it from shaking. Her grip on it tightens, nails pressing into her skin as she forces herself to steady. 

You're fine. You're okay. The words echoes in her head, but they didn’t settle.

The apartment feels too quiet. Too still. The storm outside has lessened, but faint rumbles still rolles in the distance, as if the sky hasn’t fully forgiven her yet. Neither has she.

She glances toward the shelf by her window. There it is. A small wooden carving, rough around the edges but unmistakable—the L & J etched into the side.

Lucy’s hands had shaped it.

Jeannie reaches for it before she could stop herself, thumb tracing the grooves, the ridges. It’s smooth in places where she’s held it too often, like a habit she can’t break.

Her breath hitches.

Her breath hitches.

"You're gonna leave this town when we’re older, and become something greater than just us."

Her own voice, a whispered memory: "No, I’m not."

Jeannie’s grip on the carving tightens until her knuckles turn white.

She hasn’t gotten big. Not like that way Lucy would’ve expected her to. 

With a quiet, shaking breath, she sets the carving back down and lets her hands drop into her lap.

The storm outside’s finally quiet.

Inside, she isn’t sure it ever will.

Usually, every time Jeannie goes out and comes back, she checkes the windows, vents, doors for the salt lines—but tonight?

No. 

That release of power and anxiety makes her pass out right on the couch, leaving her apartment free for any uninvited guests to sneak in.

The rain taps gently against the window as Jeannie lay sprawled on the couch, unconscious. The exhaustion has hit her like a truck, her body surrendering to the weight of it all before she even has the chance to think.

The salt lines—untouched, unchecked.

A soft creak echoes in the dimly lit apartment.

A shadow moves.

The door hasn’t opened, and yet, something’s inside.

Low, deliberate footsteps glides across the floor, stopping just short of where Jeannie lies. The figure tilts its head, watching her with keen interest.

Then—another creak. This time from the window.

The figure turns its head slightly, sensing something.

The air around Jeannie shifts.

A faint charge, like static before a storm, ripples through the room. Her fingers twitches in her sleep, the distant part of her mind reacting even as she lies unconscious.

The shadow hesitates.

And then—

A low growl rumbles from the dark corner of the room.

The figure barely has time to turn before—BAM!

A sudden force throws it backward, smashing it into the far wall. The lamps flickered violently as the air crackles with unseen electricity.

Jeannie jerks awake, inhaling sharply as the pressure in the room yanks her out of unconsciousness. Her muscles are stiff, her head heavy, but her instincts are already kicking in.

Something is here.

Her black eyes flickers open, and she turns her head—just in time to see the intruder struggling to stand, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Demon.

And Jeannie?

She’s pissed.

Jeannie blinks away the exhaustion clouding her mind, her body already on autopilot. She sits up slowly, her fingers flexing as the air crackles around her, charging with unseen energy. The demon, still recovering from being slammed into the wall, finally looks up at her.

He smirks.

“Well, well…” His voice slithered through the room, smug despite the obvious pain he’s in. “Looks like the little demigoddess forgot her salt lines tonight.”

Jeannie rolls her shoulders, her joints popping. “Yeah, my bad. You wanna wait while I fix that, or…?”

The demon chuckles darkly. “Nah, I think I’ll stay. After all—” His black eyes flickers. “—I’ve been looking for you.”

Jeannie sighs, rubbing her temple with one hand. “Yeah, you and every other hellspawn in New York. You guys need a new hobby.”

She barely finishes speaking before the demon lunges.

Too slow.

Jeannie sidesteps effortlessly, her movements unnaturally smooth despite her exhaustion. The demon’s momentum carries him forward—right into the edge of her coffee table.

CRACK.

“Oof.” Jeannie winces as the demon groans, gripping its ribs. “That looked like it hurt.”

The demon snarls, recovering quickly, but Jeannie’s already moving.

In a blur, she grabs the demon by the collar and yanks him up—one-handed. He barely has time to react before she throws it across the room like a ragdoll.

He slammes into the bookshelf, sending books and picture frames crashing to the ground.

Jeannie exhales through her nose, rolling her eyes. “See, now I gotta clean that up.”

The demon groans, shifting through the wreckage, but she’s already closing in.

She crouched beside him, grabbing a fistful of its shirt, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice quieter now. Less mocking. More dangerous.

The demon smirks despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I already told you. You’re wanted.”

Jeannie’s jaw clenches. “By who?”

The demon chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Jeannie narrows her eyes—then suddenly let go, letting the demon collapse back onto the floor.

The air in the room grew heavier.

The storm outside rumbles.

The demon shudders as an invisible pressure presses down on him, locking him in place.

Jeannie slowly stands up, wiping her hands on her sweatpants.

“Okay,” she says casually. “Guess I’ll just send you back to Hell and ask your boss myself.”

The demon’s smirk falters. “Wait—”

Too late.

Jeannie raises a hand, her fingertips sparking with pure energy.

And then—

The demon’s eyes suddenly widened, his body seizing up.

The demon…is smoking.

No—not smoking. Burning.

Its veins pulses, a sickly red glow spreading beneath his skin. His mouth open in a silent scream as an intense, blinding light pours from its eyes—

And then he’s gone.

Jeannie stands in the silence, heart pounding, staring at the pile of ash left behind.

No exorcism.

Just her.

Just her blood.

Her hands clenches at her sides, her breathing uneven.

The storm outside settles.

Jeannie exhales slowly, then mutters under her breath,

“...Great. Another thing I gotta deal with.”

And with that, she grabs a broom and starts sweeping up the ash.

She fixed her precious bookshelf back up against the wall, and set the books carefully, each one on the wooden plane.

As she reaches up to put the last book, a little polaroid picture fell out and drops to the floor. She bends down to pick it up and holds it up near the window, and as she sees who are in that picture. The guilt and pain all came rushing back.

It’s a picture of Lucy and her. Young and wild. Sticking their tongue out in the picture and paint smeared on their faces and hands.

Lucy was making wood carvings, and Jeannie painted them, and it became a little messy but memorable.

"Jeannie! Stop, you're getting it all over my shirt!" Lucy's warm and happy voice echoed in Jeannie's head.

"Hah! Make me!" Then her own lively voice chimed in.

Jeannie’s grip on the polaroid tightens, her nails pressing into the glossy surface as memories crashes over her like a tidal wave.

Her knees buckles, and before she could stop herself, she sinks onto the floor, her back against the bookshelf. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

Jeannie clenches her jaw, her breath shuddering.

She’s so tired of remembering. So tired of this same ache, creeping up when she least expects it.

She wipes at her eyes harshly, angry at herself, at this stupid photo, at the fact that no matter how many years pass, no matter how much she runs—

Lucy’s absence never gets any smaller.

Her fingers curls around the picture, almost like she wanted to crumple it, tear it apart—but she didn’t.

Instead, she takes a deep, shaky breath and reaches for the bookshelf, pulling out a thick, leather-bound journal. Flipping it open, she carefully slides the photo inside, tucking it between the pages.

Where it’s safe.

Where it won’t haunt her—

—but wouldn’t be forgotten either.

With a heavy exhale, Jeannie shut the journal and places it back on the shelf, her fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

Then, pushing herself up, she turns away.

She needs sleep. Or at least something strong enough to make her forget tonight.

Vodka

Best thing she has right now to forget and then probably throw up in the morning. But... it's worth it.

Jeannie grabs the half-empty vodka bottle from her kitchen counter, not even bothering with a glass. She twists the cap off with practiced ease and takes a long, burning swig. The warmth hits her throat, then her stomach, spreading through her veins like liquid oblivion.

Yeah… that’s better.

She wanders toward the couch, plopping down with a heavy sigh, bottle still in hand.

The storm outside rattles the windows, but Jeannie barely reacts.

Thunder? Lightning?

That’s just her. 

Always storming, always raging, even when she pretends she isn’t.

She took another swig, her eyes fluttering shut.

The Polaroid, the guilt, the past—

All of it blurs at the edges, softening with every sip.

And finally, for the first time in a long time—

She doesn’t feel anything

──────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

The next morning.

Jeannie is in fact throwing her guts up of vodka and past guilt down the toilet. 

But was it worth it? Yes. Absolutely.

She groans, forehead resting against her arm as she clutches the toilet bowl like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her stomach twists again, and she dry-heaves, cursing every life choice that led her to this moment.

The pounding in her skull?

Deserved.

The nausea?

Yeah, that too.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and lets out a humorless chuckle.

Would Lucy have agreed? Probably.

A pause.

Would she have also called me a dumbass? Definitely.

She forces herself up, gripping the sink for balance as she stares at her reflection in the mirror.

Messy braid barely hanging on, dark circles under her eyes, regret written all over her face.

Jeannie scoffs, turning on the tap and splashing cold water over her face.

Alright, drama queen, pull yourself together.

Hangover or not—

She has demons to kill.

Including demons to kill while getting her damn groceries. She brushes her teeth, opens her braid and gets the shower ready. No matter how bad or good the alcohol is the night before—she makes sure not to smell like it.

Jeannie steps into the shower, letting the scalding water hit her skin and wash away last night’s bad decisions. She presses her forehead against the cool tiles, taking a slow breath.

"Demons to kill. Groceries to buy. Do not cry in the cereal aisle again."

With that, she grabs her shampoo, scrubs the lingering smell of vodka from her hair, and rinses off the regret. By the time she steps out, towel wraps around her body, she feels more herself again.

Tired? Yes.

Still mildly dead inside? Always.

But at least she smells like coconut and not self-destruction.

She throws on some clothes, grabs her leather jacket, and checks the salt lines this time. Then, with a sigh, she pulls open the door and steps out into the cold New York air. 

Time to grab some eggs… and maybe stab a demon or two on the way.

She remembers to grab her ipod shuffle this time. Earphones jammed in her ears, hands in her jacket, she looks decent. 

So far—no demon. 

She makes it to the grocery store, a bit surprised she doesn’t meet a demon on the way, but doesn’t think too much about it. 

Jeannie strolls into the grocery store, the little click of the automatic doors barely registering over the music blasting in her ears.

She grabs a basket, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she scanned the aisles. Milk, eggs, maybe some instant noodles—because let's be real, cooking a proper meal isn’t happening.

As she reaches for a pack of Skittles (a necessity), something feels… off.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickles.

Subtle, but there.

She exhales through her nose, keeping her expression neutral as she casually adjusts her earphones.

And then—just as she turns the corner of the aisle—she locks eyes with someone standing by the cereal section.

A man. Suit. Too stiff. Too clean.

His black eyes flickered for just a second.

Jeannie sighs internally.

There it is.

But something's different about this one. It took Jeannie a little longer to recognise his presence, but it’s probably because she’s got earphones in her ears so there's a number less on her senses. She casually pulls one pod out of her ear but keeps the other in just to (look like) vibe with her music. 

The demon tilts his head slightly, watching her.

Jeannie pretends to be more interested in the colorful cereal boxes in front of her, fingers idly tapping against her basket.

Something is different.

Usually, she can sense demons like a cold draft in a warm room—immediate and obvious. This one? He’s… muffled.

Her grip on the basket tightens slightly.

The demon smirks, barely noticeable. “You took your time noticing me.”

Jeannie exhales through her nose, grabbing a random cereal box and tossing it into her basket. “You’re not exactly a head-turner.”

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Hurtful. And here I thought we could be friends.”

“Yeah? Well, I have enough of those, thanks.”

She turns her head just slightly, her one free ear focused on him, the other still enjoying the background noise of her music.

Something about the way he stands, the way he waits—this isn’t a random encounter.

This demon knows her.

It tickles something deep in her memory, something buried—like a whisper from a nightmare she’s forced herself to forget.

Not every hunt ended well, and so, Hansal usually steps in to stop her. But this one? No. it was her mother, who—herself ordered Jeannie not to hunt that demon.

Now, that demon is planning on hunting her.

Jeannie clenches her jaw, her mother’s warning ringing in her head.

"Jeannie, listen to me—do not go after that demon. He is not just any other monster."

At the time, she had scoffed. Another demon, another hunt, another body hitting the ground. How different could this one be?

But now, standing in the middle of a goddamn grocery store, with him right beside her, she understands.

This isn’t just some demon. He isn’t just hunting her—he’s waiting for her.

She turns her head slightly, meeting his dark eyes. 

“I remember you now.” Her voice quiet but cold.

The demon smiles. “Good.”

He picks up a can of beans from the shelf, examining it like he actually cares about human groceries. “Didn’t think I’d run into you in a place like this,” he says, voice smooth, casual—like they’re old friends catching up.

Jeannie doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Her hand tightens around the strap of her grocery basket. Her other hand? Already itching to grab the knife she has hidden in her jacket.

"Yeah?" she mutters, tilting her head. "And where did you think you’d run into me? The middle of a burning battlefield?"

The demon’s lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smirk.

"Something like that," he muses, tossing the can into the air and catching it. "You always did like making a mess, didn’t you?"

Jeannie’s pulse hammers.

"Always did—?"

No. No, she would’ve remembered him. Would’ve remembered those eyes, that voice.

So why does he talk like he knows her?

The demon watches her, head slightly tilted, like he can see the war happening inside her head. His grin stretches wider.

“Oh, man,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Jeannie clenches her jaw. She’s not going to play his little game.

But her fingers twitch. Her breathing feels just a little too shallow.

"Yeah, sorry," she deadpans. "I meet a lot of demons. You’re not as special as you think you are."

The demon hums, amused. "Oh, but I am. I remember you. Every little thing. Every spark, every scream, every little burst of divine rage."

His black eyes gleam.

"Especially the first time you killed."

Jeannie’s blood turns to ice.

"T—That's not possible. No one was there, I was locked in a house with a witch." Her voice lets out more panic than she intends, and mumbles a few things incoherently, confused.

The demon chuckles, low and taunting. “Oh, sweetheart,” he cooes, leaning in just slightly. “You think witches don’t make deals? You think they don’t owe things?”

Jeannie’s breath hitches.

No. No, she was alone that night. She’s sure of it.

The witch had locked her inside. It was Jeannie, the witch, and…

Jeannie blinks rapidly, the memory shifting like a puzzle missing a crucial piece.

“I saw it all,” the demon continues, voice smug. “The way you begged. The way you snapped. Oh—” he grins wider. “And the way you smiled after.”

Jeannie freezes.

Her ears rang.

The memories that follow her like shadows every night are suddenly too loud.

"You liked it, didn't you?"

A sharp breath leaves her lips.

She finally looks up at him. And for the first time in a long, long time—

Her hands are shaking.

"Shut. Up." She murmurs, her voice low, and a slight warning. But it was also a glint in her eyes that says, "I still want to hear more but at the same time it is visibly scaring me."

The demon’s grin stretch wider, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. He knows he has her right where he wants.

“Oh, but why?” he taunts, leaning closer. “You do want to know, don’t you? How deep it goes? How much of you—” he tilts his head, studying her like a puzzle he’s already solved, “—wasn’t just divine wrath, but something else entirely?”

Jeannie’s jaw locks. Her fists clenches at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

She should shut him up—should make a scene, should kill him right here in the middle of this goddamn grocery store—

But she doesn’t move.

She just stands there, her breathing coming shallow, her mind racing, trying to remember—

The flashes of golden lightning.

The warmth of blood on her skin.

And something else.

Something she has buried so, so deep—

A smile.

Her smile.

The demon leans in just a fraction closer, voice barely above a whisper.

The demon leans in just a fraction closer, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell me, Jeannie—What scared you more? The monster you killed… or the one you liked being?"

Jeannie's eyes widen, not in fear but in anger, disdain. "I am no monster." She growls, gripping the strap of her cart so tightly she probably cracked it. "I'm a warrior, a damn protector."

The demon chuckles darkly, unfazed by the rage rolling off her in waves. "Oh, sweetheart," he drawls, tilting his head mockingly. "That’s what they all say."

Jeannie’s grip on the cart tightens—if she doesn’t let go soon, it will snap in half. Her pulse’s a war drum in her ears, drowning out everything but the sheer audacity of this bastard standing in front of her, twisting her own past into a nightmare.

Her fingers twitch—she can fry him right here, right now, let her power crack through the air like a god’s judgment. But she doesn't. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she straightens, taking a slow, deep breath, forcing the storm inside her to still.

"You wanna run that by me again?" she murmurs, voice deceptively light—dangerously calm.

The demon’s grin falters just slightly.

“I protect the innocent,” Jeannie continues, stepping closer, her voice gaining an edge. “I save people. And when something—someone—hurts what’s mine, I end them.”

Lights flicker outside, casting sharp shadows across her face.

"Now tell me, before I forget where I am—" her black eyes glint under the grocery store lights, her head tilting just slightly.

"—who the hell are you, and why do you know my name?"

She glares up at the demon, who knows every memory of hers which is a living nightmare to ordinary people.

Sometimes, she wishes she was an ordinary person, maybe then, Lucy would still be here. She would've become such an amazing wood crafter. She'd live with Jeannie in New York, in her apartment which is nothing but a silent, hollow and barely feels like a home. More like a hide out. 

But she isn’t ordinary. She never had been. And neither is the life she leads.

The demon smirks, his black eyes glinting with something dark and knowing. "Aww, poor little Jeannie,” he croons mockingly. “Thinking about your dead best friend? That sweet little redhead?"

Jeannie’s entire body goes rigid. Her vision tunnels, her breath catching in her throat.

The demon leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. "I bet she screamed for you, didn't she?"

Thunder cracks outside—so loud, the store lights flicker.

Jeannie lets go of the cart, her fingers tingling with suppressed rage, her pulse hammering so hard it rattles her ribs.

 Her fists clench at her sides. Don’t do it here. Not here.

The demon grins wider, clearly enjoying her reaction.

"You should’ve died that night, Jeannie," he whispers, voice dripping with venom. "Not her."

The fluorescent lights shatter.

He's just getting a rise out of you. Keep. It. Down.

She barely flinches at her own power going slightly off the leash.

Jeannie takes a slow, steady breath, forcing her fingers to unclench. The last thing she needs is to turn this damn grocery store into a crime scene.

She glances around—the other shoppers barely notice the flickering lights, too wrapped up in their mundane little lives.

Good. Keep it together.

The demon chuckles. “Oh, you almost had me there. Thought you’d play it cool, huh?” He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “But I see it now. That storm inside you, just waiting to break loose.”

Jeannie finally meets his gaze, her own black eyes cold. “I don’t need to break loose.” Her voice is quiet, but firm. Controlled. "I already know exactly how this ends."

The demon smirks. “Do you now?”

She took a step closer, invading his space. He barely flinches, but the slight tensing of his shoulders told her enough.

“You’re going to leave,” she murmurs. “And if you ever say her name again—” Her fingers twitch, the air around her buzzing with electricity.

The demon lets out a slow chuckle, but there was something forced about it. “Oof. Touchy subject. I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jeannie exhales, gripping the cart again, grounding herself.

She grabs a pack of Skittles, tosses them in, and keeps shopping like nothing happened.

She walks over to the drinks aisle and grabs a Coke can from the drinks fridge and puts it in her cart. She plans to chug it after stepping out of the store.

She looks down at her cart and thinks to herself. 

Perhaps I could use another bag of Skittles?

She already put two big bags of it, but still requires more.

Of course.

Jeannie turns her cart around and makes a straight beeline for the candy aisle like a woman on a mission.

She grabs another big bag of Skittles—then hesitates. Her fingers hover over a fourth bag.

Would Hansal judge? Absolutely.

Does she care?

She tosses the fourth bag in.

As she continues shopping, the encounter with the demon still sits at the back of her mind, gnawing at her. How did he know about Lucy? How much does he know?

But for now, she lets herself focus on the important things. Like Skittles. And chugging that Coke the second she steps out of this damn store.

Jeannie checks her stuff out at the counter, pays, picks her bags and strides out of the store. She pops the Coke lid and takes a big gulp. 

Yay. Carbonated sugar.

The instant the fizzy liquid hits her throat, she lets out a quiet sigh, feeling the sugar rush start to kick in. 

Bless you, artificial energy.

She adjusts her bags, starting her walk back to the apartment.

Still no demons on the way.

Weird.

The city is never quiet-quiet, but something about the air feels... still. Jeannie took another swig of Coke, pretending she isn’t hyper-aware of her surroundings right now.

The demon from earlier—is he still around? Watching?

She clicks her tongue.

Whatever. Let him try something.

She’s in no mood for games.

Jeannie walks back to her apartment, enjoying this 10 minutes of no demon, no stupid, evil monologues, just sipping her Coke, and carrying her groceries to her house.

Jeannie unlocks her apartment door, nudges it open with her shoulder, and steps inside, kicking it shut behind her. The silence inside greets her like an old friend—one she isn’t sure she likes all that much.

She sets the bags down on the kitchen counter, popping another Skittles bag open. As she tossed a handful into her mouth, she let herself breathe.

No demons. No nightmares. No—

Her eyes flicker toward the bookshelf. The picture of Lucy is still sitting there, right where she left it.

Jeannie clenches her jaw and looks away.

She isn’t doing this. Not tonight.

Grabbing her Coke again, she chugs the rest, throws herself onto the couch, and clicks on the TV. 

Just another night.

Yet, her mind is still racing. That demon knows her. Not in the way demons usually know their targets—no, this is personal. And her mother has ordered her not to hunt him. Why?

Jeannie shakes her head, trying to push the thought away. She turns the TV off because none of that crap is reaching her brain rightnow.

She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and takes a sip before heading to her room. She needs sleep—proper sleep this time, not 

just passing out on the couch again. But as she flicks on the light and steps inside, her entire body tenses.

Her window is open.

She never leaves her window open.

Jeannie rushes to her closet, heart pounding. She shoves the door open and drops to her knees, shuffling through the boxes she keeps buried under piles of clothes and blankets.

She yanks one out—a small, weathered wooden box, the lid carved with an old, intricate design. It isn’t just any box. This is something important. Something she’s kept hidden since she was sixteen.

Her hands tremble slightly as she opens it. Inside, wrapped in a soft cloth, was a locket.

It’s old—older than her, maybe older than Hansal, too. A delicate gold chain, the locket itself engraved with an ancient script that only a handful of people could read. And inside? A tiny, fragile scrap of paper. A piece of something much bigger.

Something demons would kill to get their hands on.

She checks it, breath catching in her throat. The locket is still there. The paper, untouched. But the box—someone has opened it.

She swallows, looking around the room, muscles tensing.

Someone has been here. And they knew exactly what they were looking for.

Jeannie’s fingers curl around the small gold 'Om' pendant hanging from her neck, grounding herself in the weight of it. Hansal had given it to her on her 18th birthday, a quiet reminder of protection—of family. She never took it off.

But this locket? This is different. This is sacred.

Jeannie inhales sharply, pressing her thumb against the intricate script on the locket’s surface. The fact that someone has found it, has opened the box but left the locket behind… it doesn’t sit right.

Why didn’t they take it?

Unless…

Her eyes dart back to the closet, scanning the shelves, the floorboards, anything out of place.

Maybe they don’t need to take it. Maybe they already know what’s inside.

Her thumb traces over the worn engravings on the locket, her brows furrowing.

"Sanskrit." Jeannie murmurs to herself, the realization settling in.

Despite living in the U.S. since the 7th grade, her mother has made sure she and Hansal never forget their roots. Their language. Their stories. Their heritage.

The Hindu mythologies—stories of gods, warriors, demons—those aren’t just bedtime tales for her. They are history. Her own bloodline woven into them.

And yet… Jeannie has never really looked at this locket’s scriptures. Not properly.

Maybe because part of her doesn’t want to.

Maybe because deep down, she already knows it isn’t just some trinket. That mom didn’t give it to her just because it was pretty.

Her grip tightens around it.

The demon hasn’t taken it. But that doesn't mean they’re not after it.

She closes her closet, her hand still resting on the wooden door as she exhales sharply. The locket is still in her hands. 

Her mind races. The locket is safe for now, but how long will that last? The demons know about her. They know who she is. And now, they’re circling her like vultures, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Jeannie has spent her whole life running, hiding, fighting on her own.

But this time…

She clenches her jaw, gripping the locket one last time before .

"I can't do this alone."

The words feel heavy. Admitting it feels even heavier.

She’s about to do something critically stupid.She’s going to find the Winchesters.

A/N: Damn, that was a lot. Please tell me you drank or ate something while reading this. Take breaks you bitch. love you guys. <3 This was actually much shorter than the first part but still. 

[anniequalsoikawa]

Cherry | 2005 | started playing volleyball because of Oikawa (didn't make it as a setter, but I'm a libero)

Currently recovering from relating to "Are you satisfied" by Marina. Talent is something you make bloom after all, right?

@uzmacchiato

[uzmacchiato]

♡ CUSTOM DIVIDERS !! ♡ -

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[gojodickbig]

Texts with boyfie satoru.

some chats are memes i found on pinterest that reminded me of him lmao :p

conts: fluff, crack, suggestiveness // pt2.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!

divider from @uzmacchiato !!

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[joelsbloodyhands]

Man vs. Bear

Millionaire!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel does everything in his power to get back something of sentimental value to you that your ex discarded like it was nothing.

Warnings: no outbreak, discussions of emotionally @bus!ve ex, mentions of types of emotional/psychological domestic @buse, mentions of controllative ex, mentions of smoking and alcohol, crying, reader is sad but Joel is gonna fix everything, protective!Joel, vengeful!Joel, mentions of blood, physical harm (haha guess who that’s for, hint read the first warning), fluff, reader has gender neutral pronouns, reader has no visible disabilities, Ellie and Sarah are 7 & 8 in this, if you don’t like adults with plushies get the hell off my blog ⛔️ we all protect our inner child here.

Dividers by @uzmacchiato 🧸

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Joel turns the corner to your bedroom and sees you sitting there on the edge of the bed, face in your hands and your head shaking when you turn from him.

You had just returned home when he called.

Your new apartment getting some used to.

Joel had been a friend of yours for a while.

Quite often, your own work collaborated with his company and through a mutual friend, Frank, you started a more friendly relationship.

Simply platonic, nothing more.

Or so you thought.

“Darlin?”

Joel sits next to you carefully, not wanting to intrude in your moment of emotion. He knows you well enough to know you don’t normally cry in front of people, usually feeling uncomfortable with the idea of expressing your outbursts publicly for fear of being coddled.

“What happened? Did that asshole give you back all your stuff?”

“I guess,” you sniffle, eyes red and lips puffy.

Joel’s eyebrows furrow, his heart pacing.

I guess isn’t good enough for him.

Joel doesn’t like working without absolutes. Either that asshole gave you everything you had and everything that belongs to you rightfully or there was going to be a problem.

“What’s missing?” Joel eyes the boxes scattered around your bedroom, one with books half pulled out and stacked half-hazardly by your bedside table.

You’re silent, your eyes distant and welling with tears.

“It’s stupid,” you harshly rub a sleeve against your face causing Joel to wince and take your hand in his own.

You look down at your small palm engulfed by his large warm fingers, rubbing soothing circles into your wrist. You lift your gaze and meet soft brown eyes, searching your own blurred vision like he was ready to travel to the underworld to take the tears away.

“It can’t be stupid if you’re so upset, honey,” Joel says, his voice low and gentle.

Your face is hot but at this point you’re not sure if it’s from how long you’ve been crying or the fact you can’t stop thinking about Joel’s calloused fingers grazing your skin.

You look away from him, deliberating telling him and ultimately you do with the thoughts that at this point it can’t hurt. There’s nothing that can be done about it now anyway.

“When I um, when I went back to the house, I went to our- his room and I used to have well, my childhood plushies on my side of the bed but…” you drop your gaze, the lines between your brows tightening.

Joel has seen this look before.

You’re angry with yourself.

“I asked him where they were and he told me I took too long that he just threw them away along with some of my other things!” Your voice gets louder with the growing anger you’re feeling and Joel gets it, his own teeth are grinding behind the thin line of his lips as he listens.

“Did he say exactly where he “threw” them?” Joel asks, his brain already scheming.

“Not at first,” you huff, “but then I picked up a glass from the side table and threw it at him.”

Joel fights a smirk from his lips. Now is not the time to be visibly attracted to that.

“He said he might’ve thrown them in the garbage or he might’ve sent them to a thrift store. He wouldn’t tell me which. He’s such a prick, Joel,” your eyes are welling up again and Joel squeezes your hand, “he just stood there grinning like he was happy he’d found another way to break me.”

“No, baby,” Joel shakes his head, his eyes intent on you when you meet his gaze again, tears falling down your cheeks, “he hasn’t broken you and I’m gonna do everything I can to find them for you.”

You shake your head exasperated.

“Joel, fuck knows where they are. Knowing him he definitely threw them in the trash. They’ve probably been incinerated somewhere.”

You’re hiccuping now and Joel can’t handle it.

The pain on your face is too much to bare.

“My Grandmother got me those plushies when I was a baby. I’m such an idiot. I just got so caught up in getting out of that fucking apartment that I forgot the two most important things in there.”

You’re beating yourself up and Joel’s had enough.

“What do they look like?” He asks, his body itching to find out as much as possible, rush to another room and call every contact he knows to track them down.

“One is a brown wolf and the other is a panda bear. They’re really old. The panda is more blue and white because of how faded the black is and my wolf is a little skinny and has one leg shorter than the others. He needed new stuffing and I had to stitch his leg back on a few years back when the cotton wore away.”

Joel knows you’re rambling because of how sad you are, reminiscing about your childhood friends but he listens just like he always does. He doesn’t play around when it comes to what matters to you and the more you go on about the intricacies of your old soft pals, the more fuel Joel has to find them.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” you let out a heavy breath, your fingers loose in his, “maybe I need to let them go. I’m only giving him what he wants by reacting like this.”

Joel squeezes your hand again and he wants to hold you, reassure you that he will find them at all costs, even if he has to have this bastard of an ex of yours kidnapped and interrogated to find out what he did with them. Down to every last detail.

But he lets you stand, watches you take slow breaths to steady yourself and start gathering the rest of your books in the open box in front of you to put them away.

Joel joins you, quietly requesting you guide him to stock your apartment with your treasures. Anything he can do to help and he will.

After all, he was also the one who found this apartment for you. Paid the full cost himself and linked the monthly bills to his account.

Not that you knew any of that of course.

As far as you were aware, this was one of Joel’s bachelor pads he was letting you occupy for as long as you needed.

He knew you wouldn’t move in otherwise if he offered to buy the place but you’d saw the ad online and showed it to Joel. He made up some lame story that it actually belonged to him and he was going to sell it but that you could live in it while he was waiting for a buyer.

Now he had you asking if there would be any showings that you needed to be aware of.

More lies.

However, Joel had a plan.

One that involved him confessing his feelings for you.

One that involved keeping you here, safe and supported regardless of whether you reciprocated his romantic feelings or not.

Friend or lover, he would take care of you.

That asshole had treat you like hell and Joel was glad to see you rid of him.

He wanted to give you the best. Everything you could ever desire and this would be a good starting point.

Come rain or shine, Joel would bring those childhood plushies back to you, no matter the effort or the cost.

“Joel, what the fuck is this?”

Joel rolls his eyes, a gruff response already huffing past his lips as he listens to his assistant, Tess mock the list she’s now reading through.

“Something for Sarah and Ellie?”

To be honest, he gets that Tess might think that and not that Joel thinks any which way of an adult having plushies, it would just make the request go ahead a lot easier if he complies.

“Sure,” he mutters, “for Sarah and Ellie.”

“Riggght,” Tess mumbles, her lips whispering each bullet point from the text Joel had sent earlier, “so what they lost a couple of their favourite toys and you’re trying to get them back? Bet you were the one who lost em in the first place-“ she laughs.

“Tess, focus,” Joel shakes his head, his brain doing overtime thinking about everything that needs to be done. “I need you to contact every garbage disposal unit in town and every thrift store with the description provided and tell them what we’re looking for.”

“Ookay,” Tess releases a heavy breath on the other end, “and what are you gonna do?”

Joel’s lips press into a fine line, relaxed with concentrated anger, “I’ve got something I need to handle and then I’ll join you once I’m done.”

“Noted,” Tess says, her tone taking on its more motivated edge, “I’ll get right on it.”

The apartment you lived in before was cheap and convenient but he knew you hated it.

It barely had any windows and the front window to the lobby was smashed in and covered over with mesh.

The street itself was busy and loud, a main route for the city traffic to come piling through. You never looked like you got a good nights sleep, forever seeming tired.

Joel knew all of this just from the outside.

Truth be told, that ex of yours never let a single one of your girlfriends in and Joel had an inkling that when your ex first heard of him, you probably lied and said he was married or dating one of the other girls.

He was an utter complete control freak.

Emotionally abusive.

Just the mention of another guys name and he would flip a switch.

Joel fucking despised him the minute he saw him.

He may have been good to you once. Your heart was too pure. You must have seen something that resembled sunshine once upon a time but whatever that was fizzled out as soon as your ex trapped you within these crumbling walls.

Joel grimaced at them now from the backseat of his car. His driver having pulled over and parked, now lingering silently from the front seat.

“We doing this or what?”

Joel turned his head towards the eager voice.

“This the place?” Tommy raised a brow, his head peering past Joel and through his window.

Tommy had invited himself along for more than just the car ride. He loved you just as much as Joel did and it irked him to know you’d spent almost five years cooped up with a complete prick.

Tommy was the first person to refer to you as family, confirming in Joel’s mind that he saw you the same way and then some.

“Yeah, this is it,” Joel responds, his eyes narrowing back to the side walk.

“How d’you wanna do this?” Tommy’s voice lowers and Joel has to bite back a grin at the uncaring way he feels about roughing up your ex in his own home.

Joel would make it hurt. Payback for all the years the little fucker had spent torturing you.

“I have some words to say to him first and then I’ll let you have at him,” Joel turns his head back to Tommy who nods satisfied.

If there was one thing Tommy was always good at, it was starting a fight. God only knows the amount of times Joel got called to the police station to bail him out. Only this time, his little brothers want for emotional release wouldn’t be wasted.

“Alright, let’s get it done,” Tommy steps out the car, slamming the door behind him.

“Go for a drive around the block and come back in thirty,” Joel instructs to his driver; a young twenty something whose family had worked for Joel for years.

“You got it, boss,” the kid replies and Joel steps out the car, looking up at the one rare window to the dark apartment above.

Joel’s heart pounds.

He told himself the drive here that he was doing this for you but it was just as much for himself too. He wouldn’t let another man walk all over you again. Whether Joel was breathing or not, he would make sure you were safe.

“Well?” Joel sits with his legs rested on his desk and his phone buried between his chin and shoulder.

Rolling tobacco between his fingers, he ignores the dried blood still present under his finger nails, too eager to know if Tess has made any progress.

“So far, nada but I’m waiting for some responses,” she replies and Joel’s eye twitches at the sound of Tess’s fingers click clacking on her keyboard on the other end.

He sighs, licking the paper of his cigarette and securing it.

You’d be frowning at him right now if you could see him.

He promised to quit and he’d reduced his smoking to almost a complete stand still but with all the excitement earlier, Joel needed to take the edge off before seeing you.

“This is important, Tess,” Joel puts the cigarette in his mouth and lights it, throwing the lighter across the table harshly and placing a finger on his temple.

He hears her scoff on the other end.

“Can you not just buy them new ones? Kids usually get over this sort of stuff. I mean how many toys do they have-“ Tess rambles.

“This is not something that can be replaced,” Joel sharply responds, his voice raised, silencing his assistant on the other end with a harsh tone.

He intakes a breath, steadying himself and flexing his fist on his thigh.

“Not everything can be replaced. I need them found and if they’re not found, it’s going to make someone- I mean Sarah and Ellie very unhappy and I can’t accept that,” Joel taps the ash from his cigarette as he speaks uneasily.

Tess is still silent a minute until she sighs through the phone and the noise in the background disappears, her voice coming in clearer.

“I understand, Joel. Give me a couple of hours and I swear I’ll find them.”

Joel smiles, smoke escaping past his lips.

“Thank you, Tess. I’ll await your call.”

He hangs up, leans his head back, taking another drag and blowing out smoke to the ceiling above.

He thinks of you and what happened earlier.

Unfortunately for your ex, Tommy had brought his lucky knuckle dusters.

When Tommy was done with him, Joel leered over the young man, his eyes taking no notice of the blood joining the other unknown stains in the carpet surrounding where your ex was splayed out.

The whole time your ex chanted about how he never hit you. That he never laid his fists on you, not once. Though physically hurting someone wasn’t the only way to torture a person and Joel knew you suffered every day you spent with this piece of shit.

Constant texts asking you where you were, an absurd amount of missed phone calls while you were trying to work. You left your phone at a technician once to remove a spy device that had been installed. You hadn’t said anything about where it might’ve come from because you already knew and when Joel found out, he knew too. It was no question. Constantly telling you what to wear, berating you for your choice of clothing, your makeup, your hair and the things you liked. He complained about your friends and got on edge every time he heard a masculine name being mentioned.

The little shit was clearly insecure as hell that you would leave him but that’s on him, not you. You don’t deserve to be at the end of his problems constantly being projected onto you.

And Joel told him all of this.

Joel told him how little of a man the fucker was and then let his brother beat him.

Three years of hurt reduced to one hour of abuse.

It didn’t feel like enough of a punishment but Joel would show him how it felt to really hurt. He would show him your pain translated into a fist being pummelled into his face repeatedly.

Tommy delivered.

Joel asked him about your plushies. The dumb kid said he’d sent them out in the trash after all.

He texted Tess immediately.

At least it would help take the focus away from anywhere else they might’ve ended up.

Joel told the brat that if he told anyone what happened, Joel would make sure he’d disappear in the night. That he would send someone to take him away and no one would ever find him again.

Thankfully, the bastard believed him and rightly so because Joel doesn’t just talk the talk. When he makes a promise, he sees it through.

The sound of Joel’s phone vibrating in his pocket woke him from his racing thoughts that the tobacco was failing to drown out.

Considering something a little stronger, he eyed the decanter of whiskey on his desk before skimming his eyes over your name on his phone screen.

He smiled and clicked answer, your voice like music to his ears.

You were more soothing than any substance Joel could ever partake in.

“Hey, darlin,” he greeted, voice soft just for you.

“Hey Joel,” you replied and he could hear the tiredness in your tone.

“You okay?” Joel asked, his brows furrowing wanting nothing more than for Tess to deliver good news so he could see you smile.

“Yeah, long day. I just wanted to hear your voice. Is that okay?”

Joel swore you had a way of melting his frozen heart. He had once thought only his daughters had that capability until you came along.

“Of course, baby.”

Little does he know your heart skips a beat at the pet name leaving his lips as it does every time he speaks to you.

“You still at work?” Joel stubs out his cigarette into an ashtray, quirking a brow at the sound of rustling papers in the background.

“Yeah,” you release a heavy breath, “just finishing up.”

Joel looks to the clock, reading 7:30pm. You were meant to clock out hours ago.

His face falls.

“Darlin, have you eaten today? You’ve had dinner, right?”

He hears you sigh and can picture you running a hand down your face.

You sound stressed.

“Not yet but I will just as soon as I get home, I promise.”

Joel meanwhile having put you on speaker phone finishes a text to his driver to wait outside for him.

“How about I come get you right now? We can go get dinner together. How does that sound?”

He hears you chuckle on the other end.

“Why did I have a feeling you would say something like that?” You’re smiling on the other end, cheeks practically hurting.

“Any excuse to see you, sweetheart,” Joel bites his inner gum, excited and eager to be with you. “How about sushi?”

“Takeout?” You ask in a nervous lilt.

Joel hums in confirmation, “Your place?”

“It’s still a little messy,” you say in small voice.

“Gotta christen it somehow, honey. First dinner in a new place,” Joel teases.

“Mm, it’s not new though. You’ve eaten dinner in there before, surely?” You’re puzzled on the other end.

Joel’s confused a minute before remembering what he had told you about the place being his.

“Oh yeah, of course but this is a first for you, right? It’ll help you settle in,” Joel grimaces.

“Yeah you’re right,” you nod on the other end and Joel releases a silent breath.

“Be there in five?” Joel’s already by the door, pulling on his overcoat.

“Can’t wait,” you say sweetly and Joel practically swoons, almost missing a step on the staircase as he ends the call with you.

“We got em, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard Tess sound so proud before in her life and she once had to practically organise a fucking ark to send some cattle to a farm he owned a few states over, after he bought them a couple years back.

Joel shoulders sag in relief, he pinches between his eyes with a toothy grin, “I fucking knew I could count on you, Tess. You got them with you?”

“Damn right. You weren’t kidding when you said they were old. They look a little worse for wear, Joel,” she cringes, looking over the dirty bears with concern.

Joel scans the office building they’ve pulled in front of, tapping a message to you to let him know he’s out front.

He keeps an eye on the door while he talks.

“How bad are they? Any tears? Any lost limbs?”

Tess laughs on the other end, loud too.

Joel meanwhile is as serious as if he was conducting a full debrief on a wounded soldier.

“Christ Joel, you’re talking about them like they’re real but nah mostly just need a good clean. One of them is barely a plush at all, hardly has any plump to it.”

Joel has no idea Tess is holding your wolf by its foot like it’s diseased, her face scowling at it.

“Yeah…actually if you could fix that I’d be grateful,” Joel thinks aloud, conscious he’s still waiting for you.

“Uhh…I’m not much of a textiles kind of gal but I’ll do my best. You want me to drop them off in a little bit once they’re ready?” Tess asks.

Joel’s eyes light up at the sight of you tugging the building door open, your eyes wincing at the heavy downpour of rain that’s just started.

“Yeah, but uh, shit, yeah I forgot. I need you to drop them off at this address.” Joel types your apartment address and sends it across in a text.

“You bought another place? Okay. No worries. I’ll be there.”

“Just leave them by the door and drop me a text. I want it be a surprise, ya know?” Joel smiles at you when you meet his eyes through the window, running to the opposite side to escape the rain.

“Sure, be there soon,” Tess confirms and hangs up.

Joel shoves his phone in his pocket and reaches his hand forward just as you’re buckling your seatbelt, moving wet hair from your forehead.

You beam at him, dimples creasing and sending Joel’s heart crashing against his rib cage.

“Hungry?” He manages, his hand seeking yours to squeeze it affectionately.

“Starving,” you squeeze his hand back.

Sushi went down a treat.

Even if you did scold Joel for trying to buy all your favourites with the excuse of stocking your fridge with leftovers.

To his surprise, you both ate on the bed, complaining that you needed comfort, already jumping into pyjamas and making Joel slip into a T-shirt and sweatpants to relax.

Joel encouraged you to talk about your day. Partially to keep the attention of the events of his own day but mostly because he needed to know every moment of your life when he wasn’t in it.

You were just in the middle of telling him a story about someone “accidentally” sending over twenty requests to print a kinky fan art of some fictional bounty hunter at work when, Joel felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He distracted you by presenting a plate of chocolate mochi from the kitchen and excusing himself towards the bathroom only to detour to the entryway, opening the front door to find a panda and a wolf sitting slouched against the wall.

Joel picked them up, becoming still a moment as he looked them over.

Tess had done a fine job.

They were clean and tidy. Your wolf had some fresh stitching from where it looked newly stuffed. A little blue bow stood out on the panda possibly a little improvement added by Tess.

He’d remember to send her a thank you present later.

“Joel?” You call for him and he turns and locks back up, walking back to your room with the plushies hidden behind his back.

When he enters your room again, you’re licking chocolate powder from your fingers looking at the way Joel’s arms are shielded behind his back. Your brows knit together curiously.

“What’s going on?” You ask, grabbing a napkin and wiping your hands while you stare up at him from where he stands in front of you.

He smiles and kneels down, making your eyes go wide.

Then he presents your lost friends and your eyes dart down to them in shock.

“Managed to get the gang back together again,” he smiles warmly at you and your hands tremble when you reach for them.

“Joel…”

He urges them into your arms when you hesitate to take them from him. Joel watches the tears crowding at your waterline.

“How?” You gasp, running shaky fingers over them, admiring the new touches and smiling at the renewed plumpness of your wolf.

Joel releases a heavy breath.

It seemed no better time to do this than right now.

After the day he’s had and the way you were on his mind every second of it, he needed you to know how he felt.

Joel places his hands on your knees and your eyes meet his.

“I would do anything for you. I hope you know that and if you didn’t,” he looks to the way you clutch your treasured childhood toys to your chest, “I hope that this proves that I will do anything to make you happy. I’d go to hell and back for you and repeat the process a thousand times over just to see you secure and safe.”

You blink back more tears meeting your jawline and running down towards the neckline of your shirt. Joel runs the back of his fingers up your neck gently and you let him.

You let him wipe the tears away.

“You matter to me in more ways than I ever know how to show sometimes but if you’d let me, darlin, I’d like to show you. I’d like to show you how much you mean to me,” Joel takes in a breath, “I’d like to show you how much I love you.”

“Joel…” you cry, your lips trembling, “but this is everything,” you shake your plushies against your chest, “you didn’t judge me and you- you got them back for me. If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t do that.”

“There’s more that I could do,” Joel’s hands find your face, his body closer to yours now, crowding you at the edge of the bed.

“I want to be yours, baby and I want you to be mine.”

Your breath hitches, his thumbs soothing your hot skin.

“I want to give you everything and I already started. This apartment is yours. I bought it for you. I’m sorry I lied but I wanted you to have something that was completely yours and I had the means to give it to you.”

You smile, your eyes evading his as your cheeks flush. You had a feeling it was too good to be true. You had a feeling Joel may have never previously owned the building to begin with but it wouldn’t have surprised you if he did.

“When I saw how sad you were when you lost these,” he drops his hand from your face to pinch the ear of your panda plush, “I knew I could get them back for you and I knew I’d do anything to do it. I never want to keep the truth from you so I’ll be honest and say I even interrogated the little shit to find out exactly where they were.”

Your eyes widen with awe, “Joel, you-“

“I had to and I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times. I’d fight a fucking army, baby, I’d do it because I love-“

Your lips crash against Joels.

He’s so taken aback to start with until he feels your fingers moving through his hair and instinctively, his palms graze over your hips and press up against your lower back to keep you held against him as close and as tightly as possible.

You pull back, taking in the smitten flush across Joel’s face when he meets your eyes.

It seemed you had an ability to surprise him too.

“I love you too, Joel.”

A year later…

“And they never belonged to the girls to begin with?! How am I only finding this out now?!” Tess exclaims, downing another glass of red wine in a long gulp, her voice raising louder above the music being played.

You giggle and Joel rolls his eyes.

He eyes the rings on your fingers for the hundredth time that night.

He leans down and places a kiss against your temple.

Married.

And Joel is prepared to fight death to make sure you never part.

You giggle again and raise a brow at Joel, “what did you tell Tess?”

Joel looks towards the dance floor at your wedding reception finding the small tail of a blazer and a golden dress skirt weaving in and out of tables, laughter carrying over the sounds of feet dancing and two familiar soft animals clutched in their palms.

You follow his line of sight, laughter bubbling in your throat.

You meet his wink and grin, “well technically, it’s not a lie now anyway.”

[sexlapis]

Cecil Stedman… I love that old man and your fics have sent me into the atmosphere. I request, a part 2 of the “cece” fic 👀 perhaps the reader actually does put him into like acucute respiratory distress. And it makes for an interesting explanation to the rest of the staff. OR after reader teases Cece abt his age he rlly shows her still got it.

respiratory distress

⟢ cecil stedman x gn!reader

suggestive. sexual situations. fluff. crack. cecil being old

⤷ simply put, you drive cecil crazy.

wc: 587

a/n: no wait this is so funny

masterlist

*

“Jesus christ.” Cecil huffs as he collapses beside you in your bed. His face along with his bald head is a bright red. He huffs and puffs, puffing out his cheeks. His heart pellets against his chest like a steam train.

He knew he should’ve stopped at round two.

He probably bit off more than he can chew, allowing you to use and play with his body however you saw fit, up to your heart’s content but he can never say no to or resist you - not your eyes that sparkle with mischievousness, your pillowy lips, your delicate, feathery lashes, the demanding touch of your hands, the sweet melodies that pour out of your mouth and your malleable, irresistible body. And then he’s doing whatever you ask, abiding by your every beck and call with the click of your finger.

He lacks so much conviction it’s pathetic.

Cecil didn’t think he was the type of guy to so easily give into sex, to be so overcome with lust. He’s the director of the GDA for gods sake, he should have some more self-control.

But when you peer at him with eyes hooded with desire, wanting and wanton, a look reserved for him alone, any questions or apprehensions flitter away like butterflies.

You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

You grin at the after effects on Cecil. Seems like you did a number on him.

“Cece.” You hum, fitting your nude body right next to his. You place your hand in his quickly rising and falling chest. “Ce- oh my god. Your heart’s beating so fast. Are you okay?” You laugh nervously, a little bit concerned.

“No-no, I’m fine…just need a…few minutes.” Cecil wheezes out. He lets out a long, deep breath. “Jesus christ.”

You snort. A short wave of affection washes over you. Cecil acts so tough and stoic everywhere else and holds an immense amount of power and influence but he was really just your silly old man. One who reads newspapers every morning in his reading glasses, has the more than occasional knee or back pain and goes to extra lengths to hide his pin number.

That was your Cecil.

“You’re not gonna have a heart attack are you?”

Cecil closes his eyes. “Of course not-“”

“What do I tell the paramedics?

“Please stop.”

“No, no this is serious stuff!” You continue to tease, loving how impossibly red he’s gotten. “We should have lunch breaks in between rounds if it’s too much for you…extraneous exercise isn’t good for the elderly.”

Cecil glares at you.

You shrug. “Just a suggestion.”

Cecil huffs. “I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure? This gives a whole new meaning to ‘sucking the soul out of y’-“”

You yelp out loud yelp as the world briefly transforms into a whirlpool of limbs and bedsheets before you’re pinned onto the mattress. Cecil’s hands trap your wrists within his over your head.

He looks down at you, eyes lidded- still out of breath, face still rubicund and flushed - but now he’s domineering and far more confident than he was a few seconds ago, a dominant glint in his eye. What a sudden change.

“I said,” Cecil leans in close to you, lips a breath apart, “I’m fine. You think I can’t handle one little shit like you? Trust me, I’ve handled worse.”

Your eyes flicker, feeling shy under his steely gaze. Cecil can get like that sometimes; hot and cold, it makes him unpredictable. It makes him dangerous.

It’s tantalising.

“Why don’t you show me how you handle them then?”

He smirks at you, a rare action from him, hungry and wanting. “I thought you’d never ask.”

*

a/n: day 3 of wanting to get cecil pregnant.

[easterbonnet]

Tom Marvolo Riddle

by me

[blackmoonoracle]

This is a reading that is intended to bring light to some aspect of your inner mysteries, secrets, the intricacies of you & your life, aspects of yourself that you seem unable to grasp- or perhaps some hidden thing(s) from the past.

So today I ask the cards and spirits on your behalf-

...what hidden thing wants to reveal itself to you?

Dividers from @uzmacchiato

PILE ONE

Something about your outlook on life is shifting. It feels like you’re resurrecting, coming back to life after being emotionally stripped down. You may have reached a point where you felt like emotions only clouded your judgment, like you weren’t allowed to fully feel or connect with them. But this transformation you’re going through is immense and powerful- you are pulling yourself out of the darkness, breaking free from a period of deep isolation or struggle. It’s as if you’re digging yourself out of a grave, reclaiming your place in the world.

You have been through so much and yet, you persevered. Even when it felt like everything was against you, you kept going. And now, it’s becoming clear- you are a survivor. You are finally giving yourself the emotional rest you need, and by doing so, you are aligning with your manifestations at a rapid pace.

A major emotional block is being lifted. Something that was keeping you from feeling the way you needed to in order to bring in love, happiness, and connection is being uncovered. You are maybe uncovering subconscious patterns that were keeping you in a bad place- just becoming aware of it is enough to start shifting everything in your favor. The things you’ve desired for so long are beginning to make their way to you.

Right now, the message is to keep your mind calm and maintain balance. Even when your thoughts feel chaotic, even when doubt creeps in, don’t let it throw you off course. You are undoing cycles of self-sabotage, and that kind of transformation isn’t always comfortable. At times, it may feel like you’re splitting in two, but this isn’t a break- it’s deep integration.

You are reaching a point of mastery over yourself, a level of self-awareness and discipline that allows you to finally take control of your life. The aspects of you that once held you back no longer have power over you- instead, you are reclaiming them, transforming them, and stepping into your full potential.

PILE TWO

For some of you, this could be about sexuality or sexual exploration. This could also be about sensuality.

Some of you may have gone through loss or an experience that left you feeling unsafe or insecure. Perhaps a connection ended, or something happened that made you feel less valuable, less worthy, or less stable. It may feel like you’re constantly trying to balance everything just to get through these troubled times.

What’s being revealed to you is that this was all a test. These experiences- these painful lessons- were all tests. You are being challenged to look beyond what is visible right now. You are creating something that cannot yet be seen, and it’s not meant to be visible yet, because this is something you first have to cultivate within yourself. For some of you, I’m hearing this could be about a sense of inner or even outer beauty.

This could also be about recognizing your own strength, your own tact, your own intellect, and your own ability to thrive and succeed. Perhaps some of you have struggled with codependency, or you could be avoidant.

Some of you may be prideful and struggle to accept help- you have a lot of pride and don’t know how to accept help. But help is coming.

Someone may be moving toward you romantically, possibly, and you don’t see it yet.

I feel like you get caught up in the duality of things, swinging so heavily between the good and the bad that you forget to see the neutral or the bigger picture. But someone is coming through. For some of you, this person may want to save you, help you, do something with you, or move with you. But they are coming through, and they want to build you up. This is being revealed or unveiled in some way- perhaps someone is coming toward you in a way that is unexpected.

PILE THREE

Something is being revealed to you, and it’s related to a past connection- one that was very damaging and created a lot of internal struggles for you. There could have been significant emotional loss in this connection. It wasn’t just a small issue; this person made you question everything about yourself. You became an overthinker, and they planted seeds of doubt in your mind, intentionally trying to destabilize you. But now, you’re going to be leaving those seeds behind and walking your own path.

You’ve been through so much pain, trauma, and betrayal, and there’s a rebirth happening. You’ve persevered through it all, and you're finally moving away from these wounds. It could have been three particular people who really hurt you, or it could have been several people, but only three actually succeeded in betraying you. Or perhaps you were backstabbed by a group of 3 people. The truth is coming out, though, and someone is going to get exposed for what they did to you—it wasn’t a small thing, it was deeply painful and cruel.

This person has not let go of you. They still think about you constantly and wish ill on you. They don’t want you to succeed, and they may still be trying to manipulate you. With the Hermit here, it’s clear they want you to be alone. They could even be trying to use witchcraft to keep you isolated. But no- they are not justified.

You are protected, & you are going through some form of spiritual initiation, and through that process this person’s true intentions are going to be revealed. Other people are going to begin seeing the duality of this person. They’ve been putting on an act, and now the truth about them is going to come to light.

This person has been trying to create a narrative that puts you at fault while they play the role of the victim, claiming they were emotionally available and good. But the truth is that their stubbornness, entitlement, and how they treated you are being exposed. Slowly, others are seeing through them, and your reputation is shifting as the truth unfolds.

They’ve been using you as a crutch for their ego, and it’s clear they’ve learned nothing from the situation. They are setting themselves up for the consequences, and soon enough, everyone will see the role they played in hurting you. You are rising above this, and the truth will be made clear to everyone around you.

[traflawgar]

Hello! I have no idea if your inbox is open (I looked over the pinned post twice and it says nothing about it being open or closed so I’m just assuming it’s open) but could I please ask for hcs of law finding out his crewmate/crush can’t die after watching her take a bullet to the heart and die momentarily in front of him, only for her to just sit up again like “guh! Did I die again?!” And law just freaks out more cause he thought she was just a good sharp shooter, what you mean you can’t die?!! (If it’s too confusing just think of her having Deadpool’s powers, she can self heal too fast to actually stay dead)

Law x reader. ANGST.

TAGS: death but like not really, Law thinks reader died. blood, I guess?

divider by @/uzmacchiato.

NOTES--I want to say I really liked this request. I'm not sure if the result is exactly what you had in mind, but I really like how it turned out. Though I'm not sure if this qualifies as headcanons anymore lmao.

Law is no stranger to dreams—or, rather, nightmares— of you dying. He has spent countless nights tossing and turning, devising different ways to save you right before a fatal wound. Just to ease his mind and heart. On his worst nights, he’d be damned to losing you over and over again in his mind.

The scene unfolding in front of him feels so familiar that it takes him a second to react.

It’s a second too late. Enough for the bullet to pierce through you.

His hands mirror yours as they come up to hold his chest, as if he, too, has been hit. The ache spreading through his body almost convinces him he has. The blood leaking through your fingers—yours, not his. yours—brings him back. His body stumbles to reach you as you fall to the ground. His knees give out before he’s even by your side.

“Fuck, not a–” Your words go unheard. 

Crawling to you, Law opens his mouth to call your name. He’s not sure if any sound comes out—the blood rushing in his ears has swallowed every noise in the battlefield—but your head turns to him nevertheless. Glossy eyes find his. The shadow of a smile crosses your lips. Your hand reaches out. Bloodstained and trembling, it falls onto his lap.

You’re gone in an instant.

And all he can do is stare down at your face.

This is not how it’s supposed to happen.

Law’s hand shoots up to his mouth. It’s trembling. He can’t stop the trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

Wide eyes, unable to shed tears, search your face.

How could he have frozen when you needed him most?

Desperate, he gasps for air. His throat feels tight, his own body punishing him for letting this happen.

He was supposed to–

“That fucking asshole! This was my favorite shirt!”

Law blinks once, then twice. Grounds the hill of his hands against his eyes. For a second, he wonders if he’s finally gone mad. He has to have. He saw you die in front of him. He knows he did. And yet… the fog of death is gone from your eyes, replaced by the gleam he’s grown used to. And you’re complaining about something he can’t hear, something probably stupid.

You blink and look up. Alarm crosses your face as you take in the devastation in his. The flurry of words is out before you realize he’s not listening.

His hand hasn’t stopped trembling. It leaves his face and reaches out to you. Trembling fingers grip your shirt. Law pulls you in, wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly against his chest. It’s only then that tears begin pouring from his eyes. All at once, the rush in his ears is gone, and the sounds around him return full force. Your voice might as well have been an angel's calling, with how heavenly it sounded.

Once he manages to calm down, he uses his devil fruit powers to take you both to a quieter and safer place. Still, he doesn’t let go of you—probably won’t for a while—as he demands an explanation for the heartache he has just endured.

“I ate the Life Life Fruit, and now I sorta can’t die.” You begin. Law looks down at you expectantly. You are not getting off the hook so easily. “Basically, my body can self-heal almost any wound really fast. I’m not sure how it works exactly, but my best guess is that my brain and body redirect all energy to healing the wound… which would explain why I seem dead for a minute.”

You’re silent for a while. Law’s voice cracks when he finally speaks up, the sound breaks your heart. You’ve never seen your captain so vulnerable.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before.”

He nods curtly. He wants to glare at you, pulls you closer instead.

You wonder if he’ll ever let go, and hope he never will.

[mashtatosworld]

masterlist

welcome to mashtatosworld 🫶

kwon jiyong/gdragon

everything i wanted some peace of mind

4 seasons: the 'back to you' series masterlist

close to you stitches

only girl sucker talk that talk

lover boy(s) lover boys (2) lover boys (3) lover boys (4) lover boys (5)

lesson learned (1)

we can’t be friends

city lights

the one that got away

on set

dial-tone

your love is my favourite song(1) your love is my favourite song(2)

choi seunghyun/top

make you mine

how you get the girl

lover boy(s) lover boys (2) lover boys (3) lover boys (4) lover boys (5)

on and off stage

cant pretend

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen

all credit for the lovely dividers goes to @uzmacchiato!

[uzmacchiato]

BLOOD RED & BEIGE DIVIDER SET 🍒💅🏻💋

My fav color combination EVER.

Can't believe how these turned out. ( One of my most fav divider sets😭 )

IMPORTANT : If you use these dividers please tag @uzmacchiato for credit.

➡️ Masterlist ✨

( Images used are from Pinterest )

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