#how long will it take me to actually listen to among us?

[kathrynmjaneway]

ya girl finally preordered torchwood s7 but ya girl still also has never actually listened to the last 2 episodes of torchwood s6 :)

[teojira]

[Light] [Noa x GN!reader oneshot]

Summary: Noa wakes you up at an ungodly hour to go into the overgrown city.

Words: 2.5K+

Warnings: Mutual pinning (neither of you know yet), romance, Reader is insecure, self indulgence at its fucking finest. Gender neutral but Noa thinks you're pretty :)

A/N: I'm so in love with him it actually hurts LMAOO, literally a ache in my chest. I was listening to Light by sleeping at last while writing this <3 hence the title, I hope I got the energy right!

You weren't quite sure what Noa was planning, he had woken you up early, maybe an hour or two before sunrise.

Groaning and rolling away from his poking, he moves to trail a hand down to your side, jabbing his fingers there.

Your eyes fly open with a yelp, staring daggers into his head. You turn to him, and he has a small smirk on his face, laughing silently about the pout of your face.

He's already dressed in his normal attire, his feathered adorned to his person, a sling wrapped around his shoulder as well.

Noa watches your face take him in, and he hopes to anyone who's out there, to Caesar you can't tell how flushed he gets under your gaze. It's bad enough that everyone in the clan side eyes him because they know of his feelings for you. He hasn't worked up the nerve to tell you himself. He doesn't know what to do. He's both simultaneously enamored with you and your differences, but in the same vein, you're so different.

Sometimes, a part of him wishes he hadn't fallen for you. It'd be easier. It's easier to just be your friend and your protector, but falling for you was as easy as breathing.

You move to stretch out our limbs, groaning as you twist and turn, eyes still half lidded. The noise gaining his attention, his previous thoughts disappearing.

You're pretty like this, he thinks. You always do though, no matter what you're doing.

"What the fu-

Noa shoves a finger against your lips, gesturing for you to be quiet.

'I need you to come with me, important.' he signs, moving to grab at your hand, pulling you up. He forgets his strength a lot and yanks you into his chest. Your head knocks into him, and you yelp. In his defense, he didn't mean to!

"Sorry." He sniffs, using a large hand to rub at your forehead to soothe the ache there.

"This better be worth waking me up."

"It will be, come on."

Noa leads you down to the horses, a hand on the small of your back, pushing you to go faster.

"Noa, what is the rush? Is everything okay?" You dig your heels into the soft earth beneath you, looking at him with concern.

He's been unusually impatient.

It's early as hell in the morning, no one else is awake. Not even Dar is up and about and that woman is constantly moving.

"Everything is fine, you worry too much."

"I worry a normal amount, thank you very much." You stick your tongue out at him, moving a hand to rub at your eyes, to get rid of the crust lingering.

You both arrive at the hut where the horses are kept, you linger back as Noa goes inside to grab his. He's fast and efficient, checking the satchel strapped to the animal to make sure he has everything he needs for this impromptu trip he's taking you both on.

It's cute the way he gets in the zone, his eyes trained on his task.

Yawning, you're not processing Noa's words until he's right in front of you in the saddle. That was fast.

"Come, come. Do you want to ride with me or ride alone?" Noa always ask, and he knows the answer by now.

You always ride with him, just like you always go with him anywhere.

It's a running joke in the clan that you're Noa's shadow, always at his heels, asking if he needs anything or if there's something you can do in general.

You've come a long way since then, finding your place in the clan. Not needing to follow Noa like a lost puppy, but as it turns out, you can't shake the habit of being around Noa when you can. Without thinking, you find your way towards him.

A part of you is still insecure about your place among them, knowing just how different you are. Noa is your only true companion, you think. Dar is loving, but you're worried she doesn't like you, same with Anaya and Soona. No matter how much they say they love you, years of differences have made you insecure.

So you cling to Noa like a lifeline, despite knowing you shouldn't, surely he doesn't want to be around you all the time. It's not fair to him.

But Noa never let it show that he finds your differences bothersome, you couldn't lift what the others could? No worries, he'd adjust it for you, making you a pulley to help or helping you himself when he had the time.

Or if you didn't know how to fish or hunt, he'd take you and Soona, and Anaya would come with all three encouraging you and helping you learn. He'd ask his mother to teach you how to make garments and how to farm the earth. He always looked out for you, even if he wasn't around.

They never made you feel like a burden, Noa never made you feel like a burden.

How were you not supposed to love him? In every universe, you're sure you were to be in love with him in every single one.

"Help me up?" You ask sheepishly, lifting your arms up so he can grab onto you.

"Of course."

It's been about an hour or two, give or take on the ride to the overgrown city. Not that you'd know. With the warmth of Noa against your back and the steady movement of the horse, you've fallen asleep again.

Noa snorted when he realized, your body slumped into his, your hand loosely holding the saddles horn in a feeble attempt to not fall off.

He has to wrap an arm around your waist to make sure you didn't fall off or that what he tells himself.

Noa would never admit it, but he cherishes how easily you trust him, how comfortable you are with him, it makes him feel important, makes him feel loved. He'll give you shit for it, but nothing makes him happier.

You're only asleep for the last hour of the ride, breathing softly as Noa leads you both past the overgrown city, the hooves of the horse being the only noise being made.

"Here, wake up." He slows down the horse, pulling to a stop in front of a looming building, covered in greenery. He has not so great memories of it. Almost falling to his death would do that to you. But he won't take you that high. He'd never put you in danger.

His arm slips from your waist, moving to rub up and down your side as he tries and wakes you up for the second time today.

You let out a grumble. He feels it in his chest, and it makes him chuff, but open your eyes, blinking rapidly to get the sleep out of them.

Once he's positive, you won't fall without him propping you up. He demounts with an ease, his feet hitting the ground in a soft thump as he turns around to face you, holding his hands up so you can use him to get down yourself.

You move to grab his hands with your own, ignoring the spark that runs down your spine at the contact.

There are so many differences between you and Noa, too many to even begin to count, but the way his hands are similar to yours, the way he immediately holds you so gently, makes them seem insignificant. Is this what love is? It's weird.

Noa sets you down on the ground, smiling softly at you, then moving to wrap the reins around a piece of metal protuding out of the ground to ensure the horse doesn't go anywhere. Something he didn't use to do, but after the events of the last time he came into the city, he's not going to have that mistake happen again.

"We'll start climbing here." You crane your neck and balk at just how tall the structure is, it's a good couple of stories up, he's insane.

"Uh, Noa, I don't think you remember, but I can't really climb that high."

"I carry you, like I always do." He says it nonchalantly, shrugging with a shoulder.

"Noa, I'm heavy, no." It's always embarrassing when he carries you. It makes you blush, and you're terrified he can hear your heartbeat.

The look he shoots you is devastating.

"You always say that, you are not." He argues, looking offended on your behalf.

There's no point arguing with him about this.

You sigh and gesture for him to turn around so you can climb onto his back.

He does just that, crouching towards the ground.

You're always afraid of choking him out when you get on his back, so you take extra care to gently wrap your around around his neck, sliding your legs around his waist.

"Are you ready? It'll be a bit of a climb."

You let out a 'mhm.' Your brain too occupied with taking in his warmth and his scent, mind all fuzzy at holding him.

"Hold on tight." He squeezes your thigh.

The climb is uneventful, mostly you filling in the silence with what you've done in thr last few days, Noa nodding and offering a hum here and there.

He finally stops, jostling you a bit to look at what he's come to show you.

A smile creeps along your face. It's Eagle eggs, four to be exact.

Despite the Eagle clan hand raising plenty of the birds, they don't do well breeding with their intervention, so to see a clutch is rare.

"Pick the egg that speaks to you the most."

You stare at the nest of eggs, taking in each one's complexion. It's hard, you have no idea why you have to choose. You figure Noa just wants your input, so you take it seriously.

Within a minute, you decide to point to the biggest egg in the center. The eggshell is freckled, and it stands out the most among its siblings.

"I like that one." You say softly in Noas ear. He nods and scoops it up, taking care to put it in the sling.

"Was that it? Can we go home now?" You rest your head on his own, holding back from nuzzling into his soft fur.

"Yes, this is all I needed today."

After making a slow descent down the crumbling tower, Noa helps you get back onto the horse, throwing himself behind you. He moves the egg sling to be on his back, in order for you to be comfortable. (He wants you to lay against him so bad again)

The way home is filled with a comfortable silence, only breaking when you see fit.

It's always nice to spend time with Noa, but this particularly feels different, like something is innately changed in your relationship. You're probably imagining things though.

Noa stops shortly before the village, it not being more than an acre away.

Noa swings a leg off the saddle, falling down and reaching for your waist to lift you down as well.

He breaths out your name, continuing after a moment. "Before we go, I need to give you something. Close your eyes."

You lift an eyebrow at him, but do as you're told. It's Noa, you trust him with everything in you, so your eyes slide closed.

Noa ruffles with something, cursing quietly under his breath. It makes you giggle, you had been teaching him some human vocabulary, alot of curse words included.

You're a bit startled when you feel him brush your hair away from your face, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. The blush that threatens to overtake your face is insane, and you hope he thinks it's just because the sun is beaming down on the both of you.

You feel something be placed over your head, sliding down and stopping at your chest.

Noa takes a second to readjust it, making sure it's snug and resting comfortably on you.

"Open now."

Peeling your eyes open, you're greeted with a blinding smile by him, and your mouth goes dry for a second at it. Yes, he has always been handsome, but the way he's looking at you now, the way his eyes are shining with happiness, it's a lot to take in. He's so handsome and he doesn't even know it.

Noa doesn't notice your internal dilemma over him, nodding his head towards your chest, still beaming with pride.

You snap yourself out of your Noa fueled daze, eyes going down to your chest.

It's the egg you chose.

Confusion fills your brain for a second.

"This is your egg, why am I carrying it?"

Noa told you all about how his egg was crushed the first time he got it, and how a downward spiral that moment had lead to.

Even though he had Eagle son now, you had figured he still wanted his own, to say he had done it for his late father.

"No, this is your egg."

"What?"

"Your egg, your Eagle to raise."

"Noa-"

"Noa, nothing. You are part of us. You get an eagle."

"Noa, I'm not. This is special to your clan. Someone else should have my egg." You try and carefully slip the sling from your neck, but Noa beats you, his hands inclosing around your own to stop you.

"You are apart of the clan." He murmurs, pushing your hands down until they're at your side. His hands then come back to your face, holding your cheeks gently.

"You're not an outsider."

The lump in your throat is suffocating, your eyes well past the point of welling up. Salty tears having no consideration for how embarrassing it is for you to cry over this.

Noa hums, this thumbs coming up to brush them away, still smiling, his eyes willed with warmth and his smile just the more softer.

He pulls you in then, resting his forehead on yours, a hand against the back of your head.

You let out a shuddering breath, smiling so hard it starts to hurt.

"You're apart of me."

"Noa! My Eagle hatched!" You're sprinting to him, he just got home from exploration with Anaya. You've missed him, even more than usual.

You move to grab his hand, trying with all your might to pull him off to drag him to the Eagle area.

Anaya shoots a look to Noa, a smug smirk on his face.

"Noa you go, your mate needs you." He teases, dismounting his horse, grabbing Noas reins from him.

Noa sputters, quickly signing that no, you two are not mates, at least not yet. He hasn't even asked if you liked him yet! He's told Anaya this on the trip, many times, after many rounds of teasing.

You don't understand their signing that well yet, so you tug at Noas hand again, intertwining your fingers.

"Noaaa, come on!" You whine.

Noa is sure he'd do just about anything you asked of him, and then some. So he gets off the mount and runs with you.

Anaya snorts, shaking his head good-naturedly.

"Not mates, as if."

[luminiamore]

CORPORATE ESPIONAGE.

synopsis: in a world where vampires run powerful corporations, satoru gojo is a high-ranking ceo and a highly respected vampire. you, working for his rival corporation, are sent to infiltrate satoru's company and steal valuable secrets. it didn’t take long for him for to catch you, and he’s not gonna let you go so easily.

warnings: vampire satoru x black reader, enemies to lovers kinda? vampires use compulsion, wall sex, office sex, eater toru

——-

“You want me to what?”

You manage to break the demeaning silence in your boss’s dimly lit office with your sharp voice. Your breath was erratic, almost enraged by the words that had just come out of his mouth. The fucking audacity to even ask this of you.

He groans, shaking his head as he buries his hands in them, “Spy on Kisetsu no Bi.”

Oh. So, you weren’t hearing things. He really expects you to do this- spy on the rival company. Isn’t that a crime somewhere? This is illegal, right? I mean, what kind of boss even asks this of their highest-paid employee? No. No way.

“If this wasn’t important, I wouldn’t have asked- especially because I know how much effort you put in-”

You scoff, “So, this is the thanks I get? A crazy request to do something illegal? I’m not a fucking-”

“This isn’t a request, ( ♥︎ ). It’s either you do it, or you’re out of a job; that’s final.” His voice gets lower in pitch, and you don’t even flinch when he slams his hands on the table, baring his fangs at you in a chilling hiss.

You stay in your spot by the door and allow the silence to simmer. He should know better than to raise his voice at you, even if he were your boss. His heavy breathing was all that could be heard. When he saw the furious expression on your face, he quickly sat back in his chair. Realizing this was not the right approach, he attempted to find another angle.

He clears his throat, “My bad, that was rude. I deeply respect you ( ♥︎ ), and you’re among the few people I trust. That’s why I’m asking for your help with this, for this company.”

You still don’t say a word, but at least a thousand thoughts are circling in your pretty head. Even so, you move slowly towards the chair in front of his table and sit down, crossing one of your brown legs over the other. You adjust your white blouse, covering the accidental peak of your black bra. A slight shift of your head lets him know that you are listening.

He grumbles, eyes trying to stay focused on your face and not your plump body, “You know our rival company is owned by a man named Satoru Gojo. We have always been second to that arrogant bastard, but if we—”

“By which you mean me.”

You watch Toji roll his eyes, “If you could find something, anything that could ruin him, it’ll finally put us on top.”

It sounds reasonable- to a large extent, but could you even get away with this? What if you get caught? What if the media covers this? Could it ruin you?. It’ll plummet this company to the ground. Though Toji may be second right now, he’s still highly respected, even overseas. Almost on the level Satoru is.

“Why don’t you hire a professional? Someone who actually knows how to do this might work better in your favor.” You mutter out.

At this point, you’ll create any excuse to get out of this.

“Everyone knows who I am, you can’t trust anyone to not spread it to the media- no matter how much you pay them.”

“Won’t he know who I am? I mean, I’ve worked here for like 4 years.”

A tired smile graces his face, “You work from home, sweetheart. You only come in once every month, 3 weeks if I’m lucky.”

“What if I get caught? Respectfully, this is insane, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your face twists into an exasperated expression. You didn’t sign up to be no damn spy.

A loud groan breaks you out of your thoughts, “Christ, I’ll triple your pay. Whether you get the job done or fail, you’ll be compensated for it.” There it is. Suddenly, doing this job didn’t sound too horrible. You try to fight the smile on glossed lips, but your boss can see right through you.

“Yeah? I should’ve started with that.” He chuckles.

This time, you roll your eyes, “Whatever. Quadruple it for raising your grown man voice at me.”

“Sure. You’re obviously going under a different name. I have your documents right here, and they contain everything you’ll need.” You watch him pull out a thick folder from under his desk.

When he hands it to you, you’re more than surprised at how much he put into this. There’s a fat document that explains your entire new persona. …Kami Smith? Really? There’s a fake Id, he even went got you a fucking passport. How long did he plan to drag this out? “Maybe change your hair a little bit, you never know if someone might recognize you anyway.”

“I change my hair every week, Mr. Fushiguro. How am I even gonna get a job there?”

He hums, pretending to ponder over your question, “You’re a pretty girl. Don’t get pissed, but apart from how smart you are, it’s the reason you got a job here.”

You narrow your eyes, and he winces, noticing immediately, “I said not to get pissed.”

“Is that all, boss?” You rise from your seat, ignoring his words. With another roll of your eyes, the yellow folder is clutched tightly in your left hand.

Though you want to pretend you’re thinking this over, you know you have no choice but to go through with this. At least you’ll be getting paid, and you don’t have much of a social life to worry about being on the media anyway. You just really hope you don’t go to court over this.

“That’s all, ( ♥︎ ). Be careful, yeah?” Toji jerks his head over to you, though subtle, genuine concern covering his features. It makes you smile, feel giddy even. Sue you for thinking your boss is hot.

You give him a pretty smile and a nod. Toji listens as your kitten heels clack on his tile floors, his eyes never once leaving your frame in that tight pencil skirt. He hates to see you go, but he loves to watch you leave.

He snaps his head up when your voice calls out once more, “Have a good night, Mr. Fushiguro.”

And with the soft click of his door, he’s alone in his office again. He huffs out a breath, spewing curses under his breath, when he accidentally nicks his lower lip on his sharp fang. “Damn.”

——

It turns out your boss was right. You are a pretty girl. Therefore, it didn’t take long for you to get an interview at his rival company, 2 days to be exact. You were rather impressionable, too, so much so that Satoru wanted to interview you himself.

Nervous was an understatement. Could you really pull this off? You never had a liking for Satoru. He was arrogant, self-centered, and a womanizer if the headlines weren’t so obsessed with him. You never met him, but you’ve seen enough online interviews for you to absolutely hate his personality.

His best friend and partner company is more tolerable, though. Even though he looks aloof and nonchalant, you could tell he’s just as arrogant - maybe even more than his white-haired companion. You pretended not to notice his piercing gaze the entire time you walked past him to the elevator, the one leading straight to the top of the skyscraper.

Your outfit was nothing short of professional— a tight dark grey skirt encompassing your wide hips and your burgundy Hermes Porosus bag hanging on the shoulder of your cream silk blouse. Your rouge heels clack on the tile floor with each step you take to the large white office, which the receptionist told you was at the end of the hall.

You lift your soft hands into a fist, and right before you’re about to knock, the door swings open. And lo and behold, there he is.

Satoru Gojo, in all his glory.

The top two buttons of his dress shirt are loose, and you have to fight for your eyes not to waver down to sneak a glance at his porcelain chest. He was attractive, you’re not stupid enough to try and deny that. His eyes had a pretty crystalline glow. They were penetrating- you felt like he knew everything about you with just one look. His hair was frosty, and it looked so... soft.

It was quick, a heated vision of your fingers running through them, tugging and—

“Enjoying the view, angel?”

You blink quickly, snapping your eyes away from his face when you cause a smirking dancing across his lips. Great, he caught you staring. “No. I’m here for our interview, for the job?”

His grin widens, and with a snicker, you hear, “You sure? Could’ve sworn you were drooling a bit there.”

“I was not.” You snap.

Satoru hums, obviously unconvinced, “You’re Kami, hm?”

Your loose curls shake as you nod. It was impossible not to notice- or overanalyze- the way he spoke. Almost like he was doubtful or suspicious of you even. Maybe you’re just overthinking it. There’s no way he already suspects you. Part of you thinks you’re also nodding to convince yourself of your inner turmoil.

He opens the door a little to let you in. An electric surge flows through your body when your arms graze his shoulder because he simply won’t budge until you completely come inside. He leads you to a soft couch with a swift grasp of your hand. As his fingers rub back and forth on your muscles, you can’t help but wonder if he does this to every new potential hire.

The room suddenly feels hot, and you find yourself slightly grateful when he breaks the silence as he’s rounding his own chair, “Where ya from, angel?”

You ignore the tingling in your stomach at the nickname “New York.”

Your answer is immediate. You and your best friend spent an entire day going over the document until you memorized everything. You covered all grounds. You're sure you can answer any question he throws at you about your background.

Another low hum as you watch him click away on his computer, “So, why are you looking for a job in Tokyo?”

“I decided to take my business degree oversees, I needed a new change of scenery.”

If you were pressed on the actual reason for your visit to Japan years ago, you would not be capable of giving an answer. Your memory has a gap between before and after you came. All you really remember is waking up in a Japanese penthouse with at least a million yen in your bank account.

Satoru abruptly stops his typing and leans back in his chair, his attention now and utterly focused on you. “You know, getting an interview here is not easy.”

Internally, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes, Mr. Gojo. Which is why I’m very grateful for this opportunity.”

The silence following your sentence is so loud you could hear a pin drop. It makes you shift your position on the couch, and Satoru doesn’t grant you the mercy of not noticing. His low eyes actually don’t leave your frame once. They move from your thighs to your lips, to the fat of your supple breasts, and finally to your neck. It goes straight to your core, and you can’t stand it.

You clear your throat, “I can explain my-”

“You’re hired.”

You blink, once. Twice.

“I-uh- what?” A sputter in your words makes him stifle a chuckle at your perplexed state. You’re too cute.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he repeats, “The position you wanted? It’s yours, angel.”

There’s that pet name again. “Just like that? You haven’t even asked me five questions.”

Was it that simple? His tone and quickness make you question whether there are cameras in this place. Too many red flags go off in your head, but you don’t seem to notice that brewing gut feeling in your stomach.

Satoru nodded, his smile almost blinding with how wide it was, “Don’t need to. You’re gonna be working in the office next to mine.”

This is convenient. It’s way too convenient.

“Next to yours?” You whisper as if trying to make sense of this, and the tall man in front of you finds heavy amusement in your reactions.

“Next to mine, angel. That won’t be a problem, yes?”

He’s toying with you. He has to be. A fake smile graces your face, “Of course not. When do I start, Mr. Gojo?”

Satoru had no idea how much he had missed you until he saw you again. Changing your hair, growing into your body, or getting a few more piercings were irrelevant to him. He would always recognize you. How is it that you’re even more beautiful? Even more delectable. He hates himself for leaving you and protecting you in the worst way possible. You don’t even remember him— how could you? He compelled you to forget him.

He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve been seeing, or what you’ve been doing. But he saw you, overseeing the admissions director when they pulled up your application. He couldn’t help but think, is this fate?

“Today. Let me give you a tour, angel.” Satoru isn’t letting you go a second time. He lost you once, and he’d be a fool to do it again after this opportunity presented itself to him. How I missed you, my love.

——

Two weeks. That’s how long it took you to actually start your task in the first place. That’s because the owner of this company won’t leave you alone for a damn minute. Everywhere you go, he’s right behind you. Every time you try and get a minute to yourself, he’s there— pestering you.

The workplace was crowded, but one of the perks of being next to Satoru’s office was being away from the crowd. You tried observing when he leaves for lunch, but whenever he does, he demands that you take your lunch with him. He’s a busy man; you anticipate that he takes as many meetings as Toji does in a day, maybe even more. But for each one, you were requested to accompany him.

At this point, you’re starting to think he’s obsessed with you.

Today, you have a chance. Satoru hasn’t been in the office since this morning, and amid the daily gossip, you caught word that he won’t be in the office all day. This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for; you just have to wait until everyone leaves by five.

4:55 P.M.

Your door creaks slightly after two soft knocks, “Hey, Kami! I’m leaving for tonight. Since you’re the only person in the office, you mind locking up?”

Shoko was always a kind person. She was one of the few people you spoke to every day when Satoru wasn’t corning you. You stop typing and glance at the gorgeous girl with a grin, “Not at all, you can just leave the keys on the door. Night, Shoko!”

The final ding of the elevator is what you wait for to get up from your seat. Even though you’re the only person here, you still try to make your movements as quiet as possible. You don’t question why Satoru doesn’t have a security code or why it’s open at all, but you are thankful for it.

His office is more.. organized than the last time you were in here. There are storage cabinets stacked on both the wall and his desk, as well as a bookshelf. You’re fast at getting to work. Starting near his wall, you open the first cabinet and shuffle through each folder. Blood supply contracts... NDAs.. employee files.. property deeds.

Nothing of importance is there, so your heels lightly clack on the way to his wooden desk. When you open it, the first thing you notice is a folder called The Red Files. Here it is, exactly what you were searching for. This file is stuffed with everything that could put him out of business permanently— money laundering, the files of all the individuals who were bribed and corrupted by this company, and even embezzlement.

You can hear a buzzing going off on your phone, and you’re confused when you read that it’s Toji calling you. He could have been phoning to check on your progress, but regardless, you decline and continue reading. The more you scan, the more you find illegal activities on top of illegal activities.

What the fuck kind of company is this—

“Find anything interesting in there, angel?”

You gasp, shoving the papers into his desk shelf instinctively as you stand up from your position on the floor. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re so fucked.

You try to stammer out a response, but it’s honestly embarrassing how you’re tripping over your words, “M-Mr. Gojo? I— what?”

His slim body rests on his open door, his gaze unwavering at your slightly quivering frame. He’s wearing a white dress shirt again, but when you look a little closer, you notice that more buttons are popped open. His skin is so smooth, it’s easy to tell where his abs start. Why did he have to be so fine?

He doesn’t seem upset if you’re going by the smile on his smooth face. He seems amused, rather. His voice is slow when he speaks to you, taunting sensual even, “Well? Did you, ( ♥︎ )?”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you’re certain that your breath has been taken away. Well, now you’re double fucked. You didn’t hear him, how did he even get here? Then you roll your eyes again at your ignorance. Vampire. Right.

“..I don’t know who that is, Mr. Gojo. My name is Kami.” Your voice is tense, awkward because… what could you even say? You’ll deny this as much as you can before you inevitably give in.

Satoru rolls his eyes, “Wrong. Your name is ( ♥︎ ) ( ♥︎ ), and you work for that idiot, Fushiguro.”

Now you’re sputtering as you respond, “That’s not-”

“You woke up in Japan a few years ago, too, didn’t you? No clue how it happened, but you had a pretty hefty amount in that bank account of yours.”

Silence. You believe you’re too stunned to speak. How does he know that? He could see the expression on your face, and it made him laugh at your expense. Satoru began walking towards you, and with every step he took forward, you took a step backward. Right up until your back hit the wall, and you had nowhere to go.

His proximity resulted in the scent of his cologne hitting your nose. He appeared more.. bigger in front of you, and you’re almost facing his almost bare chest. Those piercing eyes stare down at you intensely, with so much passion. You’re internally cursing yourself for how you seem to only have these reactions when he’s near you.

You breathe, “I- I have to leave.”

He ignores you and instead presses closer to you. As he leans down, his hair brushes against your cheek, and you hear him breathe deeply. The hotness of his breath when he breathes out is a pleasant sensation for you.

He has to remind himself that you don’t remember him, but he sounds so broken when he says, “You spying on me? Really, angel?”

Your thoughts are confusing, and with how many of them there are, it’s making your head hurt. Why is he saying it like that? Like he knows you? Like you really hurt him. This is your first time seeing this man, but he’s acting like he’s in love with you.

“Mr. Gojo-”

His fang grazes your neck, descending right down to your collarbone, “Satoru. Call me Satoru, angel.”

You’re gasping when his fingers grip your top, pulling and popping one button off. Why aren’t you stopping him? Why are you letting this happen? Your breath is shaky when you speak, “Will I get in trouble for this?”

“In trouble? You’re asking if I’ll take this to the media? Course not, Angel.”

Satoru quickly savored your blood flowing onto his tongue after a small peck to your throat and another one on your chest. You taste so fucking sweet, just like you did the first time.

He continues, “But I won’t let you off so easy. Let’s teach you a lesson, hm?”

Your back is arching in an uncomfortable position on your boss’s desk while your chest heaves from the sheer pleasure running through your entire body. On his knees, the white-haired man holds your thighs in a tight grip while his tongue slides up and down your gushing mound. You’re not sure what lesson you thought Satoru had in mind for you, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The same hair you’ve been fantasizing about running your fingers through is shaking from in between your trembling legs. There aren’t any coherent thoughts in your brain besides ‘Satoru’ or ‘more.’ You can’t hold back your sounds even if you try, and Satoru finds that he wants to hear more of your tunes.

He slurps, his long tongue easily slipping inside you and devouring everything you have to offer. “God, you still taste so good.”

You’re babbling when you respond, you don’t even register his words, “Oh! Yesss- Right there, Toru.”

You’re bucking your hips into his awaiting mouth, it’s so messy and wet. Each time you spasm and try to run away from his onslaught, it just makes him go harder- go faster. His tongue slipped out of you, but the pressure never went away because he quickly slid in two long, slender fingers and began pumping.

You choked, tears brimming in your eyes as he easily nudged your g-spot, “Always so messy, f’me.”

Always? A pitiful sob is the response you give to a sharp pressure on the side of your inner thigh, just where your fat lips meet. You tighten your grip on him when his tongue wraps around your twitching clit. As you’re huffing, tears begin to fall, and burning pressure builds in your core.

The way your hips are grinding against his hand and your arousal is making obscene noises in the quiet of the office are uncontrollable. He curls them, arching them at an angle to penetrate the deepest parts of you. And damn him for knowing how to eat it like this.

There’s a pulsing shock flowing through you with every squelching pump. Your body was filled with euphoria, and Satoru’s eyes were tightly closed, immersing himself in your essence- it was giving you sensory overload. The only thing keeping you grounded in reality at this moment is your harsh grip on his hair.

Satoru needed only three more strokes of his fingers to have your sweet cream covering him. You’re even messier when you cum, even louder, too- he always loved that about you.

“Such a pretty girl. You want more, angel? Want Toru to give you more?” He abruptly withdraws and slaps your dripping lips violently, causing you to scream and cry in his grasp. Instead of giving you an answer, Satoru presses his lips on yours in a furious manner, sucking up the air you breathe and eating every sigh that passes through your lips.

Your soft ass makes it easy for the desperate man to lift you up from the wooden desk with both hands. Your skirt is long gone, and your blouse is completely torn apart when you are pressed tightly against the wall.

Satoru grips your chin and puts your attention on him, “Look at me, angel.”

And with hazy eyes, you do. You experience a plethora of memories as your mind spins. Memories of you and Satoru on a silk bed, on a private plane. Memories of him lying on you and memories of his cock filling you up over and over again start coming back to haunt you when he utters the word ‘Remember.’

You blink rapidly, your mouth opening into a wanton moan when you feel Satoru’s thick tip slide past your entrance. Jesus, huge doesn’t even begin to describe him. Your hands are immediately pressing against his stomach, trying to push him back because it was entirely too much. He grips them both with one hand and effortlessly presses them above your head.

You’re almost distracted by the fact that you’re face-to-face with Satoru. Your Satoru. Your words are a mix of a dragged-out moan and a curious tone, “Toru?”

He is quick when he answers you, almost reassuring you that he’s here. With you, “Yeah, angel. S’me.”

His next words come out in a pained groan, “Come on, take some more f’me. You remember how to, right?”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence, your trembling arms holding on for dear life around his neck as he presses his face into your chest. He’s pushing deeper inside you, and you find it hard to remember how to breathe when he slaps his hips against yours in one go. You’re wailing, breath heaving when you feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

You’re so full, filled to the brim with 8 inches of fat dick. Satoru was a fucking problem; he doesn’t wait for you to tell him to move— pulls his cock at a slow, agonizing pace before he slaps against you once more. Your pretty pussy is on fire, and you swear you can feel him in your throat.

Satoru is stabbing your womb with each thrust, and he is so proud of you when you start pushing your pussy out. Yeah, you remember how to take him.

He’s panting against your mouth when you tremble out, “Missed you- missed you s’much, Toru.”

He groans, pressing his lips against you for another quick, sloppy kiss, “Oh, I missed you so much more, angel.”

The man above you was quick and precise with his movements. He was punching that spongy spot in you so good if you looked down, you’d be sure to see the creamy paste that started forming at the base of his cock. He just wouldn’t stop talking, “You take it so well, fuck. I’m in your stomach, baby. You feel me?”

His unoccupied hand moves down to your tummy, right where he was poking with every harsh thrust he fed you, “Feel me right there?”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when Satoru kisses the ankle dangling by his head, and you try to gargle out an answer, “I-I feel you! So deep- so good.”

There was an itch inside you that only Satoru could ever scratch. He always treated your pussy so well, and you’re so far gone on the feel of him every time he slammed into you. Your boobs bounce with every forceful stroke, and when Satoru looks down at you, the only thoughts running through his brain are how good you look.

He can tell you’re close. Your screams are getting breathy, and your body is shaking more frantically under him. There’s no better feeling than this, he finds. No better feeling than your perfect cunt wrapped tightly around him as he fucks all coherence out of you. You didn’t look away from his eyes, from his face— he just looked so pretty when he was flushed and rutting into you like his life depended on it.

He breathes, his fangs poking right near your throat, “Looks like you’re gonna make a mess, angel. Gonna squirt all over me?”

“Y-Yess. Yes. M’gonna cum so-”

A groan in your ear makes you clench down harder on him, “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love how good I make you feel.”

You feel unapologetic when you desperately scream out, “Love it! L-Love the way you fuck me, I love you!”

“I love you, angel. Be a good girl and make a mess for Toru, yeah?”

You are being fucked out of your own soul as he goes even deeper than you imagined. When he bites harshly into your neck, your legs shake, and you can only gush all over him. He holds you like you weigh nothing as he holds the same pace, letting you ride out your entire orgasm.

Fuck, there's so much that it’s leaking on the floor, and that’s what does it for him. That’s all he needed for his balls to churn and for his breath to stutter as he dumps his thick cum inside your perfect haven. Your mind is so gone you don’t hear Satoru’s mindless whispers of how perfect you are.

You watch him as much as you can, as much as your orgasm allows you. You watch his perfect reaction, his brows furrowing, and the words getting stuck in his throat every time he twitches inside you from overstimulation.

Had it not been for the way he carried you and sat down in his chair, you would have assumed it was finished, but he ignored the juices leaking from you every time he moved. He’s still hard, painfully so— you didn’t have time to be worn out before he started slowly bouncing you on his erection again. Everything was messy, your fluids mixing and dripping beneath you two, and the blood from your neck dripping slightly onto your chest. You cried out on his shoulder.

You were aware that there would be a lot to discuss within the next few hours. How Satoru compelled you and forced you to forget him, and how you still legally worked for Toji. You had no idea what you would even say to him, but with each steady bounce on Satoru’s heavy cock, you just don’t find yourself caring at all.

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[please1mistress]

WARNING Flashing IMAGE and HYPNOTIC COVERT language

Inductions

Hypnosis, a fascinating and complex phenomenon, has captivated human interest for centuries. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People often think of hypnosis as a deep sleep or unconsciousness, but in reality, it's more about a trance-like state where the individual is actually in heightened awareness of suggestion. Often used for therapeutic purposes, hypnosis can aid in various issues such as stress, anxiety, pain management, and certain habits like smoking. However, it's not a magical cure-all; its effectiveness varies from person to person.

Hypnosis can also be a form of entertainment, where stage hypnotists perform shows that demonstrate the power of suggestion. Despite its many applications, hypnosis remains a subject of debate among scientists and psychologists. Some view it as a powerful tool for mental health, while others caution against its potential to create false memories or its use in recovering memories, which is a controversial area within the field. It's important to approach hypnosis with a critical mind and understand that it's a complex interplay of psychological and physiological factors. If you're considering hypnotherapy, it's crucial to seek out a qualified and certified professional to ensure a safe and beneficial experience, someone like me.

You find yourself reading these words and as you read they seem to take on a life of their own, almost like magic. Your mind slows as you red larger more complex words and you may feel a soft tingle of arousal as you FOCUS on my words and feel dreamy. It's quite fascinating how the complexity of words can influence our cognitive processes. When we encounter larger, more intricate words, our brains need to work harder to decode the meaning, which can sometimes slow down your reading speed. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; it allows for deeper processing and understanding of the messages I am pushing softly into your mind. It's easy to relax and follow the words you read. It's easy to feel dreamy as your mind accepts that it wants to drop deeper.

Dropping deeper feels good, as you touch yourself and keep reading you can let go of any inhibitions or control. it's so easy to sink into a light trance, after all entering a light trance can be a simple, yet profound experience. It's a state where the conscious mind takes a step back, allowing the subconscious to surface and express itself more freely. This can happen during various activities that engage the mind in a repetitive, rhythmic manner, such as listening to music, meditating, or even during a long drive. In this state, people often find their thoughts flowing more smoothly, their creativity heightened, and their stress levels reduced. It's a moment of introspection and connection with the inner self that can provide clarity and insight. While in a light trance, the mind filters information differently, prioritizing internal dialogue and sensation, which can lead to a deeper understanding of one's thoughts and feelings. It's a natural and accessible state that can offer a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and a gateway to greater self-awareness.

You are not even aware of how deeply into the trance you are, your fingers stroking your arousal for me as you read and feel a dreamy warmth spreading from your fingers into your whole body. Aware but unaware that you could stop at anytime, but you don't want that, you want to keep reading and sinking deeper and deeper as you feel arousal growing more for me. It just feels so good to give in, the very act of giving, whether it's time, resources, or kindness, has a profound impact on your well-being. It transcends the material value of what is given and touches the very essence of human connection. When you give, you're not just passing on a physical item or a piece of advice; you're sharing a part of yourselves, creating a bond that reflects your shared humanity. This act of generosity can be deeply satisfying, as it often brings joy and relief to others, which in turn enriches your own life. It's a beautiful cycle of positivity that reinforces the best parts of being a good submissive.

Giving has been shown to activate regions in our brain associated with pleasure, social connection, and trust, creating a warm glow effect. It's no wonder that the phrase "it's better to give than to receive" has resonated through the ages. This isn't just a moral suggestion; it's backed by science. Studies have found that giving to others can increase our happiness more than spending money on ourselves. This might be because when we give, we feel a sense of purpose and meaning, knowing that we've made a positive impact on someone else's life.

Moreover, the act of giving doesn't have to be grandiose to be effective. Small acts of kindness can ripple outwards and have unforeseen positive consequences. Just as a pebble creates waves when thrown into a pond, a simple gesture of generosity can spread far and wide. It's the intention behind the act that matters most, the recognition that even the smallest offering can make a significant difference.

In a world that often emphasizes individual achievement and accumulation of wealth, it's important to remember the value of generosity. It's a reminder that our interconnectedness is a source of strength, not weakness. By giving, we acknowledge that we are part of a larger community, one that thrives when its members support each other. It's a powerful acknowledgment that we are not alone in our journey through life, and that by helping others, we are also helping ourselves.

So, when we say it feels good to give in, it's not just about the act of giving up or surrendering; it's about embracing the joy of generosity. It's a celebration of the human spirit and its capacity for compassion and empathy. Giving is an affirmation that, despite the challenges we face, there is goodness in the world, and we have the power to contribute to it, one act of kindness at a time. It's a simple truth that enriches our lives and the lives of those around us, creating a legacy of goodwill that can endure beyond our own existence. Indeed, to give is to receive a gift of immeasurable value—the happiness and satisfaction that come from knowing we've played a part in making the world a little brighter.

You want to give in more deeply, message me and tell me how much you need deeper brainwashing NOW!

[bettsfic]

Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

[circeyoru]

Loyalty of The Shadow

[Sung Jin-Woo x Friend!Reader]

“Huh?” You blinked with a questioned gaze while Jinwoo tried his best to get you to see something that wasn’t there. You wondered if he hit his head or if he still wasn’t back to his senses from the double dungeon he survived. There he is, trying to tell you about some system that would help him level up and sent him to the desert just because he didn’t finish his daily quest.

Though, with how desperate Jinwoo was, you just nodded and tried to understand and sympathize with him. Even when you lack the knowledge of what was going on and what he was talking about. What you thought was a phase turned out to be wrong as he continued his ‘daily missions’ from the system. When you urged him to rest, he told you ‘no’ and continued even though he was exhausted. So you stood by him and encouraged him when he was about to give up. 

It might have been a few days or maybe a week or so when you were too busy with your life that you missed some visits to Jinwoo here and there, but when you got back to him, he was different.

No, that was an understatement.

He was taller, buffer, and more handsome? Well, he was cute before, but now he was all mature and hot. Not that you’ll admit it. When you first saw him again, you blankly told him, “Sorry, can I have your number?”

“Huh? It’s me! Sung Jinwoo.”

“Haha, nice joke. But I’m going to snatch you up before anyone. Jinwoo would understand, I’m sure.”

Until now, he still thought you were playing a joke on him and didn’t recognize him. Since his sister recognized him and just said he gone abs and got taller. Your reaction was unexpected and it got Jinwoo fearing. If you were to meet another person more handsome than him, would you do the same advances. 

You’re not that shallow, while you would ask for numbers, you don’t actually do anything with them and just let it be a moment where you refreshed yourself. You knew handsome people were out of your league. It was funny, however, when Jinwoo was calling to ask if you had someone in mind from time to time. You told him countless times that you never made romantic advances to anyone (including him sadly). 

But back to his little secret of leveling up. You believed it when he showed you how strong he was at a training center, destroying all the dummys and targets with ease. That wasn’t the best part. To you, the best part was that he had someone to rely on while he was in battles and raids. 

You’ve long heard of the rumoured ‘lizards’ among the Hunters, them using weaker and lower ranked Hunters to use as bait for the monsters within the gates, then keeping the benefits and money for themselves. Truly wicked people. 

As Jinwoo’s title as the weakest was latched onto him for the longest time, you can’t help but worry everytime he went to a raid. Abusing your connections, you’d keep an eye out for Hunters that would take advantage of Jinwoo, luckily, he soon found a crew that would welcome him and help him. You were furious when those same people felt Jinwoo in that double dungeon.

Now, Jinwoo has a loyal group that would stand by his side. The Shadow Army. 

When Jinwoo first summoned them before you, he told them they have to listen to your commands as well. You hummed and made them do silly things, even had them acting like slaves and to treat Jinwoo like the king he is. Even though they would do so without your demands. Jinwoo didn’t stop your madness but he did question why you were doing all that. 

In the end, you voided all your commands and had them all kneel before Jinwoo while he was seated in an armchair. You stood by his side and smiled while you poked Jinwoo’s cheek, “Please watch over Jinwoo in my stead while he’s in battles I can’t join. You guys are the ones he can truly rely on everywhere and anywhere.”

His Shadows all bowed their heads while Jinwoo looked at you with an expression you can’t understand. 

The day came and Jinwoo was reevaluated for his rank, no surprise that he made an error of things. Korea’s 10th S-Rank Hunter, you already knew the headlines would be a buzz with such a talented man. You were waiting for the day that people would name him the strongest and not the weakest. And laughed like mad did you when his silly expression was broadcasted to the news. 

“Igris! He looks so silly!! Hahahhaa!!” You laughed to the point you nearly fell but the loyal knight caught you, still you didn’t stop laughing your head off. “Look at that face!”

With that reveal and look, you forgive him for not telling you about his little mining incident with the Hunters Guild. While it wasn’t his intention to reveal himself, he did catch the attention of a certain S-Rank Hunter. You egged him so long if he felt anything for her, to which he said no and told you to drop it. You shrugged and that was the last conversation you two had before he went for another dungeon raid arranged by the system he has. 

You were in the hospital looking after Jinwoo’s mother when he suddenly appeared with a serious look on his face, in his hand, he held something. You left the room and let him have his time with his mother, you stayed in the hallway and just waited. You waited until an hour or two passed before you entered the room again, you nearly dropped the beraverage in your hands when you saw what you did. 

“Sh.” Her angelic figure gave you a soft smile while a finger was raised to her lips to make a shush motion, you noticed her other hand combing through Jinwoo’s hair meanwhile the man was out cold by his mother’s side. 

You nodded and turned to manage the paperworks so Jinwoo could leave with his mother without delay when he wakes, you also called Jinah and just said ‘come to the hospital’ without any elaboration. Truly, it’s a day to celebrate. 

“This is a giant ant.” You stared at the ant Shadow in front of you named Beru.

“Kekekeke…”

“Can I leave him with you and maybe have you teach him how to act normal?” Jinwoo asked as you turned away from the Shadow. 

“Why does he need that? He’ll listen what you say anyways.” Your head tilted with confusion. 

“He was a killing machine before and I just… It’s a pre-caution.” Jinwoo sighed. 

You smirked, “Hmm… No take backs though.”

Jinwoo nodded, “I have full faith in your teachings.” And with that he left you with Beru.

You turned to the ant who was still standing and towering over you. “Hmm, so the first thing you need to understand.” Beru’s head tilted, “Is that Jinwoo is a King above all Kings.”

“Kekekekekeke!!” 

“Jinwoo is the only one that can save the world if it’s ever in anymore crisis.”

“Kekekekekeke!!”

“So, you need to address him with the right he has. Since you’re the only one he can talk to at the moment, you must lead by example.” 

“Kekeke!”

You smirked, “Let’s start with some titles.”

Well, teaching Beru was a bit hard since he only communicates with monster, or insect, tongue. But you had this feeling that Beru was an excellent student and he learned everything that you taught him. You knew Beru doesn’t disappoint. 

“So, is there a reason why Beru calls me ‘My Liege’ and speaks all… weird like to me?” Jinwoo questioned while you two were enjoying a lunch at his usual spot, Korean BBQ.

“Hm? I just taught him the normal stuff.” You spoke as you cooked a piece of meat. “I don’t exactly know what he says as a response since it’s all insect noises that comes out for me.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

“You can’t understand them?” Jinwoo looked at you in disbelief.

“You don’t know I can’t understand them?” You looked back at him in confusion.

“I thought you could understand all this time.” Jinwoo exclaimed in mild panic. “Because you were understanding them so well and they were following your words easily!”

Your head tilted, “I just read the mood. Plus we all have one thing in mind.”

Jinwoo’s face twisted to a look of denial. “What thing?”

“Serving you like the king you are!”

Jinwoo could feel the Shadows shifting and cheering from your words while you remained ignorant of what you’ve done. He was thankful that you can’t understand them while you were peacefully cooking your food and bumping some into his bowl and he was trying to calm down from the words of his soldiers. 

“The Queen is right!”

“When are you going to make a move?”

“I want to serve the Queen!”

“My Liege, your Queen is perfect!”

Jinwoo would agree that you’re perfect and he has been waiting for the moment he confesses to you, but he can’t seem to find the right timing or place when he was that busy with his S-Rank. He knows that more than just calling you his, he wants to make you his.

“Soon.”

“Huh? You said something?” You looked up to see his smile. 

Jinwoo chuckled and gave you a toast, “Nothing, just answering something my Shadows said.”

Note: Haha. Shh. I'm in another fandom. Originally I wasn't going to post this story until my writing motivation stayed longer and I had more pieces, but I was encouraged by a friend of mine @forbidden-sunlight to. And here it is! Hope you enjoyed this~

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

[extrajigs]

Wanted to figure out how chimera’s wrote and ended up starting on their written language proper. MASSIVE info dump below! 

Writing

They write using four fingers of one hand, usually the right, coated in ink. Think like a stamp almost. The three middle fingers draw with the tips of the teeth whilst the thumb will alternate between tip and back. All words are written simultaneously inward. The remaining fingers grip the source of ink, usually a length of hardened pigment only wetted on one side OR those who write often could invest in a pen. A pen for a chimera is a fanning brush saturated with ink that the writing teeth brush through when needing to reink. It allows for much faster wetting of the teeth, but can be messy when learning or refilling. 

Most chimera are right handed but left handed individuals exist, they will simply need to learn to use the two fingers opposite the middle in reverse of how someone who is right handed would! Luckily all fingers can move pretty independently of each other and it is an easy task.  As chimera mostly communicate through direct broadcast most find the written word lacking, so it is a common occupation among Chimera to write for others. It is an impressive skill to eloquently convey ideas/feelings through writing. Though their language set up lends to it MUCH more than others. 

The Nitty Gritty

All subject to change as this is very first drafty. 

Chimeric is a logographic language, there is no set alphabet and all ‘words’ stem from symbols representing things and ideas. Sentences are kind of two sentences atop one another, with one being the literal and the other the reactionary. It is read from out to in and sentences are written in a circle divided into 4 quarters. We’ll start with the top moving counter clockwise. 

Quarter 1 (Red) is the subject area, now subjects function the same as nouns for the most part, people, places, and things. But something important to note is that there must always be an ‘audience’ for the words being spoken. An audience basically means pronouns though they are a lot more encompassing with: I, You, Us, Them, Them excluding me/you, Us excluding you, Everyone, and a bunch of others. These are all acceptable audience subjects to top off your sentence. For instance you wouldn’t say “This pizza tastes good!” you would instead say “I enjoy the taste of this pizza” or “Everyone enjoys the taste of this pizza” the opinion/emotion needs to be applied to a source to make sense grammatically. 

Quarter 2 (Green) is all about emotions and opinions. Chimeric language is an exchange of ideas but also importantly emotions and feelings. Q2 is dedicated to how the sentence is supposed to be interpreted or felt by the reader, as obviously in ‘spoken’ chimeric speaker and listener technically feel the same about what is currently being said. Listener opinion is very distinct from speaker and in writing the speaker takes priority. So for example the statement “Who finished the box but left it in the pantry?” would instead have to be translated into something akin to “I am pissed and questioning who had the audacity to finish the box and did not care enough to remove it from the pantry thus leaving me to find it and become disappointed?” Basically chimeric lends itself to very long translations due to their feelings.  

Quarter 3 (Blue) is the action section of the sentence. The verbs if you will. This is where things are happening and is VERY tied in with Q1. Subjects in Q1 and Q2 will be linked together with lines that follow the same slice through the circle.

When a subject is linked to an action that means that the subject is the one performing the action, whereas subjects closer to the center and unaligned with an action are what is being acted upon. Like with the audience conundrum though an action needs a subject to actually act, whether it is an individual/s or an object or place. This is usually the least word heavy portion of the sentence as it is almost supplemental to Q1, and in contrast to the thin, crisp lines of the other quarters, Q3 will often be smudgey and more messy due to being written mostly with the back of the thumb. 

Quarter 4 (Yellow) is generally not going to have any words written there, as it functions as the anchor point for the hand. The outmost finger rests here on the page to stabilize the hand as it closes during writing. When writing in a ream of papers this is where the hole to hold them all together is punched through. However in modern fanciful writing styles Q4 is also used as a secondary emotional quarter. This style will use Q4 as the reactionary emotion of the reader, more so the expected reaction and emotion from the reader. This is an EXTREMELY class based writing style and it is a GIANT NO NO to write like this for someone of higher status to read. Typically only Clan heads will freely use this writing style, especially towards each other lmao. The writing style of the passive aggressive power struggle. 

All together Quarters are read at once! And I mean that there is no one word the chimera will start with. Every word of the sentence is absorbed at the same time, no following along a line like how I’m currently typing. But what indicates the order of which things are meant to be perceived is how close they are to the outside of the circle. Things closer to the center come later in the sentence and will be understood to be lower in the hierarchy of words. However only subjects and actions are directly linked to each other, emotion/opinion words are to have a more natural seep throughout the entirety of the sentence with only a loose idea of where they are to be felt. In this way while a subjects actions may be concrete, the writers feelings about them are more fluid and organic. 

Chimeric conlang yay! I wanted to make modern Mirum script but decided I needed to start at the roots. So technically two written languages originate from Mirum, but they are extremely similar with one directly branching from the other. Chimeric is the original and Miran is the derivative, they mostly share characters but their sentence structure is different. Chimeric keeps the circular structure whereas Miran is a zigzagging horizontal and completely drops quarters 2 and 4. Leading to modern Miran being a very literal language vs Chimeric’s emotion heavy focus. But if you know one you can pretty much read the other, albeit with some culture shock. 

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: Grandma's funeral brings out a side of Ms. Sweetheart that Eddie hasn't ever seen, leaving the two of them questioning everything they've built up together.

Warnings: funeral service (I tried to keep it as neutral as possible so it could apply to any religion), mentions of cause of Grandma's death, failed attempt at sex, pretty much all angst sorry

WC: 5.1k

Chapter 10/20

Divider credit to @saradika Harris's note credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers

Eddie can’t remember the last time he went to a funeral. It might’ve been for one of Wayne’s friends, or a distant great-aunt twice removed. He doesn’t even own a proper suit for such an occasion; everything he’s wearing actually belongs to Wayne. He smooths down the creases in his black slacks; the material of anything other than worn denim is foreign against his legs. The elbows of his coat jacket are patched, and he slides his palms over them in embarrassment.

He takes a seat in one of the back rows, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while the other mourners file in. There’s a pit growing in his stomach as his gaze swoops to the coffin resting at the front of the room. The realization that Grandma was inside was almost too much for him to handle, and he’d only met her a month ago. He hadn’t known her when she was…herself, but he saw glimpses of her now and again. The last time he was over for a Wednesday night dinner, she rested her head on his shoulder as though she’d done it a million times. You’d mouthed sorry, but Eddie had simply smiled and let Grandma stay there as long as she wanted. If he was being honest, he felt special, knowing that she was comfortable with him.

Eddie’s eyes are only drawn from the casket when he sees you walk among your family. He immediately takes note of your face, normally soft and vibrant, now stoic and emotionless. It’s a sharp contrast to your relatives, who wear their grief through bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The hymn playing in the background fades out as a man speaks up at the podium. 

Eddie’s barely listening, keeping his attention on you. He watches your mouth move as you recite the prayers along with the rest of your family, though he’s only half-listening to them. He’s never been one for organized religion, but he echoes the closing statement when everyone else does. 

That’s when you stand up, smoothing down your dress at the back of your thighs, and walk towards the front of the room. You’re clutching a piece of paper in your hand, which Eddie notices is slightly trembling. He locks eyes with you, dragging his teeth along his bottom lip and offers the smallest of encouraging smiles. You acknowledge it with a tiny nod in his direction before taking a deep breath and beginning the eulogy. 

“Um, h-hi.,” you start, stumbling over your words awkwardly. You clear your throat and try again. “Thank you all for coming to honor and remember Grandma. It’s evident that she meant a lot to so many people. 

“When I was writing this eulogy, I kept thinking about who she was as a person.” You don’t let your gaze drift from Eddie’s, and you could swear that he’s the only force keeping you from crumbling to the ground in a heap of grief. “For a lot of us, we wonder what ‘big thing’ will define our lives. The occasion that people will remember us by, you know? But with Grandma, there wasn’t one ‘big thing.’ Her life was a series of little kindnesses that she made sure to sprinkle into her everyday life. Like, when I was a kid, my dad broke his ankle. My mom couldn’t leave me home alone, so Grandma drove him to and from the hospital and stayed with him while he waited. She always took care of us. 

“One of my favorite memories is how she would bring me a bouquet of flowers after every dance recital I was in. She’d be waiting for me by the stage door with a big smile on her face, telling me what a great job I did, even if I totally messed up…she was the best. All she wanted was for the people she loved to be happy. 

“And that’s what I associate with Grandma—love. How much I loved her, and how much she loved us. Just a few weeks ago, she was sharing Oreos with the kid I tutor, and it reminded me of how she used to be with me.” At that line, Eddie feels his lip quiver, tears dampening his lashes, and he ducks his head to keep you from seeing him break. This time, it’s more for your sake than his, since you’re leaning on him to remain upright. “I encourage all of you to find the little kindnesses in life, and to be the kindness in someone’s day. 

“Grandma, you are already so missed. I hope you’re seeing the values you instilled in each of us. Rest easy. We’ll take it from here.” The only sounds in the entire room are the heels of your shoes clacking on the floor and sniffling from nearly everyone else in the congregation. You take your seat quietly, bowing your head as though trying to hide.

The rest of the service is a blur of hymns and prayers; nothing, Eddie notes, nearly as moving as the eulogy you gave. He barely notices when the people around him start moving, keeping a watchful eye on you. You’re trying to blend in amongst your black-clad relatives, but Eddie has no problem finding you. He cranes his neck just in time to see your family make a right through the doors, while you pivot left. 

Instinctively, his hands tuck into his pants pocket as he fumbles for his cigarettes and lighter. He has no idea what to say to you, no idea where to even begin. He needs a smoke or three to clear his head before he sees you and stammers out some half-witted acknowledgment of your loss. There’s no time for that; however, because as soon as he steps outside, he sees you sitting on the steps. It’s freezing outside, but your arms are bare, and Eddie can see the prickle of goosebumps lining your skin.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks, drawing your attention as he takes a seat next to you. He shrugs off his own jacket, placing it over your shoulders without a second thought. 

You offer him a sad smile, tugging the coat so it covers more of you. You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the contrast of his body heat. “Trying to avoid my family,” you admit, placing your hand over Eddie’s. “Could you take me home? I got a ride here from my uncle, but I really don’t want to go out to eat with everyone.” They’re probably arguing over where to get lunch right now, acting as though their matriarch isn’t about to be lowered into the ground.

“You sure?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together in concern. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want to take you away from them or anything.” He can picture the sneers he’ll receive, a pit forming in his stomach.

You remain unfazed to the conundrum he faces. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. I can’t…” your voice catches, so you restart your sentence. “I can’t sit there while everyone’s smiling and laughing. That’s what happens when an old, sick person dies; people don’t even try to hide their relief. I need…I need to be alone.” You tuck your lips inside your mouth, attempting to bury your feelings.

Eddie nods, reaching over to take his keys out of the jacket you’re now wearing. “Yeah, no, I get it. We can get outta here.” He stands up, takes your hand in his to help you to your feet, and leads you to the car as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing either of you need is to be confronted by one of your relatives.

The two of you sit in the car quietly, without even the radio on. Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s had a silent car ride; he either has music playing, Harris yammering his ear off, or a combination of both. He keeps his hands at ten and two, internally debating whether or not to rest one on your knee. It wouldn’t be a sexual thing, not even close, but he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. His grip remains steady, the hum of the engine is the only sound.

You take this time to study him, taking in the crow’s feet that line the edges of his eyes, the tiny patch of stubble that he’d missed while shaving, the slight dimple in his chin. You try and turn before he can catch you, and though your efforts are fruitless, he doesn’t quite call you out on it. “Y’good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, smoothing a part of your dress that isn’t wrinkled. “Could you come inside for a little while? I thought I wanted to be by myself, but I really want you to stay.”

You really want him to stay. Not just that you need company, but you want him specifically. The notion sets all of Eddie’s nerve endings alight. “‘Course,” he replies, perhaps a bit too casually to cover up his excitement over the realization that he brings you some form of comfort.

When he pulls into the apartment complex’s parking lot and shuts off the ignition, he takes the opportunity to hold your hand again. It’s so much different than when he held it a few days earlier on your date, when there was an atmosphere of joy and hope. Now it’s like he’s pulling you along, like his lead is what has you placing one heel-clad foot in front of the other.

You unlock the door, accidentally leaving the key within its latch, and Eddie quietly removes it and places it on the table. His fingers ghost your biceps to remove your–his–coat from your body, but you just pull it on farther like a safety blanket.

“Y’want coffee? ‘M gonna put on a pot,” you offer quietly, already heading over to the kitchen. You scoop out a serving of coffee grounds for you, inhaling the hazelnut scent before dumping it into the basket, glancing over at him for his response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he nods, and you put another scoop in before filling the carafe with tap water. With a flick of the power button, the Black + Decker rumbles and kicks on, and the drip drip drip of coffee fills the room.

You grab two mugs from the cupboard and place them on the counter. “How’d you even find out about the funeral?” 

Eddie walks over, though he feels as though he can’t get close enough. He just wants to hold you tight and never let go, but you’ve put up some sort of barrier that he can’t quite interpret. “Oh, um, I asked Byers. I hope you don’t mind–I tried calling you, but it said the line was disconnected.”

Your cheeks burn. “That was Grandma.” Eddie looks confused–rightfully so–and you elaborate. “The morning that she…she got annoyed with the phone ringing, so when I wasn’t looking, she took the scissors and cut the wire.”

Eddie’s jaw drops in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I left the house for a few minutes to get a new phone, and when I came back, she’d fallen asleep and…” you swallow thickly, rummaging through the refrigerator for the tiny carton of half-and-half, “…and she never woke up. First call I made with the new phone was to 9-1-1, but it was too late.” Too late. That’s what the EMTs told you: I’m sorry, but it’s too late. 

“Oh, Sweetheart. My sweet girl…” Eddie’s heart lurches, and he instinctively reaches out to you. One hand lays between your shoulder blades while the other rubs up and down your spine. He’s careful not to let it drop too low, never going past the small of your back. Though you’re pressed flush to his chest, there’s still a strange disconnect between you. 

Despite every urge you have to cling to him, you pull away and shove a teaspoon into the sugar bowl, sliding it towards him on the counter. “S’okay. I mean, it’s not, but…they said she’d had a heart attack. If I didn’t get the phone, I wouldn’t have been able to call for an ambulance anyway.” The dripping of the coffee maker slows as it finishes brewing. “Only thing I could do is go back in time and stop her from cutting the wires, and Melvald’s was all outta time machines,” you joke, but it falls flat.

Eddie frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the countertop. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Pretend like you’re alright,” he explains, voice hardly louder than a whisper. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

You feel an anger rising within you, though you’re unable to pinpoint its origin. “I am alright,” you insist through gritted teeth.

Eddie shakes his head, peering at you through his impossibly long eyelashes. “It’s okay to be sad–”

“Don’t you get it, Eddie?” You cut him off with a snap, slamming the coffee pot down so harshly that it almost cracks. “I’m not sad. I’m not relieved. I’m not anything. My grandma just died, and I don’t feel a goddamn thing! It’s like I’m some kind of monster.”

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He hugs you again, holds you even tighter than before as he kisses the top of your head. “You’re not a monster, ‘kay? I promise you.”

You look up at him, not quite believing his words, but you press your lips to his. He kisses you back gently; timidly even, but you deepen it and graze his tongue with your own. Your left hand weaves its way through his messy curls and your right fumbles with his belt buckle, but you’re unable to unhook the clasp before he steps back.

“What’re you–” His eyes widen and he puts his hands up to avoid touching you, clearly confused by your behavior. If you had the capacity to be honest with yourself, you’d admit that you’re not sure why you’re doing this, either.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, trying to reconnect your lips with his, but he just pulls away again. “Please, I…I need this. I need you.”

“If we sleep together for the first time right now, while you’re like this, you’ll regret it,” he says.

You don’t deny the accusation; instead, you double down on it. “Okay, so I’ll regret it! I’ll feel regret, but at least I’ll feel something!” Your trembling fingers brush against his shirt, trying to grab onto it and bring his body to you, but he turns with a scoff.

“You’d really be okay with that?” There’s unmistakeable anger in his tone, but it’s laced with something more than that; something that sounds more like hurt. “Regretting our first time together?”

“Didn’t we almost fuck on your couch the night we met? You didn’t even know my last name. You barely knew my first name.” Your words are biting, thick with malice. “When did you become so averse to meaningless sex?”

“Meaningless?” Eddie balks, digging his fingernails into his palms until they leave crescent-shaped marks. His lips contort into a perplexed grimace as he formulates a response. “I, um, I gotta go. I’ll call you–”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before, and I’m not falling for it again.” You can’t stop the words before they’re tumbling from your mouth, and you can’t take them back. “Shit, Eddie–”

“Just—don’t say anything else, ‘kay? I’m leaving.” He turns around, digging into his back pocket. “This is for you. From me and Harris.” He tosses a piece of notebook paper, folded into fourths, onto the end table and closes the door with a slam.

You stand there, dumbfounded at what just occurred–mostly at your own actions. When you move towards the paper, you realize that you’re still wearing Eddie’s suit jacket, and you yank it off and throw it to the ground, leaving it in a heap. You open the note and read, vision blurred from the tears threatening to spill over.

The innocent kindness of a little boy is all it takes for you to break down and cry, muffling your sobs in your palms though there isn’t anyone around to hear them. Grandma was gone. You’d chased Eddie away with the same vitriol he’d spewed at you that day at the record store. You’re really, truly alone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you chant to no one in particular. You’re sorry to Grandma, for leaving her home alone. You could’ve asked Jess to run out and get a new phone, but you’d needed a break from Grandma’s anger that was always directed towards you. That morning, after you’d discovered the cut phone line, there had been another argument over taking her medication, and she yelled “I HATE YOU!” at the top of her lungs. Then she sat at the table and ate a bowl of cereal like nothing had happened. Instead of taking a deep breath and brushing it off, you’d grabbed your keys and headed to RadioShack. You could’ve driven there, it would’ve made the trip much faster, but you’d decided to walk. The fresh air would do you good, you told yourself, pushing away the full truth of the matter: you’d desperately needed to be away from Grandma. When you got back, she was laying on the couch, and you would’ve sworn she was only sleeping…

You’re sorry to Eddie. Sorry that he’d wasted his time with someone who resorted to dredging up the past as soon as she felt an ounce of anger and rejection. Someone who insisted that he could trust her and then promptly shattered that rapport once he’d let his guard down.

And for a split second, you allow yourself to feel sorry for you. Sorry that you couldn’t even grieve properly without feeling like you didn’t deserve it, because if you were home, Grandma might still be alive. 

You look down at the card one more time, choking out a laugh through your tears at Harris’s offer to share his grandpa. It dawns on you that you’ll either have to stop tutoring him or continue to see Eddie on a weekly basis. Everyone who comes in contact with me gets entangled in my problems, you note miserably. Eddie’s finally getting his life together and I’m fucking it all up. He deserves better than me.

Maybe it’s a good idea to leave Hawkins and go back home, at least for the holidays. You’re not sure what type of celebrations the family will muster up, but it’s better than being alone with your thoughts. And if you never return, that might be best for everybody.

The bell above the drugstore door chimes as Eddie pushes his way in. He smoked out his remaining cigarettes on the drive over, and he’s desperate for another pack. He makes a beeline for the back wall, plucking his usual Camels from the display. “Perfect,” he mutters, though his lungs would certainly disagree.

As he shuffles towards the cashier, he spots a familiar face in one of the aisles. His lurking cowardice screams at him to run away, but he shoves it deep down and talks anyway. “H-Hey, man. How’s it going?”

Jeff turns around, first bewildered at who’s speaking to him, then tensing up when he sees Eddie standing before him. “Can’t complain. Just getting some of these prenatal vitamin things for Viv,” he replies tersely, shaking the bottle to emphasize his statement.

There’s an awkward silence before Eddie speaks again. “Look, um, I’m really sorry about what happened at our last show.” He rubs the back of his neck and winces at the memory. “What I said, what I didn’t say…you’re gonna be a great dad, dude. Like, the best. I was just jealous, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole.”

“Jealous?” Jeff cocks an eyebrow incredulously, willing Eddie to continue.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, shamefully averting his gaze. “You’re bringing a kid into a stable household, and I couldn’t do that for Harris. I don’t regret having him, of course, but I’ll always feel guilty about the shitshow he was born into.” He taps the pack of cigarettes on his palm, biting his lower lip to shut himself up. “Anyway, I gotta get home—”

“Eddie Munson?” He turns around to see a young woman standing behind him. Her low-cut top shows off the top of her breasts, cleavage pushed up by a bra, and her jeans hug every curve. She purses her pink-glossed lips together in a flirtatious smile.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m Lisa.” She says this like Eddie should already know this, and he’s embarrassed to admit to himself that he can’t place the name or face. “We hooked up last summer at the Hideout? In the men’s room?” Lisa lowers her voice seductively to whisper that detail. “I haven’t seen you there in a while.”

“Oh, yeah.” There have been multiple men’s room hook-ups, but he’s not about to play detective to figure out exactly who she is, so he plays along. “The band’s been on a bit of a…hiatus, I guess.” From his peripheral vision, he can see Jeff ducking his head, and his cheeks burn with the truth.

Lisa juts out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, though Eddie knows it’s all for show. “That’s too bad.” She lets her hand rest on his chest, leaning into him and twirling a strand of his hair around a polished fingernail. “If you’re not busy tonight, I’d love to have you over for drinks and…dessert? Recreate that night at the bar, minus the urinal?”

Eddie moves her arms from his vicinity, putting a necessary space between them. “Um, n-nah. No thanks,” he clarifies. “I’m, uh, kinda involved with someone, so…”

She remains undaunted, a small chuckle escaping her throat. “I can keep a secret. She doesn’t have to know.” She takes another step forward to close the gap, and he’s so goddamn tempted, but he shakes it off. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen between you and him, but he knows he’s not going to sabotage any potential relationship.

“Well, I’ll know,” he retorts, “and I’ll feel like shit about it.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Your loss.” She pivots on one heel and mumbles something under her breath that Eddie doesn’t even bother to interpret.

Jeff looks at Eddie with an amused grin as he shifts his weight from one side to the other. “So, you’re involved with someone?” He knows from what Jess has told him that Eddie went on a date with you a few days ago, but he couldn’t gauge the seriousness of the situation.

“I think so. At least, I was, until about fifteen minutes ago.” He relents and fills Jeff in about everything that happened, from your conversation over steaming coffee mugs, to the amazing kiss you’d shared as snowflakes collected on your eyelashes, to the unexpected confrontation after Grandma’s funeral today.

Jeff sighs, but it’s one of sympathy, not exasperation. “You did the right thing,” he says finally.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeff laughs, punching him playfully on the arm. “I’m serious. And you did the right thing just now, too, with that groupie.” He clears his throat. “Viv’s baby shower is in a couple weeks. Ladies only, y’know, but I could use some help loading all the gifts into the car. And we could grab some lunch beforehand, if you want.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, that would be great. Might have to let Harris tag along, if that’s all right.” He doesn’t want to keep asking Wayne to babysit, no matter how much the old man insists that he doesn’t mind.

“Of course. You know that little man is always welcome.” Jeff says, walking towards the register. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Eddie hesitates, letting his friend pass him by a few paces before he calls out. “Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“What do I do about…” Eddie trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. He feels absolutely ridiculous having this conversation in the middle of the drugstore, but he’s desperate not to fuck this up further.

Jeff scratches at his stubble with his free hand, contemplating the options as only someone who’s been in a long-term relationship and hasn’t had to navigate the nuances of a fresh relationship in ages can. “Give her some time; a few days, at least. She’s going through a lot. She needs her space, y’know, to figure things out.”

It’s not the answer Eddie was hoping for; patience has never been his forte. He wishes that Jeff would have told him to chase after you, to go get the girl and make sure she knows how much she means to him. But he knows that his friend is right, and he acknowledges his response with a small smile. “Thanks, man.”

“See ya around, Ed.”

Eddie unlocks his apartment door, new pack of cigarettes in one hand and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s tucked under the other arm. He doesn’t usually splurge on ice cream, but every romantic comedy cliche has instructed him that it’s the perfect remedy for heartbreak. If that’s even what this is, he thinks, but he knows it’s true. After doing everything in his power to prevent it, he’d allowed you to break his heart. And as he shoves a spoon into the container of Devil’s Food Chocolate, it dawns on him that he’d do it all again.

He’d come to your rescue and pick the lock of Grandma’s bedroom door. He’d sit around the table and eat pizza with you, Harris, and Grandma every Wednesday night. He’d drive to your house with store-brand cookies and watch cheesy Thanksgiving movies with you just to see the smile on your face. He’d take you out for coffee and kiss you in the snow a thousand times over. And he’d go to Grandma’s funeral and drive you home and turn down your offer for sex and break his own fucking heart again and again if it meant protecting you.

He shimmies out of his starchy dress pants and unbuttons his shirt, leaving himself in just a white undershirt and his boxers as he sinks deeper into the sofa. He reaches over for the remote–now that he works when Harris is in school, he rarely has time to watch something that he actually enjoys–and notices the phone’s red flashing light indicating that he has a new voicemail.

He presses play with a clumsy finger on the button, expecting Wayne’s gruff voice or a reminder for an overdue bill. When he hears that it’s you, he sits up straight, nearly dropping his ice cream.

“Hi, Eddie. It’s me. I’m so sorry for what happened earlier. I’m sure you’re probably mad, but I just want you to know…it wouldn’t have been meaningless. It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless.” You take a deep breath. “I’m going back home for the holidays. Um, I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back, but before I leave, I had to apologize for what I said. You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that. Have, um, have a nice holiday. Okay, bye.”

Eddie remains still, a loud silence enveloping the room once the machine relays that he’s reached the end of new messages. He’s dissecting every word you’d uttered, replaying them over and over. 

It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless. 

So you’d felt it, too; that spark much stronger than the usual lust that overcomes him during hookups. And while he’d tried to convince himself that he’d only asked you to cuddle, had you stay over out of post-sex, post-show delirium, he can’t deny the truth any longer.

He’d asked because he felt comfortable around you, like he could hold you forever and whisper secrets that scare him to even admit to himself. Maybe it was because you’d seen Harris’s car seat that night and hadn’t run for the hills, or maybe it was the way you’d kissed him like he was worth savoring. And the morning after, when he’d all but chased you out of the apartment…Christ, you didn’t deserve that.

I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back. 

The ‘when’ he could handle, but that ‘if’ was a weight on his chest. He questions his actions for a moment–should he have slept with you? Showed you how wanted and cherished and safe you were with him? Given your mind a chance to wander from the grief choking it? But Jeff said he had done the right thing, and considering the man was engaged with a baby on the way, Eddie figured he had to know something about women.

You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that.

Is he? He’s certainly a better man than when you’d first met him, but is he actually a great guy? He’d bought you coffee and didn’t fuck you when you were too vulnerable to truly consent–is that what constitutes greatness, or is he just a step above a piece of shit?

And, of course, part of him is angry. Not only because you were so easily willing to use him–although that realization definitely stings–but mostly because you’d thought he’d want to. After everything you two had been through, did you truly believe that he’d be unbothered? That he’d throw away all of that progress just to get his dick wet? Is that how little you think of him? Eddie doesn’t want the answer.  

The ice cream is melting, so he forgoes the spoon and just takes a swig from the pint. He licks the chocolatey residue from his lips before standing up to put the carton in the freezer. Tacked onto the refrigerator is Harris’s picture from Halloween where Eddie and Ms. Sweetheart are holding hands.

He plucks it from under the magnet, staring at it intently. The memory of his son and his uncle asking him about you, that pretty like a princess remark, the unfurling realization that he felt things for you that he’d thought he was incapable of feeling. He never should have taken their ribbings, inadvertently getting his hopes up that there was something there worth pursuing.

Without thinking, Eddie crumples the paper in his fist, crushing the family portrait into a ball. “Shit,” he mutters, placing it on the table and smoothing it out as best as he can. His hands glide over the drawing, rubbing over every crease until it looks good as new and Harris will be none the wiser.

But Eddie knows what’s been destroyed. What he doesn’t know is whether or not it can be smoothed out.

--

taglist:

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday @augustsgetawaycar @let-love-bleeds-red @inesven @tanyaherondale @theintimatewriter

[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 2

Benny Cross X Female Reader A/n: part 1 is here! Word Count: 2014 Warnings: cursing, alcohol use Taglist: @real-lana-del-rey @putherup

Fifteen months. That was all it took for you to find Benny, love him, and lose him. The easy version of your story went like this: it was Kathy Bauer’s fault. Simple as pie, like your mama used to say. 

The truth was a lot different. The truth was messy and it hurt a hell of a lot more. Because the truth was that you hadn’t lost Benny at all. To lose something, you have to have it in the first place. And when you were being really honest with yourself, you knew that you never had Benny Cross. You had as much of a claim to him as a kite does to the wind. That was to say, none at all. 

You didn’t like the truth. But, you weren’t the kind of girl who could live a lie either. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you ran away. Kathy Bauer’s first night in the Vandals bar was early November, Benny broke it off with you in early December. You spent Christmas drunk and stoned. And by New Years, you were gone. 

You thought putting Chicago - and Benny - in the rearview mirror would help. You’d banked on it helping. Running was your only plan. There wasn’t any other choice, really. Sure, some of the Vandals had pitched you on sticking around, club president Johnny among them. Your waitressing pal Sheila had asked you to move in with her, given that you were now two months’ behind on rent without Benny’s side-hustle cash around to help pay the bills. Hell, Cal had even offered you a soft place to land on the left side of his queen sized mattress. 

None of those offers had tempted you for even an instant. So, while the rest of America was counting down the final seconds of 1965 from their couches, you were sitting on the back of your fully customized Sportster, driving like a bat out of hell on the back roads leading west out of Chicago. Your only destination was the fuck out of here. 

It took you fifteen months to figure out what love was and to lose it again. You weren’t sure how long it was going to take you to do something approximating move on, but you figured it would be a lot longer than fifteen months. And you were right.

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

Your phone rang at 3:13am in the morning on September 19th, 1969. The first thing you thought was that your daddy must have finally died. Sonofabitch had been fighting a chainsmoker’s strain of lung cancer for almost six months now, and damn had it been a hard fight. Your mama had actually begged you not to come home and see him. Nothin’ you can do here, baby she said in her soft, sad voice each time you called and asked if you should come home. Your daddy, for his part, couldn’t talk anymore, on account of the laryngectomy the doctors gave him a few weeks prior. He’d declined one of those robotic voice boxes. Figured he’d said all he needed to at this point. Nobody wanted to hear the ramblings of an old biker on death’s door at this point. Especially himself.

But it wasn’t your mama’s voice on the other end. It was Johnny Davis.

“Hey, kid.” Not a question, not a hey, how are ya. It had been almost four years since the last time you’d talked to Johnny. Four years since you’d last seen a Vandals cutte. You wished you could say it had been that long since you’d thought about the club, but that would be a damn lie. Your mind drifted back to a certain handsome blonde-haired blue-eyed biker almost every day. 

It took you a minute to place the voice on the other end. It was familiar in the way a dream is familiar, but between the fog of leftover whiskey, a deep sleep, and buried memories, it didn’t come to you quickly.

“Who’s this?” you asked, wiping the tired out of your eyes.

“Oh, uh, well. It’s Johnny.” 

There it was.

“Johnny? Johnny Davis?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me, kid. Listen. How you been?”

You couldn’t help but let out a short, sad chuckle. The easy answer to that question was oh, I been alright Johnny, you? But the truth was something more like, well Johnny, let’s see, since I last saw you in Chicago I’ve been on the road pretty much constantly for four years, running for so long I can’t tell if I’m running to or away from something, much less what that thing is. I’ve picked up about a dozen bad habits, like drinking too much and riding too fast and going home with the first guy who’ll buy me a brew at a bar. Oh, and by the way, my daddy’s dying. 

But Johnny didn’t deserve your bitterness. Especially not at 3:14 in the morning. 

“You know me, Johnny, I’ve been doin’ just fine. Why’re you callin’ so early?”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. An image of Johnny, taking a deep drag on one of those Pall Malls he loved to smoke, came to you in the darkness. In the quiet of his reply, you heard a dense grief. You braced yourself for what you were sure was bad news and flicked on the bedside lamp on your nightstand. Next to you, the latest biker boy of the week stirred grumpily and waved at you to turn the light off. You ignored him, throwing off the covers and dangling your feet over the side of your mattress.

“Well, kid. It’s Brucie.”

Brucie. It took the air out of your lungs. You could have named a half-dozen Vandals you’d expect to kick the bucket before Brucie. Zipco, Wahoo, Corky. Hell, even Johnny himself. And Benny, of course. You couldn’t help but feel the knot in your chest relax an inch to know that Johnny wasn’t calling to tell you that it was Benny. But damnitall, Brucie? Careful, pragmatic, thoughtful Brucie? What the fuck was Gail gonna do?

“Brucie? What the fuck happened?”

Another jagged inhale on the other end. Johnny was crying, you realized. It gutted you.

“Oh, you know. 1967 Pontiac came outta nowhere, you know, just caught him in a bad way. It’s always the ones you don’t see comin’, y’know? Fuckin’ Pontiac.”

“Jesus, Johnny. Brucie? Shit.”

You lit a cigarette of your own as you let your mind wander back to your time in Chicago. Brucie was solid, Johnny’s right-hand man and a kind, gentle sorta guy. You’d liked him instantly, and Gail too. Real good folk. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been hard, y’know, I mean, club is real beat up over it.”

“Fuck, Johnny, I don’t even know whatta say. I’m so sorry.”

You and Johnny took matching drags and tried to swipe away your tears. The guy in your bed next to you rolled over and fixed you with a bleary-eyed glare. You couldn’t remember his name - Steve, maybe. You covered the receiver with your hand, told  him to get the fuck out, and drank down the last swallow of whiskey in the only upright glass on your nightstand.

“Yeah, well, I ‘preciate that, kid, I really do. Listen, we’re havin’ a get together for Brucie. Next weekend. Entire club, all charters gonna be there. Invited a few others, too. Ones that knew Brucie. I know he’d want you there.”

Of all the things Johnny had said to you tonight, this was the one that stole the air from your lungs. Go back to Chicago, to the Vandals? You weren’t sure how you’d do that. Or if you physically could. 

“Aw, shit Johnny. I dunno…”

“I know you got history here,” Johnny interrupted quickly. “I know you got… I know you got a lot you’re tryin’ not to come back to. I get it.” 

Lots of people might have tried to tell you they understood how you felt. You’d opened up about Benny to a few people since you’d left Chicago. Most people you met on the road were a little bit broken, like you. They were running, just like you, and they weren’t strangers to heartbreak and dead-endings and being fucked over. But, no matter how many times you tried to tell your story, you just never felt like you got it right. So nobody really understood it, because you weren’t sure you did. But Johnny? Johnny didn’t need to hear you tell it. He’d watched it happen. Maybe he really did get it.

Still, was that enough for you to go back? Unsure of what to say, you just stayed silent. Behind you, maybe-Steve was dragging himself out of bed, untangling his clothes from yours, and doing a shitty job of trying to stay quiet. 

“You think about it, aight? But I know you’ll come. For Brucie.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Johnny was right. ‘Course you’d go back for Brucie. 

“Aight well, I’ll let ya go then. Sorry for wakin’ you up.”

“Johnny, wait.” 

He hesitated. “Yeah, kid?”

“How’d you get my number?” 

There were about a million questions you wanted to ask Johnny, although you knew yourself enough at this point to know that you wouldn’t want the answers. So you asked the safest one you could think of.

He chuckled softly. “I keep an eye on my friends,” he replied cryptically before he said goodnight again, and the line went dead. You wished you knew what that meant, although just knowing that there was someone out there in the darkness who cared for you enough to go to the trouble of checking in with whatever backwater charters you shacked up with (because realistically that was the only way Johnny would ever be able to keep up with you) made your heart warm. 

“Who the fuck was that?” demanded maybe-Steve. He was halfway out the door of the dingy room you’d rented in this roadside motel, hoping you might still ask him to stay. 

“Old friend,” you said brusquely as you stood up and threw an old tshirt over your bare chest, heading for the door behind him. “Time for you to hit the road,” you told him by way of invitation, pointing towards his bike in the parking lot. 

“It’s fuckin’ 3:30 in the mornin’, you sure I can’t just sleep it off here?” 

“Nah, fuck that. Get lost.” 

He grimaced and spat thickly on the ground. For an instant you wondered if he was going to give you trouble, but he just shook his head in disgust and left you there to curl up on the rickety plastic chair outside your motel room with plans to chain-smoke until sunrise. You watched him go, his tail light streaking across the long, dark, flat expanse of Iowa farmland until it melted with blackness around it. Your mind was fluttering with all kinds of memories and thoughts that Johnny’s voice had stirred up. Rather than try and fight it, you let yourself sink beneath the surface and zone out, wading through a chapter of your life that you’d deluded yourself into believing was over. The sun had climbed up over the horizon by the time you came back to yourself with a bleak glance around the ramshackle motel. Your Sportster was gleaming like a lighthouse over in the corner of the lot under the only tree around for miles, a huge black walnut that seemed to be holding up its branches and asking the sky to sweep it up and take it away from here. Exactly how you felt. 

Unable to fight against yourself anymore, you splashed cold water on your face, tied your hair up, shoved your belongings into the leather saddlebags you’d been living out of for the last four years, and got on the back of your Sportster. As soon as you kickstarted your bike, you knew where you were going. Straight back to Chicago, back to the Vandals, to Benny. Straight back home.

read part 3 here **let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: 2 Fisted Tales

Stephen King: hey patricia is it true you used to write comics? Patricia Highsmith: [long cigarette drag] Highsmith: who told you that

King: well, i just heard- Highsmith: was it stan lee? Highsmith: musta been stan lee Highsmith: never met a cat who talked so much Highsmith: might as well be a dame with all the yap yap yappin

Dean Koontz: wowwwww did you really meet stan lee, patricia? Highsmith: yeah Koontz: wowwww! what was that like? [flashback] Stan Lee: hey there comics fans its me, stan lee Lee: how bout a date? Highsmith: no dice

Poe: steve King: i just thought she'd like to tell us about her Poe: steve Poe: just no Poe: no King: ok fine Barker: i'm gonna hear the comic story Poe: CLIVE NO

King: ah but patricia i think we'd all like to hear a comics story Patricia Highsmith: i ain't gonna tell no comic story King: well maybe I can't convince you King: but I bet I know someone who can! Alan Moore: [appearing in a flash] who dares summon the arch magus? King: the arch magus! Poe: the arch magus! Koontz: the arch magus!

Moore: speak! what boon ask ye of the arch magus? King: hey alan you've worked in comics King: how about you tell patricia that comics aren't stupid Moore: Moore: i cannot tell her that

Moore: comics are the bane of my existence! a curse upon them! Highsmith: now this guy, this guy i like Highsmith: he's got a real noodle in his noggin Moore: the arch magus would do well to hear your counsel, mortal Highsmith: sure, we could jaw a bit

Highsmith: how you feel about snails, archmagus? Moore: be these your familiars? Highsmith: "familiars" Highsmith: listen to this cat

Highsmith: ok fine you mooks wanna hear about my comics Highsmith: i'll tell ya Highsmith: but only cuz i'm here among bros Highsmith: long as its just dudes Highsmith: cuz these stories Highsmith: they get a little rough Highsmith: and you know how dames are

Highsmith: so this story's just for us dudes Highsmith: so franz Franz Kafka: what? Highsmith: you gotta go Kafka: huh? what? Kafka: why? Highsmith: you just gotta go Kafka: i don't understand Barker: oh my god franz get a clue Poe: clive

Highsmith: submitted for the approval of the midnight pals Highsmith: i call this the tale of the crime puncher Highsmith: it's about this real swole square headed guy who punches criminals Highsmith: pow! punch! bam! Highsmith: that's what comics are all about

Highsmith: so there're these 2 palookas who fight crime Highsmith: named steve and ploopie Barker: i'm sorry what Highsmith: steve and ploopie Barker: steve and WHAT Highsmith: what, you got cabbage in your ears? ploopie Barker: Barker: i'm sorry WHAT

Highsmith: anyway steve and ploopie gotta do some punching Barker: there's a lot of punching in these stories Highsmith: that's what kids want in comics Barker: huh sure yeah Barker: Barker: i'm sorry steve and WHAT Poe: let it go, clive

Highsmith: so this world war i playing ace crashes into a polish swamp Highsmith: when he dies, it creates a big mud monster Highsmith: who goes to america to harass some kid for his model air plane Barker: i'm starting to see why you didn't want to tell these stories Poe: CLIVE

Highsmith: i didn't just do action comics tho Highsmith: i wrote educational ones too Highsmith: like the two-fisted tales of oliver cromwell Highsmith: or don't mess with galileo Highsmith: or catherine the great takes out the trash

King: why didn't you stick with comics, patricia? Patricia Highsmith: eh you know how the comics biz is King: but I've heard its actually a growth industry Highsmith: is that so King: yeah they tell me that there's lots of opportunities in comics for girls Highsmith: ugh pass

[hoes4hoseok]

mehndi laga ke rakhna

heeseung looks for his name in your henna the night before your wedding.

pairing :: lee heeseung x gn!reader genres/au’s :: fluff warnings :: brief food talk word count :: 0.5k author’s note :: i don't care how this performs (at least i'm telling myself that) because this fic is completely self-indulgent. no one asked for this. i hope my fellow desis and everyone else who chooses to read this enjoy this nevertheless. this is so embarrassing omg DON'T LOOK AT ME. also, jaanu means dear in urdu/hindi and i used it because i'm feeling delusional. beta readers :: @sunoosill but she might have been too busy laughing at me to actually edit it LOL I APPRECIATE YOU THO <3 soundtrack :: kesariya (honestly i was listening to o re piya while writing but that song makes me sad so here)

“oh, you look beautiful,” heeseung declared from the couch, his right hand on his heart as you rounded the corner into your warmly lit living room, “do a little twirl.”

“i’m wearing pajamas, heeseung,” you protested but lifted the ends of your pajamas to spin for your fiancé with a bashful grin. 

“how long did this take?” heeseung’s eyes widened as you approached, surprised by the level of detail in your mehndi.

“five or six hours. she had to cover my feet, too,”

“five or s—” heeseung’s mouth fell agape, “i hope you got to eat and drink water.”

“i did, don’t worry,” you laughed off his comment, recalling how frantic your friends and family were to ensure you were doing just that, “and…i have a little surprise for you.”

heeseung tilted his head in curiosity, gaze fixed on you as you joined him on the sofa. “and what would that be?”

“do you remember that tradition i told you about? the one that—”

“you wrote my name in there?” a toothy smile started to form on heeseung’s lips as he gently pulled your right hand toward his face.

“just your first name,” you smiled, combing the hair that had fallen into heeseung’s face in his excitement back with your free hand. he remained focused on your hand as he used his pointer finger to follow a spiral from the center of your palm outward.

“this will be so easy,”

“if you think it’s so easy, maybe we should add some stakes,” you suggested. you tried to sound like you had just come up with this idea, but your delivery revealed that you had thought about it much beforehand. he looked up with a cocked eyebrow, always in the mood for a challenge. “if you don’t find your name in the next three minutes, i win — in which case, i get to write my name on you too. in the same spot.”

“okay, deal,” he said softly, smiling to himself as he set a timer before looking back down at your mehndi. your heart swelled with affection as he moved his touch along your forearm to check there, grazing each square inch with his soft fingers. he met your eyes momentarily, shaking his head as if to say “not on this one.”

picking up your left hand, he repeated the process, starting from the center of your palm and working outward. he paused briefly midway through tracing your fingers but continued, biting his bottom lip to conceal a grin.

“you have a terrible poker face, jaanu,” he pretended not to hear you, so you wiggled your fingers to get his attention. “i know you found it.”

“you’re so sentimental that i knew exactly where it was going to be,” heeseung admitted, curling your left index and middle fingers forward to reveal, among the scallops of the design, ‘HEESEUNG’ written along the length of your ring finger. “but i knew you wanted to write your name on my hand.”

“oh, who’s the sentimental one now, hm?” you rolled your eyes, giving a playful push to his shoulder.

heeseung reached behind himself to reveal a mehndi cone, a proud smirk on his face, “might be me,” he handed you the cone and put his left hand in yours.

“it’s definitely you,” you leaned forward, pressing a small kiss onto the corner of his grin.

masterlist

[danieyells]

care to spoil any interesting dialogue Haku has when you reach higher affinity levels? Would love to know!

Haku's so. . .normal, it's kinda cute? Lol. But yeah I'm pretty down for that! I wanted to share one of these things but held my tongue lolol but since you're asking here're some of the ones that were more interesting or otherwise appealing to me!

I've amended this post to be all of Haku's home screen lines. Enjoy!

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Oh, finally here, huh? I'm not really ready for you yet though... Ha ha. Wait over there for me, would you?"

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"Oh, looks like you've got a letter. If you don't open it soon, I might sneak a peek."

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"How's the search for clues about your curse going? Don't put too much pressure on yourself. If you ever want to talk, I'm happy to listen."

"Most people in Hotarubi have something they put their heart and soul into. That doesn't really work for me though. I lose interest in things way too easily."

"What are you doing here? Don't tell me you've gotten yourself mixed up in something again."

this is a very funny one to have him say when i use the sinostra casino as my home screen bg

"Haha. Don't expect too much from me. Ghouls are just glorified street magicians, really. Let's keep it light, huh?"

'glorified street magicians' is a hell of a way to describe. . .a lot of the stigmas we've got going here lmao

"Boo! Ha ha, didn't think you'd get that scared. I was just getting rid of the shadow imp that was sticking to your back... I'm kidding! There was nothing there, I promise."

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"...So, how about we take a walk? This dorm's seen better days, so it's tough work checking all the places that need repairs."

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You've adjusted to life at Darkwick pretty well, haven't you? Not that anomalies and missions are something you'd want to get used to..."

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Today doesn't really work for me... I'm going to be getting back to the dorm pretty late, so can we do tomorrow instead?"

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"...Hate to be the one to tell you this, but there's something untoward lingering behind you. Don't look! Hah, I was just kidding. It was just a little dust, see?"

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Twilight has been a lot quieter than usual today... I hope that's not a bad sign."

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Subaru's just too nice. Keeping all the eccentrics in Hotarubi in check's gotta be rough."

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Everyone here comes from different backgrounds and has different gifts. There's no reason you should feel out of place."

'we're all unique, including the most ordinary among us.' good lesson!

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Looks we're going to make it through today without any disasters. At least I hope so."

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't walk around at night with your guard down. Don't come crying to me if you get possessed by a fox spirit, you hear?"

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Your parents ever tell you ghosts would get you if you don't go to bed? For some reason Zenji's the only one who gets spooked when I say that..."

after the reveal that zenji is a ghost this is so funny actually I LOVE THAT ZENJI IS A GHOST WHO'S AFRAID OF GHOSTS AND THE DARK.

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"All these geniuses and their lectures are giving me heartburn. Wouldn't mind hearing the woes of someone long-suffering instead every once in a while."

(this sounds cruel but from what i can tell in Japanese he says he'd rather hear stories about hard workers/people who struggled from the bottom than prodigies. Basically he's more interested in, y'know, ordinary folks than people who're really special.)

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"That video I took of Zenji today? I'm just going to do some quick editing and post it. I don't know why he doesn't just focus on content that's more his style..."

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I saw Tohma a little while ago. Been a while since we last had a real chat. Sounds like he's got his hands full, as always."

so i initially left this one out of this post because i didn't think much of it but. . .the way Haku regards Tohma is so much more casual than Tohma regards Haku in retrospect, it seems. To Haku, Tohma's just the usual hard worker. Someone he'd actually enjoy having a conversation with. But Tohma speaks to Haku almost as if with suspicion or disdain. . .then again he speaks kind of coldly to Jin too. Maybe that's just how he is with people he kind of knows or views as more on his level. Or it's something more sinister. Who knows.

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"Mornin'. You've got a sleep mark on your face. Yeah, right there. Good to know you got a good night's rest."

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"You haven't collected all the papers that were supposed to be submitted by today's deadline yet? Who are you waiting on? Got it. I'll go get them for you."

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I don't mean to scare you, but... be careful with your right leg. Especially when you're in the main building."

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Getting cold feet when you try to jump into the deep end is just proof you're a normal human being. We're the crazy ones."

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Can't sleep? In that case, let's go for a little walk. There's actually something I want to talk to you about."

pretty high affinity to be having chats on night walks. . .i wonder what he wanted to talk about.

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Just having someone you care about at your side is all you really need... Ha ha. That was a little out of character, huh? My bad."

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"Oh, you're awake. I was just about to make some tea to wake myself up. Want some?"

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"It's not very often I get to kick back like this in the middle of the day. Maybe I'll take a nap."

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"None of us wanted to become like this. Living an ordinary life, and dying an ordinary death— why go after more than that?"

He just wants to be normal. And he can't. It's kinda tragic lol

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"(Yawn) Oh, didn't see you there. Haha... Guess I've been letting my sleep debt build up. I'm going to bed."

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Being cursed really sucks, huh? You can't help but ask yourself, "Why me?" all the time, even when you know it's a question with no answer."

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"I know I'm being selfish— but sometimes, I wish you'd just forget about me..."

WHY. . .ARE YOU THE SUS ONE AND YOU FEEL BAD THAT YOU'LL BETRAY THEM? DO YOU JUST FEEL LIKE YOU'RE TOO LUCKY HAVING HAD FALLEN FOR SOMEONE NORMAL WHEN YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT NORMAL ANYMORE? DO YOU FEEL LIKE THE PC DESERVES SOMEONE NORMAL AND TO BE ABLE TO GO BACK TO A NORMAL LIFE BUT BEING WITH YOU GUARANTEES THEY WON'T? WHY DO YOU WANT THEM TO FORGET YOU. . .he's so interesting to me simply because of how much he tries to keep himself apart from his being a ghoul(and, y'know, seeing spirits and shit--) so he can try and just be any other guy. . .and he can't lol his surroundings, who and what he is, he can't go back to being normal! It's a charming way to have a boy next door sort of personality i think lol

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"I've been noticing more birds in the garden lately. Is that a bush warbler? A white-eye, maybe? A lot going on during spring in Hotarubi."

Boy knows his birbs.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Heading into another nice, warm afternoon. Maybe I should take a nap...? Oops, nearly forgot I promised Zenji I'd film him."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Must be nice being a ghost—no hayfever, and no hangovers. Spring really is the embodiment of human weakness."

How drunk did you get last night buddy. . . .

(between 8pm and 5am)

"My family home is pretty famous in our area for its cherry blossoms... When I was a kid, my friends and I used to go exploring through them at night."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"It's so humid... Days like this make me miss Frostheim..."

He's former Frostheim! Maybe that's why he and Tohma seem to have some history. There's also Jin's friend who left that Tohma helped to switch houses. . .but Haku was a second year then so would he have needed it?

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Today, I've got to go round and check the stalls for the festival Hotarubi is holding— wouldn't want any dangerous charlatans sneaking their way in."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Zenji's off roaming around somewhere again... People are more sensitive this time year, so I wish he'd just stay put..."

AGAIN, BEFORE WE LEARNED HE WAS A GHOST I READ THIS AND THOUGHT PEOPLE HE MEANT LIKE. . .SENSITIVE EMOTIONALLY TO NOISE AND ZENJI'S BIWA PLAYING. I DID NOT REALIZE THAT HE WAS WORRIED PEOPLE WOULD REALIZE ZENJI WAS THERE.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"You're not going to wear a yukata? Eh, I just thought it'd be cute to see. That's the kind of thing guys think about, don't know what else to tell you."

It reads like he's a little disappointed the girl he's into friends with isn't gonna wear something he thinks is cute lol

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"They say fall is the season of the arts, but I'm a really mediocre flute player. I'm about as uncultured as you can get."

funny thing for an ex-frostheimer to say.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"You can hear the biwa, right? He's been going for three hours now. People are going to start getting pissed off, so I'll go tell him to stop soon."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Nightfall can catch you unaware this time of year. It'll be dark soon, so let me know when you're planning to head home. I'll walk you back to the cathedral."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"It's a stunner of a night. Maybe I'll grab a drink and do a little moon gazing."

don't drink too much you're trying to quit smoking, the solution isn't to replace it with another addiction--

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"You'll catch a cold dressed like that. It's already pretty chilly out there, you know... Here, take my coat."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Winter rain really chills you to the bone. Sorry, walking through the garden must be rough for you this time of year. Come a little closer."

I'm a bit of a sucker for huddling together in the cold lol

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"It's cold again today. Now that I think of it, Subaru said he wanted to make hotpot with everyone. Guess I'll go grab some things and make it happen."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Your hands hurt because of the cold? Let me see. Oh yeah, your fingertips are all red. Here, stick them in my pockets."

Is that your flute in your pocket or are you completely unaffected by the cold

His birthday: (July 26th)

"Wait, you got me a birthday present? You're so conscientious. Oh, I didn't mean it in a bad way. Thanks, I appreciate it."

Your birthday:

"Hey, come over here a sec. Here. It's nothing special, but I got you a something. Today's your birthday, right?"

why is this worded like he's asking you to come into a shady alley in secret to give you a birthday gift lmao

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year. I know it's a cliché, but I hope this year's a good one for you."

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"Whoa, chocolate? I didn't think you'd give them to me too. Guess I better think of something good to get you in return."

White Day: (March 13th)

"Here, for the chocolate you got me last month. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got the ones I remember you said were good."

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"A bunch of spirits have been following you around all day, are you okay? Psych, just kidding. Seriously, I was joking, I swear."

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Looks like you've had your fair share of tricks today. I'll narrow down your options and just make it a treat, then."

Christmas: (December 25th)

"You look like you're having fun. Do you have a present for me, Little Miss Santa? Haha, I'm just kidding. Here you go. Merry Christmas."

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"...Hey, you alive? Not much point me just standing here waiting around. Guess I'll take off."

(13 affinity and above)

"I know I look like a slacker, but I do have stuff to do. Guess I'll nap till she gets back."

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Hey there, stranger. Everyone's missed you, you know. ...Even I was starting to get a little worried."

Those're the ones that're most interesting to me I think! 'u' there are some that aren't up there though, like some of the ones that show him being responsible and worrying about his teammates haha. Hope you don't mind my little commentary here and there!

A while later and I've amended this post to include all of the home screen voicelines, not just the ones that appealed to me most in that moment! Haku's interesting in how. . .normal he is. Aside from the seeing spirits and things anyway lmao. He's just a casual flirt who wants to escape the abnormality that his becoming a ghoul got him. I feel like his lines don't really reveal anything about him. . .but also 19 in particular feels. . .a little lonely? Maybe because of how he had to leave Frostheim, he doesn't really feel as connected to the Hotarubi ghouls yet, compared to how he was with Jin before? Or, if he is the spy, he feels like all of his relationships are fake. . .and man that 'I wish you'd just forget about me' line is sad but also SO SUSPICIOUS. WHO SAYS THAT IF THEY DON'T PLAN ON LEAVING YOU OR STABBING YOU IN THE BACK.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi there!! I’ve been following you for a long time and love your work with Donna 🥰 if it’s alright I would like to request something! G!PDonna happens upon Fem!reader’s diary and glances through it. Discovering there are both wholesome and lewd entries of the Doll maker, but she’s too intimidated and shy of Donna to make a move?? And it catches Donna of guard so much because reader hardly interacts with her?? But she also experiments and teases reader trying to make her confess?? Ahhhh 🙈

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your words!!! And for your requests!!!! Your support always make my day!!! I hope you like ir and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Dear diary

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna

Word count: 7,623

Summary: What is she writing on that book?...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Another day.

The mere fact of the passage of time always seemed somewhat confusing to me. If I had to think about how much time has passed, how many times I have seen the sun rise and set, I couldn't do it, I simply couldn't.

Mother Miranda was merciful to me, she saved me, but I can't help but think what would have happened if she hadn't, what I would have become.

Like every morning, darkness envelops me ironically in my bedroom, as if everything around me reminded me where I am and why I am there.

None of that mattered enough to me to let my demons take control of my actions. I've been through that and now I only have to continue living, continue being part of the village, dominate it with my siblings.

Envy was never among my sins, no matter how suspicious I felt about the attitude of my sister Alcina, always surrounded by servants, always adored by them unconditionally.

No, I refuse to think that my decision to have a maid came because I looked with desire at my sister's situation. She lived in a castle and I lived in my lonely darkness.

Maybe I thought this world of shadows, my little, intimate and quiet world needed a change. Maybe with someone around me I could feel that time was actually passing, that I was not a simple ghostly presence, that I really existed.

That shamefully common delusion in my damaged mind was chasing me for days, that idea of ​​having someone who was not me, who was not my monstrous reflection in the mirror.

Luckily those subtle pleas became verbalized and, after talking about it with my sister, she offered me her most recent acquisition, (Y/N).

A quiet girl, perfect for me, according to Alcina.

Since that girl came to my house, few things changed. My sister was right. She was quiet, shy but helpful. I could spend hours watching the cobwebs in the house disappear under her skillful movements, I could spend an eternity listening to her sweet humming when she thinks I'm not there.

Yes, I may have been obsessed with her at first. She was a beautiful young woman, with a smile that reached even the darkest corner of my room. Her shy and sweet attitude made me feel things I had forgotten, things I only saw as entertainment or a need for my body.

But as much as I wanted to know how her lips felt on mine, how it would feel to have her naked body under mine, I couldn't just do it. I was still a deformed monster, everything had changed since my adoption, too many things.

After fighting my instincts for weeks, I decided to relax. I couldn't scare her, I couldn't exercise that power Alcina had over her maids. I wasn't Alcina, I was a monster and (Y/N)… (Y/N) was an angel.

Although she didn't run away when she saw my face, although my appearance didn't stir her stomach, I spent time putting aside the demons that forced me to act, letting that sudden obsession fade away like a light perfume you get used to after a while, an intoxicating perfume.

“Good morning, my lady,” she said in a soft voice when I went up the elevator, ready to spend a new day.

I nodded with a half smile, with that veiled smile that characterized me. At least she didn't run away when she saw me. That was always a pleasure. It always made me want to widen my smile.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” I whispered in a low tone, one that only she could hear. Maybe my obsession had disappeared, but not my desire to have her near me, my desire to see that kind smile on her face.

The girl cleared her throat and turned around, walking elegantly towards the table, where breakfast was waiting for me as every morning. A magnificent breakfast, one prepared by her.

“I, I hope you slept well,” she said kindly, accommodating me in the chair. Her body was shaking, revealing her inexhaustible shyness, her nervousness. I hoped it was just that, shyness, and not fear, anything but fear.

“Mm,” I murmured, nodding, pouring myself some of that disastrous coffee she always prepared.

Of course, my involuntary grimace of disgust didn’t go unnoticed by her, who suddenly began to tremble more intensely.

“I'm, I'm sorry, my lady, the coffee is…” she said with a broken voice, snatching the cup from my hand. I looked at her inquisitively, frowning.

“It's okay,” I said in a whisper, picking up the small cup again.

Her eyes closed, as they always did when she got nervous.

“I'm sorry, I…” (Y/N) apologized again, her cheeks flushed, intimidated by my presence.

I shouldn't be surprised at all, I was a monster and she was just a little lamb.

“You’ve pressed the coffee,” I stated, glancing at the old coffee maker, checking, once again, that she made the same mistake.

“Yes, I…” she stammered, avoiding looking at me in the eye, avoiding our gazes meeting.

“You mustn't do it, (Y/N). This coffee maker doesn't work that way. If you press the coffee, it becomes clumpy and generates too much bitterness,” I explained with a calm voice, with an expression that didn’t betray how beautiful she seemed to me, how comfortable I felt by her side.

“I'm, I'm, I'm so sorry, Lady Beneviento, it, it, it won't happen again,” she said, lowering her head, clasping her hands in front of her body in a pleading manner.

I smiled and shook my head. The young woman's nervousness could be sensed from miles away. I didn't want to see her nervous, but I was still Donna Beneviento, a crazy and dangerous woman. I couldn't blame her for feeling that way.

“I'm not scolding you,” I said, looking away and taking another sip of the bitter liquid, sighing, desperate to stop causing that feeling of terror in her. “It's just a piece of advice.”

She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to mine, nodding as she swallowed; her trembling diminishing little by little.

“Thank, thank you for the advice,” she said in a broken voice, the words not wanting to leave her lips.

I nodded passively, looking back at that splendid breakfast.

“Calmati, (Y/N)…” -I whispered, blowing the smoke coming out of the cup, controlling the trembling of my own body, my own nerves. “I didn't hire you for your ability to prepare coffee.”

“So… Why did you hire me, my lady?” she asked back.

Well, that was new, that girl didn't usually question me. I couldn't help but feel annoyed about it. I was supposed to be a Lord. I made the questions, not her.

I had to take a moment for my irrational fury to fade away. No, she couldn't suffer my delusions.

“I don't know,” I whispered, shaking my head and hardening my expression. “Why do you think I did it?”

She laughed nervously, looking away again, searching with her erratic eyes for an answer, something to say to my unexpected question, one I used to not to say what I thought of her, that her beauty calmed my darkness.

“I... Don’t...” she murmured, breathing heavily, playing with her hands shiny with nervous sweat.

I laughed, shaking my head, releasing the young woman from that slightly uncomfortable question. I didn't want to see her tremble. I didn't want to see her being afraid of me.

“I've taken up too much of your time, (Y/N). I'm sure you have a lot of things to do,” I said with a calm voice, enjoying the bitter taste of the coffee, of her coffee.

“Yes, my lady,” she nodded in relief, with a wider smile, wanting to get rid of my presence. Once again, I couldn't blame her, I'm a monster. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Prego,” I whispered, looking away, listening to her footsteps slowly moving away, surely looking for something to do, something that would take her away from me.

But I couldn't have a quiet breakfast. Some steps on the wood alerted. My conscience had something to say, or rather, something to make fun of.

“Donna likes the maid,” Angie sang, my doll, the only one who was always by my side, the only one I could trust. Unfortunately, she was part of me. She knew my thoughts, my feelings. I don't know why she was so rebellious, so... Angie.

“Shut up,” I hissed when the puppet climbed onto my lap, enunciating a truth that I was unable to verbalize. “Of course I like her.”

“Why don't you tell her, silly Donna?” the doll asked, ready to annoy me, to not let me enjoy the peace left by the fleeting presence of (Y/N).

“You know why, it's absurd,” I answered, spreading oil on the perfect toasts that she prepared every morning. The coffee was a disaster, but those toasts...

“It's not absurd, you are her owner,” Angie said.

I got nervous, looking around in case she appeared, in case she heard the horrible statement that showed my power over her, the involuntary submission I didn't want her to have.

“I don't want her to think that way about me. I don't want to scare her, Angie,” I explained in a whisper.

The doll tilted her head comically and got off my lap, crossing her arms.

“Coward,” she scolded me, which made me clench my teeth tightly, and start to consider deactivating her, at least for a while.

“Angie…” I muttered, rolling my eye, letting the air out of my lungs with a sigh. No, I couldn't agree with her, even though she definitely was right.

“Stop the nonsense and tell her what you feel,” the puppet said, making grotesque movements with her wooden limbs.

“You know I can't,” I protested, abruptly leaving the coffee cup on the table, causing everything to move dangerously and make an annoying noise.

“Fine, fine, whatever you want, silly Donna,” Angie said passively, moving away from me. “By the way, how's your right hand? One night you'll end up making fire…”

I, faced with this shameful comment, abruptly got up from the table, grabbing the puppet and shaking it furiously in my hands, with my cheeks flushed by this very intimate and personal accusation.

“Don’t dare to…” I hissed threateningly, my body shaking with embarrassment.

The doll laughed in my arms, with that sinister laugh that she surely learned from the deepest darkness of my mind.

“Don't touch me with that hand, you sick masturbator,” the puppet protested, making the anger on my face more evident, causing a furious growl from the back of my throat.

“Shut up, damn it,” I hissed, about to deactivate the annoying Angie definitely.

“My lady, I’ve heard a noise, is everything okay?” (Y/N)'s voice stopped me in my action, I froze and lowered the puppet to the floor.

“Yes, everything is fine,” I said in a whisper, with the triumphant Angie cowardly running away from me.

“I, um, do, do you need something?” she asked, approaching me slowly, surely frightened by the trembling of my body. “Are you having a crisis?”

“No,” I answered abruptly, letting myself fall back into the chair, with my senses clouded by nerves, by rage at the accusations of that irreverent part of my conscience.

“Are you sure?” she insisted, approaching cautiously and putting her hand on my shoulder. I looked at her quickly and she pulled it away, frightened. Always the same, I always ended up scaring her. “I'm sorry,” she apologized, moving away again, with terror marking her features.

“Don't you have to clean? Lasciami stare,” I growled abruptly, unpleasantly.

(Y/N) nodded embarrassed, with a pitiful sigh, disappearing from the room, fleeing from my irrational fury, from my uncontrollable demons.

“Wait, I…” I suddenly said, standing up to stop her escape, to apologize for my unfair attitude. I couldn't do it. My voice was too low and my attempt too pathetic. “I didn't want to…”

A pathetic monster, that was me.

I sighed, sitting back down, running a hand over my forehead, burying my head in my hands, gripping my hair tightly, furious for not being able to keep calm, for unintentionally causing fear in the young woman. She could never love me, not the way I am. Maybe I had to stop fooling myself and let her go before I lost control.

“Cazzo…” I muttered, hitting the table with my closed fist, furious, frustrated for not being able to control myself. I couldn't blame Angie, she was me, I was her.

“Hey, hey, Donna, did you see it?” the doll asked, tugging at my dress to get my attention.

I shook my head confused by that question.

“What? The way I scare her again? Great job Angie,” I said, angrily destroying one of the toasts.

“No, silly, silly, the book, the book she was carrying in her hand,” the doll said, climbing onto the table and threatening to destroy my breakfast.

“What book? What are you talking about?” I asked confused, moving the puppet away from the tray and the coffee pot, avoiding causing more problems for (Y/N).

“The book (Y/N) always carries with her, silly,”  Angie explained, letting herself fall on the table, swinging her legs like a little girl, like me when I was a little girl and I wasn't… A monster.

“A book,” I repeated, crossing my arms, nervous about how mysterious that damn puppet always was.

I wonder what I would be like if I had her personality…

“Yes, yes, a secret book, or so it seems,” she whispered, approaching me in an annoying way.

I laughed ironically, disappointed by that absurd conversation.

“I told (Y/N) that she could read whatever books she wanted, I don't know what's so mysterious about that,” I commented, letting the oil soak the lightly toasted bread, concentrating on it and not on my unfair outburst with (Y/N).

“Are you stupid?” Angie asked, annoyed, slapping me and making me furious again.

“You're one step away from me deactivating you and putting you with the others, Angie,” I threatened with a frown, my chest burning with helplessness. I knew I would be incapable of doing it.

“Do it if you want,” she answered haughtily. “But then I won't tell you what I know...”

“What do you know?” I asked curiously, thus blurring the desire I had to make my faithful companion disappear.

“Apologize and I'll tell you,” Angie said, turning her back on me. Damn evil doll.

“Angie…” I hissed nervously.

“Okay, okay… Listen, do you know why I think that book is important?”

“No, I don't know,” I answered through clenched teeth, watching my surroundings. “Speak.”

“The other night I was watching (Y/N) and then…” the puppet began, with a mockingly mysterious tone. “I saw her writing something on it.”

“Really?” I asked, now interested in that information. “What was she writing?”

“No idea, but it seemed like secret things,” the doll said, getting down from the table and saying goodbye with an unpleasant gesture. “You're welcome for the information, silly Donna.”

I remained thoughtful, sighing. As I already knew, that information was not relevant at all. (Y/N) writing in a book, what nonsense, surely it was not important, was it?

The day continued to pass calmly, silently, terribly lonely.

I didn't see (Y/N) until late afternoon, probably still scared, because of me.

Not even working on my dolls could calm my nerves. All I thought about was her, how I scared her, how much she probably wanted to go back to the castle. Of all the monsters in the village, I was the worst, and she was starting to realize it.

I decided to distract myself with an old essay on plants, in the quiet living room, hoping that, by chance, she would appear. Luckily, she did.

“Here’s your tea, my lady,” she said in a whisper, trying not to disturb my concentration, leaving a steaming cup on the desk. I couldn't help but smile.

“You're always so punctual, (Y/N),” I said, glancing at the clock out of the corner of my eye.

It didn't matter where I was, she always found me, made me that tea, looked for me, gave it to me with that smile. I don't know when I started losing my mind…

“Yes, well, I always finish my chores at this time, I’m pleased to serve you, to make you a, a tea” she said in a kind voice, stuttering as usual.

I smiled kindly, but my face relaxed when I looked lower, at (Y/N)'s hands, which were holding the book Angie mentioned. I frowned discreetly, trying to see what was written on the cover.

“What have you been doing? I haven't seen you,” I commented erratically, just to keep her by my side a little longer, just a little longer.

“I've been cleaning the upstairs, my lady,” she explained in an elegant, helpful voice. I wondered if Alcina also found that voice terribly sexy.

“Donna,” I said, looking away. Yes, I hated that charming formality.

“Sorry?” she asked confused, scratching the back of her neck, holding that book tightly in her hand.

“Call me Donna, please,” I said with an indifferent tone, pretending to read the pages of that essay “Unless it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Donna,” (Y/N) said, with a calm face, with a shy smile that I returned. “I… I have to, I have to go prepare dinner.”

“Why are you such in a hurry?” I asked confused by that new attempt to escape. This time I hadn't done anything to scare her, besides, I had to know what was written in that damn book. “I'm sure you're exhausted.”

“We, well, the truth is that the dust fluff that was upstairs has made it a little difficult for me… I even had to fight against it,” she said with a broken voice, embarrassed, laughing shyly.

I looked at her with a frown at that tender attempt at joking.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to…” she apologized seconds later. I laughed softly, shaking my head.

“Joking, I know, that’s fine,” I said between laughs, with a casual pose, turning a little to have a better view of that book. “I like you’re funny.”

“I’d like to be too,” she said jokingly, shaking her head, her smile widening as well as the blush on her cheeks.

There was a brief moment when our gazes met, when our smiles greeted each other, but that quickly faded. I had probably imagined it.

“Don’t worry about dinner, go take a bath first,” I murmured, quickly returning to my book, not letting the light of her smile reveal my feelings.

Another erratic mood swing, my life was a nightmare.

“Oh, I…” the maid stammered, playing with the book in her hands, lowering her head in an elegant bow. “Yes, of course, thank you… Donna.”

I nodded disinterestedly as she walked away again, but not before leaving that mysterious book hidden under one of the cushions of the old sofa. Surely she didn't think I was discreetly watching her. Angie was definitely right.

When (Y/N) went upstairs to take a bath, as I suggested, I stood up slowly, my gaze fixed on the sofa, always alert in case she came down again. She didn't, Angie wasn't around either, it was my chance.

I lifted the cushion and found that precious book. Oh, no, it wasn't a book, on the cover worn by the passage of time there was only one word: Diary.

“Interessante…”  I murmured, flipping through the pages at random, sitting on the couch, always watching the door, adrenaline running through my veins as I did something I shouldn't. It was funny, really.

Dear diary:

This morning I stole a cookie from Mom and she caught me. She grounded me from seeing my friends, that's unfair, I want to play with them, especially with Katia, she's my best friend, and the one who gave me the idea of ​​stealing the cookies. Maybe if I pray to the Black Gods my mother will be nice to me…

“Oh, wow, you were mischievous, huh?” I commented amused, reading that childish writing, (Y/N)'s private thoughts. Laughing, I turned more pages of that small book, watching how time passed through her writing as well.

One of the dates caught my attention, it was the date she arrived at the estate. Looking around, checking that (Y/N) wasn't there, I dove back into her thoughts.

Dear Diary:

Today was my first day at the Beneviento estate. I was scared, because I had heard terrible things about Lady Beneviento. My lady told me that I would have to go there and stay with her. I was really scared. They said she was crazy, that she was very dangerous and that I could experience my worst fears. But none of that seemed true. Lady Donna is a shy and mysterious woman, but she is kind, she hasn't hurt me.

I wonder if that beautiful woman in the portrait is her, I wonder why in the village they say she is a monster.

“You weren't wrong...” I sighed, turning the pages with a melancholic air. Once again, as always, I couldn't blame her.

The entries in that diary traveled through the pages, my eye scanned them with curiosity. Nothing particularly interesting, nothing until the day came when she accidentally saw my face, a horrible day that just remembering it makes me shiver.

Dear Diary:

Lady Donna had a terrible nervous breakdown. She screamed that someone was after her, that they wanted to hurt her. I tried to help her, I really tried. To see such an imposing woman suffer like that made me feel sorry about her.

Thanks to my help, Lady Donna recovered from her fears, from her trembling. I don't know why, but I felt terribly bad seeing her in that state. But the most curious thing of all is that finally that black veil disappeared, and I was able to see her face. She is... How can I explain it, maybe the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life? I don't know, dear diary, I don't know why she covered herself

She is beautiful, that scar doesn't hide her beauty. I can't stop thinking about her...

“Beautiful?”  I said with a frown, my heart racing at those words, at that opinion so impossible for me. No, she should be wrong.

But the one who was wrong, without a doubt, was me. One by one I turned the pages of that old diary and, more and more frequently, the beauty she saw in me appeared in them. It seemed that I occupied her mind, her world, that she couldn't stop thinking about me.

Maybe my madness had made me imagine that those words were true, that when (Y/N) said she trembled when she saw me it was because she felt something, anything for me, and not out of fear.

I had a hard time believing it, I really had.

Dear Diary:

I keep thinking about Donna. All day, all night, even when she's not here, her figure appears in front of me like a dream, a wonderful one. I know it's crazy, I know I shouldn't feel this way. She's a Lord, she's powerful, dangerous. If she finds out I'm attracted to her, I don't know what the consequences might be. I'm afraid I'll feel more things than I already do, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop smiling when I see her appear in the morning.

“Are you attracted to me?” I repeated incredulously, reading that entry over and over again, uncovering my maid’s deepest feelings, uncovering a truth hidden as well as a bat in the dark.

I shook my head, blinking in confusion, searching for an excuse, something to tell me that what was in that book was just an illusion.

Dear Diary:

I did something horrible today.

I was cleaning the basement, as usual, and the sound of running water caught my attention. I knew it was her, it couldn't be anyone else, Donna was taking a shower and I, absorbed in my sick attraction, approached the source of the sound.

There she was, her body exposed, her pale skin letting me look at it through a crack. She is perfect. I have no other word to describe her. Her figure, her waist, her breasts, her... Well, everything, everything was perfect. That torrid vision of my lady has destabilized me even more.

I can't stop imagining her naked body against mine. I can't stop thinking about how her perfect penis would feel inside of me. I’m very excited and wanting to make me enjoy myself. But she is still my mistress, I cannot feel those things for her, I’m still intimidated by her presence, by her beauty…

Help me, Black Gods, I’m going crazy, I think I’m falling in love.

“Mamma mia,” I sighed, blushing, slamming the book shut, nervous about the words I had just read, with a sinister smile on my face.

I should have felt ashamed of having been spied on, but quite the opposite. My body had read those words and reacted accordingly. I ignored it, as I always did, focusing on that last sentence, on that confession she never dared to make, on the confession about her feeling the same as me. She loved me.

“Well, well…” a shrill voice murmured, startling me. I don't know when Angie appeared perched on my shoulder, reading those obscene and intriguing words next to me.

“Angie!” I shouted, scared and furious. No, not her… “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” she mocked, fleeing from my hands which were trying to reach her. “Perfect penis, huh?”

“Shut up,” I growled, blushing again. “You're always thinking about…”

“That's what you're thinking, silly Donna. Don't blame me for having to put up with your dirty mind,” the doll defended herself.

Unfortunately, I couldn't say anything against that attack. My own lascivious thoughts gave me away again. I simply crossed my arms with a sigh.

“So she… She has feelings for me,”-I murmured, running my hand through my hair, across my sweaty forehead, confused, disoriented, wondering when I would wake up from that dream.

“It seems so,” Angie said, dropping onto the couch.

“Why hasn't she told me?” I asked myself, reading (Y/N)'s praises of me over and over again, the desire she had to kiss my lips, to have my hands grabbing her waist.

“Why haven't you told her?” Angie asked back. I have to admit that sometimes she is too caustic, or am I?

“You know, because… Because she is my maid and I… Well, I’m her mistress…. She could confuse my intentions and… I could scare her,” I explained with a sad voice, running my hands through those private pages, through (Y/N)'s thoughts I read without permission.

“Maybe she thinks the same way,” the puppet commented, swinging her legs again.

“What do you mean?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, please, you know, you've read it…” Angie murmured, also watching her surroundings. “You intimidate her, Donna, when she's around you she's a shaking mess. She probably thinks you'd never have feelings for her.”

“But, but (Y/N) has never, I mean, never… Interacted with me beyond her duties, she's never shown that interest she claims to have on me,” I said, pointing at the book.

Angie growled and climbed up my body, hitting my head in an annoying way.

“Knock, knock, is anyone there?” she asked mockingly. I pushed her away with an angry slap. “Wake up, Donna.”

“You're taking too many liberties,” I whispered threateningly, receiving a mocking laugh as an answer, as expected. “Stop laughing at me, and help me.”

“Help yourself, silly Donna. What you have to do is make the first move, tease her, you know, bring out that seductive side of you,” the doll explained.

I shook my head laughing tiredly.

“I don't have that side,” I said amused, reading the words of that diary again.

“Well, if you want her to react, you have to do it yourself,” Angie demanded.

You have to do it yourself

It seemed crazy, but deep down, I knew that, Angie, that talking conscience was right. The question was simple, how?

The sound of the stairs put me on alert and, nervous, I put the diary away, getting up from the sofa and maintaining a concealed pose that would surely be ridiculous.

“Donna?” the maid asked when she saw me moving in place, with a fake smile, too close to the secret hiding place.

“Ciao, (Y/N), I was, I was waiting for you,” I said with a slightly more confident voice, clumsily trying to be seductive, something that, of course, didn't work.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked, moving her wet hair, with a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn't noticed until that moment.

“Yes, sure, I, I like waiting for you,” I said awkwardly, closing my eye in embarrassment and clearing my throat. “I mean, I'm, I'm hungry.”

“Oh, I…” (Y/N) sighed, with a disappointment in her voice that I was now able to notice. “I'm sorry, I spent too much time in the bathtub,” she apologized with a strange blush on her cheeks.

No, I really didn't want to think about what she was doing, what she was thinking about. I regretted having read her diary.

“Don’t, don't apologize, a hot bath can be restorative, don't you think?” I said in a lower voice, gaining confidence from nowhere, following Angie's erratic advice.

Slowly, I approached her, who smiled nervously, unable to look me in the face.

“Yes, of course,” she said in a small voice, with the same tone she used when she was nervous, when she was near me. The perfume she emanated was much more intense.

“I would never forgive myself if such a beautiful skin was damaged by overwork,” I whispered shamelessly, approaching her ear, running the back of my hand over the exposed skin of her arms. Her breathing became agitated, her body didn’t reject my touch, she simply trembled more intensely.

“Donna, I…” she sighed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin bristling at my touch. “I'm going to make dinner right away,” she said abruptly, cowardly fleeing from my proximity.

I laughed incredulously, as Angie's shameless strategy had worked.

 I had managed to get her gaze focused on me, my skin to brush against hers, a bit of those secret feelings to be reflected on her face.

It wasn't such a bad idea, after all. I'd have to keep trying.

Day after day my closeness to (Y/N) increased considerably. It didn't matter where she was, dusting, washing dishes... My presence always haunted her. My whispers filled her ears with soft words, words she didn't understand, highlighting her beauty, the grace of her existence, what she meant to me.

Approaching her from behind to guide her hands while she cooked, showing her how to prepare coffee properly, placing strands of her hair behind her ear… They were experimental strategies to make her nervous, to take away the fear she had of me, the authoritarian and intimidating figure she saw in me.

But my efforts, my provocations, my constant teasing had no effect beyond her erratic trembling, the sweat running down her forehead or the blush on her cheeks accompanied by a nervous laugh.

I began to get frustrated again, to secretly read again the pages of her diary that revealed her nerves were at their highest limit and that approach, that subtle touch of my skin, of my words in her ears, only increased the fierceness of her feelings, and her desire.

“Do you know how to do a manicure?” I asked one cloudy afternoon, a boring afternoon in which I interrupted (Y/N) in her free time reading or writing, the diary peeking out subtly from a boring book on Romanian flora and fauna.

“Oh, Donna, yes, of course, I was used to doing it for Lady Dimitrescu,” -she explained, hiding the diary under the sofa in an awkward manner, with an innocent smile that hid her not so innocent thoughts.

Hearing my sister's name filled me with jealousy, but I soon learned to control it. I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her to see that I really was a monster, that I wanted her just for me.

“To work on my dolls destroys my nails, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to...” I said, looking at my hands with disinterest, walking towards the sofa. She suddenly stood up, making a ridiculous bow and escaping from my presence. “Where are you going?”

“Sit, sit down, I'll be right back,” she said nervously, running upstairs, surely to get the stuff for that manicure I asked her for.

With a delicacy that was hard to believe, she worked on my nails, fixing the mess that the work in the workshop caused. Her warm hands studied mine and her gaze finally had an excuse not to be fixed on mine. She seemed concentrated, but she couldn't help the sweat on her forehead giving her away.

“You have beautiful hands,” she said quietly, playing with my fingers, with a tender smile, as if that moment relaxed her, as if she was starting to feel comfortable with my presence.

Time to act.

I smiled the same way, letting her fingers caress me, letting her take advantage of that moment to touch the skin she so longed to feel, or so she said in her diary.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” I whispered, nodding kindly, searching with my free hand for hers, indiscreetly playing with interlacing our fingers. “Yours aren't bad either.”

“That's not true,” she sighed, searching in a case for the nail polish I asked for, black like the darkness that always surrounded me. “I've spent a lot of time cleaning.”

“Nonsense, they're soft…” I said disinterestedly, playing with her hand, caressing the rough surface due to her hard work. She gasped in surprise, pretending to cough, pretending that her skin wasn't suffering from shivers.

“You're very kind, my lady,” she said nervously, uncapping the nail polish and moving her hand away from my caresses.

“My lady?” I said amused, tilting my head inquisitively. She smiled, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“Donna,” she corrected, with a shy smile, with the red of her cheeks contrasting harmoniously with her skin.

“That's better,” I said, satisfied, dragging out the words and making myself more comfortable in front of her, relaxing my body on the sofa.

“Don't, don't move,” she asked me in an almost imperceptible voice, as if she didn't want to give orders to me. Maybe my strategy hadn't worked as well as I thought.

“I won't,” I whispered with a reassuring smile, while (Y/N) brought the small brush to my hand. She couldn't stop shaking.

Abruptly, I grabbed her wrist firmly before she started with her task.

“You're shaking, (Y/N),” I said with a bit of cockiness, with a dangerous look, with a dark glint that was surely piercing her soul.

“I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that...” she murmured, breathing deeply to try to calm down, something she didn't manage to do.

“I want you to paint my nails, not my hand,” I joked, without letting the young woman's wrist go. (Y/N) was beginning to thrash around, looking with her eyes for a place to escape.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she apologized again, when I finally let her wrist go. I was beginning to feel sorry for her, but the truth was that I was very tired of waiting, very tired of that submissive attitude.

She was mine, but I didn't want her to see it that way, I wanted her to feel comfortable.

“You're nervous, why?” I asked in a soft, unexpectedly seductive tone.

She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, but regretting it immediately.

“I, I don't know.”

Liar...

“Relax,” I whispered, getting a little closer, feeling that my prey was cornered, that she couldn't, that she didn't want to escape.

It may have been a lack of manners, of subtlety, but my love, my desire, my desire to make her mine overcame me without wanting to after whole days of teasing, of getting closer, of having her so close, of trying to bring her heart closer to mine.

My hand wandered curiously over her bare leg, caressing her skin with a relaxing rhythm, totally different from her breathing, which quickened in a moment.

“Does this relax you?” I asked, without taking my hand off her leg, off her addictive skin.

(Y/N) didn’t know how to react, what to say to my shameless touch. She had been nervous for days too, I know, I read it.

“N, no,” she murmured, shaking her head, looking at me with bright, confused, disoriented eyes. Despite her refusal, I didn’t stop, studying her gaze with a serious expression. “But, but… I don’t want to relax.”

My mouth sketched a smile. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to say anything, to revel in that small victory, no, her skin was my main point of attention, my hand passing under her dress, conquering that desired terrain.

Her breathing guided my movements, my gaze focused on hers, hers focused on my hand, on that bottle of nail polish that I gently snatched from her, with an intense, serious but kind look, as kind as a monster like me could be.

“Donna…” she sighed, swallowing and moving at my upward touch, when my hand was already brushing the wet fabric of her underwear. I couldn't help but smile. The situation was as exciting for her as it was for me.

“What, tesoro?” I asked, speaking to her trembling ear, caressing her lustful crotch, already wet with my soft touch. “Do you want to tell me something?”

“I… I… Ah…” (Y/N) couldn't speak clearly, my fingers ran over her folds through that annoying fabric, making her voice betray her with a moan of surprise while her other hand grabbed the fabric of the sofa as if she wanted to tear it off.

“Shh, relax…” I said again in her ear, softly kissing her earlobe while my soft caresses intensified at the point of greatest pleasure, at that point almost made her jump. “Tell me, how long do you plan to keep hiding it from me?”

(Y/N) moved nervously, opening her eyes wide, but without rejecting my touch, without letting my fingers leave the wet patch of her underwear.

“Donna, I…” she murmured, alternating gasps with moans when my impudence exceeded my own limits, moving the fabric aside, sinking into her wetness, running through her folds, playing with her clit. “I, I don't know what… Oh…”

“Oh, yes, yes you do, honey…” I whispered amused, leaning towards her, playing with my fingers at her eager entrance, causing a subtle but perceptible movement of her hips.

“I, I really don't know what...” she stammered, confused by the pleasure, by feeling my fingers playing with her most private area, just playing.

I just wanted to hear her confess, to give me permission to take what was already mine. Just a few words from her...

“You should be more careful with how you hide your personal stuff,” I murmured amused, releasing her from my touch and taking the diary out.”

Her face turned red, almost black red, her eyes confusedly searching for a place to escape, and she tried, oh yes, she tried.

Without saying anything, breathing nervously, she tried to get up from the sofa, frustrated by my hand pushing her chest, by my body climbing hers.

“My, my diary...” she stammered nervously as I dropped the book on the floor and my hands traveled to the edges of her dislocated underwear, pulling it down to her ankles.

She was paralyzed, but I didn't give it any importance.

I just wanted to know, I wanted to know if what she said was true and if I could take her without feeling guilty.

“Tell me what you said was true,” I whispered in a nervous voice, caressing her legs, scratching her skin with my nails, closing my eye to listen to the sounds of her body, her nervous breathing, her embarrassed sobbing. “Tell me you feel the same way I feel about you…”

“Donna, I…” she stammered, grabbing my wrists so they would stop desecrating her body, so she could look directly at me, with a sigh that revealed a sudden air of confidence. “Yes, it was true.”

“Do you love me?” I asked, with a serious look, leaving lust aside, focusing on a feeling that, until the last week, I thought was impossible.

“I love you,” she said in a low voice, looking away, with a tear running down her cheek.

I wiped it with one hand, taking the opportunity to caress her cheek, to cup her face in my hands before looking at her, studying the shine in her eyes, a sincere shine.

I smiled, I smiled pleased by her words, but I didn't know how to respond as I was expected to do.

I simply leaned towards her, positioning her legs on either side of my waist and placing my lips on hers, kissing the softness that her mouth was, the beauty that (Y/N) was, being able to feel my own fantasies, losing myself in the sweet embrace of our lips.

I didn't want to do it, but I moved away, studying her reaction, proving once again that there was no lie in her words, in her actions.

I sighed, closed my eye to kiss her again, this time more passionately, a kiss she returned with the same reaction, melting us into a bonfire of passion, of caresses, of almost desperate kisses, eager to receive what they had been waiting for so long.

“Take me, Donna, please,” she asked when my lips allowed her to speak, when her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my body to hers, making me crash against it, my erection caressing her wet center through my skirt.

“I thought you were more romantic,” I murmured, ignoring my romanticism, the desire to love innocently.

The lustful desire was much stronger. She laughed, freed from the anguish, from the fear of rejection or a reprimand.

“If you really love me, we will have enough time to be romantic,” she said in a whisper that was more of a warning, the fear that the feelings I didn’t know how to express were false.

“I promise you, (Y/N),” I whispered as I released my erection from the skirt, causing her eyes to dance down, her head to lean back, waiting for the moment we had both dreamed of.

Her body moved nervously as the tip entered slowly, stretching her “until then” incorrupt body, something my dark mind had not stopped to think about.

But I wasn’t going to stop because of that.

“I'm sorry,” I said in a soft tone when I saw her grimace of pain. “I'll go slower.”

I kept my word, moving slowly, not letting myself be carried away by the overwhelming sensations of her body hugging mine tightly, almost desperately. Her wetness, her excitement allowed me to move my hips, to run my shaft along her walls, to let them embrace me in an incredible way, impossible just a few weeks ago.

There was no room for apologies or stopping anymore. The pleasure was intense, her wetness bathed my flesh asking for more, asking me to move faster.

The timid moans came out of her mouth, her legs kept me inside of her while her hands scratched my back, searching for my breasts, those she said she liked that much.

Damn diary, it gave me the advantage, I knew what she was going to do, what she was going to touch, or what she was going to kiss before she did it.

I continued moving in a comfortable rhythm, letting out with my moans a small part of the pleasure I felt inside of her body. I wanted to adore her, worship her, make her mine even though she already was. My hips demanded more, hers struggled not to arch, not to release shamefully.

“Donna, it's, it's amazing,”  she murmured in a confused way, letting herself be carried away by the pleasure of my thrusts, by the sensations caused by her walls stretching around me.

I nodded trying to maintain my composure, not to be carried away by my throbbing erection, which was already demanding its own release.

“You, your body, is, amazing… You are amazing, (Y/N)…” I murmured, unintentionally increasing the pace, kissing her lips, forgetting about the movement of my hips, letting everything flow as fate wanted, and so it did.

Her back arched held by my hands, her body moved nervously around my shaft, squeezing it, forcing me to release myself along with her orgasm, to fill her with my heat, with my seed, so there would no longer be any doubt. She was mine, and she would always be.

Exhausted, heated, we looked at each other, catching our breath, letting our release mix in silence, our hands traveling over our skin, over our clothes that still held some modesty in that carnal act.

“(Y/N),” I sighed, lifting her chin so she could look at me. “I'm sorry about reading your diary.”

She shook her head, closing her eyes, joining her hand with mine, holding it tightly with hers.

“If you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have been able to say how much I love you…”

[luveline]

Hi Jade! If you feel up to it, could I request steve zombieau and perhaps while reader and steve are on the road maybe she takes care of him for once when he feels ill? Love this series so much ❤️

thank you for your request gorgeous!!! steve zombie!au. fem!reader, 1.3k

cw throwing up/ vomiting

Steve thinks you're awesome even when you piss him off, and you piss him off often (though if it's really your fault is up for debate). He likes your smile, your hands, the way you whisper when the sun goes down even if there's nobody around to hear you but him. He likes how you tie your shoelaces, how you cut open a can, hell, he even likes the way you breathe. Asleep at night, your snoring. 

He's starting to think he likes everything about you. Which is confusing, because a couple of months ago he would wish from time to time that you never met. If he didn't know you, maybe he could leave you behind. If you weren't so endearing, right from the start, he could've left you at Hawkins High and biked across Indiana. He might've been able to catch up with Robin. 

It only took a couple of days of knowing you to realise that wasn't a fair thing to think about. Plus, you saved his life. Steve was never going to leave you behind. So you're permanent, and you're awesome, and Steve hadn't realised until now that among those things, you're a good friend to him. 

"Do you think you're done?" you're asking softly, crouched in a dusty room with him and paying no mind to the vomit puddle at your feet. "We can go sit somewhere else." 

Steve fell to his knees unthinking when the first wave of nausea wracked him. It was the painful twist of guts that you're both nearly, horrifyingly, used to these days. Food poisoning. 

He shakes his head, hands trembling, mouth hot. "Don't think so."

"You want me to get your drink out of your bag?"

"Waste. I'll just throw it back up." 

"It'll make your throat feel better in the meantime." 

You rub his shoulder through his coat, an action that should be useless but in actuality is quite comforting. Steve wonders if he'd have thought to rub your back if it were you throwing up. 

Steve nods once, tight, hating that he needs things. You nod back and dig through your bag for your canteen. He wants to point out the lie, and argue that he'll waste his own water on feeling better and not yours, but the nausea rears and he has to curl his hand into something as he heaves. 

His hair is just long enough to need holding out of his face. You stroke it away from his mouth and wait with him, seemingly unbothered by his vomiting. It gets on your shoes and you still don't care, you just hum sympathetically, carding hair behind his ears. "You should listen to yourself more often, Steve, you said those spaghetti shapes tasted weird." 

"I thought maybe they tasted strange because I'm not five anymore," he says hoarsely. 

You laugh and hug his shoulders. "Poor guy," you say near his ear, your fondness a warming thing as you press your face to the side of his head. You squeeze him gently. "Does this make you feel better at all, or am I making it worse?" 

"Better." He closes his eyes, hands on his knees. "Definitely better." 

You hug him for a while. Faces squished together, your arms around him. Eventually he puts a hand on your thigh and slumps into you like a loser. 

You move him away from his gross throw up pool and insist on staying in a different room. Food poisoning is just one of those things you've had to learn to live with when things get tough, scraping by and risking it on an empty stomach. There truthfully isn't much for Steve to even expel but his body found it, and for the rest of the day he feels drained. 

You dote. Steve is a little surprised, he must look especially pathetic or something. You don't tease him for being grumpy or look after him with any feigned begrudgement, you just do it. You gather cushions for him and sit him down on a single bed (he refuses to sleep it off). You take his shoes and wash them with your own, sitting beside him when you're done, the two of you in your socks. He could pretend you were friends hanging out after work like he and Robin used to do, pyjama movie nights that left popcorn crumbs in his bed for days after. 

He misses her, then. More than he can explain. It sucks any energy he had left out of him. He lays back in bed and let's you take care of him for a bit.

Hours later, when it's dark, and you've made the executive decision to seal the house and stay the night, you lay beside him with your neck skewed funny against the wall, pulling his arm to your stomach. He gets this crazy feeling like butterflies in his stomach that he puts down to lingering nausea. 

"You feeling any better?" you ask, your hand smoothing up and down his arm as you talk. You, your hand begins to fall. Feeling, it strokes gently over his pulse. Any, your hand lightens, fingertips tracing his skin. Better, they climb the hill of his arm. You clasp the crook of his elbow in your hand like another hug. 

"I feel fine." 

"You can try and eat some of the emergency jerky before we sleep, okay? It'll be easy to keep down, even if you have to ruin your teeth chewing it." 

He brushed vigorously after throwing up. The jerky will taste like mint. It honestly doesn't even matter to him, so long as you keep stroking his arm. "In a bit," he agrees. 

"Okay… I'm sorry you're sick, Steve." 

"Why are you sorry?" he asks, surprised. 

"It's not nice seeing you sick. Like, it's gross seeing someone else throw up, but I don't like seeing you all mopey and sad."

"Now you know how I feel." He turns his head to yours. "You always have something wrong with you." 

You look away from him. Steve didn't say it to embarrass you, he just meant that seeing you unwell and hurting so often hurts him, because he cares about you. The point was that he cares. 

He lifts his head to remove one of his pillows. "Here. You'll mess up your neck." 

"You'd have to do all my looking for me," you say sheepishly, lifting your head like he had to accept the pillow. 

"You'd have a bad neck," he says. He hopes you get it. The problem wouldn't be having to do things for you; taking care of you isn't something he thinks about anymore, it's just another thing he does to survive. 

You seem to understand, closing your eyes, curling so your face is a little closer to his, his arm still very much in your grasp. Steve thinks fuck it, fuck thinking, he's sick and tired and maybe you've been his friend this whole time. He turns on his side and put his arm over your chest in a half-hug. 

"Did you put a chair in front of the door?" he asks, closing his eyes. 

"Yeah, I did. Are we sleeping?" 

Steve presses his face into your shoulder in answer. A nap will do you both good. 

(You sleep for sixteen hours, the best either of you have slept for weeks.) 

[itoshi-s]

@marycorn requested: rin + bathing with him // no lukewarm love v-day event !

wc: 1.7k. cw: fem reader (referred to as woman like, once), fluff, rin isn't all that used to love :,3

"you're feeling more like oat milk and vanilla, or.." you pause, twisting the jar so you can read the label properly, "oh, you like this one- lavender and lemon?"

you hold up the candles, lifting them respectively as you speak, only to find rin - the very one your question is directed at - still staring at his phone intently as he rubs the back of his neck. the little frown etched between his brows and tense stance of his broad shoulders make him seem entirely too stressed for your liking.

"rin?" you ask again, putting one of the jars down on the counter. "you okay?"

it's only the lighter flicking that makes him snap out of his stupor. he glances over, teal eyes a bit confused until they settle on the candle you lit up - his favorite.

(it's hard to call it a favorite when it's actually the only scent he enjoys among all your other gourmand and flowery ones.)

"hm? yeah, sorry." rin sighs and locks his phone, setting it down before reaching to pull his hoodie off. "just some press shit before the season starts. had to catch up." he explains, voice muffled by the thick cotton over his mouth before he fully peels the garment off.

"'s alright." you hum softly, hand dipping into the bath water to check temperature. "i just don't like seeing you all pent up like that."

now, rin doesn't like how it feels, either. perhaps that's why he values his routine so much - the daily schedule he's been following ever since he realized how serious he is about football. morning stretch, breakfast, practice, lunch, gym, going home, dinner, evening yoga, then some meditation to finish the day. sounds like a lot — and it definitely is — but surprisingly so, it doesn’t feel as tiring as it might seem.

rin’s never really thought this tight schedule of his lacked anything, either — at least not until you crawled your way right into his heart, albeit a little too cold but oh, so aching for love still, and made yourself home in the long abandoned space. it's only natural you came with a whole package - all your silly candles, drawers full of various bath bombs and salts, and far too many masks to count, which you always looked so ecstatic to put on his face.

you came with your own little routine - one that fit so perfectly into his, it's almost as if it was fate's doing.

perhaps, this is exactly what he needed at the end of his day - your skin on his, head tilted back to rest on his shoulder as you listen to him speak, so intently and calmly as always. maybe, the feel of your fingers in his hair, tenderly pushing the bangs out of his face as you grin upon the sight - here's my handsome boy - is the little piece he longed for everyday.

(love, he thinks is the right word for it. he needed your love - but despite getting better at voicing out his feelings over the years, it's still far too sappy to admit to out loud.)

snapping out of thought, rin shakes his head. “yeah, me neither.” the man mumbles under his breath, and you need to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s just teasing — voice far too tired to make out the tone. “if they end up calling again, it's better cause someone's dead or some shit. not picking up otherwise.”

you laugh, and rin’s mouth curls into a rare smile.

“wow," you mumble, "that’s not very captain of you." you tease, to which he snorts.

"not very teammate of them to be such idiots either." you'd suppose there would be more of a bite to his tone as he retorts, but it's surprisingly gentle as he allows his gaze to rest on your silhouette, taking in the image of you slipping the silk robes off your shoulders and exposing the soft skin underneath. he sniffs shortly, "whatever. let's not talk about 'em anymore."

you only give a slight chuckle in reply as you slip into the bathtub, followed by a content sigh. the bubbles have grown thick and luscious, nearly covering most of your body once you’re fully submerged in the glittery lilac water, and rin’s cheeks grow warm in time with your own. yours, because the water is indeed just a bit too hot even for your liking; his, because you look so fucking sweet, a sight for his sore eyes.

pulling your knees chose to your chest, you squirm forward to make space behind you. "c'mon, it's gonna run cold-"

"shut up, woman," rin mutters under his breath as he steps in behind your back, lowering himself and pulling you flush against his chest once he's fully seated. the water sloshes over the edges at his sudden motion and you gasp - both at the mess and his jab.

"hey!" you try to turn in his grasp, but the way it tightens keeps you locked in place. rin laughs by your ear as you lean your head back with a pout. "it's the first time in, like, forever that we have time for this, and that's the treatment i get?"

rin gives your frame a squeeze again, paired with a chaste kiss pressed to the crook of your neck. you lean your head to the side, allowing more space, and it's almost muscle memory by this point - merely an instinct and unconscious thought that makes rin's heart jolt.

it has been a while, indeed, rin figures. you've been both way too busy with work to make way for the small things, pieces of your daily routines that in the end made the day feel this much better. now, he's not exactly sure how did all of... this become a regular routine for you two, but it has quickly turned out to be the very thing both his mind and body long for whenever it's time for a break.

maybe the lack of time was the cause of his annoyance spiking these past few days, eyes rolling upon the most minor inconveniences. he's never been the calmest type around the team, but it was truly best to keep your mouth around him lately. (if there has to be one person to ask about it, it's ryusei. as always.)

as rin inhales your scent, mixing with the faint citrus of the bubblebath and calming lavender the candle diffuses, he realizes that he's missed you.

long eyelashes flutter against your shoulder as he closes his eyes, hands starting to roam down your waist and grope their way to your hips where they finally settle.

"i missed you." rin admits, albeit to his own surprise - and it seems like yours, too, if the way your fingers flex on his knee is anything to go by. he noses at your neck and feels his shoulders finally loosen up. "missed this, i mean."

you shift in your seat slightly, back pressing against the firm planes of his chest even further, until you can nearly feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"me too." you say softly, one hand slipping to rest on his bicep instead while the other guides his other arm to wrap around your chest again. you squeeze it tight and turn your head to get a better look of rin's face. "it's not as fun without you anymore, yanno?"

rin must sense your gaze on him, cause as soon as you're done speaking, his head lifts from it's spot on your shoulder and turquoise eyes lock with yours. a small smile breaks across your face as you reach a hand up, pushing back the bangs that already start to stick to his forehead.

"you're telling me i'm fun?" the ravenette mumbles, corners of his lips pulling upwards when you go to mess with his hair.

your chest squeezes with adoration upon the sight - handsome, refined features on show, paired with the dearest look anyone could ever grace you with. sheepishly, you nuzzle your face against rin's neck and nod. "well- sometimes." you murmur and feel his throat vibrate with a laugh.

"took you long enough t' admit." rin snickers, straightening his legs a tad more as he leans back, until the water reaches shy past your collarbones. "you wanna tell me something else while we're at it, baby?" he taunts, head tipping down just slightly to steal a look at your face, still snugly fit in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

"mmhm, i just might." you hum, "i love you, dummy," you sigh, holding back an amused smile as you push yourself up. sitting up straight, you look back over your shoulder just in time to spot the very sight you've longed after for the past few days - teal eyes just barely hooded yet sparkling with so much affection, and a content smile to pair with.

you watch silently as rin rolls his shoulders back, arms moving to rest over the edge of the tub. it's been a little while since you've last seen his body this relaxed, lean muscles all loosened up and frame seemingly even more broad now as he rests.

"i love you, too," the man replies, feeling his smile widen upon noticing your lips curl up in a grin of your own as well. perhaps it's just these silly essential oils you've loaded the bath water with, or maybe it's the temperature and steam in general, cause there's a giddy feeling gnawing away at his chest and a loop pulling at his heart that makes it just a tad harder to breathe properly.

(it's the same sensation that only ever creeps up on him when he looks at you. love, rin thinks. he can voice it out all he wants, bare his heart for you countless times - but he's never getting used to how dizzy it makes him, searing hot in his veins and cotton-like in his head.)

a sense of serenity swirls around the room and mixes with the delicate lavender as silence falls over the both of you, other than the gentle fizz of bubbles and flicker of the candle. you hold rin's gaze as he breathes, chest in a steady rise and fall until he opens his mouth to speak - and you're surprised he's only ever asking for it now.

"wash my hair, please?" rin speaks - quietly and meekly so, as if you ever denied him the thing - and you roll your eyes, hand already reaching towards the stand to fetch the shampoo bottle as you smile, feeling so lovesick your chest hollows.

"thought you'd never ask."

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello. I'm, um, not entirely sure how to talk about this. I hope it's okay if I misspeak. I'm a human, right, so I think that needs to be clear more than anything, but I've been very involved in the creature community for years now. I live by a great big lake and I always liked to walk down the shore late at night or early in the morning, you know, just to try and get out of my own head, and one night ages ago I accidentally tripped over someone's jacket and twisted my ankle. It was a gorgeous fur jacket, too, not like any kind of fur I'd seen in a jacket before, but just stunningly soft and thick as Hell.

Now, of course I didn't take it, that'd be awful, but also I had just hurt myself in kind of a nasty way and so it wasn't like I had anything else to do but sit by the shore next to the jacket and waited, and yeah, a few hours later one of the lake seals popped its head out of the water, looked at me for a good long while, and then...well, I mean, you know how the rest of the story goes, I'm sure.

Anyway, it's been a few years now and I've become really close to this family. I didn't really know anyone in my town before meeting them and I'm not on speaking terms with my own folks, so in a lot of ways these people have become my family, and it's an honor that they trust me to keep guard of their cloaks and such when they go out. But I've got this problem, right, and it's just...over the years it's felt less and less like I fit in with other humans. All my friends are nightfolk now, my family hates me even more because they're bigots--in this night and age, can you fucking believe it--and it's just like every night I get further and further away from the shore.

I'm just scared because...I don't *want* to stop drifting away. I've had dreams of joining them down there in the lake, practically every night for months on end. I've tried doing research into methods of joining the community but I don't want to become a vampire, I don't fancy any lunar-aligned nonsense, nothing has felt right except selkies, but I can't decide if I'm just self aware enough that I need a push from an outside viewer to try and accept something I already know full well...or if no, actually, that little voice in my stupid head that won't go away that keeps calling me a fraud, an invader, an appropriator--what if the reason it's not going away is because it's right and I really don't belong?

Just...please be honest with me. Am I a complete asshole for spending hours every day trying not to just outright beg my family--sorry, chosen family--to help me sew myself a cloak, or is there something to this?

First of all, reader, please rest assured. As long as you are speaking from a place of kindness and a willingness to learn, you don't need to worry about using all the correct terminology. I always try to listen generously when people come to me in need, and I encourage our followers to do the same.

Unfortunately I can well believe that bigots like your biological relatives still exist. I'm glad you've been able to extract yourself from their hateful society, and have found comfort, support and kinship among the nightfolk.

You say there is a little voice in your head calling you a fraud, casting doubt on the validity of your feelings. As much as you might want to push it away and stop your ears, I want you to listen to that voice, just for a little while. Pay attention to the language it uses and what ideas it seems to have about the world.

And then ask yourself: is this my voice? Does that sound like me? Or does this sound like a last, desperate, wriggling remnant of the people I've worked so hard to distance myself from?

Every one of us is raised with a narrative, a story about the world and our place in it, and how we should treat the people around us. We're told that story by our parents, by our teachers and schoolmates, by television and books and a million other sources. The story is so vast and so all-encompassing, it takes an enormous effort to be able to see any single part of it clearly.

Imagine, then, how hard we have to work to realise some of that story is untrue, or harmful, fed by hatred and fear. To start untangling ourselves from the rotting, strangling roots of the story we've known all our lives, and start planting something new and fresh and honest.

It sounds to me like this little voice is one of those lingering strands of the story you were raised with – one where liminality is nothing to admire or strive for, and where you cannot be trusted to know your own mind, and your own needs. It's time to tell yourself a better story.

You've found people who honour you with their trust and who make you feel supported and loved, as you deserve. You admire them, and want to be like them. None of this sounds “stupid” to me.

This is not a decision to be taken lightly. By all means, take your time, and talk your feelings through with your family. But I think you already know what story you want for yourself, reader – and for what it's worth, I think the world will be better for its telling.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]