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carline-k · 1 month ago

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The One and Only Vampire I Would (not) Faint On

Chrome x F! Commandant.

Synopsis: How are you going to explain to Chrome– who seems to really like his vampire coating– while you are excited for him, that you fear vampires? Can you make an exception for this one vampire to not allow yourself to lose your mind (and consciousness)? Oh, how you wish it would be that easy.

a.n.: Being someone that was wounded by a certain vampire anime “romance” (you know what you are), I must say vampires alert my fight-or-flight LOL. Mainly because of that Nosferatu became my least favorite coating of his, but I still love its design, really (the splash arts on his memories certainly… *nom*. Just thinking about it flutters my heart, again). Legit, it’s now on rerun and I am contemplating whether I should just buy it for his handsome portrait dkadlskadald ;;; Also, this could be just a piece of my oc/chrome stuff but i just want to make it as skk in general.

Art below was commissioned from this artist! @/maltmochie (go check them out!)

Lastly, Happy Halloween and hopefully you have fun reading this!

“Say… do you guys really have no other option for the coating options other than vampire?”

The rustling noise of the paper suddenly stops, replaced by the sound of a cup being lifted, a chugging noise, then a small ‘tack!’ sound produced by the collusion of the cup’s bottom and a certain researcher’s table. A tired gaze stares into the person that just threw the question. ‘A-kind-of silly question’, according to him.

“I beg your pardon?” Asimov says while his hands continue the previous halted move, arranging the stacks of paper that are almost never absent decorate his table. A drawing of a vampire-themed coating, or its proper name “Nosferatu”, is settled between them, but soon gets picked up by you, who is currently sitting right beside him. Your eyes scan the drawing for the ninth time, flying your attention from the drawing board after checking it briefly back to a certain blonde construct who is busy on the other side of the lab, with Ayla checking every inch of his new coating to see if there’s a dent or any places that are still lacking or needing further adjustment. Once again, your eyes land on the drawing board, re-reading the name and the description of the coating.

Nosferatu. Theme: Paradise Lost. Status: Completed, Accepted by the User: Chrome. Description: Drink a glass of redness in the dark night in admiration of all beings. No longer accepted by the light, he will still protect you quietly in the dark.

As much as those description lines send your stomach on somersault due to how romantic it sounds, it is still a weaker feeling compared to what you feel right now. You then look back at Asimov, almost forgetting to answer his previous question if not for the small cough he just let out to grab your attention back to him.

“Hmm, well… Halloween has waaay more varieties of monsters, no? Uhh, for example…” You wave your index finger, thinking hard, trying to come up with a “better” idea, per se. “Demon lord, witches, mages, puppets, grim-reapers, and so on.”

“And a vampire can still be categorized as a creature that is fitting for a spooky event, no?”, he argues back. You internally curse, despite expecting this kind of answer from him. ‘His point is absolutely valid, of course, but…’

“Well, it is. But isn’t it too… cliche and predictable?” a pause, “Corny?”, another pause, “Yeah. It’s totally repetitive and boring!”, you finally exclaimed as you nervously tap the drawing board. For the next whole 15 seconds, both of you suddenly enter what seemingly to be a staring contest, one is waiting for the other party’s response, while the latter is staring in disbelief at how dumb you sound right now. He then breaks the silent first.

"You seem to be bothered by that. Don't tell me…” He leans closer, bringing his face right in front of you as he mutters those words in whispering and low tone, keeping his sharp gaze to you. You instinctively gulp, having a slight suspicion that he already has everything figured out.

“... you are scared of it?"

Like a deer caught in the headlight, you just freeze there, eyes widened, before trying to deny the man’s conclusion as fast as possible to refute his (very true) claim.

"No! No way! What makes you think of that? I – I mean… well, I AM kind of scared, isn't that the whole purpose of a spooky creature? To spook people? Does it not count as a success as it invests fear in me– I mean people?!"

"...sure."

"..."

"So you are scared."

"...yeah."

"But it's Chrome who will be wearing that coating." That sentence alone is enough to spread red color on your cheeks. He knows about your feelings of the blonde construct (a bit too much as you keep babbling about Chrome on him). So much for being one of the close friends of yours since the day you worked with him, or just because he is a great vessel for pouring your heart’s content due to his tight-sealed lips when it comes to personal matters.

"Does that make any difference?" You exhale, slightly pinching the bridge of your nose. Those vampire series “romance” that you watched during your teenage days slowly emerge back in your mind, sending shudders and unpleasant memories. It's unbearable to even watch 30 seconds of the clip of it nowadays. Whoever made that abusive-romance vampire series where they keep sucking the poor girl’s blood and declare that as love, is a totally lunatic– or a masochistic author, to be more precise. Or rather, it's just the fact that it’s just not your cup of tea, but it does become your personal hell nowadays. Everytime you try to overcome it, you feel like you want to sink to the nearest pond to cleanse your soul. You tried many times, only to end up with nightmares later. Does this man really think your crush could make you suddenly forget the fear? Deep down, you really hope so.

"No, it unfortunately does not make any difference to me. It just reminds me of some stories I read because my friend suggested that it ended up giving me nightmares for like... weeks..." You summarize your reasoning to Asimov, who now has leaned back to his chair with crossed legs.

Asimov just hums, seems unbothered by your distraught. After all, the coating has already reached its complete stage, there's no way an opinion from one person could change the initial plan anyway. The user himself had no objection, since he and his teammates seemed to have arranged plans for their own team’s theme for this year’s halloween.

You glance once again at the drawing board that displays the 3D model of "Nosferatu" coating, rotating it around to give it more look. "Though, it does look great, artistically. I just feel.. too disturbed by it. Look at those red eyes… and pointy… uh, wings? And nice cravats, too… still…”, feeling more and more uncomfortable, you lightly shake your head, then slightly move closer so what you are about to say only reaches Asimov’s ears.

“But, Anyway, please don't tell this to Chrome! He already worked hard with WGAA to come up with this coating, he doesn’t have to worry about my feelings, since I know he is pretty self-aware about this kind of stuff, even with his normal frame. I will state this: this is my dumb secret that I will take into my grav–"

"Commandant?"

A familiar voice from behind almost made your heart jump outside your body as you yelped in surprise and nearly spilled Asimov's coffee had it not been held down by a firm mug-cast (thank heavens, you don't want to spend more money on fixing his computers stuff). You turn back, trying to gather your scattered mind after your freak out to regain your composure before embarrassing yourself further in front of Chrome. Well, you tried.

"CH–CHro–Chrome?! Wah– uh, Hello! Uh, do you need something?"

Ah, shit. The voice you just let out really betrays your effort to appear undisturbed right now.

Standing before you is Chrome, which unfortunately for your poor soul, is currently still using the Nosferatu coating you were discussing with Asimov. Red eyes stare into you in surprise due to your previous freak out, a hint of worry is visible on his face. But to your certain fear, that expression is not registered in your head, busy keeping yourself together, to not make the person you adore find out about your silly discomfort. Your hand unconsciously reaching for something on the table, trying to find something to hold your dear life for, something that might become a distraction that offers small comfort to your shaking hand.

“Sorry, did I disturb something?”

“A-Ah! No, not at all! Don’t worry, Asimov just told me a scary story that made me so engrossed that I … didn’t realize you were behind me.”

“I see.”

Seems like he is buying it. Fearing the situation plummet down into awkward silence, you decide to shoot a question. You let out a small cough to compose your voice before continuing, “Do you need something from me, Chrome?”

“Ah, right. Yes, I do need to ask something from you, Commandant. Ayla says this coating is 100% done, but I was wondering if you have any thoughts on it?”, he answers, his right hand plays with the cravat part of this coating, appearing to be a bit flustered after shooting that question at you. His currently red eyes glance at you, Asimov, Ayla, then back at you.

“Uh, my thoughts? Um… I don’t think I understand what you mean…”

“Is this coating lacking something? Your advice always offers new insight, and I think it is just right to ask you about it right now before the finalization.”

Looks like the habit of discussing various things with him backfired at you for this case. “Uh… well…” You think hard, gripping something hard on your left-hand, which is the drawing board you just grabbed on. It helps you to tear your gaze from Chrome to look at the drawing, finally for the tenth time. The gears in your head are spinning fast, hoping something can come out as an idea to throw at Chrome so it can send him away from you. But nothing came up. So you resort to the easiest way, just answer something that screams 'OK'.

“I don’t think there’s anything lacking from this design, Chrome. I think it’s perfect!! Right, Ayla?” you exclaim as you pull the girl behind him into the conversation. As an artist, Ayla is the most knowledgeable one to convince someone about art, so you hope Ayla can indirectly cooperate with your compliment.

The girl’s eyes light up, very happy to hear your statement. “I know right, Commandant~! See, Chrome, there is nothing to worry, even the commandant thinks it’s already perfect~! Did my words not convince you enough that you need to confirm it to the Commandant? That’s a client’s dissatisfaction in my dictionary!” Ayla teases, but you know she means well. Chrome just nervously laughs as he shakes his head. “Please don’t take it that way, Ms. Ayla. I just have the habit of discussing a lot of stuff with Commandant, so this is normal. I am sorry if it offends you,” he replies. That earns a laugh from Ayla, telling him she is joking and doesn’t mind it.

“Then that’s great! We can now finalize the coating to the WGAA then! Let’s go there, Chrome!” pulling his shoulder eagerly, she tries to push Chrome to the door, urging him to follow her back to the WGAA department, looks like Ayla herself wants to release herself from another commission. The pushed man complies, but before walking through the door, he looks back at you. “Commandant, do you want to come with us?”

You shake your head. “No need, I still have something to discuss with Asimov right here.” Well, it’s half truth. ‘Sorry Chrome, I would love to, but right now I feel like I am about to pass out due to fear.’

As the lab’s door closes, a loud sigh fills the room. Finally, once again there are only the two of you in the lab. You let yourself collapse at the chair, the feeling of breathlessness throughout the previous conversation seems to take the toll out of you. This is really bad. How are you going to face him on the festival day when right now you are already struggling to keep yourself steady? You have heard this coating is related to the Strike Hawk’s plan for a stage play revolving around the theme called “Paradise Lost”, and Kamui mentioned briefly a few days ago that, “it will make you feel like you are really there to witness the horror of these creatures!” with a confident voice. That’s the last thing you want to feel. Only one idea that appears in your head to avoid such a situation and cause the most minimal damage to your pride and Chrome’s feelings.

“... I think I’ll find a way to make myself sick on that day.”

Scoffing, Asimov looks back at you, “You are crazy.”

“It’s better than hurting his feelings by avoiding to stare or even look at him. And it’ll be twice the nightmare if I see his disappointed face finding out that I am struggling to like his new coating. No way I’ll stain his memory with that. No way! No way!!!”

“Okay, I get it. Suit yourself.” He sounds like he just wants to escape your endless worry right now, and you can’t blame him.

Resolute with your decision, you feel a bit better, and suddenly aware that it seems you already bother Asimov enough. Getting ready to leave to go back to your dorm, you stand a while on the door, pressing the buttons, before looking back once more.

“You don’t happen to have a poison to make up a sick condition only for a day?”

“Get the hell out of my office.”

Well… isn’t it just great?

Turns out, you can’t get sick at all, or rather, you can’t find the window of opportunity to do so. Not without getting an angry-slash-disappointment gaze from Liv instantly making you feeling extremely guilty about it as you put back the ice cream you sneaked earlier back to the freezer (her wrath when it comes to your health is something you wish to avoid, just like your current predicament with Chrome’s coating). Because of that, you can’t consume too much ice cream or iced drinks to at least land you into a “getting sore-throat” situation.

Another attempt was you begged Lucia to cook for you once, to present you with a delicacy that you know very well can send you to the ER of Star of Life, but her frame needs a lot of monitoring lately, which makes no time for her to do such things. Lee even helped you a lot with paperworks, making no rooms for you to stay up late. Hiding a huge stash of documents from him in your room was a futile attempt, in which you were getting scolded instead as he mistaken that action as your bad habit of being a procrastinator at day to work alone as a night-owl.

So here you are now, sitting in the theater room that you once used for the Romeo and Juliet stage play a few years ago. The place is crowded with some of the other squads, anticipating the upcoming play that is presented by Strike Hawk themselves. You sit among the audiences, your team, Cerberus, Dark Aries, and other task forces, even the Engineering and Purifying Force are invited, and to be honest, it’s such a rare sight to see all of them in this kind of mood, the always present grim and tired look evaporated from everyone’s face, putting aside the the endless war with Punishing Virus on Earth that never stops to keep everyone on guard.

“I heard Kamui planned this play, Commandant.” Lucia that sits on your left speaks as she reads the pamphlet she’s currently holding that contains the overview about the stage play.

“‘Planned’ is a generous word for him, Lucia. I am certain he was spewing ideas like bullets and Chrome is the one that has to gather it one by one to arrange it into a more decent plot.” Lee replies, which earns a chuckle from the three other members of Gray Raven. Remembering their constantly-bickering dynamics, it is not a surprise for Lee to have that kind of idea.

You take a look at the pamphlet that you have been holding since entering the theater, reading its synopsis for one more time.

‘Paradise Lost’, where it accepts creatures that are banished from light, engulfed in the eternal darkness not to suffer, but to celebrate a rebirth in an endless banquet.

Below the description is the list of the cast's name, which consists of all members of Strike Hawk. Except for Chrome, you are still in the dark about the roles of his other teammates. Continuing downward, there’s like a bunch of star-shaped designs that usually can be found on advertisements (this design choice is very Kamui, you think).

‘Interactive! Immersive Play! Comedy! Scary! Romance!’

Looks like you missed that part of the pamphlet before until just now. “Interactive and Immersive?” Liv comments as she pays attention to the same part of the pamphlet with you, “Does that mean they will ask audiences to play along with them?”

“Like those magic shows when they invite the audience to join them on stage, probably?” You reply, as she then nods and lets out a small hum. “I guess that’s the possibility, Commandant. Looks like it’ll be fun!”

Fun, huh? For some reason, you have a bad feeling about it. The possibility of something pops in your head but quickly dismissed as the lights of the room turn off, alerting you and all of the audiences that the play is about to start.

‘I’ll just cast aside and try to enjoy the show, I guess…’

Silence fills the room for a moment, before dimmed light starts to brighten up, followed by an ominous toll of bells and melodies of music– consisting of organ and violin from what your ears can pick up– fills the air. Briefly, you feel like you have stepped into a world engulfed by darkness, standing in front of a mansion– a building that could be a magnum opus of an architect but left abandoned and claimed by underworld creatures that stumbled across it, turning it into their abode.

The scene continues to play out, painting the atmosphere and places to create what you call worldbuilding, getting to each scene with a tidy pacing, and it’s now starting to introduce the mansion “residents”. Wanshi, the first one to get the spotlight, is currently laying on a coffin, and seems to take the role of the classic undead creature from Chinese tales with the yellow charms attached on his forehead. For a heavy sleeper like him, this role sort of fits him perfectly (or he suggested it for an easier role that doesn’t involve him moving a lot).

The next spotlight lights up at the center of the stage, drawing all of the audience's attention to Camu that is sitting on a prop that looks like a throne made of swords and skulls, wearing an outfit in which you can describe as the role of someone with high ranking, possibly a ruler of a realm. He sits with crossed legs, showing his authoritativeness. Kamui props himself right next to him, grinning like his usual self, wearing an outfit that is sculpted to look like a skeleton, with a mask sitting on his head– you are still unsure what to call his role.

And finally of course, the person you currently want to see the most and least at the same time, standing at the highest point of the stage, a massive ring-shaped stained glass window emits a bright light, making his figure very imposing. You can’t miss the sharp red eyes of him, for a moment it feels like those very eyes land on you, giving you goosebumps all over your skin. Your breath hitched for a moment.

“Commandant, are you feeling okay?” A whisper from Lucia distracts you, as she squeezes your lower arm with her hand lightly, a soothing gesture from her. Crap, did you display signs of stress just now by being fidgety or something else? Not wanting to distract any audience with your voice to reply to Lucia's question, you just nod to assure her you are fine, well, for now. Lucia seems to buy your answer as she nods back and returns her focus back to the stage, as you do the same.

The whole play continues, and the plot is actually pretty simple. It displays scenes on how each resident of the mansion interacts with each other, from the sleepy-as-ever the undead Wanshi, that no matter how many times Kamui nags him, still able to find the opportunity and places to rest. One scene also gives Camu the time to shine, he exclaims the words of darkness and victory as he stands proud at the rooftop of the mansion, screams of praise from the underworld creatures celebrating his triumph. Chrome is pretty isolated. When it’s his time to receive the spotlight, he stands near a window, holding a glass that’s filled with dark-red liquid. Blood or a wine, you can leave that to your imagination. The glass then being brought to his lips, slowly sips on it as he takes his sweet time to taste the beverage.

There’s a slight smirk on his now red-stained lips.

The same color can be spotted on your face if the lights in the room are not dimmed enough to conceal it. Calm down, Calm down.

As time goes, you begin to grasp the story as well. After the many scenes of them claiming their possession and ruling many creatures, all of them want to hold a banquet in order to celebrate their victory on the night where total lunar eclipse happens, the so-called “Blood moon” night, where their whole plan to flood the land with darkness and reaches their final stage of ruling the entire land. A curse spell will be casted, pulling every living being that’s left to join them on the banquet, bewitching them to enter a new world, leaving the earthly concerns that have been shackling them.

The stage changes, now being set up to show a grand banquet hall, red roses adorning every corner of the stage, with chandeliers hanging and reflecting the “moon” light, which when combined with the light of purple flames from the lanterns on the wall, setting the banquet in gloomy red-and-purple atmosphere, yet still grandiose. How can something so scary appear so aesthetically appealing? At the center, Kamui finally exclaims as he extends his hands to the direction of the audience.

“Shall we start to welcome our esteemed guest as our dance partner?”

…Dance Partner?

You look around the stage, scanning your eyes expecting to see some side characters emerge from the curtains or between audiences, where they might pretend to be one before their time to perform arrives.

Nothing.

Does this mean…? No wonder you feel like something is missing as it finally clicks. You totally forgot the so-called "immersion play" the pamphlet mentioned. So the “immersive” means they want the audience to participate in a dance for their banquet scene? Your eyes wander around, seeing how Wanshi, Kamui, and Camu already picked their partners from different spots, some cheers and squeals can be heard from the crowds that surround them.

And how is Chrome walking in your direction, his steps as perfect as his usual self, but his face is showing a confident smirk, which for a moment makes you think it’s very unfitting to him? If someone puts a mic close to your chest, it will surely pick up the loud thumping it’s making right now.

Like the Romeo and Juliet play both of you enacted back then, he reaches his hand to your right hand, bringing it close to his fanged-lips (for a moment you really thought you’ll lose your hand right then and there), kissing it so lightly. The difference is, this time the hand kiss leaves a chilling sensation at the back of your hand. Is it the Nosferatu frame’s design that’s grasping the characteristics of a vampire, whose body lacks warmth, or is it your skin that is currently getting cold from the nervousness and fear?

You feel another tug on your right hand that he has been holding, pulling you as it is prompting you to stand on your feet, and your currently numb body does exactly that, robotically following his lead. He guides you to walk carefully on the stairs to the center of the stage, approaching one of the spotlights with a chandelier decorating the ceiling.

The scenery around you, for a moment, reminds you of how you have been practicing and participating in many dances with Chrome all this time. At the start, it was just because it was required in order to attend some ceremonies, banquets, or whatever higher-ups social parties in which both of you were invited. It started solely for that reason, but deep down, at least for you, this is merely an excuse to be closer and spend any free time you have to fill your days with him. All those missions and practices tighten bonds between you, just like this position where he carefully wraps his other hand to your waist to lock you in place, waiting for his next move.

Chrome clearly plans this with how he adjusts everything– the pose, the beat of the music, the movement– to make sure you feel familiar despite the sudden situation he’s putting you through right now. The counts of the dance-steps you both have grown familiar with, the sways he leads your hand and body, the warmth that grows as you come chest-to-chest with him. For some minutes, you let your mind wander off to just think of this as one of those banquet dances.

Illuminated by the spotlight, both of you just sways around, light steps decorating the floor, the world blur into colors like butterflies surrounding two lovers in a sacred ritual.

It goes for a while until the music fades out, slowing down everything you just experience and finally it comes to a halt. Now you both just stand there, still under the spotlight, though now you are completely unsure what to do. A sudden sensation of cold lands on your neck, making you flinch a bit. You cast your gaze to your side, seeing how Chrome’s hand is now touching the side part of your neck, then look up to find Chrome slightly bringing his head down, catching his eye that’s still glinting briefly, before closing the gap between you and leaning himself close to your ear. At first, you hear a rushed whisper of ‘Sorry, give me a moment’, before registering what’s happening.

The strands of his hair tickle your face as he buries himself into your shoulder. His warm breath fans your neck, but the same cold sensation from his fingers remains unmoved. A small smooch noise could be heard clearly due to his mic, and it finally hits you. He kisses your “neck” through his own hand, where his lips come in contact with his own fingers that’s shielding your neck, and from the audience's perspective, it looks like he actually kisses your neck. Like a vampire trying to get the taste of its prey. That action instantly makes you feel like you are thrown into an icy pool and a sensation of cold water a.k.a cold sweat starts to seep into your palm.

The theater erupts into a sea of squeals from the audiences. Some girls are having a good time watching this tale unfolding right now.

It remains for some time before he pulls back, now filling your view with only his face that appears imposing with the lights of the stage framing his features. The cold fingers that touched your neck are now moving to touch your chin, twisting your head to face the owner.

“A fine lady stranded– or rather, walked willingly with me into my abode, danced with me without questioning anything until now? Amusing.” He recites, displaying a face of amusement followed by a low chuckle.

His hand traces your chin, exploring your jawline before landing back to the neck, brushing it tenderly, “Skin so delicate, and it makes me want to claim you as mine once I mark you. Though, from the time we spent until now, you don’t mind that, do you?” He says, now smirking as he is entertained with the idea of it. “Tell me with your sweet voice, fine lady, do you want to spend an eternity with me in this endless-banquet? I promise an eternity full of euphoria, more than the seventh heaven could offer you.”

…

…Wow.

Since when can Chrome make such a face and say such playful words?!

His lines render you silent for a full five seconds, then your lips let out high-pitched sputters with incomprehensible words. The whole event brings bewilderment looks and excited cheers from most of the audience, Gray Raven included (you swear from the corner of your eyes your team would react as if you are about to get kidnapped). People inside the theater won’t expect the usually composed commandant to be stupefied, remaining frozen on spot over a cheesy-flirting. It’s unsure whether you are freezing from the fear or from the lovestruck– no kidding, it’s both.

As you are about to reply (to be honest, you just can’t think of anything else other than using “huh?” to at least make the scene continue to flow), Chrome cuts you up, aware of your bewilderment, with something he had planned as impromptu in case the “dance partner” is not responding. He gets closer even more, breath fanning your left cheek.

“Should I give you a foretaste of it, to let you know how intoxicating it is?”

He opens his mouth, showing a full view of fangs with a sadistic look. Red eyes shine brighter as it stares at you like a feast. A sight that will swoon most people who are familiar with this concept of story, but unfortunately, you are not among them. It sways your stomach, dropping it to the ground like being dragged down by a roller coaster instead.

Your feet turn cold as the world suddenly twists around you, dark spots fill every corner of your eyes. The last strength of your feet that’s been supporting you vanishes as you proceed to smooch the cold stage floor with your body.

The last thing you heard was a bunch of screams of your name and the feeling of a pair of cold hands cradling your figure before completely drowning in darkness.

The warm feeling of a blanket and fluffy pillow envelopes you, giving you a sense of comfort. You struggle to open your eyes, your head feels so light whilst you try to collect your consciousness. The white ceiling and familiar decorated walls surrounding you are the signs that indicate you are currently back in your room. Did you feel so exhausted that you straightly fell asleep after the stage play? But you didn’t remember how it ends or you or when you and the others leave the theater–

Oh.

You fainted. On stage.

Consciousness fully returns to you, as you come to a realization that you really did mess up there. The sense of panic quickly fills your heart and urges your body to leave the bed and rush back to the theater. So you just do so, sitting up and mentally preparing yourself to apologize to everyone, especially him. Only for a hand to hold you firmly on your wrist preventing you from moving any further. You look to your left to the individual that apparently has been in the room, sitting quietly beside your bed this whole time.

“Chrome?”

Sitting there is the blonde-construct, back at his usual frame. His hair is strangely down, not the usual slicked-up hair you are so used to seeing these days. The realization dawns on you shortly though, as he once self-consciously asked if leaving his hair like that will make him appears weary (he was afraid you misunderstood it as he is too reluctant to see you that night, which you waved off and lightly joked how you would like to see it more often if it’s possible).

This time you can conclude that he is really in a very down mood.

For a moment, both of you just stare at each other, too lost in the thought of how to begin the conversation. In the end, Chrome is the one that takes initiative.

“You fainted, Commandant.” He jumps straight to the point.

“That I did…” is all you can say.

“I have been informed about your situation from Asimov.” Oh, the beans have been spilled. Guess you don’t have to explain it anymore? Still, you feel guilty– extremely guilty– about this. Avoiding his eyes, you cast your attention to the blanket, fiddling with your right hand as the left one being held by the man beside you. Noticing your silence and your unwillingness to look at him, he grows anxious as well.

“Commandant, please look at me…”

“...”

“Is this coating… really that bad? Do you really dislike it that much?”

“NO!” Your voice finds a sudden strength to deny his absurd claim. Your hand tries to grip his wrist, keeping him to stay before drifting himself into negative thoughts any further.

Godness, that’s a very harsh assumption. Did Asimov just tell him you are disliking his frame, leaving no further explanation? Oh.

He likely wants you to explain it to Chrome by yourself, giving you the opportunity to talk about it, which in some ways you are glad to have, though right now it’s too straight to the point to your liking after the whole chaos you just made. You are unsure whether to ‘accidentally’ spill his favorite coffee at the nearest sink for the badly provided information or give him a bag of expensive coffee as a thank-you gift for forcefully pulling you and Chrome in this conversation.

“No, please trust me Chrome, it’s gorgeous, magnificent, perfect!! It’s just…It’s just on me…”

Pulling your legs to your chest, you try to hide yourself, at least your face, obscuring your eyes as you feel you are about to embarrass yourself any further in front of him. His hands clasp your left hand, a small gesture that turns into a silent reassuring for you to keep going.

“I can’t help but to feel my body shaking to the core and feeling myself shutting off due to my fear of… you know…” Finally, a confession escapes your lips. Who would have thought the first confession you tell him would be this? But you really just want to tell him the truth, your reason, and your feelings, as it is what you must do for him. “But I am fighting it. I don’t want my selfish fear to affect you.”

‘You have given me a lot all these years, I should not ask too much.’

Your feet are surely shaking so much, an icy feeling spreads despite the warm blanket still wraps around them. You don’t want him to feel guilty and feel the necessity to act based on your opinion. It’s stupid, really. You are aware of his personality, one of them being the amazing leader that always comes with the most optimal answer, and it’s something you have always respected and learned a lot from him as there are times where you feel you are not good enough to be one for Gray Raven.

You thought it was just a one-sided feeling of admiration to him, but apparently, you became aware of his opinion towards you as well. The ear-studs that he once felt insecure about and asked if it looked out of place, are now being kept on his final Glory frame adjustment. That’s the point where you start to feel a bit self-conscious when it comes to discussing stuff with him. Including this whole problem.

Feeling suffocated enough after hiding your face, you slightly turn your face to your left, eyes peeking at his face but quickly turn to the bed sheet or floor, whatever you can land your gaze on right now. “When you performed that role so well on the stage, just like the pamphlet said, it is so entrancing that… for a moment I felt like I was actually about to be taken away by an actual vampire…”

Only your voice fills your room right now as Chrome listens to your explanation, his hands that’s still holding yours, softly tracing the back of your hand with his thumbs, successfully soothing your racing heart. One could say it’s also a way for Chrome to calm himself as well, given hearing your entire rambling just now increased his worries about you, yet at the same time, relieving as it’s not because his Nosferatu coating looks hideous that you hate it.

But truthfully, Chrome could craft any scenarios from A to N when he reviewed the scripts for the past few weeks, from anticipating random impromptu from Kamui to guiding dialogues when the other party confused on what to say, but none of them prepared in case you out of nowhere passed out on stage.

A small cough grabs your attention, pulling your unfocused eyes now at Chrome. “I am glad to hear your explanation, Commandant. I assure you don’t have to feel guilty about it as well. But please…” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, before continuing.

“Don’t hide such things from me in the future. I understand you think it as a burden, but I assure you it’s not. We have been solving harder obstacles, this is not something impossible.”

He is right. War rages over, yet both of you still pave the same path, reaching for the glorious day that one day must come.

Sheepishly, you chuckle and finally let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Thank you Chrome, and I know you said I don’t have to feel guilty, but I still want to say I’m sorry.”

“Ah… Apology accepted. You can relax now, Commandant.”

Finally, it feels like a huge weight left your heart, now the sense of relief washes over you. You straighten your feet, now turning yourself to face him as you sit on the edge of your bed. Now the tension is over, you just want to dwell on idle chit-chat with him. So, you bring up today’s performance, before the whole fainting stuff, of course.

“Like I said earlier, your performance, Wanshi, Kamui, and Camu were so impressive. With big missions and little free time you guys had, there were barely any mistakes during the play. It was as if Strike Hawk was an actual theater kids group. And costumes too, especially yours, Chrome.”

“Really? Doesn’t my ‘nice costume’ points be reduced from your perspective?” He teases.

“I mean, kind of. But, objectively, it surely is well-crafted. Every gaze seems like they are all over the heels for you!” You beam, the smile on your face as you cheerful state is back mirrored on Chrome’s face for a moment before it turns into a slight sad smile. Did you say something wrong? Before your mind once again flies everywhere, his voice, slightly whispering, reaches your ears.

“But it’s meaningless if it’s not from you.”

His rebuttal catches you out of your guard, like getting splashed with cold water.

“I want you to see me in that light as well. I will feel content even if it is just from you.”

“Ah… I… I see.” You stammer as blush starts to decorate your face. Deep down, you feel like you know what he implies with those words, and because of that, you come with a new objective, it’s a way to make it up after all. “Then, let’s work it out together, Chrome. Help me go through this?” It’s your turn now to wrap your palm on his, though you need not to plead, as you are certain the person in front of you will give a certain answer.

“That we will.”

Reassuring smiles decorates both of your faces.

“But, also… Chrome?”

Now it’s his turn to wonder what you are about to say.

“About those lines you said to me, I haven’t responded, have I?”

“Hmm?”

Suddenly, you wrap your hand on his neck, hugging him as you sink your head on his shoulder.

“Wherever you take me, that's where I'll follow you. If it's an eternal banquet where you and I will have a happy ending, I will succumb to darkness just to be with you.”

The hands that wrap around your waist is all you need to know that he understands. Shortly, a small peck from his lips lands on your neck, a small gesture mimicking a vampire marking its prey– or rather, his lover.

“Then so be it.”

“I was wondering, are there any reasons for you to pick me out of all the audience?”

After exiting your room, then settling at the kitchen bar to enjoy a cup of iced-water, Chrome explains the concept of his role.

“Kamui said you sometimes fangirl over villains in the video game doing ‘evil stuff’, so… I thought by doing something that related to that, one of them I read from a Golden Age novel about how evil vampires catch their prey, you would react the same. He said you will surely love it.”

That just makes you rack your mind a bit, trying to remember the time which this information took place. Now it makes a lot of sense.

“I guess he mistook me fangirling over an evil-prefect that wants to rule the world in one of those visual novels we played and generalized it as I like everything that screams ‘villain’. Can’t blame him, though.” Shaking your head, you think you have to tone down your fangirling in the future, especially in front of Kamui, so he won’t take things too far in the future.

You still have one more question though. The heaviest question.

“Did I destroy the entire play after I fainted?”

Chrome knows beforehand you will ask about this, quickly answer you to cast away your worry. “It was in fact almost becoming disastrous, but I ended up just doing anything that came to my mind.”

“And that is?”

“... Remember the time where I carried you escaping Hetero-Hive Mother?”

“Yeah? By– Ohhh…”

You can picture it somehow, very clearly. You just hope next time you are conscious to fully tuck that memory inside your head.

#punishing gray raven #pgr #chrome pgr #chrome x reader #chrome pgr x reader #reader insert #female reader #no y/n #KG this is my begging message for you to make a story for his coating

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claiestve · 6 months ago

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𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 ꨄ Alex

˜”* ❝𝙄 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙚, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮.❞

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ & ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxɪᴛ

⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯

“What do you mean?”

Honestly, you didn’t know what happened. It seemed like, at that moment, your conscience took over. You still debated whether this was a good decision, but no matter what, you could never change the answer. It wasn’t like a ‘good or bad’ thing, but rather a right or wrong. And which one did this fall under?

“[name]! I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to be considerate of your feelings.”

“You always say that, Alex. You always say your decisions are made to better both of us. It’s like you think you’re my guardian angel or something.”

“I’m not implying that at all.”

That was such a lie and you knew it. Alex always made a point to be the ‘humble’ one who cared for you more than himself. Your friends used to ask you how you found someone so caring like him. It wasn’t a complete facade but it was an exaggeration.

He could sit in front of your face all day and pretend he was always right. Not a liar just stubborn.

“What would I do without you?” You mocked his tone, “I didn’t ask for you to be considerate of my feelings, Alex. Lord knows if I wanted that, I wouldn’t ask to talk to you and catch up.”

“Look, it’s clear there’s still animosity and I don’t want to make this tension worse.”

“Alex, there’s no tension. I’m just trying to make myself clear. Now, can you answer to my request?”

He sighed, looking around. You didn’t know exactly what he was looking at or for and you didn’t like that it wasn’t you. Even when you were right in front of him, practically begging for an answer, he didn’t want to give you that attention.

Often, you thought about it but you never saw it. How different you two were. Sometimes you’d ask yourself where everything went wrong but you knew exactly where it all went wrong. It was sad though, seeing how you went from being so in love to now standing in front of him getting ticked off by every move he makes.

“That’s… fine. We can catch up,” He cleared his throat, “I am quite interested in what you’ve been up to recently.”

You smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. It was the least he could do.\

“Great, let’s walk around.”

You smiled at him. It was partially fake. You weren’t exactly happy at the moment but you weren’t upset either.

“So, how have you been? Have you been making a name for yourself in The Big Apple?”

“Well… it’s been great. I mean, the projects I’ve had the privilege to work on have been amazing and I’ve been accompanied by so many amazing people too. I miss home a lot though… and you.”

The last words made you stop. You didn’t need to hear them at all. Maybe if this was months ago when you were still thinking about him every night, but you were healed now. There was no longer a desire to see him or know how he was.

There were days you couldn’t even get out of bed because all you could think about was him. For a while, it felt like he was a resident in your mind. You never thought you’d be okay after the break up so when you were, it gave you a new kind of confidence. However, hearing him say he missed you shattered your heart. Maybe because you lived partly in the dark after him.

“Um,” He tried to refocus the conversation, “How has being a lawyer been?”

“It’s been good. I can’t talk about much, but even if I could, it wouldn’t sound nearly as interesting as your whole photography thing.”

He nodded, looking at you expectantly. Like he wanted you to comment on him missing you. Possibly wanting a reciprocation.

“I didn’t know you missed me.”

“It’s hard not to. You were my everything outside of my career. You meant– you mean so much to me so it’s not exactly easy to let go.”

“I get that.”

He scoffed at that. It felt like he was disappointed with your responses because he wasn’t getting proper validation. He wanted you to want him. Alex loved the way you loved him so what happens when you no longer do?

“I mean, [name], c’mon. You can’t act so nonchalant about this. You hear me, right? I’ve been telling you I miss you and all you can say is ‘I get that’.”

“What? Do you want me to tell you that I missed you too? I did but that’s in the past, Alex. That breakup really fucked me up. I wish you knew how bad it actually was. My existence doesn’t revolve around the love we once had for each other.”

“I still love you. I don’t get why you insist on putting us in the past!”

“Because, Alex!” You start to match his tone, getting as loud as him, “You may love me and I promise I love you too, and I always will but I am not in love with you. There’s a difference. I don’t want to relive that pain so yes, we are in the past so I can heal in the present!”

You stop walking and look at him, deep in his eyes. Seeing him nearly beg for you to run back to him made you feel betrayed.

“I have taken time to heal which is why I thought we could have this conversation but I was clearly wrong. I hope you can do the same, Alex. Trust me, you’ll be so much happier once you leave our relationship in the past.”

You tried to walk away before feeling a firm grip on your wrist.

“You can’t just walk away, [name]! Why do you choose to walk away from us?”

“Because I’m not choosing ‘us’,” You removed his hand, “I’m choosing myself.”

With that, you walked away as fast as you could. You were eager to get out of that because you knew that nothing good would come out of that conversation.

Your friend smiled and reached out to embrace you.

“I’m so proud of you for that.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

glad we made it this far um yeah! that shit made me mad and i wrote it sooooo yeah but anyways round of applause for the reader

#zsakuva #asmr #sakuverse #zsakuvaxreader #alex

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freshlyhooked · 4 months ago

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Hello. It’s Me Sam From The Internet.

so i figured i probably should… introduce myself??????? i may or may not be too twitter-brained for tumblr but by god you people are so sweet and talented and i’ll try anything once if it means I Get To Make Real Cool Friends God Damn It!

hello my name is sam, i am 21 & going into my last year of university! i have been watching aew since day 1 dynamite and i own no less than 5 jack perry related clothing items (3 jurassic express tops and 2 scapegoat tops if you want to get Anal about it) and i am on a valiant campaign to get blocked by sean ross sapp on twitter dot com by begging for marko stunt contract news in the quote retweets of all his posts.

i only post on ao3 when held at literal gunpoint because i am terrified of being perceived by human beings but also inherently crave validation and a lot of the old fics on there are from fandoms i no longer participate in but they farm kudos and Sometimes I Just Need The Ego Boost In My Inbox Before I Take An Advanced Calculus Exam. that being said i did post a grand total of 1 (one) spicy junglehook fic i wrote while in a fugue state like a lot of months ago and i really don’t have an excuse for it so if you Read That. Well I’m Sorry They Can’t All Be Winners.

i just got home from blood and guts last week and i’ll be at the september 11th dynamite with my dad later this year! i love my fucked up little wrestling guys and quite literally they are my escape from the rather tedious but occasionally rewarding career i have picked out for myself so if you Also Like Watching Sweaty Guys Fight and also occasionally mash them together like barbies in your head then I SEE YOU I UNDERSTAND YOU AND I LOVE YOU!!!!

that’s really all i have to say i think? if you’d like to check me out on twitter i promise i am literally not funnier or cooler or anything over there i just post more because short form content appeals to my absolutely rotted brain and withering attention span (it’s @freshlyhooked over there too, surprise surprise). i’m gonna figure out how to turn my ask box on i think so if you want to know more abt me or my favorite little guys or just want to chat or something please send one in!!! or if you want to call me names that’s fine too i guess

OK . GOODBYE.

#sam from the internet

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ruminate88 · 6 months ago

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How I Walked Through Depression and Suicide:

Let me start off by saying, I was labeled in school both with a learning disability and adhd…. I was made to feel already that the world was against me and I was less than. I became homeschooled at 14 because I had basically been struggling too much in public school.

I wrote my first suicide note at 24 years old but I believe I was low-key depressed prior to that, just didn’t understand it. Amidst the suicide feelings, feelings of “Why am I living when no one seemingly wants me around?” I truly felt invisible and as if I didn’t exist on planet earth YET, I loved my parents more than words and I was helping to raise my brother’s kids too. I couldn’t fathom leaving them behind… The feelings were strong and heavy. I was in total darkness, so lost and begging for relief.

I had a praying mother who always tried to find something positive to say to me and she was always willing to understand me and pray with me. I never felt judged by my mom. I couldn’t go to my dad only my mom. I kept my dark and sad life from my dad so not to be criticized and misunderstood by him.

In moments where I lacked understanding of depression and suicide, I was numb at times. I would find temporarily relief in watching various re-runs of sitcoms or I would listen to music such as trance or edm and rock or pop. I would just get lost in a song and hope to drown my pain.

I was in multiple toxic relationships, always looking to find happiness in a man but never could. Some guys called me “clingy” and “negative” which was true but always upset me to hear. I didn’t know how to change me or make myself happy. I could always find a band-aid for myself but never a solution.

In searching for happiness in men, I chased these emotionally unavailable men and it was so easy for them to deceive me and use me because I was so down on myself and desperate for the attention and validation. I wanted to feel wanted by someone and feel alive. I had felt so dead. 😓 There were moments in each toxic relationship, where they made me feel on top of the world but it was only to bring me down even lower.

After my last relationship, I was so low I couldn’t go any lower. I had hit the very bottom within my self-worth and identity. I knew if I didn’t find a way to change my life, I was going to end it all. That was the moment I broke down in front of my mom and begged her for help!!! She watched me cry hysterically not able to catch my breath. She sat there helplessly watching me crumble. My loving and strong mother, offered me hope. She prayed with me and held me so close to her. My head crashed on her shoulder and so did the weight of my burdens.

My loving and strong mother, prayed with all the faith she had in God and heaven. She prayed for me to be free from everything. In my heart, I begged God to forgive me of every sin I’ve ever made and to please let me start over. I felt God change my life. I felt the depression escape from my body and so did the suicide. I realized that I had power all along to be happy but I had been lied to. Lied to by the world and lied to by my exes.

Life is far from perfect and some days situations or feelings arise and bring back moments of depression but I always remind myself that I have power to come against it now. It can no longer hold me back like before. Plus with those toxic relationships behind me, that’s another load of negativity off my shoulders! ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 My advice to ANYONE battling depression, you can’t give up even when you can’t feel anything and you’re number or isolated. There is temporary relief but to have total freedom, requires faith without unbelief and to realize there is power against such things. You are not alone! You have purpose on this earth You are loved and seen. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I was depressed 3 and a half years. Look at your surroundings. Whatever atmosphere you allow yourself to be in, will affect you. If you are close to toxic people, it makes it hard to breathe. You have to remove yourself from them. 😓 I know it’s hard to do. I didn’t wanna break up with my last relationship but I had to. He was causing me way too much suffering..

One Day At A Time ❤️‍🩹🙏🏻

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justekasmindx · 1 year ago

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Mood

09/18

Two weeks ago, I was heartbroken, after more than a year of not liking anyone else that much. This one's different, it made me surrender, it made my body feel so weak all through my veins up to my head, had a tension headache which I know I can manage but my poor soul didn't allow me to. I promised a year ago that whatever I felt for a person, I would never let it affect my daily life, especially my career, or maybe my career is not important as I see it before.

I stood up and let myself absorb and process each strand of emotion, but this is getting out of hand, my decision-making is affected already and causing me troubles in my daily life.

They said I should not always have to interpret each experience I have but these past few days, aside from being called out by the people around me, I know I have to get past this as quickly as possible. It's time to ask the question, "What is this situation trying to teach me?" (because it's not letting me go). Simple processing of emotion and executing coping mechanisms are just band-aids and I know that I need a long-term solution for this, which is something that has to do with my attachment issues.

I know it's funny, but doing my daily routine makes me focused on the present. So I was in the shower, and as the cold water ran through my whole body, it made me ask, "Why do I feel mad at people who don't agree with me recently, those who neglect my emotions and refuse to understand what I am going through?" This is not the usual me because I already know how to take care of myself whenever I am going through an emotional breakdown, I no longer seek for other's understanding but here I am upset about it just because I felt broken.

Sooner or later, I cried, because clearly the universe just hit me in the face and told me "Girl, you have daddy issues, go damn face it."

To give you a bit of the background, I was a daddy's little girl, for me, my dad was the ideal man I could think of. His love language to me was acts of service, he literally took care of me in every possible and sensible way, in my eyes he was the most hardworking man and a great leader wherever he went. He has one of the most impacts on how I behave today, my love language for receiving is acts of service and I always perceive myself as a great leader if I decide to become one. It was great until I stepped into college, we moved to another city, and he's been influenced by his colleagues, unfortunately, I lost my dad since then. He's there in our home, but he's no longer my dad who cared for me. I mourned for it for months, until I finally accepted that I was already on my own, making my own decisions, and from this point, chaos started in my life.

I didn't realize until this very moment, that the reason I was roaming around looking for a boyfriend and companion in my early 20s was because I lost my father figure during those years. All along I thought my mom was the issue because she's the one who's always nagging me and neglecting my feelings about how I run my life, but the real root cause was my dad. This is not to blame them, no parents are perfect, I just really needed to figure out why I was feeling this way, I needed to go back and check the key to move forward.

It breaks my heart right now, the memories of my young adulting consist of me chasing men to stay, accepting toxic behaviors because I no longer want to be abandoned, trying to escape the feeling of being neglected, begging for people's attention and validation by being successful in my career and business, just to prove them that I can stand alone and I am strong enough and I have my life figured out because I thought to have an ongoing life supposed to be treasured for me to achieve the society's standard and ideal life. I was not able to control myself and my mistakes because I did not know what was happening. I remember myself reaching out to my friends, different life coaches, even psychologists or counselors, and people who I know looked after me, for me to figure out what was going on with my life. Their advice has helped me a lot with my current situation at the time but never has anyone taught me that I have to look past way behind each detail so that I would be able to figure it out.

The norm is people will say to stop looking at the past, free yourself from regrets, and forgive those people who hurt you. Damn, people, I don't even know what happened, who or what caused these. People will say just go with the flow, and let people and experiences come and go. Again, damn, I don't even know what to let go or what to attract because my mind is still messed up and in chaos figuring out which pieces fit my puzzle.

I am a woman who can't just move forward to another unless something huge is resolved, I need to sit and talk about it so it will give me peace of mind and prevent it from happening again to lessen the damage that it may cause. This may be toxic to others but that's how I keep myself on track, I need to focus on what I can control. I know not everything can be controlled, so I let go and accept the fact that I can't, especially others' decisions. But if I feel like I need to figure something out in order for me to be better in the upcoming situations, I really need to get to the root cause of it.

Last night, I intentionally went to work late, because I was processing my realizations during that shower, I cried, and I felt bad about the fact that I was mad at people around me for invalidating my feelings where I was the problem all the time, it was my daddy issues took over me because I can no longer handle my own emotions so I tended to look for the validation of the father figure I currently have.

Oh yes, I frequently cry these days because I am having PMS and I'm about to have my period, my hormones are overflowing.

Moving forward, I now have to start to heal this early adult of me, I am safe now, I now have people who listen to me and if there are not, I know I understand myself more than anyone else, so I don't have to worry, I no longer have to prove myself to anyone. I am accepting the fact that life wouldn't always give people it's ideal family, I may have lived with parents and a whole family technically, but I know they're not the kind of people who can be leaned on, I am part of the percentage of the world that has to treat myself as my own home and my loyal friends as my family, too. I feel like an orphan now, but that's how life works.

And, you know what, I guess one of the most important lessons here is, knowing that the universe is sending us people, not to intentionally just hurt us, but to teach us lessons we need to learn, in preparation to receive this something bigger blessing that is coming soon. That guy who got my heart broken is a blessing, if it didn't happen, I wouldn't be able to realize that I have this part of me that I have to heal before I move forward. Recently, I have been feeling lost, but I know there's an incoming path for me to take on, I am about to leave my current situation.

I am now letting go of this guy. It was never my feeling of regret that was a problem, it was about me experiencing the feeling of abandonment and being neglected again, it was my issue, and now I got to do the work to heal it.

To my future husband, you're going to have the healed version of me. Just wait for me, I'm already working on it.

This piece of journal helped me a lot to get my head cleared out, if ever someone read this, hope you learned something out of it.

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neutronstarchild · 2 years ago

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🎉how often do you celebrate completing & posting a work? how often do you give yourself the credit/validation that you seek from others when you post? (if you don't, you should!) 📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom? 💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Anonfriend thanks for the ask!!!

🎉how often do you celebrate completing & posting a work? how often do you give yourself the credit/validation that you seek from others when you post? (if you don't, you should!)

Yeahhhhhhh, I... don't really? Sometimes I message my friends and say WHEE FINISHEDDDD!!! But outside of that, it's usually a quiet affair. I smile and get excited, sometimes even re-read the whole of the thing, but once it's done my brain begs me to go onto the next thing!

📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom?

HM. I think I will go big picture and philosophical for this one. It's because it's how most literature works. We see a thing we like and we riff off of it and make something else, something new. It's why there are so very many Pantheon myths out there, sometimes directly contradicting one another. It's what makes it fun to write. And yes, the information travels faster and the internet makes stories instantaneous, but every author's take on characters we love has the potential to enrich our lives. Be that an AU with a specific kink that is hard to come by or someone taking a deep dive into a side character we never even thought about until that ONE FIC TOUCHED US. It enriches the relationship we have with the original, and has the potential to grow into a whole new and wonderful thing all on its own!

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

At this point I swear that I could be asked this question a LOT and still have answers. The plot bunnies have bred in my backyard, and I am still trying to herd them.

For YOI, another, which is from a fic that I'm writing in honor of (and as a belated bday gift for) @bullsfish

“Welcome!” Yuuri was so entranced by the place that he entirely forgot to… pay attention to the people in the place.

Which he really should have.

The sound that came out of Yuuri’s mouth when he met eyes with the person behind the counter, the one who greeted him, was truly embarrassing.Was it the silver hair, with the slightest hint of curl, draping over his eye that did it? Or maybe it was the crystalline blue of eyes the color of tropical waters. His skin looked silk to the touch, with rose-pink lips and cheeks and a button nose dusted with a blush. Yuuri tried (failed) to hold the man’s gaze, because he had the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up, revealing muscled arms honed from (probably) kneading dough. God, his chest was broad too, and his neck slender, elegant, as if he was sculpted by the gods themselves. People who looked like this should be illegal.

For Inuyasha (unfortunately I vowed to myself that I would not start another long multichapter fic until I finished my two WIPs)... soooo... The Mahogany Inu.

“Are you certain you know the way?” Kagome asked the wooden Inu in her pocket.

“I am not!” Kikyō’s answer was certainly not the one Kagome had hoped for, but she continued on all the same. “I simply have faith that this is the right way.”

It was not the most reassuring of answers, but so too was this a journey of faith. And thus far, Kagome’s faith in Kikyō had not been misplaced.

The forest grew thicker as they walked, the canopy choking out more and more of the morning light, until an eerie twilight settled in. The deepest forest was another world, in which day and night no longer held.

Thanks again for the ((REAL)) Ask my anonymous friend!

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inhereiamsafe · 3 months ago

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I’ve learned the hard way that chasing someone’s love or attention only leads to heartbreak. I used to believe that if I just tried harder, if I could just prove my worth, they'd eventually see me for who I am. But that's not how love works, and definitely not how self-love should work.

Chasing someone drains your energy, makes you doubt your own value, and traps you in a cycle of needing validation from others. And I refuse to do that anymore.

From now on, I will no longer run after people who aren't meant to stay. I won’t fight for attention or affection that isn’t freely given. Love should never feel like a race, and I'm done with the idea that I need to prove myself worthy of someone’s love. I deserve a love that flows naturally, a love that I don’t have to beg for.

Instead of chasing, I’m choosing myself. I’m choosing to focus on my growth, my happiness, and my peace. If someone can't see my value, that's their loss—not mine.

No more chasing, no more waiting for someone to love me the way I love myself. From here on, it’s all about letting go, embracing what’s meant for me, and walking away from anything that isn’t.

“I don’t chase people anymore. I learned that I’m here, and I’m important. I’m not going to run after people to prove that I matter.”

— Unknown

#motivation #self love #emotionally detached #detachment #never again

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thefishorthebull · 2 years ago

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This is truly a new low. Possibly one of the biggest achievements of my life. This was my celebration. A can of week old soda, 2 breads and some chick peas.

All my family did was complain about how inconvenient it was for them at the graduation. They did zero things to celebrate, even say something nice about today. But I am used to them not celebrating me. I am 27 and the last celebration I got was when I was 13. So I lived longer without a celebration than I did with it. One of the reasons my mental health deteriorates is because of my family. The lack of support, love or any affection since I was a toddler has me begging for validation and attention. I am usually good at covering those but sometimes it spills over. And that's why my love life disappeared into nothingness. People I like complain I texted too much when I send 2 texts in 12 hours. But I get it girls get a lot of attention so they do not care about you unless you look like a super hero. I guess love and affection is some I want but will never going to get. I wish to leave this world early but I have to stay and watch over some people. People I vowed to guide and protect. But hey may be one day my calling will come. If am bow out will I be missed ? Will anyone care ? Well when I'm gone it won't matter. It will be over.

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seraphdarlimg · 4 years ago

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wish I were (pt4)

harry calls reader drunk to pick him up, later on finding him sat at her piano and playing a little song

masterlist

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing, fluff WORD COUNT - 4,418

_________________________________________________________

Just fine is how I was feeling. I was lucky enough to be able to get started straight away with a new song to work on from a different artist. Practicing new instruments and talking to new clients have been what I've thrown myself into for the past 3 weeks.

Though drowning myself into work has kept me busy and given me excuses to ignore the hundreds of calls and texts from Harry, it felt like months had pass instead of only one. I seem to forget more about them and only remember the look on his face when I turn my back on him and left. Instead of memorizing chords and words, my brain can only comprehend the words we said and the last time I felt his touch or embrace. When I want to remind myself of what he did, the moment on the balcony is the first thing that comes to my mind and I curse myself for it.

I missed him, of course I did. As I sit in front of my laptop with an opened tab on a recording program, I am instead met with another creator's block and thinking about Harry again. Two points of thought that I hate being stuck in at the moment. The empty bags and containers of snacks and my dinner surround me and I'm wrapped in a blanket while a sad playlist is playing on spotify. It was a depressing sight.

But I can only image the state that Harry's in. After everything, I still miss and care about him, wondering if he's excited about the album release tomorrow or if he's hydrated and taking the fact that I've chose to walk out of his life better than I am. It's pathetic really, but it's part of it and I can only hope to learn to live without him through time. If that is something I can even think of doing in the first place.

He hasn't called or text throughout the whole day though. I didn't want it to bother me but it did, even if it was time away that I'm asking for. I glanced at the black screen of my phone, pressing the button to turn it on. 12:23 AM and no notifications.

'i do love you, i'm sorry' one day ago. This is a good sign. This should be a good sign.

I sighed, forcing myself to turn away from my phone and focus on finishing this piece. The instrumentals are there and the rhythm is set, but coming up with lyrics prove to be difficult when I feel physically and emotionally drained.

It was late anyways. I would of been asleep by now to get ready for tomorrow, but it was most likely made clear I wouldn't be celebrating with the gang. I told Jeff the excuse that I had a meeting up north for the valid reason, even though everyone already knows what happened between the two best friends. A lunch with Sara and Mitch a week ago started off normal and pleasant as always, but had ended with Mitch bringing up Harry and me leaving abruptly.

"He's a mess. Hasn't left his house and has been ignoring everyone all week. We don't know what really happened between you two, but it's obvious that you haven't been the same as well."

The mention was enough to irk me. "Can we not right now?"

"Look even though we care about you, it's still non of our business to get involved. But it's still our jobs to see that when someone we care about is bothered by something, we make sure they are aware of it. Both of you aren't happy and should simply talk about it."

"It's not that simple Sara, he's too stubborn."

"It doesn't have to be now, but eventually. You yourself know that what you two have is way too special to just walk away from."

"Yeah well what if it's not? What if it's just not what everyone expects it to be? That even if we somehow make it work throughout everything, he's just going to run off to someone else again who'll just be better in so many ways."

"He's not the type of person to do that and you know it."

"I thought I did."

With my head rested on my hand, I feel my eyes droop. The instrumental of the song played on repeat on the program as I try to come up with words. Heartbreak and insecurities are the only topics that come to mind with the upbeat sound. I close my eyes for bit, letting the first stage of sleep take it's toll while my brain works overtime producing lines of rhymes.

But my ringtone drives me out of it. I only force my eyes open when I pick up my phone and answer the call, not thinking of who could be the only possible human being to call me at this hour. I sighed, pausing the recording and saving it. "Hello?"

"Hiiiii love! Karl told me I should call someone because I've had too much apparently. Can you please tell him that I'm a grown man that can handle my alcohol?" Shit.

"Harry- wait hold on, you're drunk now? Don't you have... who are you with?" My voice was tired and already raspy. It took longer than needed to process what was actually happening.

"Oh just all by my lonesome self at first... imagined you here a few times but I know that wasn't true, but Karl the bartender is here now!" His voice was muffled and almost drowned out by the sound of a pub. His words were slurred and I can only rub my temples at the situation he's already put me in.

"Why did you call me for this."

"Well my phone's dead and you're the number I memorized." He said softly after hearing my tone. I shouldn't, but he's drunk and alone.

"I'll call Mitch-"

"Only want you. Please?" I can imagine him pouting and I was too tired to argue with him.

"I can't do this right now..."

"Bubs, my head is starting to hurt and everyone is not being nice. Except Karl, Karl is a nice dude."

Maybe if I wasn't overworked and sleep deprived at the moment, I would of been in the righter state of mind. But the other half of me that worried about his state took the opportunity to see him once again.

"Where are you, Harry?"

***

It was easy to find a drunk Harry Styles at a pub. A small local one that we've been too once or twice in the past, enjoying each other's company over a glass after studio hours. And there he was again, sat at the stools we'd sit on and wallowing to Karl the bartender.

"Hey." I placed a hand on his shoulder after making my way through the small crowd that gathered around him that's been listening into his conversation. His eyes light up when he turns around and sees me, while I take in how disheveled he looks. His curls are messy and his bloodshot baggy eyes tells me he's been crying for a while.

"You're here." He mutters softly after he takes a moment to register that it's actually me. I only give him a small nod in confirmation, feeling that heart ache as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry." I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, most likely apologizing when he sees how tired and unwell i am as he does.

"It's okay, come on let's get you home." I managed to let out, pulling away, guiding him out of his seat and away from the bar. "Oh okay, bye Karl! Keep the change." I send the bartender a grateful smile to which he returns with a pity look on his face.

"Just hold my hand Harry okay?" I tell him when I remember how clingy he gets when intoxicated. He doesn't hesitate to do so as we make our way through the crowd and out of the building.

I managed to get him in the passenger's seat without much interaction, now in the driver's seat and cursing at myself when I realized I didn't have enough gas to take him to his house. I didn't have the energy to go to the gas station this late.

"Are you crying..." He asks, pouting when I placed my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. "Please don't be sad, love." I shook my head, counting in my head as I felt Harry lean over and watch me.

"How many did you have?" I asked when I built up the will not to cry and turned on the ignition.

"Didn't bother counting, didn't matter." I kept my eyes in front of me as I drove while I felt his still on me.

"I would beg to differ. Shouldn't be my responsibility anyways." I quickly countered, noting the sharp tone in my voice and the frown I could imagine on his face.

"I'm sorry...I really wanted to see you."

"Hmm, and getting wasted and being an inconvenience is the way to get my attention." There was a second of silence and I glanced at him to check if he was still conscious, only to see that frown and his head hung in shame. My eyes trailed to the pearl necklace tucked into his sweater, as well as a yellow ribbon tied where it clasps together.

The grip I had on the wheel loosened but I sighed as I hated how guilty I felt after, aware how difficult it was to be mad when he was hurt. "That was harsh..."

"Nooo, I deserve it. I really do because I was mean to you and I don't ever want to be mean to you. Because it hurts me too ya know? More than it did when you walked away...I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I didn't say anything after that, spending the rest of the car ride back to my place in silence.

***

"You don't have to be rich, to be my giiirl. You don't have to be cool to rule my wooorld..."

My annoyance conflicted with the flutters my heart was feeling as Harry was softly singing all the way from my car to my sofa, hand held and clinging to my side the whole time. He plopped down, immediately taking a pillow. "Ain't no particular sign, I'm more compatible wiiith- hey you have that record right? Can you put it on pretty please?"

"It's 2AM, I'm not putting on a record right now." I took off my shoes and coat, graciously doing the same for him when he pouts and rests his head back on the couch. "Aw, you used to not care about that before. Is it because of your neighbors terrible taste of music to blast so late at night?"

"What?" I rubbed my eyes, standing up and going to the kitchen. I couldn't hear his mumbled response, but I returned with a glass of water to see him humming with his eyes closed. He cuddled the pillow close to him and I rolled my eyes, almost laughing at how he was tapping his foot along with the song he was playing in his head.

"Here..." He holds his hand out expectantly and I gave it to him. He takes a drink while I place his coat over the coffee table and go to get him an extra pillow and blanket.

"Oh everything hurts." He whines as I place the pillow down on the end of the couch. "My heart mostly, but that's so cheesy of me isn't it? Yours probably hurts more m' sorry...wish I could take it away."

It wasn't just his naïve words that had my eyes start welling up with tears, but it was also the realization of how he can easily break me down. I couldn't last a whole month without being there when he needs someone, when I was the one who wanted to leave. It was also probably the realization that I had grabbed the same blanket we used to set that little picnic in the studio.

"Wish I didn't cause it in the first place." He added, which led to me sitting down on the chair next to the couch, holding onto the blanket a little longer as delirium was starting to set in.

"I don't think we should have this conversation now, Harry... this is so unfair." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"It is, but I'm scared I won't get another chance." My silence gave him the answer he was already aware of.

"What exactly do you want another chance of Harry, enlighten me." I closed my eyes for a minute, only to open them to see Harry looking at me in a different way. It's different, but I've noticed it before.

"Loving you." He's hesitant with his next words, most likely having sobered up a little. "I hadn't seen Heather for a few days after you left, told her later on about what happened. Took your advice though, talked to her and everything. It just wouldn't work out in the end...couldn't see myself with her in the future."

"But now you do with me?" I softly muttered, holding myself back from reaching out to him. He only nods, having that guilty look on his face because he's fully aware he doesn't deserve it. My droopy eyes are glued to his and that damn pearl necklace, too many thoughts in my head to come up with one whole response.

"Should of just called Mitch. You're an idiot for giving yourself a hangover on your release day." I finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hmm? Oh that, no that's not happening." He says casually, playing with the embroidery on the pillow he was hugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I've postponed the album thingy indefinitely or something."

"Aren't you finished with it?"

"I mean it's got 12 songs and everything but I don't know if it's really finished, I don't know." He shrugs and I'm almost annoyed by how calm nonchalant he is about it.

"You never know things Harry."

"And I hate it, I knooow! I don't know why I can't just figure it out and I hate that I'm hurting you because of it." He frowns, rubbing his eyes. "But I do know now that I love you. Really love you. Maybe if I figured that out sooner, you wouldn't hate me bubs."

I fiddle with my fingers, given up on trying to collect all my thoughts together a long time ago as I can only allow myself to take in his words and listen. He was right, in any other situation where I wasn't tired and delirious, I probably wouldn't even be in the same room as him. So here I was again, allowing myself to hurt in order to make sure he's taken care of.

Maybe it's what I deserve though. He left Heather because of me. I caved into myself at the though that I ruined the relationship of two people who loved each other simply because I didn't get the memo. She is everything in his eyes, he's proven that, so why didn't I just leave them be?

"Ugh, you probably hate me calling you that now but you know I won't stop cause you are my bubs! Like how I'm you're H. Oh... well, you stopped calling me that so...maybe not anymore but I want to be. Can I be your H again please, I miss that too." My thoughts were cut off when he continued, finding him now lying down with his eyes closed.

"Maybe one day." I reassured him hesitantly. We would of stayed friends, we wouldn't of had to fall apart, if I had just left him alone.

"Was a weird nickname anyways, just a letter." He mumbles as I stood up, laying the blanket over him while he still holds onto the pillow.

"You sort of gave it to yourself though, get some sleep Harry." I managed to get out, facing away from him to hide the tear that fell. He should be trying to fix his relationship with her and not me.

"Yeah, but you just started calling me it and I fell in love with it." I take one more look at him before I shut my door, seeing his face nuzzled into the pillow and the glint of a small smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep.

***

8:23. I slept around 2 and woke up 7 hours later to faint piano keys. I took in the soft melody, not recognizing it but enjoying it for a second before I forced myself to sit up and rub my eyes, realizing how dry my skin was from crying. It was definitely a sad song made up of only four chords and a fitting way to start the day as I remember the person who is most likely playing it.

I didn't want to face him, my head feeling too mushed to deal with anything else other than work. It was a weird situation to realize, the man I fell in love with and broke my heart is playing piano after I took him in when he was drunk. He tells me he officially breaks up with Heather after realizing he loves me.

He loves me?

No he doesn't. He should still love her, should be trying to get back to her now that I'm out of the picture. But he hasn't been trying too for the past month, focused on me this whole time. But why?

I snapped myself out of those thoughts quickly, knowing how terrible the following ones would be. I didn't want to think about it anymore, wanting to forget and move on. And as I quietly open my door and peaked out onto my apartment, I see his mess of curls sat on my keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him. He was considerate enough to lower the volume at least.

I took a deep breath and walked out quietly, leaning against the door frame as I continue to listen. "Part of the album, has some of your lyrics in it." He says when he notices my presence.

"Hmm. You told me that you've postponed it." I crossed my arms as he finishes the song with a long note. I see him nod, now looking down at his hands on his lap before adjusting the blanket to fully encase him.

"Yeah I did. It didn't feel right, putting something out there that I should be proud of, but you not being there to be happy with. You not wanting too in there first place, when you put your heart and soul into it, all because of me."

I frown, looking away from him when his intense eyes met mine. "It's too early Harry..."

"You told me it wasn't a good time last night too, so when is?" He huffs and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know after I have my fucking coffee?" I scoffed, uncrossing my arms and heading towards the kitchen. I hear him sigh, not saying anything else as I prepare a cup for myself, already annoyed and stressed out. I felt him staring at me while I avoided making eye contact, rubbing my temples.

"I'm sorry if I was trouble." He says, still sat down on the keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him.

"You're sorry for a lot of things." I sighed, pouring coffee into my cup.

"I am. But I don't know how to really apologize to you when you won't even let me talk to you."

I placed my cup down, suddenly forgetting about my coffee and finally looked at him. "Well what do you expect Harry? After everything you think I'm just going to trust you again? I told you I was done, I wanted to walk out of your life."

"But you picked me up. You still care, that still has to means something." He's frustrated now, desperate even and it only frustrates me more.

"Ah yes, decent morality to not leave an A list celebrity drunk in room full of strangers. That really dumb of you to do by the way, without any bodygaurds- what were you thinking?" I said, noticing how he was fiddling with the pearls that hung around his neck.

"The past month has been hell for me and all I wanted to do was see you. I feel so fucking guilty and sad and it's eating me up because I know I don't deserve any sort of reassurance from you. But at the same time, I so badly just want you back and I'm sorry for how selfish and arrogant I am." He was crying and I soften a little because of it. He tries holding it in, looking down as he quickly wipes away the tears that fall. I don't bother hiding mine anymore, having gotten used to it by now and I was tired of it.

"I've been in pain since December. Four months that you put me through so can blame me when I just want it to stop? I am so exhausted because no matter how much I throw myself into work, all I can think about is you and loving you."

"But I love you too, shouldn't that be enough to try again?" It should of been and he knows. Maybe if he realized it sooner, during his birthday, things would be different.

"You've proven that it's not." I say disappointingly, willing myself to walk over and sat down next to him, looking ahead at my piano in front of me. "I don't know what to do anymore Harry. Why can't you let me have this? Let me move on."

"Cause you and I both know we can't leave each other, too emotionally attached. I need you in my life bubs, everything sucks when you're not in it." I laugh a little at that, because it was true in a fucked up way.

"That's so unfair, why did you have to hurt me?" I hesitantly lay my head on his shoulder before he droops the other end of the blanket around me.

"I know most of my relationships don't last. Deep down I've always loved you but I couldn't let myself fall for you because I didn't want to ruin us. The thought of us breaking up and never seeing each other again just terrified me because I never wanted to lose you, ever. But I fucked up and managed to do so anyways, and I hate myself every day as much as you do." He starts playing the song again as he speaks, but it plays it down a key and slower.

"I don't hate you, can't bring myself too, but you shouldn't of been afraid to talk to me. You know who I am, we would of worked through it no matter what." He nods, followed by only the sounds of the piano melody.

"I'm in love with you." I hear him say softly after a little while out of the blue. It catches me off guard, finding it so foreign to hear those words come from him.

I let out a soft self deprecating chuckle. "No you don't. You care about me, but you don't love me. Probably saying this out of guilt or spur of the moment type thing and I can understand that, but you love Heather. She's good for you, perfect even."

"But I fell in love with you. She's not you." His brows are furrowed together as he frowns.

"Yeah, I'm not her." The small glint of my smile quickly fades and he notices it.

"What I did during my speech was very shitty. Gemma pointed it out to me right away and it's one of the biggest things I ever regret doing." He stops playing when he sees me deep in thought, slowly taking my hand to test the waters. "But I need you to understand what I said was true, that you are such an important person to me. You are beautiful, and kind, patience, and just so fucking good to me, love. I want to cherish you because it's what you deserve and I will deal with as much rejection for you to forgive me and give me another chance. It's worth every heartbreak if it means I get to love you again."

I find myself in an intimate situation, looking into his eyes at such a close proximity, our faces only inches away from each other. I was pleading to him with my eyes, begging him not to hurt me again while the look on his face was one I used to be familiar with. He was frozen while the fear that it would only just happen again held me back from moving. His eyes fluttered down to my lips, as if asking for permission and my head was refusing it. But every other part of me wanted to feel those lips again. I looked down at his, my hand taking hold of his and placing it on my chest to where my heart is before he made the move to finally press our lips together in a small kiss.

I wanted to sob because it felt right. I felt the butterflies again and the complete state of satisfaction. This time was gentle as well, but Harry put so much love into the kiss, cupping my cheek with his other hand when he feels how fast my heart was beating.

It only took a second more before I slowly pulled away, still tightly holding his hand against my heart as he could sense my doubt. "It's going to take some time okay? Probably a long time but you caused me a lot of heartbreak. But I never stopped loving you H, as much as I didn't want too anymore." I said seriously, and his eyes lits up with hope. Holding back his smile as much as he could while he nods because he heard that little nickname again.

"I'll give you as much time and space as you need, thank you. I love you so much bubs." He pulls me into a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck and I feel instantly calmer because of it. I rest my head on his shoulder while he mumbles sweet words into my skin.

"Promise I'll be good to you."

______________________________________________

A/N: :o it’s complete. I finished it yay! I’m so proud with how this series came out and I genuinely hope you guys do as well. I’ve started my semester and it’s going to be hectic so writing will take longer to come out, but there will be future stories that I’m really looking forward to writing and sharing :)

taglist: @big-galaxy-chaos

#Harry Styles #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction #harry styles blurb #heather #wish i were

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eclectickss · 3 years ago

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Keep My Heart Ticking (blurb)

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x (OC) Reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, reader wants to be un-alive

Word Count: 0.8k?

Summary: Natasha reaches a breaking point with you, and you finally realize just how fucked up you are.

A/N: PLEASE READ! Hi friends! This is a blurb that I had to get off my chest a few weeks ago, hoping that I could turn it into a multi-chapter or extended shot. I have about 1.7k words more written for various parts in the story, but seeing as i'm at a writer's block for this one, I feel as if I should share my favorite part and see if anybody would be interested in the full thing (cause i'm a whore for validation and encouragement) so PLEASE if ya want more, tell me! Also I gave reader a name because using Y/N is not my favorite thing in the world. Your name is Raimy Winters. :)

Your least favorite redhead walked purposefully into the room, and you verbally groaned at the idea of another lecture. She sat down on one of the benches surrounding the cage enclosure, but you acted like she was invisible. Silence sat among the two of you for an uncomfortably long time, as if all of your arguing and bickering with each other had placed a brick wall down the center of the world. Not appreciating her obscure presence, you flipped over to lay on your other side, now finally meeting her harsh eyes.

The two of you stared down the other, but you weren't giving up the game. She's the one who decided to pay you a visit, so she's going to be the one to address it. You paid attention to her nature, catching how there were dark circles under her eyes and the shake in her left leg. Her glare showed no mercy, and her green gaze treated you like a dog who had tangled its leash around her feet one too many times.

This side of Natasha was new to you.... vulnerable. You didn't know how to feel. You were so used to the assassin being a headstrong, emotionless rule-following drone, that you never could have imagined another side to the redhead. Finally, though, she spoke, but the breath lodged in your chest couldn't escape yet.

"Cut the shit, Ms. Winters." Her voice cracked slightly, but with a darker tone that you weren't used to. You couldn't find any information to process though, so you stayed quiet. "I get it, that you wished I had let you die. I know what begging for death is like. More than you." You already knew a little about her past, so this information didn't surprise you at all. "But your alive, now. So stop acting like a child and get the fuck over it."

Your eyes widened at her new tone and you silently gasped, sitting up.

"It's hard to get over it, Nat, when you don't have anything else to live for. You took away the people I was doing that for." You ground your teeth.

"God, Raimy, stop acting like life is worthless!" She stood up, voice rising and face reddening. "I know I never loved myself that much, but I never wished my heart to stop beating all because it didn't mean shit!"

"Well, my life does mean shit, Natasha!" You stood up too, speeding over to the glass that she was standing in front of. "I CAN'T HELP ANYONE ANYMORE, WIDOW. I CAN KILL AT CONTACT AND I CAN'T CONTROL IT." You spat. "Everyone I love is gone, all because you chose my life over theirs. I MEAN NOTHING, NATASHA. ALL I WANT IN THIS FUCKED UP WORLD IS TO DIE, AND THAT SEEMS TO BE THE ONE GOD DAMN THING I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DO."

"God, We want to help you, Raimy! Let us do that!"

"NO! It puts innocent people in danger, so kill me off while you can."

"RAIMY!" She heaved. "Stop treating me like I'm a bad person for saving your life! That's more fucked up than anything else, Ms. Winters. I did what was best, and it's EXHAUSTING that you won't even TRY to understand the truth in that!"

"The fact that you saved one life over three tells me that it wasn't the best you could've done." You spat. You turned around to lay back down on your bed but whirled around when you heard the cage opening and footsteps headed in your direction.

NO, RAIMY, YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO THE GOD DAMN TRUTH. EVERYONE IS AFRAID TO TELL YOU BECAUSE THEY DON'T WANT TO DIE, BUT HERE THE FUCK I AM, RISKING MY LIFE ALL BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO GROW THE FUCK UP." Natasha yelled, and you couldn't move. "You don't get to complain to us about who lives and dies. To me about who lives and dies. Do you know why I saved your life? Because I was taking orders. And I don't take orders if I don't think they're the right ones. I was told to save you, because if you died, you would have killed so many more people, Raimy."

You glared at her with tears in your eyes, being told something that nobody else had bothered to yet. Your façade asked so many questions, but your mouth couldn't move. Your eyes begged her to explain.

"Bruce was tracking your radioactivity. You were about to fucking explode, Ms. Winters. Because that's what your body does when you have radioactive powers and your heart runs out of time. You're a bomb, Raimy, I'm just the one who made you tick a little bit longer." She spat angrily and stormed out of the cell, leaving you trapped and alone in the cage.

Hey, Dr. Karen.

I just had a fight with Nat. Again.

But this one was different... she told me that the only reason that she saved my life that day was because it was the only life she could save. Supposedly I'm a bomb. She said I was going to kill a lot more people if I died.

I don't know what I'm supposed to think, Dr. K.

Natasha was pissed off that I didn't care too much before she had said that. She looked tired and scared.

I don't want to scare her though. And I hope I'm not the reason she looked exhausted.

Who am I kidding. I probably am. I've been really harsh with her, Dr. K. And now that I know the truth, I feel... awful.

She had said that there were moments where she had wanted to die too... and when she hadn't loved herself much. She has a greater appreciation for life than I do, though. She's seen more, faced more... feared more.

I mean, my life was thrilling as a detective. Dangerous... but she's faced, aliens and super soldiers. So what the fuck do I know?

...

This journal is probably really thrilling for you to read.

-Raimy

Thoughts and comments are GREATLY appreciated!!

#natahsa romanoff #natasha x oc #natasha x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x fem!reader

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socketz · 4 years ago

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Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Angels of the Night.

Type : Fluff and Smut! (with a little Angst at the beginning)

Warnings : Very sexual at certain parts & particularly detailed, talks of death (in general, not Neil, don’t worry), crying I suppose, but that’s about it.

Word Count : 10.4K (roughly) I got a little carried away, oopsies

Request : Anonymous: So for the request, I was wondering if you could do something soft and smutty with Charlie (Dalton)? Like his and a fem reader’s first time together or smth?

Summary : Essentially the request but they go out to make snow angels after, and there’s a little bit more plot :)

Authors Note : Plsss🥺🥺🥺 I love this so much and the idea was so sweet, Charlie is my BABY. I love him fodjdjdbfi. Thank you for this request! And my other requested fics will be put up as soon as I’ve finished them <3

Angels of the Night, Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Perhaps it were the midst of Winter engulfing my complexion, rupturing me cold and abnormally behaved, or maybe I was simply being overdramatic. My nose cold, stained with the shiver of a scarlet hue - eyes something of a similar shade, glossy and leaking. Pathetic, my mind spat, utterly pathetic. The sobs escaping my throat were hardly stifled by the wool of my knitted scarf, eyebrows furrowed and blush - I presumed - something of a terrible crimson. I found myself choking on my laboured breaths, feet crunching upon the delicate, unscathed, snow below.

He could hardly love you, my mind seemed to snear, something icier than the wind whipping through my locks. You are too difficult to adore.

Another stifled cry whimpered between the ruffle of my lips, moist and troubling, and I simply hoped - my vision blurred, incompetent - that my direction were a honest path, and I should discover the courtyard of the infamous Hell-ton (a place often discouraged and avoided by my conscience, for girls were surely not prohibited, and Charlie would be oh-so-severly punished, should I find myself caught.) in no time at all.

But, oh, it were true. A wreck, I was, and impossible to love. Charlie; a man with such incredible charm, a certain warmth to his gaze, and the intelligence of someone wonderful. Everything a dream could give, embodied - real. Perhaps he was the kind of guy, the kind of face, that poetry was bound from. The kind of person the Gods found pride within - a joyously great boy.

My footsteps found a rhythm, falling within the tough scale of such icy blankets; fingers but limbs of solid numbness, fumbling within the depth of my pockets; a gentle pulse to racket the edges of my brain. Thump, thump, thump, it said; Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

What was I even to do? To approach him, to mortify him - though undoubtedly far more myself - before his friends, his closest companions, and express my excessive need for clarification? Was I going to whine for his adoration, for a smitten smile - the kind I’d always read about, always heard in folk-talk about the town - and the attention I found myself so desperate for? It was all so absurd, and, as I glanced with a blurred sense upon the harsh white all around, I found myself wanting to burrow beneath it all, and await the part of death to crawl within my veins, to freeze until I perished. Dramatic, perhaps, though valid nonetheless.

I suddenly felt warm, doused in the flush of embarrassed scarlet, a hue so easily identifiable - especially among the fleet of snow, draped upon the landscape for miles, and miles, to stretch. Heavens, I felt ill. Sick with stupidity - my own, all the same.

How could I possibly fall so low as to beg a man for adoration? My cheeks were a furious red, stricken with frustration. I felt a fool, storming over to his school - his strict, unapologetic, pro-punishment, school - with tear-stained cheeks, a lump in my throat and a pensive anxiety through the roof - all as though my implored desire were of anything important, anything meaningful. Charlie was a man of great confidence, and surely - by now, at least - his true feelings for me, if any at all, would have confessed their way to me, somehow - anyhow.

And yet, despite our many months of close friendship, our continuous flirting, and the pet names - though only to be revealed when swarmed with the comfort of desolation -, with the dates (he had assured me that they were, in fact, dates, and not just a friendly accommodation) - despite it all, he had not once confessed to his true feelings. And I suppose that I struggled to believe whether he held anything romantic for me at all, anymore. Perhaps he was excited, in the beginning, and thus he felt something then, and now - now that we had never quite ventured within the sexually active side of things - I supposed that he were growing bored, and those feelings - whichever he may have obtained - were diminished, unimportant, and-

“Y/N?” The delirious notion of my attention snapped up, grasping the direction of the calling - a familiar tone. Knox. I found myself spinning, undoubtedly a natural reaction, to turn away from his curious gaze. I wiped my eyes, a harsher manner than intended, with my numb digits digging a little deeper upon the flushed complexion than comfortable. “What are you doing here?” There was a breathy laugh, and I suppose he hadn’t noticed my watery expression, his crunching footsteps achingly close.

“I- uh-” Turning to face him once more, I fluttered a kind smile upon my features - hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I came to visit Charlie.” I said.

“Oh.” He said, dismissive, with another curious gaze and a tilted head. “He’s in a meeting-” He caught himself, glancing with something worried, “You okay?” He asked. Through his furrowed eyebrows and his genuine eyes - always gentle, always dreaming - I found comfort among the softness of his stare. Knox was a good friend - hopelessly in love with Chris, of course - and utterly tender. It was no wonder he and Charlie were the closest of companions. Both irresistible, both dependent upon each other - brothers, soulmates, a match for angelic enigma.

I hardly had a chance to catch my movement, shoulders falling and descending to a slouch, a sigh breaching my lips. “I’ve worried myself ill.” I said, and true it surely was. He smiled, a humorous smile, and shook his head.

“Always a worrier.” He spoke, fondly, taking me beneath his arm, and pulling me to the direction of the entry door. I almost thanked the warmth he radiated, had it not been for his words interrupting my decision, “You’ve been crying, I can see.” He said, and I nodded something silent. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Charlie.” I sighed, unable to pause the way it slipped, so easily, through my teeth. I tried to bite it back, but it begged for release and I could fool myself no longer. I needed to talk about the issue, I needed advice. “I feel as though I bore him - as if he doesn’t like me - like that - anymore.”

He let out a laugh, full and plentiful, as we walked through the waft of warmth, basked by the golden-lit entrance. His stare was wary, cautious, and he - in his height, with that uniformed jacket clung around a part of myself - buried me within his hold, ushering us through the walkway with a slight urgency. “Why the hell not?” He said, amused and slightly riddled with disbelief.

“I-” I paused, a kind of summary attempting to congregate within the depth of my mind, every anxiety rushing to the front in a large blur of nothingness, “I just do.” I said, a deep puff of air to follow. “We’re nothing official, and I know that - of course I do! I just…” A moment of silence followed, we wandered up the staircase, feet echoing simultaneously as our tones found hushed whispers. To be caught was simply not an option “I suppose I need to know.”

I found a gentle ache to sprout, deeply, within the base of my throat, a roundly stinging sensation to my eyes, and I knew - Oh, I knew it well, my jaw clenched, and orbs rolling to the sky - that tonight was a night for honesty, and for feeling morose. Charlie liked that word - morose - for it reminded him of things pleasant - ironically - and thus he used it in the incorrect context. ‘I am morose, tonight, Dear,’ he would say, a grin and faux British accent, all the while proceeding to play his cheeriest Saxophone pieces, all so wonderful and joyful. Nothing morose about it, but that was just Charlie. That was Just Charlie, and Charlie was the man I loved.

The tears began to fall - a first, and then a second, and then there was simply no stopping them after that. Knox hummed, and we entered the hallway. “Need to know what?” He said, our footsteps echoing upon the wooden flooring in a patterned, mismatched, rhythm.

“How he feels.” I said, a gentle sob to fall from my tongue. “How he feels about me - and him. Together - us.” We paraded through the course of the rooms, an occasional curious eye from a bystander - usually a boy with books, or perhaps a recognizable face - and landed before a familiar door.

“Ah,” He said, “So that’s why you’re here? To confess your feelings and hope that he reciprocates?” I found myself pausing in the doorway, Knox almost diving upon the neatly made bed - upon Charlie’s neatly made bed - that anxiety riddled within my head all over again. Thump, thump, thump, it said. Hope, hope, hope.

“Hope?” I said, “What do you mean, hope?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, dismissive to my worries, and picked up the small clock - slightly battered and a little broken - from upon the side table, stacked with loose paper and a few poorly handled novels, and said: “I worded that wrong.” With a reassuring smile to soften his expression. “You’re worried over nothing, Y/N.” He chuckled, gentle and kind.

But what if I wasn’t? “And if I’m not?”

“Then it would seem I don’t know Charlie at all.” He said. And, oh, how honest he seemed, so undeniably truthful, but that little voice - that fester of illness, sprouted within my gut - found my eyebrows pinched, and my frame collapsed within the chair of Charlie’s desk. I removed the wool of my scarf, a sigh slipping the brace of my gritted teeth, gentle moisture collecting upon my complexion, flushed with the sudden gust of warmth, and similarly cold by the retraction of heat.

“I hope those shoes are clean, Overstreet.” I said, breathless to my thoughts. He snorted a laugh, and my lip quivered at the corner. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing - yes, yes, nothing at all. Though my tears seemed to occupy my anxieties, and such a thought did little to diffuse my worry. “But what if he doesn’t have feelings for me?” I said, exasperated. Knox sighed, a pointed look from his direction. “I mean, how embarrassing! I’d surely never recover.”

Another scoff breached his throat, “Are you kidding me?” He said, rolling his eyes with a subtle fondness about him. “He practically worships you.”

“And you’re sure he likes me? Romantically?”

“Smitten.” He said, toying with the ill-treated clock as it lay within his hands, tossing it from one hand, to the other, up and down, left and right. I watched with a glimmer of amusement as the contraption fell from his grasp, landing heavily upon the wooden flooring. The mechanisms simply fell apart - meat from the bone - and a light wince sounded out from his direction. “Damn.” He mumbled. A soft laugh fluttered from my lips, and his rose to a tender smile, soft and kind - always so kind.

The door billowed open, a gentle slam against the opposing wall a thunder upon the scene. A waft of cologne, a roll of the eyes from Knox, and I found my smile broadening a little, broadening enough. Always the kind for an entrance, I thought, as the wooden plank poised between the man himself, and I. “Knoxious.” Charlie called, a tone of thick amusement and mischief to coax his smirk - a factor so notoriously him, I could hear it through his speech.

Knox grinned, a furtherly boyish kind than the ones he shared with me, and avoided the shattered clock altogether, as it lay, pathetically, upon the ground. “How’d it go?” He asked, lying pointedly within the comfort of Charlie’s bed, making a fact of wiggling upon the comforter.

“Not so bad.” Charlie said, blissfully ignoring his teasing. “Meeks agreed to help. Study group and all that.”

Knox nodded, glancing once in my direction, as I found myself merely grinning - for whichever reason, I had no particular clue. Perhaps it were his voice, or his smile - the way it conveyed within his speech. I didn’t know, and I found, as he spoke once again, that I didn’t care to find out.

“How was the Danbury’s future wife?” He teased, “Seen her naked, yet?” His tone of humour were almost overbearing, as he strode forward - in front of myself, my presence consequently unknown - and kicked the door shut, the thud another echo throughout the almost silent corridor.

He rolled his eyes, the ghost of a smile to be present, and spoke gently, “Shut up, Dalton.” He said, motioning effortlessly in my direction, “Your girl’s here to see you.”

As though an elastic band, he swiveled upon his toes, eyes precariously enlarged with a sense of surprise. My grin remained, and his gaze seemed to soften somewhat upon noticing my hunched posture, curled within that chair of his fabulous desk. His expression eloped with something wide, his smile crawling instantaneously, as he strode to rest himself behind me, engulfing my shoulders in a two-armed-cradle. His chin rested upon the dip in my neck, breath warm; close. “Hi.” He said, tone soft with a joyous grin.

“Hello.” I mumbled, resting the side of my cheek upon his head. Serenity, peace - I had almost forgotten the moisture to lie upon my rosy complexion. “What was the meeting about?” I asked.

“It’s nothing, just-” “He’s flunking trig.” Knox interrupted, a flutter of buried snickers to follow.

My eyebrows furrowed, knitted tightly as I positioned myself to face Charlie furtherly forward. “You’re flunking trig?” I asked. He shrugged slightly, tightening his embrace

with a sharp inhale to his nose.

“Only a little.” He said, gaze roaming upon my expression. Two digits, curled to the softness of his palm, graced the damp flush of my cheek, recoiling with a scowl of fond woe displaced upon his furrowed brows. “What’s the matter?” He asked, something mellow.

As though dancing to their own accord, the tears found themselves heavier than before, trickling upon my features as they found a subtle scrunch, and his frown drew deeper. “Hey,” He whispered, brushing - almost nervously, dare I say - a few strands of hair away from my face, tucking them behind an ear, with a glance of thorough concern.

I stared, albeit tried to, with such blurry gaze, into his eyes. So warm, so amiable - hot chocolate, topped with sweetened whipped cream and marshmallows on a chilly Wednesday afternoon - Home, his eyes, they looked like home. He felt like home. And, oh, how dearly I loved him. “What happened?” He mumbled, “Knoxious,” he said, turned to face the boy who glanced something somber, “What did you do?”

I could care to notice the smile upon Charlie’s expression, and from the reciprocated grin festered within the boy across the room, I understood, a teary smile and a gentle laugh, that he was doing what he did best - he was going to cheer me up. “Overstreet.” He said, standing with a sudden gust of wind.

Knox stood, a scramble to his feet, a mischievous grin eloped upon his expression. “Dalton?” He said, a tilt of his head - a nod, I suppose, though something mocking.

“Grab me a bowl.” Charlie ordered.

His smile fell, and he said: “A bowl?”

“Yeah, of food.” He said, “I’m hungry. Whatever’s for Dinner, alright?”

He nodded, somewhat dazzled, and the smirk crawled back upon his expression. “Yes, Sir.” He said, “What about the others?”

“The others?”

“The Dead Poets?” Knox said, “What’ll I tell ‘em?”

Charlie shrugged, he glanced once to myself as I sniffled, and I wiped my eyes with my hands once more. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.” He said, a smile. Knox knew - he knew better than anyone - just how deeply controlling love could feel, how gut-wrenchingly wonderful it tended to grow, and thus he left without another word, merely a smirk, and a gentle wave to I.

The door remained cracked, though only a slither, and before a moment's silence had passed between us, Charlie planted his lips upon the cold complexion of my snow-kissed cheek. A retraction, “God,” He said, “you’re freezing.” I didn’t feel particularly cold - not anymore, at least -- not after the weight of his tightly woven arms upon my shoulders. It should seem, however, that the glisten of moisture upon my cheeks were enough to remind my complexion of it’s shiver, Charlie - without hesitation - ripping into the array of clothing, shoved messily at the pit of his closet. “Here.” He mumbled, a thick, woolen, jumper extended from his slightly pink cheeks. “Put this on, you’ll get sick.”

I have fallen sick already, I almost scoffed - sick with the worries of my own foolish mind. But I grabbed the soft material nonetheless - a favorite of mine, one I thought he wore so very well - and removed my jacket, peeling the cold material from my bare arms. I placed it on, woozy with the intoxicating smell that was him, engulfing my frame in a combustion of warmth, of safety, and I smiled. A toothy, poorly contained, smile.

That smirk fell upon his lips, a signature twist of features. I watched his supple gaze, drifting upon my figure from across the room, and those butterflies - the ones I’d so anxiously murdered a while ago, when such intrusive thoughts seemed too dangerous to express fondly - found themselves utterly contempt, dazzling themselves drunk with romance. Eyes darkened slightly, though soft, as though glancing to something delicate, and his hands fumbled within his pockets. How pretty he was, I found myself thinking, and I adored him all the same.

He smiled, a shake of the head, and said: “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Oh, yeah…” I said, another sniffle, contained and hardly morose at all. My expression seemed to falter, though only marginally - enough for Charlie to notice, his gaze scowling something gentle, something worried - and I presumed, as he motioned for me to join him, himself clambering upon the mattress and lying upon the cover, that I would simply have to let it all out. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I began, sitting at the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, allowing them to clatter upon the ground with a careless sense, attentive and glancing warily to myself.

He frowned, subliminally displeased by the distance I had placed between us. “Are you mad at me?” He asked, confusion to bind between his features.

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows, a rather quick shake of the head. “No, no, nothing like that.” I said, “No, quite the opposite, really.” I kicked off my own shoes, not nearly as eager to ruin his bedding as Knox had seemed to be, and placed them side by side, a neat sort of line. The tears, they had stopped - or paused, perhaps - though the dampness of my blush was something rather frustrating, as I harshly wiped upon the irritated skin, attempting to rid of the lightly tangy moisture.

“Alright.” He hummed, an arm to lock upon the soft of my stomach, drawing me closer in a swift kind of movement. I laid back, his chest moving something rhythmical, my head falling within the crook of his neck, glancing up to the side of his face. He was surely the prettiest boy I had ever known. And as his thumb stroked the skin of my knuckles, his eyes glancing down to meet my own, I found myself thoughtless. Blank - nothing. He smiled. “Well?”

I rolled my eyes half heartedly, for I was so filled with something fuzzy, something fond, I was unable to spark any kind of annoyance. “So impatient.” I grinned, shuffling lightly to tangle my feet beneath his own. Oh, how cold my toes were. He hissed lightly at the contact, though allowed it nonetheless, and I found myself unable to dismiss the gentle grin as it slipped upon my lips. “I- Well, I-“ I coughed, an ache to my throat. Feelings, themselves, were particularly frustrating - difficult things to understand - and yet confessing them were so much harder. “God,” I sighed, closing my eyes with a light groan. Carpe diem - it was all Charlie used to say, before he’d do something risky; before he asked me on a date for the first time; before he inevitably did a thing he’d surely regret, or, perhaps, receive a kind of punishment for. Carpe diem. “Do you like me?” I asked. It was timid, shy.

A moment of silence graced us by, the soft hum of his breathing mingled with that of my own the only disruptive notion. I peered through my lashes, cautious as to my findings, and gazed upon his beautifully carved features. Glancing to his lightly flushed expression, his smile, and his subtle laughter, I suppose that I gathered I had been worrying about nothing, after all. Stretched within his grin, he said: “What’s the matter with you?”, a gentle laugh soon followed . “Of course I like you.” He said. “Why’d I keep you around if I didn’t?”

I felt myself bubble with a lightly humiliated laugh, trickling from my tongue like treacle - not honey, far too thick, too sticky. Unpleasant - it was a frustrated and false kind. “I don’t know.” I muttered. “I thought you did it all out of pity.”

A snort escaped him, “Fucking pity?” He echoed, bemused as before. “You think I’d deliberately risk getting my ass kicked by my Father, for bringing a girl to school, if it was out of pity?” I shrugged something small - utterly humiliated. Though, in a way, I suppose I kind of enjoyed this humiliation. I found a certain warmth in his mocking, for I knew it was his dote of affection. I knew that although his commentary were merely humorous, I could find a sense of adoration between the lines, a sense of truth. There always seemed to be such things.

And so, as though a strike of courage had flourished within the depth of my bones, I found myself speaking thoughtlessly. “You just never…” I paused, hesitation riddled within such courage. “You’ve never told me that.” I sighed, glancing away with such an inflammation to my cheeks, I simply thought I’d explode into a ball of flames.

“Oh,” He muttered, a tinge of disheartenment to his tone. I flickered my stare to fixate upon his expression once more, crossed handsomely with a frown. He didn’t meet my gaze, “Well, what do you want me to say?” He said, a little thickly, with a hint of discomfort.

Tell me you love me, I wanted to say, confess your adoration! Though instead, there was a: “Nothing.” and an: “I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic.”

“No, no,” He said, a stroke to my side; up and down, up and down, so gentle, so soft. “No, you’re right.” A curt pause followed, a tense thing. He drew in a sharp breath, “I just thought that…” He trailed, marinating his words, as though deciphering how to piece them together. “I thought you could tell.” He smiled fondly, shook his head, “The Dead Poets… All they do is tease me. They see it.” He glanced toward me, a curious glance, and said: “Why can’t you?”

I paused, the gentle stammer to exit my mouth, “I-” but caught myself before mine own excuses. There was a furrow to my brows, one that rose a single of his own, and surely, he were right.

Between the gentle dotes of affection - often an arm burrowed around my waist, or my shoulders, or a kiss to my cheek, hand holding (though usually interlocked pinkies) - the long, - dare I say - intimate stares; the softness of each glance, of every expression; the subtle compliments, followed with a fond kind of joke, or a faux insult; the adoration, spilled between every moment we spent together, that I were simply too worried to notice. Damn, I almost sighed, though bit it back (barely) - I felt bitterly foolish.

Heavens, how could I not have noticed?

There was an overwhelming kind of heat washing over me, and oh, I truly wanted to hide - to run, and to hide, far, far, away. What a fool, an incompetent fool. The flutter of a laugh slipped between his lips, a lullaby to my fixated embarrassment, and - before long - I found myself reciprocating a gentle giggle, too.

“Idiot.” He teased, another snort of laughter, though only quiet - a fond mocking, one could say. I rolled my eyes, unbearably aware for the scarlet flush upon my cheeks, and swatted his chest gently. His digits wrapped around my own, drawing the back of my hand to his smile, as he peppered a loving kiss upon the complexion. “‘Looks good.” He grinned, “My clothes - they suit you.” And there I was, blushing all over again.

“Shut up.” I mumbled, burning something violent.

He smiled, that toothy, mischievous, and utterly him, smile. “Never.” He whispered, a wink, and a closing gap.

His eyes, those beautifully entrancing eyes - gorgeously brown, amorous in shade - glanced, feverishly, upon my lips, slightly agape - drying. The space between our mingled breaths seemed to lessen, the scent of his cologne an overwhelming disorientation to my unmoving self. I found my frame utterly frozen - we had never kissed before. I gulped, our gazes entangling once again, and his expression found a subtle pinch.

Is this okay? It seemed to ask, and oh, how I melted. I nodded, soft and hesitant - merely within my own - or, rather, lack there of - experience. His digits ran smoothly upon my side, trickling their way upon my tingling complexion, and weighted a supple grip upon my jaw, thumb tracing the flush of my cheek.

And then, the space between two such lovers diminished.

Molded so wondrously, an aubade of something perfect. My eyes found a restful close, the pressure of his lips, so tender and gentle - passionately loving - upon mine, a soulful clash of dreamy nights, and explicit daydreams, embodied. The digits upon my cheek failed to release, momentarily squeezing, as the barricade upon my lower back embraced my frame, warm and comforting, and his strength lulled me closer.

I tilted my head, only slightly to the left, as to deepen such affection, and the simple way in which my nose brushed upon his, found my heart slurry with a combustion I could hardly contain. My hands trailed upon his chest, pathing a certain comfort upon his clothed complexion, winding to a settlement along his jaw, cupping his face in a brisk motion of adoration. This was real, I found such a touch reminding me, he was truly within my hands, and his lips were smitten upon my own. Oh, how long I had dreamed such a night.

It seemed almost strange, that such a new found discovery could feel so dearly like home - like comfort, fed upon a delectably silver spoon.

Sweeter than any honey infused dessert, delighted with the bitterness of inexperience and unveiled expressions, my awareness a haze of muddled infatuation. For although my fingertips caressed the smooth complexion of his jaw, and my frame lay, entangled, within his own, it seemed that my feel, my sense of attention, was something of a great lack. Everything seemed so out of focus, so ill-tuned. All but the pressure of the fiery ignition, between the kiss of an epilogue I dreaded immensely.

My breaths fell short, something deep and ravenous, and I found yourself withdrawing gently, engulfing the sudden gulp of oxygen with a slight pant to accompany it. Charlie’s glance was warm; every kind of affection intertwined within one honey glaze; mouth agape, clawing to the fresh air with a timid smirk, reddened and slightly swollen - kissable. His thumb caressed the complexion of my rosy cheek, a falter nowhere to be seen, and his grip on my lower back trailed up, grasping the base of my neck in a sloppily tender hold. He pulled me nearer, a soft guidance, as his breath fanned my expression, gorged with a timid and delightful smile, and the gingerly peppered peck followed. "I love you." He mumbled, eyes fluttered shut.

He loved me - He loved me! Oh, how I had longed to hear such a confession! I truly pondered the sincerity to his words, though decided that perhaps a paranoid ponderous session was in fact unnecessary, and, in due time, such doubts could trail my conscience. After all, he had confessed that he loved me, and, well, that was just enough for my satisfaction.

Tugging upon the hem of his jawline, a subtle smile traced the hue of his expression - peacefully quiet, with his orbs still hidden to a close - and my lips descended, something brash and seemingly passionate, upon his own. His response trailed suit, the grip upon my neck squeezing momentarily - an embrace I found alluringly entrancing, with a tingle between my thighs - and a gape to mold within his mouth. Craning his neck, once more, Charlie tilted his head to the right, in a consequent attempt to deepen the kiss. And perhaps it were foolish of me to notice such simplicity, but I found it captivating, the way in which our eyelashes freckled upon each other's cheeks, and our noses clashed so gently, brushing a blushed complexion with no morsel of objection.

His tongue ran along the moisturized flesh of my flushed lower lip, a subtle nip between his front teeth igniting the heated warmth, oozing between my own frustrations, and - although I had, for arguments unbeknownst to myself, never before used my tongue in a passionate manner - I found my lips parting subconsciously, and welcoming the sloppy warmth of an entity my dreams could hardly fathom such experience of.

A gentle invasion, something utterly welcome and wondrous; his tongue ran along the edge of my own, myself mimicking the soft touch with slight hesitance. His thumb caressed the complexion of my cheek once more, lightly gripping upon the side of my face and tilting it such, himself adjusting to furtherly explore the depth of my intertwined lips. I were surely rendered breathless, a slight ache beginning to accumulate within the pit of my lungs - I hardly knew how to breathe through such intimacy. Charlie sighed something gentle, the puff of air to tickle my upper lip, and it seemed the recollection of my nose fluttered on back to me, as I gulped a large inhale through the deprived nostrils, a subtle blush encasing my cheeks, flourished with the tinge of thickening embarrassment. That was a bit fucking stupid, I scolded, shamed by my bitter inexperience.

I wondered if I were... Well, if I were any good, to put it simply. Never before had I truly made out with a boy, and every time they tried, it seemed to - somehow, somewhere - go wrong. Of course, I had shared subtle kisses with pretty boys, and my virginity was long gone - many moons ago, was it taken, by a man unbelievably unworthy of the title - but it was never anything emotional. Nothing riddled with mutual feelings, and adoration spilling from every passing moment. It was different - Charlie was different.

And as my grip slithered upon the roots of his hair, planted along his lower cranium, and entangled with a gentle tug, I understood that perhaps he thought I was different, too. For the sound he made was heavenly, as the groan slipped between his lips, and vibrated upon my tongue, and oh, did I crave to hear it again. His smile was a radiance of arrogant pleasure, tattered against my lips, as his teeth nibbled something tender upon my swollen flesh, and, Heavens, how the shuddered sigh mortified me. I had little time to control myself, as his grip tightened upon the base of my neck, and the other hand slunk itself upon my clothing, wriggling the base of my shirt, and planting a firm grip upon my bare waist.

I wondered, merely a moment of passing thought, whether my skin were as smooth as his own, or that of the other girls he had bedded, before myself. At least, I assumed such a happening would unfold within the shared company, as my lips began to shimmer a light sting, something barbarically pleasing. Another nibble ran upon my lower lip, a slightly harsher endeavor, as a sharp flourish of pain cursed through my mouth, eloping the pleasurable chafe in a reactive heat. My fist clenched, tightly engaged, within the roots of those chocolate, brown, locks, yet another groan to interrupt the blurry silence, and a sudden flavor - something unusual, unknown - infiltrated the bliss, and... Metallic? I frowned subtly, decidedly unknowing as to just what it could be, and - Blood.

Heavens, I was bleeding! I felt myself gasp something light, his smirk merely amplifying to such a bemusing reaction, and his tongue softly grazed the small wound with great humor, before slithering within the gaped part of my inflamed mouth.

His hand squeezed, momentarily, upon the rear of my neck, it's warmth surely missed, as it trailed an affable motion along my back, and his digits curled upon the hem of my shirt. One subtle tug, and a second shortly followed, his permission permitted clearly, and his grip maneuvered such clothing from upon my heated frame, hands lightly brushing the shivered complexion of my bare sides, with deliberate teasing, as he went. The shirt was thrown somewhere unbeknownst to myself, the knitted jumper a deduced accomplice, and I simply hoped it wouldn't land upon Richards bed - that kind of commentary I would surely never live down - as my hands slithered their way beneath his own clothing, resting upon the warm complexion of his softly animated chest, rising and deflating rhythmically beneath my grip.

A supple grasp of his warm touch, cupping upon the thinly laced fabric of my forgettable bra, found delightful swarms of shivers, crawling with great animation, to scuttle upon my spine. The gentle arc of my back, a soft pressure of my chest upon his own, allowed our mingled affection to deepen, be it only slight, as his tongue slithered endearingly alongside mine. Once more, I hoped that my actions were at least satisfactory, as the persistence of the surprisingly wondrous invasion, sultry within my mouth, peppered on. His breath was short, gentle, yet utterly irrational, a certain tinge of warmth to radiate from the subtlety of his glamorously expensive cologne.

And, despite my growing adoration for the way in which our bodies found a perfect kind of mold, so effortlessly, the tender reminder that Charlie was still... Well, he was still bothersome in clothing, his attire entirely intact, as he lay responsive below my trembling self, found a certain nerve within the depth of my hidden anxieties. Perhaps I had read too far into such a night, and it would not quite end the way I had hoped - perhaps he was simply going along with everything through courtesy. He was a rather gentlemanly man, I could agree. I found a timid blush crawling the complexion of my expression - oh, how foolish I felt! My mind rendered itself bitterly clouded - maybe my crowing insecurities would, in fact, not wait - and my hesitant touch seemed to lightly drift, no longer positioned upon the warmth of his beautiful skin. He didn't even want this, I was almost certain. After all, it was me lying flat upon his frame - not him. I had control - idiotically so - and therefore, he did not want me. Not in that way, at least.

The distance forced itself between such entanglement far before I found a moment to conceal the concerns, myself positioned to a particularly uncomfortable straddle, perched lightly upon his pelvis with my hands palmed upon his erratically pulsating chest. His eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly, toppled with a mantra of concern, lips bruised an almost impressive tinge of inflamed scarlet. "What's wrong?" He muttered, albeit breathless and slightly dumbfounded. His darkened gaze pinned me silent, a flicker of uncomfortability to reside within my mind. I could hardly see just why he would want me, in any kind of way, never mind the sexual kind.

I glanced to my hands, toying subtly with the fabric of his clothing, and my stomach spiked with some kind of nervous gip. Fucking hell, I scolded, what is wrong with you? His digits encased my own, plush lips a delicacy upon the soft complexion, as he traced my palm with a gentle touch, and peppered affection among my knuckles. "Y/N..." He sighed, a sudden softness about his expression. My eyes danced reluctantly, cautious and riddled with my cock-blocking, frustrating, anxieties, and met his gaze with a shy tinge. "What's with the nerves, all of a sudden?" A lovable flutter of laughter slipped his throat, engulfing his expression in that wide grin I found myself adoring so deeply, and another blush drooped upon my smile, small and timid in itself.

"Sorry." I mumbled, somewhat awkwardly, as I lightly shifted my positioning.

A slight hiss escaped the gape of his reddened lips, "Oh, God," He said, "please - God, fuck - don't do that." He groaned, a strong grip and swift maneuvering moment of furrowed expression and concerning grumbles to follow, and I discovered a position of swandled helplessness, upon my back, himself a display of further dominance, as he hung above my confused person. A slither of arrogance spilled within his smirk, particularly delighted with the shift in positioning.

Perhaps he did want me, after all, I dared to ponder. Heavens - he surely looked Godly, struck above, a slight strain to his muscles, and a shimmer of reddened blush to coax his complexion. Two digits maneuvered upon my cheek, another pinch smitten within his expression, and he stroked my features, as he said: “We don’t have to do it, you know.” And he smiled something gentle, reassuring.

I found myself silly with a grin, shaking my head subtly. “No,” I said, “No, I want to.” I brushed away the fringe of fallen hair, tucking it away from his forehead. Truly the most beautiful boy I had ever known. “I want to, I just-” I paused, sighed, “I want to make sure you do, as well.” I said, quieter, with a furrow to my brows.

That similarly contagious smile only seemed to brighten, the breath of a laugh a whisper to the quiet. “Me?” He somewhat scoffed, “Sweetheart, tonight is about you.”

Contorted with a sense of confusion, I said, “Are you sure?” And wrapped his warm expression within the palms of my hands. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do, Charlie.” I said.

His grin something soft, he shook his head. “Dammit, Y/N, the name is Nuwanda.” He said, with not a moment's hesitation. His lips found mine own once more, eloped within that same enigma of beautiful, gratifying, expression. And, oh, if this were the love I had read about, that I had heard the stories of, perhaps I could dare to allow myself to fall.

Mouth a hot trail, lingering with a sloppy kind of warmth, trickled - like honey, sweet, addictive - upon the flush of my complexion, gently peppered along my neck, a rough trail to the crane of my breast, parting through the middle, and a pause at my stomach. The tips of his fingers wound little circles within my pale flesh, a tickle embraced delightfully, and I found myself flustered and warm - dampening, perhaps, in an area more than one.

The gentle, almost trembling, I cared to notice, graze of his fingertips, caressing the sensitivity of the skin most unscathed, perched above the button of my waistband, found a fluttered breath to fall from my tongue. A sigh, one could admit. And, as he maneuvered such digits to undo the subtle mechanisms of the button, and of the zipper, I found my gaze interlocking with his own, a dirty kind of smile to pepper his expression.

“Wait-” I breathed, a little sultry - too sultry for my liking, though his grin only widened upon such a shaky tone.

“Yes, Dear?” He said, a grip to my waist - something squeezed, something utterly distracting - and crawled his way to hover above me, our gazes interlocked and level. A sharp inhale found my throat, and I paused, albeit disorientated, and that intense expression of his dimmed somewhat. I found myself blushing, flustered idiotically, and I tugged upon the lower creases of his shirt. He glanced down, a breathy laugh to follow.

He sat back slightly, resting mostly upon his legs, straddled either side of myself, as I lie, watching - no doubt looking a mess, with disgruntled hair, and half a naked body - and he began to unbutton the cotton of his creased, white, shirt.

Pasty, toned - oh, I were surely thankful to Nolan for such persistent rowing training - and utterly divine. The shirt found the floor, and I subconsciously began trailing patterns, gently, upon the muscled complexion of his abdominal region. His smile was infectious, dazed, as though swarmed with consuming bliss, and his slow descent was something teasing, patient.

I leaned up, unable to pause myself, and caught his lips with my own, furtherly passionate than previously seemed - harsher, dripping with an uncanny tinge of desperation. He slipped his way back down, continual pressures of feathered kisses, slobbered messily upon the heated skin of my neck, my breast, and the lower fraction of my stomach. My hands wove between the gloriously soft strands of his hair, clenching upon the roots with a great anticipation. I surely wanted him - needed him.

Picking off from where he had found himself interrupted, Charlie made a point to daringly drag the material from upon my limbs - slow, deliberate - and peel them unto the floor. That smile - that damned smile - bled me something mushy, utterly submissive to every which occurrence seemed to take place henceforth. His mouth, hot, entirely entrancing - dreamy, perhaps - pressed, a ragged breath to accompany, upon the flesh of my thigh, trailing up, further, further, until they grazed the cloth of my lacy waistband.

Naturally - with somewhat an embarrassing notion - my hips seemed to rise, to buck up, and follow his retreating mouth. The gaze in which he dared to share, - oh - it ached me. My stomach pooling - almost, as it seemed, distributing elsewhere, in a mantra of pleasure, and of need. And the sound that escaped the gape of my mouth were something utterly mortifying.

He breathed a gentle chuckle, crawling up once more, his thumbs brushing lightly upon the fabricated hip, and allowed his forehead to rest upon my cheek, a deep breath - in, and out, in, and out - with a number of peppered affection to burn the complexion of my jaw. My grip remained, gentler, within the roots of his hair, rummaging among such luscious locks, and his breathing feathered, wavering with a soft tremble.

Charlie snuffed his way, knocking my nose with his own, and smiled something tender, a to lock our gaze. “I love you.” He mumbled, the gentle ghost of a kiss to slither upon my lips.

I hardly awaited a moment’s hesitation, “I love you,” I said, and I surely meant it.

There was a moment of shuffling, himself withdrawing the belt - a clink, and a burning fire between the ache of my thighs - and the rustle of descending cloth. Our lips a tangle of blissful abundance, daydreams, passion, all that seemed so wonderful - all that life seemed to be understood for - wrapped within such a sweetened, musky scent. And then, as he parted my legs, something gentle, and particularly kind, and the lace of my dampened panties were discarded to the side, I found, for a heightened moment, I understood the root of all poetry.

For the breeze was nippy, but he was a kind of warmth - a slow, graceful, entrance. He shuddered a breath, his member fulfilling the absence of a warm embrace, and I found myself a wholly consumed fool. “Charlie,” I breathed, a gentle tug to his hair. He groaned something heavenly, vibrating among the thickening air - sticky, almost, with such a sweet sensation, and then he began to move.

Gradual, as he dug further, a greatly whole sensation washing over my pleasured shudder, until he paused, entirely consumed by his depth. Breathing deepened, ravenously implored by my tender whimpers, he captured my moans in a grunt of his own, “Shhh,” he muttered, a strained kind of speech. “You’ve got to be quiet.” He muttered, a whisper of a breath upon my lips.

He retracted, slow, daring, from within me, movement slick and utterly dangerous. “We don’t-” A muffled groan fell from his lips, pausing with a noticeable withdrawal, his smirk something bitterly infused with desperation, with longing. “We don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

I shook my head, far too engrossed within the bask of delight and satisfaction to pay my embarrassment any kind of interest. “No,” I breathed, my hips rising once more and grazing the moisture of his hardened self. A subtle moan escaped the rumble of his throat, a bastardly smile embracing his daring expression, lips crashing to connect with my own once more.

His digits encased my own, hardly noticed and utterly trusted, and he withheld such grip above my head, smitten upon the pillows, and the headrest, and he entered me once more. I found a muffled moan escaping my throat, digested with the greedy tongue of his own, as he withdrew his frame, and began to find a kind of rhythm. He ground something gentle into me, a tender type of jive, and allowed the rhythm something slow, something gradual. It were a mere mumble upon the flush of my lips, though I smiled nonetheless, as he said - breathed -: “Is this-” A pause, a shuddered inhale, “Is this alright?”

I nodded, unable - quite - to express such simplicity in any which way. “Perfect,” I muttered, allowing my head to fall comfortably, resting with my gaze locked upon the ceiling.

Ragged breaths, furtherly accompanied by the feathering pepper of his sprinkled kisses, planted sparsely along my jaw; an embodiment of all the wonders, every kind of lyric, every stanza, every momentary pleasure; the warmth of a gradually increasing rhythm, so comfortingly blissful, my lower stomach contracting with a pleasurably unfamiliar sense of tightness; that musky scent, so beautifully him, so perfectly raw.

He found a lightly harsher stroke, breath an uneven hymn, a prayer the angels seemed to cry, and I found my moan something - soberly - mortifying, drunk with a combustion of thickening lust, of adoration, of love. He heaved a breath, somewhat a laugh, and tilted my chin to level our gaze, his lips capturing my whimpers in a silencing kind of manner. He reached to my hips, their slow slipping of something unsatisfactory to his heavy grip, and he tugged me down upon his thrusts. A cry - a moan - slipped between our mingled breaths, and he seemed to pick up such speed, delicately embracing my complexion in a gentle manner, a loveable motion, and pulling me into his stroke.

A knot, something unfamiliar with the burden of time, tightened somewhere deeply, warmth emitting between the slick moisture between my thighs, and igniting a rich kind of fire within the enigma of my lower stomach, and Oh-

A moan slipped the gape of my lips, his member discovering a kind of depth I had hardly realized accessible, and I- “Charlie,” I breathed, a pathetic taunt within the front of my conscience. His groan was something reciprocal, strokes strong, deepening, and undoubtedly a kind of heavenly descent.

He muttered my name, a breath I found myself entirely enthralled by, and found his rhythm to a slower pace, retracting gradually and entering - deeper, oh, far deeper - with a furtherly slow invitation. A shuddered, heightened, moan slipped the grasp of my throat, coarser and far more depthful, and that knot - Heavens, that damn knot - tightened; it tightened and it squeezed, and it ached the course of my thighs. “Charlie-” I whispered, almost certain for the fiery warmth, engulfing the towering pull among my abdomen.

He nodded, a breath to trickle his expression, “Yeah,” He said, “Yeah, me too.”

The knot rose, a consuming tug among my dizzying conscience, and it lulled my limbs into a distracted, sedated, kind of manner, blissfully encased with a pleasure enamoured. Another moan found my throat, and his rhythm remained something increasingly shaky, strong and utterly defying.

His breath fell to something unstable, gradually embracing an elated sense of ragged unevenness, as he captured our lips once more. A series of whimpers found the depth of my throat, my attempt to bite them back insufficient to his rhythmic thrusts, member far deeper than it seemed I could reach, myself. “Charlie,” I mumbled, almost finding myself warning as to the upcoming occurrence, himself smirking thickly against the gasp of my lips.

“Go ahead, Baby,” he shuddered, “I’ve got you.” And then, I found myself unable to hold on any longer.

A tremble of muffled cries - once, twice, copious times again, until my throat lay wretched with not a sound but the mere whimpers of pleasure. The knot, it combusted in a matter of electrical warmth, flushing through the gape of my parted, shuddering, legs. “Charlie,” I cried, like a song upon the dry whimper of my throat, “Charlie, Charlie,” until his name seemed nothing more than a word upon my tongue. Such a wave, engulfing me in a sensational kind of suffocation, an infectious kind of entrapment. I ached, another moan to fall from my lightly gasped mouth, and I found the knot, the gentle tug, no longer there - diminishing, one may say.

I had hardly noticed the withdrawal of his softening member, stomach glistened with the tone of his undoing, his breaths ragged - deepened - though upon meeting his glance with that of my own, I understood that this - this man whom I loved, whom I adored - were someone I could most certainly Carpe Diem with every goddamn day. He smiled, something tender, something soft, and draped his lips upon my own, a sweet, kind, peck.

“I love you,” He muttered upon the swollen flesh.

A smile, “I love you,” I said.

There was a moment of nothingness, filled by the still of ragged breathing, and his tone came teasing, came blissfully characteristic. “I’ll never hear my name fall from your lips innocently again.” He said, the light trickle of laughter to drabble by. “But, oh,” He closed his eyes, head tilted dramatically, “Oh, it was the sweetest song I ever heard.” I rang with a short giggle, a roll to my eyes, and muttered a gentle curse for his mortifying dictation.

“Fuck you, Dalton.” I mumbled.

His lips caught mine, once more, with a sloppy sense of warmth, and he said: “I’m afraid you already have, Dear.” With a wink and a poke to my naked side.

His withdrawal were something quick, a suddenly cold departure, as he picked up the discarded shirt from upon the floor. He pinched his expression, a conflicting frown, and I maneuvered to rest upon my forearms, a furrow to my brows. “What are you doing?” I asked, a dopey smile unnoticed yet utterly welcome.

He breathed a laugh, “I’m not sure if this is my last shirt.” He mumbled, scratching the base of his neck with another little chuckle. I let out a short snort, shaking my head, and spoke teasingly, unable to help the way it fell from my tongue.

“To say I’m surprised would simply be a lie. Grab mine.” I said, motioning to the entanglement of woolen jumper and cheap t-shirt.

He passed such fabric to myself, and I made an effort to scrape the slick moisture, puddled upon my stomach, a slight sigh to escape my mouth. The click of a lighter, and the rustle of an almost empty cigarette carton caught my attention, gaze drifting to watch as Charlie inhaled a deep breath, the chemicals of the darkened smoke disrupturing to his toughened throat, hands fondling the clasp of his belt.

I found my underwear, sliding into the small item of clothing, rising to a standing position as I did so, and the cigarette fell between my lips, a wink to follow his retreat.

“Let’s make some snow angels.” He said, a glimmer of something bright to sprinkle within his gaze. The laugh coughed from my chest, deep and humorous - oh, how I loved him. “Hey,” he scoffed, taking back the cigarette and handing me his woolen jumper, “I’m serious!” An inhale, a smirk, and a darkened gaze, watching with great intent as I wrapped my frame within the loose fabric of his favourite jumper.

I smiled, “Of course we can, Charlie.” I said, unable to stop the slip of the giggle that found its way out. He grinned, a final toke of the cigarette, before stubbing it out upon the bedpost, tossing the end through the window he slid open, and basked within the cool breeze for a moment or two.

Scoping my pants, I threw the material upon my legs, doing up the mechanisms, and simply watching his relaxed frame, gazing through the gape of the window. A pale complexion, littered with small, yet noticeable, moles, and bodily freckles. Athletically lean, though not particularly tall, and ridden with just enough muscle - wondrously divine architecture, I could dare to admit.

“Come on,” He grinned, whipping around and wriggling his eyebrows something childish. Another snicker escaped me, though I placed on my shoes, and I tugged on my jacket nonetheless, awaiting his restless dressing. He threw on the shirt, hardly bothering to button the majority of the buttons, and his shoes, tying them scruffily in a manner I were sure would simply undo in a moment’s notice, his hand encasing my own in a youthful taste of blissful excitement, dragging me to the door as he collected his coat, and found his way into the hallway.

Desolate, empty - entirely surprising.

In truth, I had expected a kind of congregation to fall through the entrance as Charlie swung open the door, and yet, not but a whispered sound was to be heard. Admittedly, such a discovery were something welcomed and serene - I doubted I would ever live down such humiliation. It occured to me, as I glanced upon the solitude of the hallway, that Knox had not returned, either. Perhaps he had heard the… the happenings, from behind the door, and decided simply to take a hint. I adored that boy, his heart of gold, I thought, a gentle graze of a smile upon my lips.

Charlie barreled into the limbs of the woolen coat, buttoning only a few of the gloriously expensive pegs, as he interlinked our pinkies - much the same as he had always done - and dragged me through the hall.

“Charlie-” I attempted to whisper, anxious as to his dismay of cautious rationality, though instead of a useful kind of attention, I found his lips crashed upon my own. Against my better judgement, I melted within the warmth, a sigh to exit my mouth, and allowed his silencer to work its wonder. He pulled away, a wink and a peck to my nose, and continued with his fast paced march.

I followed, helpless, and slightly anticipated, riddled with nerves, as we hurriedly descended the stairs, our light feet echoing gently among the silence around, and we entered the main entrance-way. The trophy case, lined with achievements, with pictures of men no one truly knew, nor particularly cared for, passed us by in a whir of rushed blur. A subtle laugh fell from my tongue as Charlie broke out in an increasingly paced run.

He took off, dragging myself along merely a few steps behind, with an incredibly fast kind of speed, unable to halt the laugh that stifled passed his lips. The wind were of something bitterly cold, whipping our laughter from the left, to the right, though such a stinging sensation of sour change did little to defy the warmth within my blood, my chest.

And then, myself undoubtedly following behind, he seemed to tumble. The groan of the thud, where his frame collapsed to the ground, ached within the air, his grip unwavering upon that of myself, as I, too, clattered within the snow. Upon my layers, and the soft of the whitened blanket, I felt little to nothing, as I lay, a little dizzy, with a loud laugh to accompany Charlie’s own.

“Shit,” he chuckled, “You alright?”

My laughter rang loud, free, and it should seem that everything felt better with Charlie at my side. “Perfect.” I smiled, albeit winded from such a clatter of clouded descent. Somewhere within the beat of silenced laughter, air thick - sweet - with an indescribable sense of contentment, Charlie had shuffled to embrace my frame in a hold, an arm around my shoulders, as he toyed with the ends of my hair. We stared to the pattern of gentle snow, cascading so beautifully - tender, soft - upon our stoic position, a natural entrancement, as the dark hue of the sky loomed above. The moon, hardly peeking behind the thick array of winter clouding, seemed to smile - to sigh, with a great sense of complacency. It seemed to twinkle with a kind of reserved joy, saved just for us - just for us, and our blooming love.

“O’ me, o’ life,” Charlie muttered, “of the questions of these recurring.” He paused, as though contemplating his words, and spoke gently, “Carpe diem.” He said, with a smile upon his face. “You know what it means?”

I raised an eyebrow, almost lost within the perpetual tranquility that was the nigh. “No.” I said, and I basked in his warmth.

“Seize the day.” He said; “Seize the day, boys, make your lives extraordinary.” The gentle mumble of his tone were almost lost within the vast quiet, though I caught it all the same. “Captain - Mr K -” He said, “He’s crazy.”

I found myself smiling, “You like him, though.” I said.

He grinned, “He makes it difficult not to.” He said. “Seize the day - Carpe diem - O’ Captain, my Captain - I mean, who teaches the idea of free thought? Of freedom? Passion? He’s crazy.”

“He sounds wonderful.” I said. And to which I had not lied. “What was the first bit?” I asked, “The ‘Oh me, oh life,’ one.”

“The question, O’ me! So sad, recurring - What good amid these, O’ me, O’ life?” He recited, the bite of a classically brightening smile to his tone. “The answer? That you are here - that life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

“Puts things into perspective.” I mumbled, awashed beneath Charlie’s gorgeously muttered recital, and the prospect of the pattering snowflakes. “That we, as humans, mean nothing. What may affect us today, has no say on tomorrow.” I said. I hardly knew the words as they fell from my lips, though I allowed them nonetheless. “And no matter how greatly we fear the inevitable, life will throw us away and be done with us, when our time comes around.”

There was a gentle pause, softly laboured breaths, and he said: “Yeah.” With a light, breathy, chuckle. “We’ll all die, someday.” He said. “And that’s alright. Seize the day while you can, live and don’t just exist, and things will be alright.”

I smiled, and said: “Yeah.” With not a word more.

A moment, perhaps a few, of silence graced us by, mingled in comfortability and unspoken adoration, and I marvelled in the way his breathing deepened, tinged with an entanglement of a rough-nights-sleep. He was tired - exhausted - and I certainly hadn’t helped - of such, I was certain.

“Charlie,” I muttered, adoring the softly responsive hum to fall from his breath. “Char, it’s getting real late.” I mentioned, a gentle stroke to his knuckles, as they dwindled within the ends of my locks. Another hum followed, and light shuffling was to be heard.

“Can you get home alright?” He mumbled, thick, with a sense of tiredness.

“Yeah.” I nodded, truly feeling the absence of warmth, as he shuffled to displace his entanglement next to myself. I frowned slightly, glancing to face the boy.

His eyes had found a restful close, timid with a tender smirk, and his limbs began to brush - up, and down, up and down - once, twice, three times more, with a deepening indent upon the snow. A smile drooped upon my features, and I allowed my frame to excerpt the similar movement, ridden with a light shiver as the material at my legs found something damp, seeping slightly.

“You have to go?” He whispered, a gentle frown upon such expression.

I smiled; how beautiful he was. “Yes, Charlie.” I said, “You’ll be expelled if we’re caught.”

A quiet sigh vibrated through the air, and I knew of his compliance. He sat up, glancing to myself with a smile of utter tenderness. “I suppose I’d best let you go, then.” He said. I grinned, and he continued. “I’ll watch you leave, though. Not risking some creep snatching you up in the bushes, alright?”

I laughed something gentle, “Okay, Char.” I said, and we rose to our feet.

His digits were cold, numbingly cold, and a furious pink, as he lay his palms upon my face, and drew me a little closer, our noses to brush upon each other’s. “I love you, y’know.” He said, and I found myself smiling with a roll of the eyes.

“Yes,” I said, “I know. And I love you, too.”

His grin was radiant, peppered with the scarlet hue of all things wondrously cold. “Good.” He said, a subtly trailed glance to the subtle indents of our motioned frames, trailed within the soft blanket of snow. “We make good Angels, huh?” He smiled.

A laugh rumbled through me, “Yeah,” I said, resting my forehead upon the cold complexion of his flushed cheek. “We make wonderful Angels.”

“Angels of the night.” He mused, turning back to face me. I merely smiled, engulfed in the way the shadows loomed across his expression, lowering with a light glimmer of something morose. “Take a cab, please.” He sighed, “And be safe.” He fluttered a tender peck upon the very tip of my nose, before capturing my lips in the swoon of a honey dripped kiss. It lasted hardly a moment, for we were numb with the cold, and bitterly exhausted. He laughed, pulled away, and said: “Sorry.”

I smiled, “No.” I mumbled, “Don’t be.”

“Okay.” He said, thumb brushing lightly upon the flushed complexion of my cheekbone. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Of course.” I said, a curtly peppered peck to his coldly chapped lips, before smiling something warm, and beginning mine own retreat.

Footsteps echoing among the plush of the winter snow, sinking with every passing stride, I found my grin something silly - something foolishly reciprocant for my adoration. And, upon glancing behind me slightly, approaching the hardly open gate, I noticed the swarm of familiar faces, each bounding over to a stoic Charlie, perched with his hands in his pockets, and a lovesick smile upon his face. They crowded him around, yelling and cheering things incoherent, and yet, still, he smiled on, merely widening with the attention of their supportive company.

A laugh rippled through me, and I waved something curt, receiving a soft repeat from the Lover-Boy himself, and a particularly exaggerated, full-arm, wave from Knox, as he bellowed a loud; “YAWP!” And tackled Charlie in a boyish embrace.

Idiots, I thought, though I’d have it no other way.

#charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #dead poets society #nuwanda fluff #nuwanda #hes so cute pls #knox overstreet #charlie dalton fanfic #nuwanda fanfic #fanfiction

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