#i left my mask on until it was time for the cleaning to be polite and safe etc

[beenbaanbuun]

blood w/ poly!ateez

so i feel so sane about this… definitely no evil thoughts filling up my brain right now. none whatsoever :)

i want to write so much more about this universe and i’m literally sending the biggest kiss ever to @ateez-main-yapper to requesting this because i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life!

words - idk

genre - smut, horror (there’s a bit of gore i guess)

warnings - vampire!ateez, mafia!ateez, human!reader, smuggler!reader, blood, scarification, collars, ownership, blood, surgery mentions, nicknames (little mouse, princess, sweetheart), dancer!yeosang, security guard!mingi, ripper!doctor!yunho, mommy!seonghwa (don’t look at me like that, i had to), hand kink (mentioned), no actual sex but it’s talked about a lot, hair pulling, i think that’s all??

——————————————————————————

the scent of stale blood haunts the hallway you find yourself walking down, clinging to the back of your throat until yourself gagging on it. no matter how many times you find yourself down here, it never gets any easier to cope with; even a slaughterhouse would be more pleasant than this.

it begs the question why you’re back. by now, you’ve bled them of enough money to never have to work again, so it’s certainly not the pay. the job itself is harder than most, and not at all rewarding when you have to lie and cheat your way into success. there’s no doubt that the stress of hiding a smuggling operation behind the guise of a blood donation clinic has taken a good 20 years of your life from you. you can guarantee that job satisfaction isn’t what’s keeping you here either.

it’s only when you turn a corner and your eyes land upon them that you remember exactly why you’re still so willing to walk these halls. it isn’t something keeping you here but rather someone; multiple someones, in fact.

“mingi!” your footsteps quicken as you get closer the security guard that stands waiting outside of a heavy metal door. despite the fact that you’ve been on the other side of it multiple times, it still sends a shiver of curiosity down your spine. it’s not an anxious curiosity as it was when you first landed yourself in this position, but more of a morbid one. you know the horrors that lie behind it, you’ve experienced a few of them too, yet you still yearn to see more. “long time no see,” you offer a polite smile once you’re close enough to lower your volume from a shout, “san told me hongjoong had assigned you to pest control. is it not going well?”

mingi gives you a slow blink, his jaw set in stone and his eyes steely as he stares you down. he’s always looked far more intimidating than he actually is, although you suppose it serves to his benefit when his main job it scaring away anyone who might wish to disturb the peace. you’re only grateful to have had the chance to see behind the mask he wears; to watch his eyes melt and his lips part in the wonky grin he gets so little time to wear.

“you’ve not seen me in months and the first thing you ask me is about my demotion back to security?” he quirks a brow at you and you have to bite back your grin. in truth, you’d heard all about it from seonghwa over the past few weeks, your main contact within the clan more than happy to share life details with you as though you’re a lifelong friend rather than a mere employee. their favourite employee, sure, but still at the bottom of the pecking order.

“i just wanted to know more,” you lift your arms in defence, not missing the way his eyes flicker to the bandage on your left forearm, “like you said, it’s been a while.”

mingi hums in agreement as he examines the clean cloth. a long finger reaches out to trace the spot where the fabric meets your skin, the touch lingering and soft. it’s more the real mingi than it is the security guard mingi; it warms your heart to see.

“when did this happen?” he whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

“about two weeks ago,” you i pull your wrist back, letting mingi’s hand drop back down to his side, “hongjoong wanted to approach me about it, but i didn’t take much convincing,” actually, it was you who approached him but for some reason that’s much harder to admit, “you guys are much… kinder to me than the other clans i supply, well, supplied to. it was a no brainer to ditch them when given the chance.”

“so you’re ours?” he asks, voice dipping a little too low for the question to be purely innocent.

“i’m mine,” you confirm, “what i supply, however, is all yours.”

there’s a smirk on his lips, not as easily defeated by your sense of self worth as you’d like him to be. he knows as well as the rest of them what the mark on your arm means, after all. he knows as well as you do that there’s no getting away from them now. the moment yunho took his sweet, sadistic time carving their mark into your body it wasn’t just your business that belonged to them.

“sure you are, little mouse,” he whispers as he leans in close, his icy breath fluttering against your face. your stomach drops but you choose to ignore it. this was your decision, after all, “now, scurry along; you wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, would you?”

with the flip of a switch, the metal door clicks open and your immediately met with a blast of cool air and a wall of sound. you’ll never understand the clan’s need for these constant frivolities, especially when you’re on the other side of this getting your hands dirty, but you suppose it is a good way to hide their more secretive operations. no one is going to notice the door in the corner when there’s so much going on out here, right? it’s an extra layer of security, and a darn good one at that.

when you step inside, the door clicks shut behind you and you immediately get to scanning the crowd of partygoers for a familiar face. amongst the hoard of vampires, they’re harder to spot, their ashy skin and red eyes sticking out a lot less than they would next to a human. instead you look for a familiar hair colour, recalling the angry text you got from seonghwa about the den’s main bathroom turning pink with hongjoong’s hairdye. nothing sticks out at you, though, and so you’re back at square one.

your arms stretch out before you as you go to push through the crowd. it’s moments like this that you’re glad for the metal, almost collar-like band around your neck. yeosang had created it as a way to keep your pulse hidden from any less-well-meaning vampires. he’d insisted that the tag dangling from it with the clan’s emblem engraved was all hongjoong’s idea, but you recognise the same possessive glint in all of their eyes. it’s the same one yunho had given you when engraving that very emblem into your body, and the same one san had given to you when wrapping your bleeding arm up in a fluffy white bandage. yeosang is just like the rest of them, even behind his sweet exterior.

but right now he isn’t crafting some marvel of engineering out of metal scraps and a dream, but instead on the stage at the front of the room. it’s not often he’s up there instead of one of the others, but as you watch him elegantly dangle from a hoop that hangs from the ceiling, you find it hard to see why. he’s utterly ethereal, like a butterfly about to emerge from a chrysalis; one of those blue ones with the wings that seemed designed to capture your attention with their beauty. you’re entranced, much more so than the rest of the party-goers who seem to have grown blind to the creature moving elegantly before them.

his body moves not at all like a butterfly though, instead flowing smoothly like a viper along the branch of a tree. he extends his arms in such a way you’ve never seen before, silken and smooth as he reaches out to his audience. it pulls you in further, your feet shuffling as you push through the final layer of people to get to the stage. you stumble forwards, catching yourself on the edge of the raised platform. if he notices you there, he doesn’t show it; the stoic expression he wears remains steady as he gracefully shifts his body into yet another position.

you watch him like that until the end of his performance, unblinking with your lips parted in awe. even the way he tumbles to the floor and bows to an uninterested audience holds so much more grace than you think you will ever possess. to think that this is the man that spends half of his time smeared in motor oil with a puppy-like grin on his lips is strange, yet it feels so right.

“hello, little mouse,” he echoes the familiar nickname as he makes his way to the front of the stage, crouching down in front of you and running an all-too-confident finger along your jawline to your chin. he snaps your mouth shut in a way that is so far from the yeosang you know that part of you believes this must be his much cockier twin. “hongjoong is out tonight; some trouble on south side caught his attention so he wanted to clean up the mess before the police got there.”

“i’m meeting with seonghwa then?” you murmur, too starstruck for your mouth the form words properly.

yeosang shakes his head.

“seonghwa and san went with him,” the finger from your chin shifts down to the piece of jewellery that fits snug around your neck. his touch catches against the tag, the jingling sound reminding you of a bell on a cats collar. you try to ignore the smirk that rises to his face as sees you make the connection, instead shifting your gaze to the pendant around his neck that shares the same symbol. “yunho is busy with whatever sick shit gets him off, me and mingi are working which means…”

fuck.

“jongho and wooyoung.”

“clever mouse,” yeosang’s tone is venomous, despite his words being soft. clearly performing does something to his ego; inflates it until every sign of the sweet mechanic is hidden behind a thick shroud of confidence. it’s deliciously cruel, mirroring the sick sadism of yunho or the vast overconfidence of mingi, and holy fuck do you want a taste. perhaps later, once business is over.

if business is over.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about those two, though,” he continues, tugging on the tag of your collar—because despite your pride, even you have to admit that there’s no other way to describe it—until you’re face is merely inches from his own, “hongjoong promised yunho their balls if they can’t learn to control them. maybe you’ll finally be able to have a meeting with them before getting your pussy stuffed, hm?”

you feel yourself getting warmer, your face flushing as yeosang so blatantly talks about your track record with the pair of resident trouble makers. it’s not like you’ve let slip about all the times jongho’s had you sitting on his cock with your mouth wrapped around wooyoung’s the second you step into their office which means that they must have instead. it makes you wonder what they talk about whenever you’re not here, and how much each of them know about your less than professional escapades with each of them. it’s a troubling thought, and yet it’s still manages to light a fire deep in your belly.

“see you later, yeosang,” is the only thing you can mumble in response as you pull away from his touch, the tag of the collar bumping gently against your neck as it slips free of his fingers.

——————-

“you told the others about fucking me?” you scoff as you barge your way into the office where the two youngest vampires await your arrival. it’s nice to see them here already, since they usually arrive far later than the agreed upon time. although, you suppose with the delays of mingi and yeosang, you’re also late on this occasion. you let the passive-aggressive comment about time keeping slide, knowing it won’t help you right now.

“hello to you too, mousy,” wooyoung hums from where he lays on the green sofa in the corner of the room, “it’s nice to see you again! we’re doing wonderfully, by the way; thanks for a—”

you let the door slam behind you as you storm your way towards him, completely ignoring the curious gaze of jongho.

“cut the shit, wooyoung,” you grab hold of his shirt collar and lean in close. it’s supposed to be intimidating but the wide grin on his lips lets you know otherwise. “you’ve all been talking about me when i’m not here? what the fuck, man!”

wooyoung chuckles in your face, his dangerous fangs glinting beneath the overhead lights. you know he’d never bite without your permission—people have been killed by hongjoong for much less—but it still sends a shiver through you whenever you see them.

“you’re not exactly discrete yourself, princess,” the office chair creaks as jongho stands, making his way around his desk and towards you. although you keep your gaze firmly on the little rat who still sits giggling to himself, you can’t help but be hyper aware of the presence behind you. a large hand traces its way up your spine, not stopping until you feel his fingers lace themselves with your locks and tug. your grip fall limply from wooyoung’s shirt as you’re hauled back into the soft muscle of jongho’s chest, your neck craned awkwardly over his shoulder to keep you in place. “what do you want us to say when san is asking about who’s cum he’s eaten from your pussy? do you want us to lie to them?”

you squirm, wincing when his grip on your hair doesn’t loosen despite your attempts to break free. they call you little mouse and right now, you really do feel the part—you walked right into a trap of which there’s no way out.

“maybe i should let you fuck me again just so i can watch when yunho rips your fucking balls off your body!” you grunt through gritted teeth.

jongho hums in amusement, “it was hyperbole, sweetheart,” a pair of cold lips meet the hot skin of your cheek for just a second before pulling away, the softness a stark contrast to the harsh grip he still has you in, “he doesn’t care how much we fuck you as long as we get the job done. after all, he’d be a hypocrite to complain about us fucking you when his dick is inside of you twice as often, hm?”

you watch with cautious eyes as wooyoung stands from his place on the sofa, grinning as wide as the cheshire cat. it reeks of danger, yet you’ve never been the type to give into that sort of thing. you’re a human working for a bunch of vampires; danger is just a regular part of your life at this point.

“besides, mousy,” the cheshire cat purrs, “you think we’re the only ones who talk? you don’t think we know just how much you love calling seonghwa mommy when you ride him? or how much you love it when yeosang spits in your mouth whenever he’s fucking you dumb?” wooyoung brings a hand to your cheek, dusting over your bottom lip with his thumb, “you’re ours, little mouse; we can talk if we want.”

[octuscle]

I’d like to know if you could help me! I want to be a professional open bodybuilder (just like Nick Walker, Derek Lunsford), but, at the same rate my muscles grow, so do my male musk (specifically sweat musk from my armpits and cock) - no shower, deodorant or anything else will clean/cover my strong smell - until the point people around me get dizzy with my musk, start to complain and ask me to leave the places. With more muscles and less body fat, more sweating and musk until it reaches a strong level that people start to avoid me from fear of my muscles and my intense gym musk! Could you help me with that? Thanks a lot!

It's always the same people who are unhappy. You're rich, you've inherited, you don't have to work. You look dazzling, you know the right people, you're always invited to the best parties. And you don't feel like it anymore? You want to change that? Do I have a free hand? Then I'll get started!

You're sitting with a few friends in your favorite bar and tell them about your plan. More out of politeness than anything else, everyone says it sounds very exciting. You loosen your tie knot and undo the top button of your shirt. Phew, that's how you get your breath back. But you still need some fresh air, it's too crowded and stuffy in here. And somehow you don't feel like going back to the sissies. You feel more like going home, maybe doing a few more press-ups and then going to bed. After a few steps, you take a deep breath. And the top button of your shirt is blown off your chest like a projectile. The seams of your suit trousers are dangerously taut.

In the stairwell of the magnificent old building next to the city park where you live, the first seams crack. Thank God you don't meet anyone. By the time you get back to your apartment, your slim-fit tailored suit is in tatters. Somehow you're not even surprised. You tear off what's left of your clothes and stuff everything into the garbage can. Even your underpants no longer fit properly and are thrown away. You go naked to your dressing room and do a few push-ups, then squats, then a round of sit-ups until you're drenched in sweat. You stand in front of the mirror. Yes, you've gone through a growth spurt. And you stink. Sweat and musk. Delicious. But you still take a shower. The towel smells awful after drying off. And you don't feel a bit cleaner.

When you wake up the next morning, your cleaning lady has opened all the windows and is airing out the apartment. When she hears your footsteps on the way to the bathroom, she comes around the corner and is about to ask you where this unpleasant smell is coming from. You almost collide. You are still naked, scratching your hairy balls while still half asleep. Your cleaning lady turns bright red with fright. Then she holds her nose. You smell your armpit and say with a grin, "Excuse me, Maria, I'd better go and have a shower". In the bathroom, the laundry basket smells like a football team's changing room. You jump in the shower, but it doesn't seem to do any good this morning either. Damn, you might as well go to your workout. At least everyone there smells of sweat.

Damn, that was a really good workout. You pose in front of the mirror. Your sweaty tank top on the floor. During the workout you were incredibly focused on the weights, only now do you realize how disgusted the other customers are looking at you

You check your reflection again. Holy shit, you look really good, what's wrong with them all? Probably just jealous. You pick up your tank top from the floor. Somehow it smells a bit. You hold it up to your nose. Yes, it's sweat and musk. Maybe a little intense. You love it. The smell makes your cock hard. The sweat stains on your sweatpants are joined by precum stains. You need to take a shower now. And wank.

When you check out, the receptionist looks at you in disgust. He puts some ointment under his nose and puts on a face mask. He informs you that the studio requires a minimum level of personal hygiene from its customers. Several customers have already complained. He asks you to come showered and with fresh clothes next time.

Yes, you smell bad despite the shower. You walk back home because you don't feel like complaining again on the subway. Normally a pleasant walk. But for one thing, your legs are really exhausted from training. On the other hand, you feel that you easily weigh 20 pounds more than you did yesterday. You look in the mirror of a shop window as you pass by. Fuck, yeah! You see the reflection of a serious amateur bodybuilder.

You're too exhausted to climb the stairs to your apartment. You get into the elevator. Mrs. Spencer from the floor below you shouts for you to hold the elevator and barely slips through the closing door with her daughter. She holds her nose in disgust. And her daughter, perhaps four years old, asks why the big man smells so bad. Phew, the elevator isn't big anyway. Today it feels even narrower.

That was all a few weeks ago now. You left your impressive apartment because the stuffy neighbors were getting on your nerves. The nagging was unbearable. You thought that the cheap apartment building where you were staying temporarily was really just a temporary solution. But there are a lot of guys living here who are like you: fuck the opinions of others, the main thing is that you grow up. Really big! When you walk through the front door, you take a deep breath. It must have smelled something like this in a Neanderthal cave.

Since you've been banned from your hairdresser, you cut your hair yourself. You like it, it looks even more brutal and masculine. Even in your hardcore gym, your stench stands out. But here the other musclemen envy you for it. Hehehe, and there's always someone who will even pay money to press his face into your armpit or suck your cheesy cock. Your life is great!

Pics found @antoinepaul and @maxx-magnum

[yawnderu]

Bruises That Bloom Purple — TF141 x Reader

>This was originally going to be a part of my 141 x Reader fanfic Stray, though I decided to change the ending, so have this angst one-shot instead.

When Johnny left them, they mourned. But he also took a part of Stray; the part that made her human.

The journal in your hands was a reminder of everything you lost— everything that Johnny had in mind ever since he met the task force. Pages upon pages full of scribbles, drawings, plans. His mind poured into the paper as if he didn't want to forget, some pages stained with coffee and blood, some fully clean. Your hands shook as you held the small book close to your chest, sob after sob escaping your lips for so long that the migraine became a second part of you.

"Johnny..." You cried out, hoping he would walk through the door. Hoping he would appear out of nowhere, hoping he would take you with him, hoping for anything, anything at all that allowed you to see his pretty blue eyes again, to be held securely in his arms again, to be kissed by him again. Fuck, even the image of him hurt.

You didn't lose a teammate— you lost a soulmate. A piece of you, of your soul, a piece so crucial to you Makarov might as well have ripped your heart out and left you to bleed pathetically on the cold floor of the underground tunnel.

You're sobbing so loud you don't even hear the polite knock on the door, eyes screwed shut tightly, sealed by the tears that come flowing down like a broken dam. You don't register anything going on around you until you feel a bare hand on your cheek, vision blurry, yet you can recognize that burly figure anywhere— Simon. You don't do anything other than to keep sobbing, pressing the journal closer to your chest, maybe hoping it'll start sinking into your skin and will allow you to have a part of Johnny within you.

"I'm here, love." He whispers softly, his tone more gentle than anything you've ever heard. He slowly lays in bed with you and brings you closer to his chest, not minding the mess of saliva, tears, and snot now staining his shirt.

"Somethin' to keep your heart safe." He pressed something cold into your hand— Soap's dog tags. You instantly hold them tightly, using them as a lifeline to stay with it. Simon presses a soft kiss against your forehead before his hand presses on the back of your head, holding you even closer, allowing you to cry on him.

"Johnny had the braid you gave him with him all the time, did ya know? Kept it tucked away in his jacket. I r'member him talkin' about it all the time, braggin' about how you gave 'im that." A small chuckle escapes your lips for the first time ever since he died, the sound full of pain and bitterness, yet it was something. It gave Simon all the confirmation he needed to keep talking.

"He kept everythin' you gave 'im. If it wasn't the bloody braid, it was a picture. If it wasn't one of those... it was a letter." And you know it was true. You've read his journal for what feels like hundreds of times, some of the letters you gave him were tucked away in pages with drawings of you. If a letter wasn't there, it was one of the many polaroids he had of you. Some alone, some together, some with the entire task force, including a masked Ghost.

Your throat is too sore from sobbing, you couldn't even speak if you wanted to, so you simply nod while laying your head against his chest. There's something about Simon that has always glued you together— something about the man who, even when you didn't get along at first, gave you an odd sense of comfort. Perhaps it's his smell, perhaps his voice, and maybe even his soul, that always seems to be one with yours.

"For Johnny, 't was a reminder that he was never alone." He kisses your forehead again, one of his hands gently massaging your scalp while the other one rubs up and down your back, spreading the warmth of his hand all over your trembling body.

You remember the exact same moment you gave him that braid. A protection braid made with a small strand of the bottom of your hair, sealed with words of affirmation and wishes of the future, a few months after your relationship with the men started. Love. Survival. Companionship.

"When we..." You began, voice wavering and weak, yet it had Simon's full focus. "When we scatter his ashes, can you do me a favor?" He'd do anything for you.

At 15:30, the 141 arrived at the cliff. You're all stuck in silence for a few minutes, mourning in your own ways while looking at the sunset and the ocean below you. The view is nothing short of breathtaking, yet the heartbreak is too great to fully appreciate it. You can't help but think Johnny would have loved this view, but the thought is quickly interrupted.

"He was the best of us." Price says, gravely voice growing even deeper at the pain of losing such an important part of his soul.

"The toughest." Gaz continues, looking into the ocean.

"He'd've fought the world bare handed..." Simon replies and all you can do is look into the water, trying your best to hold it together. Simon leans down, grabbing the urn from his backpack. He holds it up and you all put your hands on it, holding a part of Johnny for the last time.

"Who dares wins..." And win he did. At the very least, Johnny found a family.

"Sleep easy, soldier." More than a soldier, Johnny was the son he never had.

"See you down range, brother... we'll take it from here."

"Rest easy, my friend. You’ll never be forgotten." You fought off the urge to call him your love, your soulmate, yet they all knew what was in your mind.

"Rest in peace, Johnny." The words barely came out of his lips. It was like losing Tommy all over again. Simon opens the urn and lets the wind take Johnny's ashes, flying away, freeing his soul. You all look at him go and you manage to let a small smile take over your lips, watching proudly as he flies away, despite knowing he took a part of your soul with him.

Simon and you stay behind, knowing Price and Gaz will be waiting in the car for you. You slowly sink down to your knees, hands resting on your lap. It doesn't take long before Simon kneels behind you, hands gathering your hair before he begins to braid.

Revenge. Death. Vengeance.

His free hand pulls out a combat knife that belonged to Soap, lining up the razor sharp blade to your hair. With one smooth motion, he slides through the hair easily, letting the now shoulder length strands fall free. He places the braid on your lap and you look down at it, eventually letting the hair go down the cliff the same way you let go of Johnny.

You never let go of grief— you grow around it. And despite the agony your soul is in, you know these three men will do anything for you, the same way you'll do anything for them.

[ghostgorlsworld]

Johnny Boy (part 5)

werewolf!Johnny x reader

part one is here

Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.

Johnny spent a fair amount of time with you and Emma for the next week, weaseling himself into your schedule with a kind of single-minded determination that must have gotten him far in the military.

By Friday, you were exhausted, irritated, overstimulated, and, disappointingly enough, horny. It turned out the lack of sex over the last year or two had turned your hormones into monsters that were very attracted to the nice smelling man that fixed your refrigerator and coaxed Emma to eat her greens. It didn’t seem to matter that it was Johnny of all people, or the fact that you still couldn’t look at him without anger sparking in your heart.

What was worse was that Johnny brought up finances on Thursday, mentioning something about helping with the bills. That had been like a shot of adrenaline, your blood pressure rising through the roof.. 

You had dropped the bowl you were washing into the sink, shattering it into a thousand pieces. “I don’t need your help, John,” you had snapped. “I haven’t for the last decade.”

Johnny left shortly after that, seeming to have traded in his old hot-headedness for the same soft, patient tone he uses with Emma. He had explained it well, saying he hadn’t had a house or a family to spend his savings on in the last six years, and he wanted to ease the load for both you and Emma’s sakes.

But it was the fact that he felt so comfortable to casually interject himself into your lives. What would happen if you became dependent on Johnny again and he died? Or decided that family life wasn’t for him?

Then both you and Emma would be crushed. You didn’t want your finances to be involved as well.

So you were angry with him, avoiding the polite texts he had sent and the phone call that you sent to voicemail. All you wanted was peace and a night out with Charlie, perhaps a bit of making out and/or hands-in-pants involved.

You hadn’t gone that far with Charlie yet. Both of you had been burned in the past and you were enjoying the slowness of it all. Today, however, you were ready to be properly touched by a man. It had been too long.

Emma was spending the day with her grandparents by their request–they had picked her up an hour ago, your Mum seeming to sense you needed a nice, peaceful morning. 

You did laundry. You cleaned the kitchen. You made yourself lunch and watched an entire episode of the Bachelor without interruption, then took a hot bath with rose petals and a vibrator.

It was lovely.

You were cheerful as you dressed and packed Emma’s overnight bag, planning on dropping it off at Tom’s place since your parents had her. 

You turned the page in Jack’s novel before you left, smiling up at the paper maché whale. 

It was a nice walk, the air brisk and the snow crisp under your boots. You went over the Emma list in your mind: snacks, her favorite books, her favorite stuffy, toothbrush, pj’s, a chilled and chopped steak in case Tom had forgotten to grab dinner, crayons, paper…

Before you knew it, you were popping the door open with your hip. You had already mentioned to Tom you were popping in so there shouldn’t be any unwelcome, undressed visitors.

Except there was.

A man in a black surgical mask stood in the dark of Tom’s hallway, huge, dark-eyed, and super fucking bloody intimidating.

 You dropped the bag with a screech, thinking of burglars, murderers,oh-my-god-is-Tommy-murdered-like-that-woman-in-that-documentary-you-saw-once-

“Shut up!” Tommy said, frowning at you from the couch. “Fuck, lovie, he’s a friend from work.”

The man in the mask raised a hand in an awkward wave.

“Oh,” you said, your heart pounding in your ears. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re a right scary chap and my brother usually keeps female company.” “You’re alright, love,” the masked man said, his voice like gravel. He picked up Emma’s backpack from the floor, offering it to you with a massive hand.

The mask was odd and the hoodie covering the rest of his face and hair was odder. But your brother had rather imaginative taste in friends and you had seen and met much worse.

“Thank you,” you said, smiling as your heart resumed its normal pace. “I’m his sister.”

The man hummed, as if amused. “I can tell.” He offered you a gloved palm. “M’name is Simon.”

You shook it firmly, giving him your name in return. “Sorry, if I had known if Tommy was having company I would’ve called before I came over.”

“He’s not company, he’s a guest,” Tommy said, rising to herd you into the kitchen. “He’s staying here for a bit with Johnny.” That certainly had your spine straightening. You hadn’t thought Johnny would still be here, after all there were a dozen relatives that would all love to host their long lost war hero.

“He’s out for an errand, lovie, don’t look so tense.” 

You relaxed a fraction, soothed by the thought that you won’t have to deal with Johnny in your hair before your date with Charlie.

“You’re a friend of John’s then?” You asked Simon, your tone just a mite cooler than it had been before. 

Simon nodded, his dark gaze tinged with humor. “Don’t hold it against me, love.”

It took you a second to see that he was a wolf too. It was all in the way he moved, the languid way he blinked at his surroundings. “Easier said than done,” you teased, forcing yourself into the good mood you were in before. “In that case, Tom, do I need to reschedule? Emma isn’t much for strangers.”

Tom shrugged, unzipping Em’s pack.“Johnny isn’t much of a stranger now, and Simon is a good lad, he won’t mind her.” Simon nodded again, sinking into the shadows as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard she’s a sweet girl.” “The best,” you said, smiling. 

“Jesus, lovie, did you pack enough?” Tom said dryly, pulling out the sliced steak. “I’ve never let the girl starve, not in the last six years.” “You’re a busy man, I was just making sure in case you forgot,” you said. “By the way, she likes a glass of milk before bed now. And her favorite book is the one on top, the one with the rabbits, plus King Robert is the sheep she sleeps with-” “Right. I’ve got this. I promise.” You felt Simon’s eyes on you, judging, appraising. You were sure Johnny probably didn’t have the nicest things to say about you–most likely that you were an irritating little girl that followed him around for twenty years then proceeded to get pregnant and raise the child without him knowing,

“And Johnny will be here, so he’ll be able to spend some time with her,” Tom said, putting the steak in the fridge. “If that’s alright with you.” “It sounds like it’s already been planned,” you said, trying your very best not to be hateful in front of guests.

Tom sighed. “If I were half as smart as you think I am with your theories of scheming and plotting, I’d be living in a much nicer neighborhood.”

You laughed. “No, you’d be in jail.”

“Touché. Simon, how do you feel about a classic steak and potatoes meal tonight? It’s Emma’s favorite, she’s our six year old codger.”

Simon made an agreeable noise, his nose now in some masculine-looking magazine with bears and car parts on the front. He was quite a large man, commanding such a presence.

Johnny was an unsuspecting kind of violent, always smiling and laughing until he wasn’t, until it was serious. Simon was different. He felt older. 

Oddly, you didn’t mind him around Emma. You’ve wanted to expose her around more adult wolves anyways, so she’ll learn her manners.

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” You said, anxiety creeping in like it always did whenever you would be separated from Emma for longer than a few hours. 

“We’ll all keep an eye on her, pet,” Simon said. “Between the three of us, I think she’ll be safe.” You relaxed. “Right. Thank you, Simon.”

Tommy ushered you out of his house quickly after that, his phone blowing up with Johnny’s texts and calls. You saw his black truck pull up minutes later, but by then you were already through your door. 

Emma and your parents stopped by for lunch, your mother chattering about how she had seen Johnny at the grocery store and how much he had grown. It was like the last six years had been erased in their minds, the times when Emma was ill and you were at your wit’s end, the pregnancy you had spent constantly sick and deeply depressed–all of it was gone. 

Your mother was imagining a new life for her daughter, a life of being married to the man that gave you Emma and making a dozen more pups in a nicer house, with financial stability. She didn’t know the whole story with Johnny–hardly anyone did. She assumed the two of you had been dating when you had conceived Emma, and you had never thought to tell her differently.

Johnny had never actually wanted you. He was just drunk and about to truly leave the only home he had ever known. And you were right there, tipsy and desperate for his attention. You had missed him like a lost limb when he started ignoring your letters and calls, and seeing him again had brought up all those feelings again. 

But now, he was just setting a trap. He wanted to be in Emma’s life, and when her grandparents, uncle, and various other relatives were on his side…it made your life a lot harder.

Emma nuzzled into your side, sensing your turn in mood. “You smell sad,” she said, her mouth dusted with biscuit crumbs. “You always smell sad.”

Your mother heard her, and seemed to gain some perspective. “When I saw him, I was so angry. I just thought of all the things he had done to you…but then, when I came up to him, he was just so different. He’s a different man than he was all those years ago.”

And you were a different woman. It wasn’t revolutionary to change. 

Emma followed you into your bathroom and watched as you began to primp, perched up on your counter as you brushed your teeth and curled your hair, patting makeup over the purple half-moons under your eyes.

Emma was quiet mostly, sensing the strange mood you were in. She played with your red lipstick and powder, smudging them around her lips. “Careful, it might stain,” you said. “And what will Tom say if you’ve got red all over your face?” “Is Johnny going to be there?” Emma asked hopefully. “He’s fun.”

“Yes, he’s staying at Uncle Tom’s house.”

She nodded, smiling messily at herself in the mirror. “He smells just like me, Mum, and he looks like me too.”

“He’s your father, Em, of course he does.” You blinked hard in the mirror, trying not to cry. “But Mum…” Emma looked at you, her face suddenly serious. “If you don’t like Johnny, I don’t like him either.”

You actually did cry then, bringing your daughter to your chest like you did when she was a baby. You could still remember the day that you first held her in your arms, and all of the heartbreak had seemed worth it. “God, Em, it’s not like I don’t like him,” you said, burying your face in her strawberry-shampoo scented hair. “It’s just…we’re adults, and adults have tricky feelings. I could never dislike Johnny, he gave you to me.” “But you’re so sad when he’s here, we can smell it,” Emma said, sniffling. 

“I’m always sad, Em, I cried every morning I dropped you off at school for months.” That seemed to make her feel better. She snuffled, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Are you going to see the book man?” She asked.

You nodded. “We’re friends, we’re going to go have dinner, maybe see a movie.”

“Good,” she said, wiser than her years. “You never go out.”

She allowed you to wipe the makeup from her mouth without a fuss before your parents ushered her out the door, giving your cheek a slobbery kiss before waving goodbye.

The house was too quiet, so you turned on music, the old crooning stuff that Jack liked. Another half an hour and you were ready, wearing your second-nicest dress and your favorite red heels as you frantically dried your Chanel nail polish. 

Charlie was usually early, but time ticked on well past the time he was supposed to be there. He’s never been late, not in the two years you had known him, not even to work. 

You texted a few times, staring at the screen for a response. He lived in the city, so an accident was well possible–he wouldn’t just ditch you, would he?

Maybe he had forgotten. You did make the plans the week before…

Time ticked on. You gave him a call.

“Hello?” Charlie sounded distracted and irritated. You cleared your throat, “Hey, Charlie, I was just calling to see if we’re still on tonight?” Charlie made an apologetic noise. “Ah, shit, I forgot.”

“Oh,” you said, trying very hard not to sound hurt. 

“Our team had a last minute thing at the bar and I completely forgot about our date, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s-that’s alright,” you said, kicking off your heels. 

“Would you like to join us? We’re at the corner bar where the boss had his divorce party.”

“No, no, that’s alright. I’m not really in the mood for a bar,” you said, undoing the clasps to your nice earrings. “Rain check, I suppose.” “I really am sorry,” Charlie said, sounding it. “I can’t believe I forgot.” “I can’t believe it either,” you said, then you hung up. 

You stared at the phone, feeling miserable and very, very sorry for yourself. Of course, the first date in ages and you get tossed up for a group of sweaty, gross men.

You showered, to scrub the makeup and product out of your hair. You might have cried a bit, but that was between you and the water faucet.

[carbonfiction]

hey so how do you think spider man and deapdool would deal with having met a reader, had worked together and had a conversation with reader. What they do when they overhear this reader, not discreetly saying to their other hero friend, “hey, I thought we were friends”. And the friend thinks they genuinely did something wrong, and then reader continues jokingly, “you didn’t tell me how cute Deadpool/Spider-Man is! Whatever happened to sisterhood?” And their hero friend who has known the two men a lot longer is like “you know what, you two got the same stupid sense of humour. You should date”. And reader is like “you know what, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea *notices the men looking and gives a friendly wave and a smile*”?

Hiiii <33 im so sorry for the delay!! Brain fog/writers block have been hitting me so hard lately so i hope this is even a shred decent/what you had in mind!

But I do really love this bc it is such a fun concept omg!! Theres so many people that could fill the mutual friend/friend of a friend role and i really love that too! (Although Feel free to imagine who you'd like! I left it fairly open to interpretation)

So.. im going to imagine that the guys are at your friends house to clean up a bit- its closer than their homes and all round easier if they need anything. Besides its easier to sneak their way in in full suit and leave dressed as civilians- back to the fairly normal lives of Wade Wilson and Peter Parker with no one but your friend any the wiser.. Well, until today.

Maybe you only dropped in to deliver some cookies you'd baked- the batch coming out larger than you had anticipated. You'd let yourself in, of course you would- you had a key afterall the time spent here.

You just, hadn't expected to enter and see your friend stood laughing with Deadpool and spiderman themselves!

It been a while since you'd seen them, and even then, it was only brief. they had helped you when some random guys had tried bother a group of girls on a night out.

You stop in your tracks at the sight of them, still suited and covered in dirt and what you hope isnt blood (it is- at least on wades side)

Theres quiet smiles and introduction until you tug your friend to the doorway- glaring because again- they know Deadpool and spiderman?? And they didn't tell you- even after your previous run in??

Across the kitchen Wade takes no time in grasping the Tupperware from the counter and plucking a cookie. One hand shoving his mask just above his lips as the other rises for him to take a bite. He groans before calling out a deeply exaggerated "oh my god" at the taste.

Pete on the other hand stands frozen- a gloved hand scratching at the back of his neck. (i feel he would be the most likely out of the two to get a little bashful??. Im a sucker for bashful/dorky pete im so sorry)

In the end he's tugging a still chewing wade to the bathroom as he protests "alright alright- keep your spidey pants on" while pete is muttering and tugging parts of his suit, telling wade they need to change- need to go.

When they return, this time clad in civilian clothing and no longer dirty- at least.. Physically in wade case (he doesnt know why but working with pete always give him the heavy twitch of a boner)

Theres still whisper yelling as they grow closer to the kitchen and they hit the doorway just as you blurt it out.

And it, being an exasperated sigh of "Whatever happened to sisterhood!? Your harbouring not one but two cute guys who just happen to be the world saving type and you never thought to mention?!"

Your friend clears their throat, peering around you, and thats when you know. That if you were to crane your neck around the pair would be stood there.

Moments of silence follow then, theres drop of your head in defeat, a sigh, a flush of cheeks and a pivot on your heels.

You face them with a bright grin and polite wave. Like they hadn't just overheard you.

On wades side, i feel Wade would immediately crack up. Its cute- you're cute; he's found himself thinking. The way you beamed at him earlier had made the white eyes of his mask become wider and now he can see you fully he understands why.

Once he has some composure hes grinning at you; with all the confidence of the version of himself he often wishes he still presented as. He moves to lean on the doorframe in a smooth movement; to really hit ya with the suave and cool man act.. Maybe even a wink, but Wade's luck being Wade's, he misses, almost falling as he scrambles to regain his footing.

Both you and your friend snort at wades antics before you step forward and present your hand ready for him to shake. "So.. You wanna go get a drink sometime red?" You grin at him.

"Do i? Oh honeybuns you can bet your pretty ass i do!" wade all but beams back.

Meanwhile on Peter's side? Oh sweet sweet pete... A flush would cover his cheeks, one that has him cursing the lack of webbed print mask covering his skin. The flush heating his ears and running down his neck. The implication that you? The pretty, friend of a friend thinks *him* cute? He'll happily take it by all mean but it certainly has him a little giddy!

Peter, with much more grace than what wade would've, steps forward with a bashful smile on his lips. A blush coating his cheeks.

"Y-you taste good-" he blurts, before his eyes widen comically, realising his mistake. "I-i mean! Your cookies! The cookies t-taste good!" he tries to correct himself, to rectify his slip of the tongue but.. It doesnt go his way exactly.

He knows shouldve shut up after that..but, pete being bashful pete keeps going, digging the hole further as your eyebrows raise with a melodic giggle. "I- i mean.. N-not to say you dont, you know.. Taste.. Good?" (By now wade would absolutely be crying tears of laughter, doubled over)

Peters just greatful you seem to know what he means as you place your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How about.. You come over and i bake for you again sometime?" you say sweetly, before peters blush spreads hotly from his ears down his neck, as you follow his nod with "maybe then you can tell me again how i taste?"

Ahhh again i hope this was.. Something!! Thank you again for this glorious thought!! <333

[mealvaan]

Halcyon

"With all due respect, Your Honour, who cares? Like, who cares... like, come on."

The agora fell silent. All masks turned toward the Convocation's table — the archons, the heliaiaa, Pashtarot. Poor Pashtarot's eyes bugged through his mask. They didn't need to turn to know that the esteemed Redeemer, Emet-Selch, was boring his eyes into the back of their head too.

A cough interrupted what felt like epochs of silence. And there was so little reason to cough in Amaurot.

"We will convene again when the sun touches the pinnacle of Akadaemia Anyder," recited Pashtarot in the lowest voice he could muster. "Court is dismissed."

Though the crowds evacuated the agora viscously, the people left their trio a wide berth.

"Calliope. I'm curious as to what ungodly thing possessed you to say that in front of the whole assembly." That was Hades, hissing in their ear, using their true name no less. He perched over their shoulder like the reaper, judgement sloping down his nose and dripping onto their shoulder. Slow and unapologetically sinister. The threat of waterboarding, but only the threat. They weren't scared of little Hades, because—

"You can't say they didn't have a point. This whole affair's been rather frivolous, don't you think?" chimed Hythlodaeus over their other shoulder. He had only managed to keep a polite smile static until Pashtarot dismissed the court, then broke down into laughter the moment they vacated their seats. "All this arguing over concept ownership. I've explained many times what the Bureau's view is on the matter, yet sit through the proceedings we must. All for a couple of sharks."

"If you were listening, you'd know it's not about the sharks. It's a manner of principle."

"Hades, it is definitely about the sharks," Calliope yawned. Even their boredom sounded of a song, waltzing through an octave and back down again.

"Is there something you'd rather be doing?" Hades asked ditheringly, only to immediately regret it. He knew what they were going to say.

"We're overdue for spring cleaning at the house," Hythlodaeus pointed out. "Especially since someone took out all the books I'd arranged last cycle and left them on the coffee table again." Someone rolled his eyes.

"There's a new ice cream installation down the street from the Bureau. Can't we go and try it instead of sitting through all this nonsense? I couldn't care less who claims original ownership to the sharks with wings concept. It's no different from the hovershark."

Calliope had said it so bluntly earlier in the sennight, but they needn't repeat it. So many Amaurotines, wasting time just because they could. There was so much of the star to explore, and they were antsy being stuck behind a juror's table all day.

"It's not like they don't have enough people on the judiciary panel anyway, Hades," Hythlodaeus reasoned, though the desire for ice cream at home was pure id. "They invited half the people on the heliaiaa for this. I've given my statement."

"And I know you're tired of calling the assembly because Pashtarot keeps scheduling reconvention with buildings that are malms away," Calliope pointed out.

Hades turned around and stopped in his steps to look at the two. Hythlodaeus had a tempered expression, quirking a brow at Hades like he was being unreasonable for doing his job. Calliope merely smirked, knowing full well that they were being a menace and Hades would listen to them anyway.

"... Fine. We'll get ice cream and go home," declared the honorable Emet-Selch in a grumble. "But you're telling Pashtarot why we're leaving early, Azem. I won't have him pulling me aside after the next Convocation meeting."

"I'll let him know." Calliope summoned the spring breeze betwixt their index and thumb. Into it they whispered a verse, maddening meter and crisp syllables. With a kiss, they sent the wind on its way. Like a ribbon of silk, it floated into the agora past all its once-constituents, and Pashtarot would have the message tucked behind his ear within a manner of seconds.

And a few minutes passed before Calliope received his response.

We need to talk tomorrow.

"He says it's fine."

[whentherewerebicycles]

went to the woods at sunset last night with my mom and did a hard sad little ritual of closure that hurt me a lot but also felt like painfully needed closure. we both cried so much I feel dehydrated still but it was good and I’m so glad I asked my mom to come instead of doing it alone like I originally thought I wanted to. I was afraid I’d feel embarrassed and stupid with someone else watching but I just felt so deeply loved and held. then I came home and wrote about it for a long time and read this book on pregnancy loss until late. the book is making me cry too but in a good meaningful way. I feel like the most important thing it’s given me is a clearer understanding of how almost every part of the loss was made more acutely distressing and difficult to grieve by the way doctors and techs talked to me and about me with each other in my presence. my surgical team was good and took the time to say they were sorry this was happening to me but leading up to that there was just so much casual thoughtless cruelty that I’m sure no one intended to be cruel but made me feel so, so bad and empty and alone, like I wasn’t even a person. like I will never for as long as I live forget the feeling of being hunched over in the table in the dark undressed from the waist down with tears streaming down my face under my mask right after the radiologist confirmed the diagnosis, and then the tech turning to put something away and telling me in the brightest, most excited voice that in ten years of doing ultrasounds she’d “never seen a live one before!”, which was how I learned that the baby had a heartbeat. but then I will also never in my entire life forget the other ultrasound tech, who was the one person in that entire awful prolonged experience who called it the little baby instead of the adnexal mass or the ectopic and who asked me if I wanted to see it and then sat with me in silence for a long, long time so I could look at the screen for as long as I needed to. I really deeply get that this is politically complicated territory where as a medical professional you don’t want to assume that the pregnancy was planned/wanted or that someone is experiencing the loss as a loss or that the person feels like the baby was a baby, but as my sister pointed out, everyone involved knew that I had gotten pregnant after multiple cycles of IUI and no one does that unless it’s a badly wanted pregnancy. idk the book has all these quotes from other women where they describe things I also heard doctors saying to/about me and they share how small or alone it made them feel and it’s just making me feel this weirdly intense sense of relief like oh ok I get it. this was always going to be hard and fraught and sad but if people had been just a little more sensitive or careful with their words or attuned to me as a suffering human being it could have been clean grief from the start instead of grief all twisted up in shame and embarrassment and feeling like I wasn’t even supposed to feel sad.

there isn’t a silver lining to all of this, it’s just a hard sad thing that happened to me and that I am finding a way to live with. but during that second awful ultrasound, the one that made me feel so empty and lonely, I remember lying on the table staring up at the ceiling just thinking and praying that if this thing had to happen to me that it would lead me towards deeper compassion, that it would in time make me a gentler, more caring, more open person instead of someone all locked up inside with shame and grief. and I think that in time it will. I feel like at the very least I can be a better friend to the people I love if something like this happens to them. the book talks about how for many people it can be healing to reflect on the positive ways even a brief pregnancy changed you and to think of that as a gift or a legacy that the pregnancy left you with—not like the changes are a consolation prize but just like, it can be very healing to infuse your loss with a deeper sense of purpose and meaning so it feels like it was real and it mattered and it changed you. it was real and it mattered and it changed me. and that is something I will carry with me.

anyway those are just some things I am thinking about this morning. long road long road but I am walking it.

[makibeni]

Ch. 57- Home Is Where Your Heart Is

She looped the conversation in her head, over and over as though repeating it enough times would allow her to somehow change the outcome.

"I'm gonna go clean out my apartment a bit today, I think..."

She remembered the way Makima's face lit up, the woman was getting worse at hiding her excitement, or maybe less afraid to?

"Want me to come with?"

Her tone should have been a clue, desire shrouded in only the thinnest veil of propriety, a desperation practically oozing from her tongue, and yet...

"N-no, that's okay... I know you're busy with work s-so... I figured I'd just go by myself"

She didn't fully process the conversation until the words had already left her, and the momentary flicker of despondence washed across the woman's expression. She adjusted her mask, back to the professional smile she wore around strangers, as if she'd lost her own, or perhaps simply couldn't put one a more convincing lie. Kobeni saw the damage she'd done in an instant, of course, but by then it was too late. She wanted to speak up, reach a compromise or clear up some misunderstanding, but all she could do is look at her, and think of how hurt she looked in that moment, and nothing she could think to say felt right to speak.

The memory alone made her nauseous, the clinging aches in her abdomen as she meandered home. Was it still her home? That was another thought she hadn't spared in some time, if ever. It's where she lived, technically speaking anyway, she still paid rent for the place even if she hadn't slept there in a while, it's where some of her things were, what else is there to a home? She pondered distractions before chastising herself for not feeling more guilty over what she'd done to Makima, and the anxiety returned. She'd wandered back into familiar streets, enough so that the memories returned, feelings she was once so use to that now seemed like putting on someone else's skin.

"Hey Kobeni, long time no see!"

A voice wrestled her from her melancholic maundering, she turned to face it and saw Himeno approaching her with a jaunty stroll.

"How've you be- are you okay?"

Her face seemed to shift to genuine concern when she got close enough to lay eyes on the girl, to which Kobeni wondered just how bad she must have looked to prompt such a reaction.

"O-oh y-yeah... I'm fine just... you know..."

She gesticulated, presumably under the pretense that it would somehow bring clarity to the conversation as Himeno politely nodded along.

"Hmmm, I see, relationship issues..."

"I- wh- n-no it's... I mean..."

It took her a moment to process Himeno's words, and the woman seemed to have already reached her own conclusions before hearing out the girl's rebuke. She place a hand on Kobeni's shoulder before donning her serious face.

"Listen, I've been there, alright? I get it... I'm here for you"

She wrapped herself around the girl in an awkward, one sided hug, managing to alleviate some of her anxiety, though more through confusion than compassion.

"A-actually... I was on my way to clean out my apartment... I haven't been there in... a while so..."

She pushed the woman off her with a polite if half-hearted smile, trying to make her way past and back on her way.

"I'll come with!"

The suggestion, or perhaps it was more accurate to say declaration, was enough to reignite the simmering pot of angst inside the girl's stomach. If she was wracked with guilt over shutting down Makima then inviting someone else in her stead would surely be worse. She turned her head, reading herself to decline the woman when she felt a hand once again clasp her shoulder. Himeno pulled her along, roughly in the direction of the girl's apartment before she could utter another word.

With a resigned twist of the lock followed by a firm nudge with her elbow she opened the door to her apartment. The musty smell of absence filled her lungs as she readjusted, like walking into sunlight from a darkened room. The place was as she'd left it more or less, the last time she'd been here was to pick up some clothes for her stay, what was left behind were non-essentials, and the things Makima already had.

"Feels weird to be back home like this..."

She muttered to herself, and to quell the silence between the pair before Himeno had the chance to blurt something out.

"Weird you still call this place home, don't you basically live with her now?"

The girl thought about her words for a moment, pondering the significance she put on the word, and the way she purposely avoided saying Makima's name.

"Well... I own... well... my landlord owns... but I pay the rent for this place, you know?"

Himeno waved her hand, brushing aside the statement.

"Sure, sure, not what I mean though, like, this place is your place, but when you think 'I'm going home' you don't think about coming here these days, do you?"

Kobeni paused, trying to internalize her meaning even if she didn't quite understand the inference.

"How... how do you know... when somewhere's your home?"

Himeno twirled around a plastic bag, filling it with miscellaneous objects she assumed were trash while uttering an audible hum.

"...I guess, somewhere you feel safe? Where you can just be you and not have to put on a show, just being you is enough, make sense?"

Familiar thoughts crossed the girl's mind, not of a place but of a person. She'd never really felt safe being herself, she'd spent so long hiding she wondered if there even was a self to her, but if there was a real person hiding in the mound of tangled strings there's only one she'd feel safe around.

"Y-yeah... I think so..."

She stared off at something that wasn't there with a calm smile on her face, the first one Himeno had seen all day, and one she remarked one with a triumphant grin. The girl seemed to snap from her trance and turn to her.

"Hey... thanks..."

She turned to the door with a worried but determined look, steeling her resolve for whatever was to come.

"I think... I wanna go home..."

[gcldfanged]

(hey soda you should write me a drabble of jae watching tseng shoot veld)

"You must eliminate the Leader of Avalanche and the fugitive, Verdot."

The words are clear as day even with the commlink's static buzz, a wave of silence permeating the very air around them as dust devils howled to life around the platoon.

Jae takes a protective stance near Veld and Elfe, his right hand slowly reaching for his sidearm.

Reno seems to follow his lead, barking out his answer.

"We ain't gonna swallow that!"

Rude appears to be in silent agreement as well, staring down the infantrymen pointing their rifles at the group with a cold and intense gaze- As though he were convinced he could dodge bullets like in the grainy film footage of schlocky action drivel, all gunkata and superhuman feats of agility, like slicing a bullet into clean twinned halves with little more than a Wutaian katana made from steel folded over a thousand fucking times.

All that was left was Tseng.

The other agent drew his gun, much to the surprise of Reno and Verdot, while Yoon merely followed suit and prepared to cover Tseng with his own sidearm. His dark eyes were wide open, focused intently on the number of enemies and their slim chances of survival.

He could deal with the odds.

The soldiers trained their sights upon their targets, the cyclopic visors masking their expressions.

"This is my answer," Tseng stated calmly. "... as the Head of the Turks."

No sooner than Tseng had pivoted on his heel to re-aim his firearm, Jae-hyo blocked his path with his own body, a mixture of disgust and disbelief twisting his expression into a pained grimace. The adrenaline was making him twitchy, almost high from the epinephrine released into his system. Words weren't even necessary by that point, they both knew that Jae wouldn't hesitate to kill a fellow agent if Verdot's life was on the line.

Except Tseng wasn't aiming for Veld at all.

The gunshot rang out like a clap of thunder and Elfe dropped to the dusty earth, the canvas fatigues of her uniform blooming a deep shade of crimson. Blood spilled out into the plains grass and mud, making a dull hued river of vitae.

"You and I both know this is the only way."

"Fuck. You," Jae spat viciously, grinding out the curses through clenched teeth.

His mind was still trying to catch up, from watching Elfe die to readjusting his stance, his trigger finger ready to pull back firmly because you did NOT squeeze a trigger- That was weeknight crime drama procedurals talking and not the actions of a dyed in the wool honest to god killer.

But could he kill Tseng? He'd already hesitated. Once, twice, a million fucking lifetimes ago.

He hated this. The little games that Shinra played, where all the judges were crooked and the politics were childishly cruel and wicked, all for the sake of warming their fat asses on some MATEVY leather and chrome chaise lounge that cost about as much as a luxury car. It was... evil, in it's more raw and purest form.

Verdot's hand was soft against his left shoulder, a craggy palm snaking over the padded bulk of his jacket and just resting there with it's familiar and meaningful weight.

"Stand down, kid... Tseng's making the right decision."

Tseng's gaze leveled with Veld's in some unspoken communication happening between them that Yoon was irritated to not be privy to. How could this be the right decision? Since when and who decided that- He wouldn't, could not accept that Verdot had to die a meaningless traitor's death.

The mental image of Verdot's haunting rictus staring back at him from the inside of a black bag steeled his resolve, until Verdot twisted Jae's arm behind his back, effectively disarming him in the blink of an eye.

"This is who we are. That is the true spirit of the Turks."

The harder he struggled, the tighter Verdot held onto him, jamming his wrist between his shoulder blades so he couldn't move without dislocating a shoulder.

"Sir, please don't do this-"

Tseng continued the one-sided conversation, ignoring Yoon's begging and frantic cries for mercy, to stop, to put a halt to this farcical turn of events.

"I knew you would understand, sir... For everything up until now- Thank you."

Verdot releases his arm, but his foot hooks around Jae's ankle and sends him sprawling onto the ground. The world inverts, a sea of stars glimmering against a canvas of inky black replacing the image of his comrade pointing a gun at their leader- Their mentor, their savior.

The gunshot is so close his ears start ringing, brimstone and sulfur filling his nostrils. He can't hear anything else, if anything more is being said, struggling to scramble onto his hands and knees. He feels it before he can see properly, the slump of Verdot's weight against his side. The hot slickness of his blood soaking into the dark wool gabardine and starched cotton of his suit. It pools and seeps against his skin, leaving his sleeve heavy.

He can't even find the strength to breathe, his chest constricting tightly as his right hand reaches out to lightly hold onto the elder man's fingers. They're limp, they don't squeeze back with a confident, masculine strength. Just lie there, splayed against the dirt.

The tears come near instantaneously, blurring his vision as he presses his forehead into the ground roughly. Teeth bared, clenched so tightly his jaw feels like it might crack at any moment, his throat seizing up as he heaves out broken animal noises and gasps, gripping tightly to Verdot's still warm hand like a lifeline. It's like he's forgotten how to get up and right himself, reduced to just laying there in the spreading pool of blood, hoping the crust of dirt and rock and limestone beneath would just open up and swallow him whole- Pulverize his bones and grind him into dust, melt his remains into molten iron.

Distantly, he hears Reno's knees hit the floor, the redhead's anguished cries joining his own.

[autistic-mandalorian]

Here are my two newest! Meet Storm (et/ets/ou/oum/she/her) and Shelt'nell (ae/aer)!

Storm is a Coruscant Guard Medic and Shelt'nell is a Temple Guard; they kept getting assigned to the same political showoff unnecessary bodyguard duties and developed a friendship, and later became QPPs.

Storm ended up on Coruscant after stepping on a landmine and getting ets leg blown off & losing ous hearing in her left ear (also where the scar is from). It was only through intervention by Akera Ragrotu (another OC of mine) that et was transferred to Coruscant and not sent back to Kamino. Et has a very "I Cannot Flinch Even Once In The Face Of All Of The Horrors Or Else I Will Lose" attitude, and is a very stoic and competitive person in general. Ou has a special interest in meteorology and is very committed to the theme of her name; she does not like dressing in CG red and would prefer to wear blues and grays all of the time. Aroace.

Shelt'nell is a Selkath Jedi Temple Guard with a congenital limb difference (right arm ends just below the elbow) and one lost eye from a bad fall as a kid. Ae spends most of aer time as a Guard being a steward for the Temple: tending the gardens, cleaning the floors and windows, painting the walls, watching over the children, cleaning the water in the aquatic areas (Selkath are amphibious), etc. Ae is a somewhat socially awkward person and tends to compensate with over-the-top kindness and hospitality. Ae likes the anonymity of being a Guard and enjoys putting on a little persona when under the mask; ae also likes to blow off steam by hooking up with people under different personas and pseudonyms. Ae prefers to always have something to do with aer hands, and likes moving meditation (especially swimming). Bisexual.

These two have a whole storyline where they become queerplatonic partners during the war, with each knowing (but pretending they don't) that it can't last because Storm hates Coruscant and wants off as soon as the war ends, and Shelt'nell loves and has devoted aer life to the Temple and could never leave it; plus, with them being a Jedi and a clone, the inherent power imbalance is... eeeesh... so they ignore it. During Order 66, Storm's chip causes et to believe that Shelt'nell has betrayed her (ous interpretation of the All Jedi Are Traitors message), and because of how few people Storm trusts and how deeply she bonds, et is destroyed by this belief and immediately breaks rank and makes ous way to the Temple to personally kill aer in revenge.

When Storm manages to find Shelt'nell, ae is helping a few Jedi to escape the massacre. The threat Storm poses, as well as aer own unwillingness to kill oum, forces Shelt'nell to basically shove the Jedi out a side door with instructions to a private speedcar (or whatever theyre called, I hate star wars words). From there, the two fight until Shelt'nell is able to incapacitate Storm by throwing her against a wall. Ae gets the hell off of Coruscant with the help of a sympathetic Space Bus Driver and manages to hold Storm in unconsciousness until ae can get them both to a random backwater planet.

On that planet, Shelt'nell makes the very heavy devision to sell aer lightsaber in order to hire a medical droid to remove the "tumor" in Storm's brain (found with the help of the Force). After the operation is successful, the two spend the remainder of their lives hiding out on a tiny farm on the outskirts of the city they landed in.

The main theme of Shelt'nell's story is Change and Choosing to Change. Ae made an oath to protect and steward the Jedi Temple, and to follow the Jedi Code. But then ae was thrust into a war that broke half the tenets of the code, ae fell in love with someone whose life goals were diametrically opposed to aer oaths, and then everything ae ever pledged aer life to was burned to the ground around aer. The confrontation with Storm is basically the narrative asking Shelt'nell: "Will you hold to your oath and die a Guard, or will you break your oath and live in a world where the Order you pledged yourself to is gone?"

The lightsaber is an affirmation of this choice. Will you hang on to the one thing you have left of your oath, your order, your temple, or will you choose to save the person you never could have been with if you had kept your oath? And Shelt'nell chooses Storm, again.

And Storm's story is about finally choosing etself. For so long she kept her head down, tried not to make waves, took care of ous siblings as best as ou could, refused to let anyone in, refused to Lose, to Crack, to Flinch. Shelt'nell was the only thing she really Chose for etself, and that choice was paid back in kind in ous time of need. Storm was the one who decided to buy the farm they end up living in, so that et could observe the planet's weather patterns without light pollution. Despite the horror of it all, Storm gets to know peace.

btw guys. guys. can you tell me about your star wars ocs? guys.

[sunstonez]

I live in such an awkward inbetween when it comes to my autism. I feel like I can't relate to anyone.

I had early therapeutic intervention from childhood, but no concrete diagnosis until adulthood due to the misogyny of the health care system in my province. I wasn't able to be in any specialized program at school (they just didn't exist due to lack of funding, or I couldn't apply due to lack of diagnosis), but I was sat at the back of the class with special headphones and teacher supervision, otherwise I actively wandered the halls at random, caused disruptions, or straight up left the building and walked home/got lost. I could socialize with my peers at a stunted level, but constantly lost friends because I was too much of a "spaz", I was unable to understand them, and/or their parents didn't like dealing with my meltdowns. I loved math and constantly aced all related courses, I read books beyond my education level, but dropped out of highschool with a shit GPA before the end of grade 10 because I couldn't reliably feed myself or keep myself clean, let alone keep track of 6 separate classes. I ran away from home/was kicked out due to violent behaviour on top of being lgbt, and wound up homeless for a period until the local LGBT/disability community stepped up, and housed me through the kindness of their hearts.

Now I'm an adult. I've been out of my parents house for nearly a decade, but I've always lived with full time care from my friends or my spouse; otherwise I revert back to homelessness. I can work, but I need hyperspecific accommodations, and 1:1 help from my spouse throughout the workday. It's a miracle I still have my current job, I've lost so many others because I would meltdown constantly without support. Even with these supports, with the permission to work from home and with the help of my spouse, I have at least one violent meltdown a day when I work, if not several. I can cook dinner on a semi-reliable basis, but I always need some kind of help; and other meals I always need prepared for me. I can go out independently to specific locations, and anywhere else with 1:1 aid, but if anything deviates from the plan I have a full on violent meltdown in public. I can understand complex medical history, philosophy, and political theory; but I still can't understand people's basic feelings or social nuances. I desperately want to make more friends, but I am terrified that they will infantalize me due to my blatantly obvious problems, find me annoying, etc.

I just. I can't relate to other people who have low support needs, and/or diagnosed later in life. I can't relate to the concept of masking. I can't relate to needing some accommodation at work, but largely being independent. At the same time I can't relate to being someone with high support needs, because I don't have those needs myself. The intervention I had was daily, but not nearly as intense as my peers with higher support needs. I can do a lot of things on my own as an adult. I do have a full time job. I live in my own apartment and keep my own finances, with 1:1 daily help.

I feel terribly isolated. No one I meet seems to understand.

[fitsinthepalm]

.

[hansolmates]

remote learning (m)

summary; working remote sucks, and you would love a little relief. after buying a new toy to blow off some steam, you’re baffled when you can’t cum. however, jungkook thinks you’re doing it wrong, and shows you a thing or two. pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; fluff, humor, slightly insecure mc, this is pure FILTH—use of a remote controlled vibrator, do not and i repeat DO NOT try foreplay during a zoom call in the event u get fired im not responsible, phone sex, jungkook’s a meanie in control, cum eating, doggy, and topping it off with some sweet missionary bc jk has purty eyes, unprotected (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) excessive use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 5.7k a/n; this fic manifested bc of work. and i!! am!! frustrated!! i think we all need a lil jk relief so here it goes! as always ty to @chillingtae​ / @eerieedits​ for this FANTASTIC fic banner, please go check vivi out if u have taste okok part 2: distance learning drabbles; 01

if u like this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share💕💕💕💕

“Tomorrow morning, same time at 9AM. Remember to have your reports alphabetized and itemized,” your supervisor says, but the only thing you can focus on is the abnormal amount of bonsai plants in his living room. 

“Alright now it’s time for the union to talk COVID protocol,” you frown when Mr. Kim moves ownership of the Zoom call to your union rep, who pulls up a Powerpoint. You feel your eyes burn at the sight: an itinerary containing over thirty-eight slides. 

“For fuck’s sake—” 

You so desperately want to turn off the camera and flop in your bed. Since working remotely you haven’t been operating in the most ideal of workspaces. You live in a one-room apartment with a communal kitchen downstairs, so you really only have four square meters to stretch your limbs around between breaks. You’ve pushed your bed aside and shoved an office chair between the bed and the wall, leaving you to squirm between ten centimeters of space. You have no desk because well, the little rectangle space is prioritized for your portable stove and meals. 

The meeting drones on for another hour, until your brain melts to liquid and your limbs feel like Jell-O. Furthering your anxiety as they talk about protocol that never ends up happening, delays that continue to pile up, and the anger that’s been bubbling between the higher ups and little goldfish employees like you. 

When you finally shut off the camera and fling your laptop under the bed, you still feel unsettled. Probably because your work life and home life have merged together, and it’s hard for you to separate work and pleasure. 

Speaking of pleasure. 

Your hand blindly reaches under your bed, looking for the pretty pink oval you purchased last week. Cleaned and ready to use, the little remote-controlled vibrator sits plainly in your palm. 

Needless to stay you’ve been in a bit of a dry spot these past few months. With a fear to go out and meet someone new, you’ve been left with yourself and your fantasies. That’s fine, but lately your old vibrator isn’t cutting it. It’s unfortunate, you think you’re messing up your libido by buying toy after toy, but you’re horny and lonely. 

Linking your phone’s app to the remote, you ignore the messages that have been beeping your feed since early morning. 

[11:21] Jeon: let’s do lunch! 

[11:23] Jeon: hehe i feel like i belong in mean girls. Do lunch💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️

[2:20] Jeon: u loozer. Come eat dinner with us upstairs @6

[2:24] Jeon: dropping off a snack for u 

Another element of feeling horny and lonely? Jeon Jungkook. 

You two shouldn’t have even met each other. You live off crumbs on the first floor while he and his roommates are livin’ it up on top in the penthouse. One day a few months ago he crashed into you while working out, having run up and down the whole flight of stairs at least three times before deciding to collapse on you between the second and first floor. 

Despite the black mask that hugged his sharp jawline, you had felt nothing but attractiveness ooze off of him. Under his hoodie was nothing but curved muscle. He smelled so soft and sweet despite the fact that he was damp with sweat. 

The rest is history. After that day he seemed to show up everywhere, jogging more prominently on your floor and doing exercises at your level’s gym. He says he likes you, likes your company. He’s wormed his way intermittently, whether he’s seeing you struggle with an armful of groceries or when he hears you screaming over an Among Us match (according to Jungkook, the walls are thinner on the bottom floors.) 

The idea of Jungkook doting on you doubly frustrates you. He seemingly appears as the perfect man, unaffected by the stresses of the world. Jungkook’s job lets him work from home anyway, and he definitely had enough room in the penthouse for his own office. He works out, probably has a girlfriend and enough friends for you to gradually phase out of this weird neighbor interest. 

So you ignore his seemingly harmless messages, focusing on getting the settings right on the vibrator. You feel your pussy jolt a little in excitement, watching the silver and pearl pink oval shake in your grasp. You smile a bit to yourself, immediately finding your iPad for your favorite videos and some pillows to support your back. 

Half an hour later however, that excitement soon goes sour. 

“Fuck,” you bite your lip, frustrated tears streaming down your face, “fuck fuck fuck!” 

This isn’t a set of explicatives out of pleasure, unfortunately. 

No matter what you do, you won’t cum. You can’t cum. Barely wet, hardly a drop glossing your folds. You don’t even want to bother getting out the lube at this point because you are so disappointed. 

The vibrator is going at the highest setting, one that your neighbors can probably hear if they were home at this time of the day. You cease to care at this point, because the job is undone because you haven’t come undone. 

You don’t know why this is happening. Maybe it’s because you’ve had the liberty to touch yourself in complete silence, now that your neighbors have been confined to their homes indefinitely. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve relied only on your touch, that your body is tired of the monotony and needs more.

You bang the heels of your feet against your flimsy mattress, feeling whiny and utterly dissatisfied. Pulling the vibrator from your clit, you glare at the infuriating toy.

“You’re supposed to be helping me out of my dry spell,” you chastise, throwing the toy across the bed, sliding onto the carpet, “I get you’re not Jeon’s dick, but you gotta help a sister out.” 

With a sigh, you fall into a bout of exhaustion. Not from a round of orgasms, but from the week’s stress and no way to let it out. 

You wake up bleary and disoriented, practically melding through the mattress. The sky is pink and blue, washed in a sea of corals and purples. It comes from the incessant banging. 

“Stop it,” you whine more to yourself than whoever dares to disturb your sleep, pulling up your panties and a pair of navy dolphin-trim shorts. “Whoever you are I’m comin’ so stop!” 

Swinging the door open in two strides you’re met with a chipper Jeon Jungkook; looking all cute and sweet in his big hoodie and smelling like a rosebud. 

“It’s 6:30,” he narrows his eyes playfully at you, “dinner’s in the oven.” 

“You left your oven on,” you deadpan, turning around to grimace at the mess that’s your one-room apartment. 

“Yes, so we have exactly ten minutes before my kitchen explodes in flames,” Jungkook chirps, closing the door behind you. 

You don’t even bother to tell him to excuse the mess, ignore the pile of bras hanging on your vanity and the unpacked groceries that sit at the edge of your mini-fridge. It’s far too late to salvage your dignity and Jungkook’s too damn polite to call you out on your state of slob. Although, as you pull out a bottle of wine tucked in the back of your fridge you blurt, “I can hear your fingers tingling to clean up my mess.” 

When you turn around Jungkook stuffs his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, supposedly to stop himself from cleaning up. With a pout he says, “Can’t help it, Jimin says I’m currently manifesting a strong display of Virgo energy this month. Whatever that means.” 

Jabbing your feet in a pair of slides you follow Jungkook out the door. The hallways are quiet and barren, yet the silence isn’t suffocating as you two pile into the elevator. Jungkook opens the keypad underneath the regular boring buttons, revealing a sleek little set of light-up buttons that have the code to the penthouse. Faaaannnnccy. 

“Tryna look?” he jokes, cupping his hands to block your vision. 

You scoff, “I’m sure it’s something easy like 0000.” 

“You’re wrong. It’s 1234,” he replies cheekily. 

The door dings open and you’re met with yet another door. Jungkook presses his thumb to the biometric scanner, and a pleasant ringer tings in response. 

The penthouse smells like a mix of tonight’s dinner, savory, combined with a cinnamon apple candle. Jungkook is a fan of scented candles, ever since he got a whiff of your lavender vanilla burner. 

“Where’s Taehyung?” you ask, more out of your own anxiousness than anything. Taehyung’s  your buffer, the hyper roommate being someone to distract you from Jungkook’s incessant aura. 

“Dunno,” he shrugs, flicking on the oven light to peer inside. You see the telltale signs of a mean lasagna, the shredded cheese on top crisping to a delicious-looking golden brown, “anyway, you’re my friend first.” 

As grotesque as it sounds, Jungkook always finds his way to worm his way under your skin and find homage there. “Possessive much?” you quirk a brow, folding your arms over your chest even though there’s nothing to hide. 

“What can I say,” Jungkook’s legs stretch out as he squats down to your level, “I really fell for you.” 

“Gross,” you try to convince yourself, ignoring the thudding in your chest, “you technically fell on me, weirdo.” 

Dinner is a quick affair. He cuts slices of lasagna and brings it to the couch, where you’re pouring glasses of wine in crystal glasses. They’re so clean and shiny you can see your reflection in the gold liquid. You grimace at the bottle, normally this would be poured in a mug or your sippy cup, tonight your liquid’s getting a high-end pour. 

You two pull up an old anime to fill up the room, but most of it is spent in playful banter. Jungkook prattles on about his day, showing you all the cool updates he’s achieved during work. An app developer. A very on-brand, lucrative job for him. You love your job but it isn’t nearly as exciting as Jungkook’s, so you just let yourself be supportive and ask questions when needed. 

When the subject of you comes up, you shake your head and stuff your face with another cut of al dente pasta.

“Not interestin’ Jeon,” you mumble, groaning at how delicious his cooking is. What can’t he do? “Is this oregano? Is the secret ingredient toasted oregano—” 

“You’re deflecting.” 

Your shoulders slump, “I’m not very interesting, I tell you everything I do during the week and nothing has changed since March.” 

“Oh, not everything,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. You furrow your brows as his hands stuff themselves in his hoodie pocket. Is he upset you won’t tell him about your work stress? “And you’re very interesting, I’ll have you know.” 

“Yeah?” a small smile tugs on your lips. You sink further into his cottonball of a couch, feeling utterly soft and meldable at his words.

“Very,” Jungkook gets up from the couch, looking down at you, “want something sweet?” 

The prospect of dessert has you excited. Jungkook really is the perfect man, so kind and knows exactly when you’re craving something for your sweet tooth. You move to get up, only for you to sink further between the two large cushions of the loveseat. “Help me, ’m stuck,” you pout.

Jungkook giggles, and holds out his palm, “Hand,” he says simply.

You immediately reach for his larger palm, and you gasp when you feel something cold and soft touch your palm. As if you’ve been burned, you tug your hand back. But Jungkook’s hand is massive, the large ink-painted palm curling around your own, and it’s almost painful the way he clutches your hand so fiercely. 

When he’s sure you’re not going to drop it, he releases your hand. 

Nestled in your palm, is the new vibrator you left on the carpet this afternoon.

“Jeon,” you laugh tonelessly, hating the way Jungkook’s neutral expression mocks you, “you found my USB? Thanks, I know—” 

“Know that you’re having a hard time coming?” Carefully extracting your plate from your lap, he places it on the coffee table before Jungkook cages you between the couch. You shrink further into the plush seat, “I tried being a good neighbor, but you didn’t answer my texts. I heard you when I tried dropping off some snacks before dinner. Didn’t know you were into toys.” 

“Oh, c’mon Jeon. It’s 2020 and we’re confined,” well, in this scenario you’re confined, “everyone has a sex toy.” 

“Hm, I don’t have one,” Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, pretending to be deep in thought, “so, can you be my toy?” 

Fuck. 

It’s then that you feel the tell-tale signs of arousal. Your eyes widen, innocently surprised at the fact that Jeon Jungkook contained so much power in so few words. You snap your legs shut immediately, sealing any possibility of you dripping down your panties. 

“I heard how disappointed you were, doll,” his arms have no problems as he bends down so he’s eye-level with your crotch, “it was pathetic, really. You couldn’t even cum on your own? You need someone to help you?” 

“N-no,” you cross your arms defensively, frowning, “you–you’re being mean, Jeon.”

“And what, you’re gonna cry about it?” Jungkook smirks, now sitting on his knees. His hands run over the velvety fabric of the couch, making a beeline for your thighs. Gooseflesh rises to the surface, and he immediately presses down to iron out the little bumps that travel across your skin, “I do wanna make you cry, but not because you can’t cum. You’ll cry because of how good I’m gonna make you feel.” 

You gape, clutching the vibrator in your hand. 

A little bit of your sweet, cute Jungkook resurfaces, softening when he notices your lack of response, “If you’ll let me, of course.” 

You finally drag the words from your throat, “I-it’s been a long time since I’ve… been with someone.” 

He tilts his head, “Same here. I just figured we could break that spell together.” 

What are you going to say? No? A dishonor to your sexuality, that would be. Jungkook’s offering himself up on a silver platter, and even though you do wish it was a little more you’ll take the sex. 

You nod, forgetting to speak again. Jungkook chuckles. 

“I want to hear you say it, doll.” 

Doll. Like you’re his little fucktoy, malleable and bendable to all his whims. Fuck, why is that so hot to you? “Yes, I want to have sex with you,” you declare, your voice sounding more breathy than confident, “a-and, you can be mean. If you want.” 

His thumbs press little light indents in your skin, over and over as if fascinated by the way your skin is so soft and gummy in his grip. “Okay,” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull out his phone, jabbing a few things that you don’t see, “let’s do a little test drive, then.” 

In seconds, the little egg vibrates in your touch. He puts it on the lowest setting, a soft buzz echoing in the large living room, then at a bruising pace that forces you to curl your fingers around it otherwise it’d fall. Your eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s, who’s focusing entirely on the way the pink and silver egg moves, dilated in interest. 

“Fuck, and you thought this thing was broken?” he asks, taking it out of your palm and turning off the app. 

“Maybe I’m the broken one,” you admit softly, wringing your shirt. 

Silence seeps. Jungkook looks at you, brows furrowed as if he’s annoyed. “Don’t ever say that,” when you don’t respond, he grabs your chin, and you gasp when he forces you to look at him, “you’re not broken, doll. Everyone’s body is different, and we’re going to discover yours together. Got it?” 

“Y-yes,” you reply immediately, mesmerized by his seriousness. 

“Good,” he slaps the vibrator back in your palm, “and in case you’re wondering, this goes inside.” 

“I know how it works,” you scowl, “but won’t you show me, just in case?” 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Jungkook gets up for good, piling the dishes in his arms and walking to the sink. You immediately miss his warmth, “but I think patience is a virtue. I have a developer meeting with some clients in America a little bit, actually. So just wait for my call, yeah?” 

You frown, looking down at the vibrator in your hands. How much longer would you have to wait? 

It happens at exactly three in the afternoon the next day, at the start of your staff meeting. You’re so tired of the same information being thrown back and forth, coupled with Brian and Jae having to fight over some mundane subject in the itinerary that no one cares about. For goodness sake, it’s Friday! What else would you possibly need to be meeting about? 

You’re wearing a button-down dress shirt on top, no pants on the bottom. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood floor, antsy. It’s been a long day at work and your back hurts, you’re half tempted to dip out of this meeting and hope no one notices. 

Your phone buzzes on your bed, and you blanch. 

[3:01] Jeon: thanks for waiting, doll. It’s time 

[3:01] Jeon: put it in

Shamelessly, your vibrator sits next to your phone, cleaned and ready to go. 

[3:02] Jeon: need help? Answer my call

Making sure that your Zoom call is muted, you quickly answer the incoming phone call. Jungkook and you say nothing at first, waiting. The phone just ticks with the amount of time passing, one minute, two minutes, and so on. 

Mr. Kim drones unknowingly, “So when we do return to live instruction, expect a strict process when returning. PPE must be enforced so our response team will—” 

“How wet were you last night when you went home?” Jungkook asks languidly, speaking over your boss’ voice. 

Your eyes widen, flickering back and forth between the phone and the camera displaying Mr. Kim’s boring speech. 

“Doll, are you hard of hearing?” 

“N-no,” your lips barely move, eyes glued to the camera and plastering an expressionless face, “I heard you.” 

“Then give me an answer,” he says patiently, “how wet were you?” 

“Very wet.”

“Little more detail.” 

“Soaking wet,” you flush, thankful that your work laptop can only stream in 360p. “I haven’t gotten that wet in such—such a long time. My pussy was practically clinging to my underwear when I washed up that night.” 

A heady, heavy groan resonates through your phone. You feel that voice straight into your panties, jolting the nerves awake. 

“Fuck, you have a way with words, don’t you?” Jungkook chuckles breathlessly, “c’mon, touch yourself for me. Swirl your fingers around your clit, slowly.” 

It takes a second for you to position yourself, spreading your legs in a way that your coworkers don’t question why you’re moving so much. A quick scan over all the tired faces says that you’re okay. Shyly, you press your fingers against your clit, doing as he says. 

“Oh,” you say more to yourself than him, feeling the wetness already coating your fingers. This is earlier than usual. 

“What?” 

“I’m already wet,” you say, amazed, “I haven’t gotten wet this quickly in a long time.” 

He scoffs, “If you’re so wet now, shove it in.” 

You frown. You did tell him to be mean. But the idea of him telling you what to do, giving you all the porn-worthy experiences to accomplish has you relenting. Discreetly grabbing the egg from the bed, you bring it down to your panties. Swirling the cold metal around your clit, you coat it in your juices. 

It’s still a little too early to be putting anything in, but you can take it. Slowly relaxing, you slip the little egg in your pussy, wiggling it a little to make sure it’s secure. It’s a strange sort of pressure, and it pokes against your clit from the inside, but you enjoy the stretch. 

“It’s in,” you reply softly. 

“Good.” 

You wait. You listen to Jae make yet another speech about the importance of masks and gloves, and then Brian has to interject and say that gloves are literally useless because they spread germs around no matter what. Even though everyone else is muted, you can practically feel the misery seeping through the screen. For a second you almost forget about Jungkook on the line. Why isn’t Mr. Kim stopping them? This is the thin line stopping you from the weekend, unbelievable! 

“Eep!” you jolt in your cheap seat, the egg buzzing in your pussy. Your hands fly out, gripping the edges of your computer. 

It hits different when Jungkook is in control. Knowing that with a flick of his thumb he can have you careening, whining for more or less depending on how hard he wants you go. Your folds hug the egg, nestling it a fleshy grip as it brushes against your clit the more you squirm. 

“You look so pretty, trying so hard to hold in your moans,” Jungkook says wondrously from the other line. 

“W-what?” you frown, “you can see me?” 

And immediately, you go to your trackpad to fish between the hundred-and-one employees also in this call. At the very end, you see a very simple name with no mic or camera: Jeon JK. He’s here. 

“Worked in IT, doll. Know a thing or two,” he says, “now, tell me. What are you thinking about right now?” 

“Y-you,” you mumble shyly. 

“So,” Mr. Kim finally ends that part of the meeting, thank goodness, “what’s everyone’s plans this weekend? I’m going apple picking with a couple of my friends from college. Hoseok is a bright bean who loves to take long walks—”

What the hell. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat, hyperaware that Jungkook’s watching your every move. You make glossy, stubborn eyes at the camera, trying not to move when he jacks up the vibrator to a higher setting. 

Jae’s of course the next employee to unmute his microphone, “Well, me and the bae are going house hunting…” 

“Fuck!” you cry, moving the computer to the left so you can pretend you’re picking up something. But in fact you're leaning your head against your mattress, frustrated. “I don’t fucking care about your weekend plans, Jae! Shut the fuck up! You wanna know my weekend plans?” Jungkook’s laughing at you from the other line, but it only spurs you on, “my plans are fucking my super hot neighbor! He’s a hundred times more interesting than you and he’s going to make me come a hundred times this weekend—oh fuck!” 

Your fingers latch onto your panties, drawing random squiggles and letters between the fabric. You’re damp, soaked to the core. You need some sort of friction, a reprieve from this hellish week.

“You flatter me, doll,” Jungkook is definitely grinning through the phone, you can practically hear his shit-eating grin, “I think you deserve a reward. As soon as you put the camera back on your pretty face.” 

Quickly, you sit up to put the camera on you again. Once again, the employees are in a daze, listening to whatever the next person gabs about their weekend. Even though you can’t really see it, you’re sure Jungkook has a 1080p camera upstairs that shows off your blotchy face. You moan a little bit, lips closed as the egg buzzes against your pussy lips. 

“You’re so cute, doll,” Jungkook praises, “you look so professional, holding it in. What could I do to make you unravel? Hm, what if you imagined the taste of my cock on your lips? Fuck, I’d love to slap your cute little face with my cock, baby doll–”

“y/n?” Mr. Kim calls your name, and you freeze, “what about you? Any plans this weekend?” 

Jungkook doesn’t sound angry that your boss has inadvertently cut him off. “Answer him, doll. Be a good little employee.” 

Like a zombie, you move towards the unmute button. “I–I uh,” you shake your head, trying to formulate a coherent response, “I’m going on a date this weekend.” 

Jungkook jacks up the vibrator to high, and your legs are shaking. 

“Awh, a date!” Mr. Park unmutes himself, practically shoving the camera in his face, “how much do you like the lucky lad or lady?” 

“I like him uh—ah—” you pretend to think, covering a hand over your mouth to hide the fact that you feel your orgasm fast approaching, “I like him a lot!” you finally blurt, “I’m, uh, really excited to see him.” 

“Best of luck to you,” Mr. Kim says brightly, “so Jimin, any news on those investors you had dinner with this weekend? I heard a lot of positive things…”

You immediately mute your mic, and pretend to lag as you fumble around with the camera. Shoving the laptop to the side once more you groan into your sheets, “Fuck—fuck yes—” you moan, shaking your head as you dip your fingers into your panties. The vibrator still continues at its bruising pace, spurring you to a high you haven’t peaked to in months.

“Good job,” Jungkook says simply, “could barely notice that you have a little helper fiddling around your dripping pussy.”

“J-Jeon,” you cry, “I’m, ’m gonna cum.” 

“Yeah?” Jungkook eggs you on, “you’re gonna cum around that cute little vibrator? Gonna soak it in your juices?” 

“W-wish it was your cock I was soaking,” you whisper truthfully, letting your orgasm take you at the thought. Your folds flutter around the vibrator, bringing you to a level of sensitivity you’ve only dreamt of, “Ah, yes, Jeon. It feels s-so good!” 

“Yes baby,” Jungkook groans through the line, “feels good, huh?” 

Mr. Kim interrupts for the last time, “And with that, I think our meeting is adjourned. Have a wonderful weekend! Stay safe and—” 

You slam the laptop shut, grabbing your phone and keys. “I’m going up,” you mutter impatiently, already jabbing your feet in a pair of slippers and locking the door to your apartment behind you. 

“I’m waiting,” he replies, eagerness trimming his voice. 

“Password?” you ask quickly, jabbing the elevator door shut once you step inside. Thank goodness you’re alone, you think as you pull your dress shirt further down your ass. 

“Did you forget already?” he teases, “I told you, it’s 1234.” 

Thankfully, the doors zip you up straight to the penthouse. The connection is always a little spotty in elevators, and you sigh longingly when you feel the buzz jolt and leave it’s momentum, quickly losing its rhythm between your dripping folds. Once you get to the top and the elevator doors open the second door immediately swings open, revealing a soft but aroused-looking Jungkook. He looks fresh from the shower, absolutely radiant and delicious looking. 

You don’t hesitate to run up to him, and Jungkook immediately cups his face in your hands, pressing his lips to yours. 

You’re practically on your tippy-toes, and you squeak against his lips when he hooks his arms around your shoulders, immediately lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his trim waist, not wanting to stop kissing him. He’s like the sweetest ambrosia, a taste you can’t get enough of. 

The connection to your vibrator has resumed, and you can’t help but grind helplessly under Jungkook’s clothed abs as he carries the both of you to his bedroom.

“N-need you to fuck me,” you bury your head in the crook of his neck, pressing quick kisses to his jawline, “I want you s-so badly.” 

“Hello to you too,” he husks, shutting the bedroom door with his foot. 

Jungkook drops you unceremoniously, and your limbs splay out on the fresh bedsheets of his feather-soft mattress.

“You look gorgeous like this, doll.” he sighs longingly, a hand going under your buttondown to press against your soaked panties. His hand lingers on the way your pussy moves in tandem with the vibrator. 

“J-Jeon please I can’t take it—” 

“Stop calling me that,” he snaps, hands leaving your skin.

You whine at the loss of contact, “Jeon, no. Jungkook. Kook, my Kook. Please, I need you.” 

That gets him going. His pretty chocolate brown eyes zero in on you, and he immediately shucks off his shirt and sweatpants, “How much do you need me?” he asks, pulling out his phone and pressing some buttons, “how much do you need your Kook?” 

The vibrator stops. You cry out in frustration, unsure if it’s because it’s off or because Jungkook’s taking too damn long. “I need you so much, Kook,” you warble with a pout, moving to undo the top buttons of your dress shirt to reveal your cleavage, “honey, you can have me all you want later today. I want you to slap my face with your dick, edge me until I cry, anything. I’m all yours, I’m your little doll. But please for now, I need to feel you inside me.” 

“Say no more,” his lips latch onto your neck, and you sigh at the skin-to-skin contact. His hand fiddles under your shirt, clutching a breast and slapping it so hard it bounces back and forth, “fuck, you’re so pretty.” 

His hand moves to your plain cotton panties, immediately shucking them off, “doll, you really are dripping,” he’s impressed, surprised when he has to untack the fabric from your glossy legs. He hangs the panties on his wooden headboard, a little ornament for him to jack off to later. 

His fingers brush over your folds, wasting no time to slip the vibrator out. He holds it between your faces, forcing you to stare at the pearly substance that coats the entirety of the egg. “Mm, tasty tasty,” he cooes, pink tongue darting out to lick a long strip across the oval. 

You tug him closer, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes a mixture of his own saliva and your arousal, and you grind helplessly against him. You feel how big his cock is, rock-hard and trying very diligently not to bust. He must have a crazy amount of control, and it drives you nuts. 

“Kook,” you frown, bumping your crotch with his.

“Impatient, good thing I am too,” he shucks off his boxers while you unbutton the rest of your shirt, “knees and hands, doll.” 

You don’t care how or what way he’ll take you. Fuck, he could bend you into an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and you’d comply. 

Arching your back so your ass is in the air, you wiggle around, hoping he’ll take the bait. That’s when you sigh, feeling the tip of his dick brush against your wetness.

“Soaking my cock already, baby,” he says, “you’re so good to me.” 

And finally, finally, he slips in. You don’t even care that it stretches you a little too far and too long, it’s been too damn long since you’ve had decent dick and Jungkooks far more than decent. 

He goes at a quick pace, finally showing how impatient he’s been all this time. Your moans and groans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain as he stretches your walls to the brim. You hold a pillow to your chest, feeling woozy at the way his fat cock stretches you out. 

“F-fuck yeah,” the pace is hard, you practically feel it in your belly, and you love it. “You feel so fucking tight, baby,” he’s all up in your ear, kissing the lobe briefly, “I love the way you suck my cock back in.” 

“Kook,” you press your ass back, “harder, please. I’m your little doll, right? Y-you can fuck me however you want, as hard as you want! Please, ah—! Use me!” 

You cry out when he slips from your folds, immediately flipping you on your back. He wastes no time to wet his dick, lifting one leg over his shoulder to have you deeper. This position is far more intimate, and your noses are practically touching as he thrusts into you. 

You can’t believe you’re in bed with Jeon Jungkook. This must be a dream, a really great, really long wet dream. You crumble in his grip, and you lift a shaky hand to run through his thick black strands. 

“Why’d you make me wait so long?” you cry, staring right into his glittering eyes, “why couldn’t you come for me after your call last night?” 

“Why’d I make you wait?” he grits, crushing the flesh between your hip bones so he can have more leverage to pound into you, “why did you make me wait? Since March, I’ve wanted you. I told you I liked you, told you I fell for you.” 

“T-thought it was a joke,” you warble pathetically, breasts bouncing at his relentless rhythm.

“You think th-this is a joke?” for further emphasis, he glides slower, making you feel just how large and thick he is against your folds, “I want you, doll. Y-yeah, fu-fuck. Want to feed you every day, feed you lasagna, feed you with my cum, make you happy.” 

“I—I want that too, Kook,” you’re a pile of pink mush, and you feel your eyes prick from the overwhelming emotions that have washed over both of you. “Sh-shit, Kook. I think, I think I’m gon’ cum again.” 

“Good, you first,” his hand plays figure 8s with your precious pearl, seeping with arousal and coating his cock in delicious lubrication. 

It doesn’t take long for you to cum. You’re holding him as tight as you can, nails digging into his shoulders as you clench around his cock. Jungkook cums shortly after, and you keen at the sensitivity when his hot cum coats your walls. “Baby doll,” he exhales, thrusting lazily. The both of you feel your combined arousal drip between the two of you, onto your skin and onto his sheets, “y-you’re amazing.” 

His softened cock slips out of you, and his hands immediately reach over to swirl around the heady cream over your engorged pussy. You moan when he brings his fingers to your lips, “Open, doll.” 

It tastes salty yet sweet, and you suckle around his finger with a cute little pop. Jungkook grins brightly, feeling like he won the lottery. 

“Are my walls that thin?” you pout, pressing closer to him when he pulls the blankets to your chest. 

“Very,” Jungkook nods with a chuckle, tucking the two of you in, “now get some rest, doll. You presented a lot of offers to me earlier, and I intend to go through with them.” 

You smile into his chest, melty and feeling utterly sated. 

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

imagine, you are me. you are sleep deprived bc ofc you are. you're on your way to the airport to fly down south where it's like 15-20 the grease hotter on average this time of the year than you're used to because you live in the midwest. you are restless, because you're meeting up w ppl you met on discord 4 years ago. you are me, and that means you don't like to talk to people you don't know fr.

this man is very clearly into you because you are pretty. whatever, not the first man to fall for the weird goth person who looks like they accidentally put on all black without meaning to. because you are me you just wear all black and call it a day 90% of the time. you have a mask on, otherwise you would be rocking black lipstick and that usually gets the point across. people leave you alone when you're wearing your black lipstick, and you mourn what the plague took from you every time you go out and speak to someone.

the driver starts talking to you while you're trying to vibe to fiona apple. this man is not reading the room and keeps trying to small talk. you're not that rude so you respond back, albeit with not much enthusiasm.

then, the dreaded question: "oh, did you go to [ some event held in this city, tbh i was not listening ] with your bf?" because you have foot in mouth syndrome you answer no, that you went by yourself. you had not left the house in at least 3 weeks outside of going to get your hair done. he goes "you're a beautiful black woman and you're SINGLE?"

your mask prevents the very obvious cringe on your face from being noticed. you go "oh, well i'm not really looking" which is true! you work 10 hours a day 4 days a week and you speak to at least 50 people a day, when you're off the last thing you want to do is pretend to be normal enough to attract someone who wants to date you.

dude completely ignores that. "how old are you? do you have kids?" very much sussing out whether you are old enough to date and if you have to deal with a bd.

"i'm 24, i have no children" you answer honestly for some reason yet again. you're texting the friends you're meeting up with and chronicling your blunder. they're basically like "girl, why would you tell the truth?". you wish you knew why you old the truth, you know how this goes.

"do you plan on getting married and having kids in the future?" another dreaded question, because people still have a hard time believing modern women don't mind becoming spinsters. "well, y'know i'm still kinda young so--"

you are cut off. "yeah, but not really though. your age is catching up to you faster than you realize."

whatever polite way of saying "im too preoccupied with gay porn to get into a relationship" instantly dies on your lips, and by the grace of god your mask is concealing the fact that you are slack jawed. this man is trying to FLIRT and just called you a HAG basically.

he notices your eyes react and tries to subtly clean what he just said up. it's not working, because why would it? you move onto another topic, not without a quick "you should think about settling down soon". you consider pulling the lesbian card, but you figure that would probably lead to more headaches.

somehow the topic lands back on him, but this does not surprise you at all. "one of my previous rides thought i was 25! i'm 34, how old do i look to you?"

your foot in mouth syndrome flares up again. "hmm, you look your age to me--"

"no i don't! i for sure look like i'm 25."

you cock your head. "well, you know people have this idea that anyone over the age of 30 is like DECREPIT, but that's not the case. you do look like you're--"

cut off again. "you're right, but i don't look my age at all!"

who are you to tell him what his truth is? you cringe behind your mask and nod, "uh huh...!"

the conversation continues awkwardly for a bit, until he stops talking for long enough for you to put your headphones back on and turn cradle of filth all the way up. you're texting your friends abt making a playlist specifically for scaring the hoes away.

i'm never forgetting this uber driver who tried to convince me that i am running out of time because i am unmarried, single, and childless at the age of 24

[greyeyedmonster-18]

mercy pt. 1

What would you do for someone you love? Would you lie for them? Steal? Would you kill for them?

(a story of seduction, sin, and crime in six parts)

*disclaimer: i am so sorry for what you're about to read. i make no excuses, i take full responsibility.

cw: being rude to a child; death mention; peanut allergy

--

Bony fingers trembled around a teacup, liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the wooden table as she brought it to her lips. Petunia Dursley used to needlepoint as a hobby. It was something that brought her joy and passed the time. Something she could take to a café or one of her friend’s homes, steady hand pulling a needle in and out of fabric. Their home on Number Four Privet Drive had tiny frames along the walls, filled with tiny pieces of embroidery she had finished.

Dandelions blowing in the breeze.

A sunrise over peeking over mountains.

Home is where the heart is

But her heart was gone.

Her home…was just four walls, decorated with remnants of a hobby she could no longer do.

Because her hands shook.

They shook when they opened the door every single time there was a visitor coming to pay their respects, or else stare awkwardly at carpets that hadn’t been vacuumed and picture frames collecting dust. Or else ask let me know if we can do anything when there was nothing to be done.

Death was final. It was done. What could someone offer to do that could fix that?

A silly offer, really. Frivolous and a waste of time. But all Petunia could do was smile, and nod politely, before closing the door with shaking hands or tossing whatever miscellaneous soup or stew or disgusting salad into the fridge until it went bad. Because what she needed was a chance to rewind the clock to a perfectly ordinary Wednesday two weeks ago when perfectly sensible brownies had been delivered, gift-wrapped to her doorstep.

The card had said, for a job well done. Vernon tickled about his new promotion at work. Petunia hadn’t even thought to check the brownies for nuts—it was his boss, why would she?—before Dudley and Vernon cut themselves large squares for dessert that evening.

When you board an airplane, they give the instructions: please put your mask on before attending to children. Because the adults needed to be around to help the children. Safety protocol didn’t cover what to do when both your husband and child start swelling and choking at the same time. Simultaneously gasping for air at a dinner table, all Petunia could do was watch in horror.

And scream.

Who do you go to first?

She remembered her hands shaking as she called the paramedics, shrieking for her nephew, frozen in fear and confusion, to find the epi-pen they stored in the kitchen. Eight-year-olds could only do so much. Ambulances could only get out to their quiet neighborhood in Surrey so fast. Petunia had only a split second to make a decision, her husband—her now dead husband—staring at her as she tended to their son, even if the effort was futile.

Too much damage.

Not enough time.

And now she was left spilling tea alone with her nephew who had gone quiet after witnessing the situation. Which was the least of Petunia's concerns, and the nicest thing anyone had done for her so far.

“Aunt Petunia, when can I go back to school?” Harry asked, cutting through her thoughts, more tea spilling onto the table.

“I don’t know.”

“I miss my friends.”

“You should be missing your family,” she snapped.

“I—”

“Quiet.”

Harry took a step back, head falling to look at the floor. Petunia’s family was gone and she was left with her sisters. Her last living relative was a boy she hadn’t asked for.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do all day, is all….”

“You and me both, Harry. Things aren’t always fair, are they?”

“No, Aunt Petunia.”

“Get me an aspirin from the cabinet. That’s what you can do.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said. She looked back down at her cup of tea, and the rings on the wooden table made from other spills throughout the weeks. The ones she hadn’t bothered to clean up, and her nephew hadn’t bothered to notice. She heard the familiar sound of a stepstool scraping along the floor, the boy having to crawl on the counter to reach the cabinet where the medicines were located.

Perhaps there was a way she could topple off a counter. Perhaps get an allergy test and find out what she could ingest to suffer the same fate her husband and son had. Leave Harry alone…someone would find him eventually. And if not…the world might be better off as well.

Her nephew placed the bottle of aspirin on the table, Petunia absently noticing the way he rubbed his elbow after.

“What? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, Aunt Petunia…”

“Clumsy boy.”

“Sorry…”

“Go find something to do.”

--

Another week passed and Petunia’s hands hadn’t gotten better. Nor had the carpets or the bookcases, though Harry got his wish in going back to school. The house was quieter.

Petunia had heard something about trying to find silver linings. To look for the bit of sunshine in the rain, or else to wait for the rainbow. And quiet was the only one she could think of, Petunia dreading every day when she would have to leave the house, get in the car, and drive to pick Harry up from school—his teachers making a fuss when he hadn’t shown up in so long, Petunia not needing a lawsuit on top of the endless medical bills. But when she got home that afternoon, there was a motorcycle in the driveway, a man leaning against the bike casually.

“Excuse me,” she said trying to keep her voice from wavering alongside her hands, “This isn’t your property.” The sun obstructed her vision, though Petunia wouldn’t have been opposed to this man strangling her and taking care of the job.

“Aunt Petunia, who—”

“Go inside, Harry,” she snapped.

The man leaning against the bike smiled, and something stirred inside of Petunia. A vague sense of comfort. Familiarity. Had she met this man before?

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, politely, “I simply…heard of your husband and son’s passing and brought over a homecooked meal, but you weren’t home. I figured I would wait and see if you returned in a timely manner. Lucky me.” The man smiled again and as Petunia stepped closer into the shade, she realized the stirring might not have been comfort at all.

Broad shoulders, and a white smile. Dark hair kept short enough to be neat, but long enough so curls were visible, falling across his forehead elegantly. He had fine jewelry on his hands and for once, Petunia didn’t mind the tattoos or the piercing in his ear.

“Did…you know my husband?” she asked, avoiding light eyes entirely. She would rather be blinded in the sun than look at him a moment longer.

“I did, I’m very sorry for your loss uhm…Petunia, right? He spoke of you frequently.”

“Y-y-yes.”

“May I come in?” he asked, giving her that smile again. “It’s just turkey tetrazzini.” He gestured with the dish. Petunia nodded, reaching forward to the door handle of her home, her hands steady for the first time in nearly a month.

A silver lining.

continue to part 2

[tartagluvr]

the demon brothers mitski songs

i guess this is considered a song fic? i just related some of my favorite mitski songs to the brothers the best i could. if you have any songs i missed or side characters you would like me to interpret please ask me!! i really enjoy writing based on music, it comforts me and helps me heal. some parts are longer and i apologize for that <3

warnings: angst but if you squint really hard and lay upside down at 2 am chanting in latin there might be fluff. mentions of chp16 in the twins parts

word count: 6k

'undateables' here!

lucifer: first love / late spring

so please hurry leave me / i can't breathe / please don't say you love me / 胸がはち切れそうで (my heart seems like its going to burst)

lucifer has not always known pride.

humility used to be familiar to his body, like a perfectly fitting glove. he had never been in a state of thinking he were better than everyone else, for his sin had not broken him yet.

and your presence somehow, someway, brought back the man he used to be.

work hours were slipping from his hands as if sand while he focused on you, spent time with you. lucifer had even once skipped a rad council meeting just to make sure your cold wasn't going to kill you.

but he knew this was a dangerous game. lucifer was supposed to be the most reliable, hard working demon serving under his dear lord diavolo. there was never room for anyone in his heart except himself and maybe on occasion, his brothers.

you, his dearest human, have wormed your way into that small confined space inside him. and that terrifies lucifer greatly.

your cheerfulness, your drive to protect the ones you love, your angel like smile.

from the first time he felt himself slipping closer to you, lucifer had started pulling back, though you always seemed to close the distance somehow. he is fully aware that he could potentially be fooling you, playing along and eventually hurting your feelings. the ones he is supposed to protect with his life.

lucifer knew very well what he was getting into could never be, but in a desperate attempt to feel like he once was again, he lets you break him down. he lets you push his walls to the sides, clear up the path, and walk straight into his arms.

but the only issue was, you faced him one normal day with that beautiful smile across your face. and said, "i love you".

lucifer has never heard someone say those three words and actually mean it whole heartedly. but as soon as the words left your lips, he knew you were serious. and lucifer could not bring himself to say it back.

it feels as if all the oxygen in the devildom has been vacuumed out. his chest aches, his eyes can't seem to get enough moisture. all at once the gravity of your relationship has washed him clean, and then drowned him in his own filth.

but with a mask of his usual self, lucifer plays the part and quickly moves to excuse himself.

he does not let himself react until he is alone in the underground chamber where he keeps cerberus.

"oh dear," he whispers as his long fingers twist and scratch at his dog's ears. "i don't think i can say those words."

mammon: i will

and while you sleep / i'll be scared / so by the time you wake / i'll be brave / i'll be brave

mammon has never in his life felt what it truly is to deeply and utterly fall in love. that was, until you stepped foot in his home territory.

getting to know you was a breeze, considering how lively and upbeat the boy usually is. people are always attracted to that kind of personality.

and you were so snugly fit into his heart at this point he was starting to get anxious. what if you didn't like him? what if you were just pretending and its all one big joke planned by his brothers? they've done far worse with 'pranks' before.

often when he is having concerns about your relationship/friendship he will ask you in the dead of the night to come over for a 'sleepover'.

what he really gets from these moments is reassurance. your presence, your polite and always kind replies when he asks you to join him in his room. and when you are drifting off slowly in his bed you will feel the weight of something soft being placed over your body. there is faint murmuring but you do not try to make it out.

mammon watches you as you fall asleep. he is embarrassed and terrified you will catch him- but he needs to see you are alive and sleeping well before he can even breathe.

no one ever stopped to wonder if mammon, or rather the shell of himself he is now, could fully handle being a humans protector in the devildom.

lucifer would nag at him constantly (as would all the other brothers too) that he was being reckless, wasn't taking his job seriously, blah blah. you take any remarks they spew at mammon in one ear and out the other, knowing they deep down don't mean their words. that they do actually care for mammon.

but that doesn't mean mammon isn't fucking terrified over keeping you safe.

so while you sleep, he will be there. scared, frightened as if a child during a thunderstorm. but but the time you wake, mammon will be brave.

mammon will put on his million dollar smile, and ask how you slept. and he will lie when you ask him the same.

leviathan: a burning hill

and i am the fire / and i am the forest / and i am a witness watching it / i stand in a valley watching it / and you're not there at all

a sidenote before this one, i really love these lyrics. a lot of people don't fully know the meaning of them, so do let me explain first!

"and i am the fire" mitski is acknowledging she is the problem, she is the fire burning and destroying everything. "and i am the forest" not only is she the one destroying the forest, she is the forest. she is only hurting herself. "and i am a witness watching it" mitski is a bystander watching her mind destroy itself, and she does nothing about it. she is watching as she turns her entire life upside down. "and you're not there at all" mitski does not have a support system. there is no one there to save her from herself.

leviathan may as well be the prince of anxiety in the devildom. his envy feeds into the anxiety, and fuels the fire inside his heart. the two emotions work together in harsh ways to cause chaos in his life.

sometimes, being with you during an anxiety attack is helpful. sometimes, it only makes things worse.

how is he supposed to be your hero protagonist when you're in need if he can't even take care of himself?

asmodeus had been nagging him too much about hygiene, lucifer had been nagging him too much about grades.

now don't get me wrong, leviathan is an extremely smart demon. he's no satan, but he is the best from home student you will ever see. everything he does is at his own pace, and he can excell more than if he were in a classroom.

though this slump he had found himself in for the last month was taking a huge toll on his mental health. he stopped asking the brothers to join him for movie nights, stopped inviting you over for gaming. maybe if he can push you away before you decide to leave on your own, it will be less painful. because it will be his decision, he would have control.

so when you come knocking and singing the password outside his door, he feels like bursting into tears. he could pretend he isn't in his room, but the game he was only half heartedly playing has the volume up and playing outloud.

he lets you come inside. even though his mind is screaming at him to make you leave.

"i noticed you haven't been staying at meals that long for a while. are you feeling okay?"

you watch as leviathan shrugs his shoulders. something is definitely wrong, but you will not know what until he tells you. sometimes thats just how it is with him, he is too good at hiding everything away.

"would playing together cheer you up? what were you playing..." your voice trails off as you skip over to his computer, leaning over his shoulder. the screen says 'game over', something you have never seen on leviathans computer ever before. now more than before you know something is very off. you take a deep breath before deciding what to say next.

"do you want some of my meds? i can go run and grab them-"

"no."

leviathan cuts you off. a few times before when he hit a slump, you had shared some of your human world mood stabilizers with him. it seemed to greatly help with the anxiety and depression. but leviathan was basically refusing help at this point.

you removed your arms from around his shoulders, spinning him by the armrests to face you. you tried to read his eyes, but it seems they were speaking a foreign language today.

"do you want to be alone? hm?"

its a gentle question, your voice barely above a whisper.

leviathan desperately wants to say no. he wants to hold you so tight you can't breathe. to be able to cry in front of you without being embarrassed. he wants nothing more than for you to save him the way he saves you.

leviathan says yes.

you can't save people who don't want to be saved.

leviathan is lighting a match to himself. he is watching as the fire trails up his body, unmoving. he does not fan out the fire. rather he lets it burn bright, all alone in his room. his brain is on fire and he is letting it consume him.

he will be a casualty to only himself, never to you. because he wants more than anything for you to never know of how weak he truly is.

satan: i don't smoke

so if you need to be mean / be mean to me / i can take it and put it inside of me / if your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room / you can lean on my arm / as you break my heart

after only being in the devildom for two months, you had stopped or intervened in at least ten fights between lucifer and satan. the two just could not get along it seemed, not even for your sake.

satan does not know or have any understanding of being empathetic, something you know like the back of your hand. seeing the two brothers threaten to kill each other takes a great toll on your mental health.

and yet, after every big fight you find yourself walking to satans room. knocking, waiting on a response. you've entered so many times that just from your knock satan can tell it is you and will usually let you in. today was different for some reason.

when you raised your fist to knock, the sound of shattering glass filled your ears. without even bothering to knock you rushed inside, to see if satan was okay.

satan was in fact, not okay.

in his anger and frustration he had been using basic dark magic to cause his many books to rise into the air, and throw themselves across the room. the crash was the sound of a book catapulting through his window. today was going to be hard to work through. but you were good at tough fights.

"satan, please put the books down so i can come in further," your voice was gentle, calm and kept stable. you didn't fear satan, no. but you feared what his sin would sometimes turn him into.

he made no move to let the books down, throwing his hands into his hair and sighing loudly. so you tried again.

"if you can put the books down we could talk, yea? is that okay?"

in the blink of an eye one of the airborne books collided with your chest, the sheer force knocking you back a few steps. it hurt, your chest stung like you had just been slapped, but you showed no sign of pain. if satan had seen you in pain that he somehow caused, he may never let you close again. and you desperately wanted to be around him, needed him to be close.

"you don't scare me. you know that."

"i should. you should be so afraid you run and never come back. i'll only hurt you. you know that."

satans words were a bit harsh, but at the same time- this wasn't just satan. this was wrath. and wrath was not kind to you like satan was. being able to differentiate the two makes everything way easier.

"wrath, put the books down. that is a command."

slowly but surely, the books fell to the floor with dry thuds resonating in the room. satan wrath looked at you as if he wanted to eat you alive.

before he could speak again, you spun on your heels and threw yourself against the door. you knew the brothers were going to come running in, thinking wrath had hurt you from the noises in the room. and just as you had thought, as you clicked the lock down, the brothers began yelling through the door and knocking loudly.

"i'm fine, please let me be alone with him. you're only going to make it worse."

lucifer demanded furiously for you to come out or there would be consequences. mammon was yelling that he can protect you and to just unlock the door. in the back, as you focused on the voices, beelzebub began chanting what you knew to be a locking or unlocking spell. you had seen him use it many times when lucifer would lock up the fridge.

quickly you turned to face wrath again. your back pressed against the door, feeling all the brothers beating against your back.

"wrath, cast something on the door to make it unable to open. like that binding spell we learned last week in spells and potions."

wrath let out another highly annoyed sigh, but you felt the door become more stabalized behind your body.

"thank you. can i please talk to satan?"

no response. the tension in the room was nearly tangible. as if you could reach out into the air and feel his glare cut through your fingers.

slowly you inched closer and closer, tutting and scolding gently each time the books began to rise again. having a pact with him at a time like this definitely is handy. but you don't want to command wrath to just leave, that will solve nothing. that will only cause wrath to come back stronger the next time he shows himself.

"do you still want to destroy something?" your words delicate. walking a fine line.

wrath didn't speak, nodding his head slightly. that was enough of a response for you, as you now stood only a mere foot infront of him.

the brothers were still screaming from the other side of the door, you could hear it all the way across the room. for a second you almost felt bad. but this was something only you could do.

with a deep breath, you from memory began reciting a protection spell. this will keep you safe from any physical or magical harm for at most three hours. it would last longer if you had practiced more and focused more energy into it, but again, not important right now.

"if you need to be mean, be mean to me. i'll be fine. wrath or satan."

unfortunately wrath did not hesitate to push satan down even further into the abyss. his hands raised up, palms to the ceiling as the tattered books rose once more.

"go for it. let it out on me. i'm not leaving."

asmodeus: francis forever

i don't need the world to see / that i've been the best i can be / but i don't think i could stand to be / where you don't see me

you never expected asmodeus, the prince of lust, to be quite self critical and concious.

beautiful, worthy of love, perfect as he is. that is how you would describe the man, not the harsh words he thinks of himself. you would expect this kind of anxiety from leviathan, but not asmodeus.

you quickly come to learn that demons can have bad days too.

today was supposed to be a fun self indulgent shopping day, you taking a huge chunk of your pay from hell's kitchen to buy fancy clothes. fashion here in the devildom was extremely different from the human world, and you found yourself quite enjoying it. the fabrics were so colorful and patterned, the designs so elegant and almost royal.

asmodeus seemed like his normal self for the first part of the shopping spree, pulling you from rack to rack and making you try on what he finds. only when he would shove you into a dressing room and go in his own would he falter.

the mirror is a normal one, plainly sat infront of him on the wall. but to asmodeus, it might as well be a clown mirror with how distorted he is seeing himself. his arms look a litte bigger than normal, his shorts don't hug him the way they should. not only is he upset, he is afraid.

afraid that the world is seeing this distorted version of himself. afraid you are seeing it too.

when you come out of your dressing room with a beatiful summery outfit on and knock on his door, he yelps from inside. he was so lost in self destructive thoughts that he jumped at your knocking. too ashamed to go back out like this, he quickly changed into one of the outfits he had grabbed from the rack. its a light blue blouse with some vintage looking ruffles. the shorts he quickly put on are light grey, with a cute belt going around the waist. there were some white socks with the same grey striping the tops, so he shuffled into those as well and opened the door without seeing the mirrors reflection.

(more so, he didn't want to.)

"oh my lord, asmodeus you look so good in that blue! which aisle was that on?"

asmodeus goes into his fake cheerfulness quickly, hoping you don't notice his grin faltering when he 'gives you a twirl'. you look so absolutely stunning in the outfit you had on, the colors and flow making you more beautiful than ever. its as if this outfit were made for you- and asmodeus selfishly feels jealous.

"i think i want to try on some more, meet me back here when you're ready!"

and with that he all but jumps back behind his dressing room door, thankful for the sliver of privacy. he can't let you see him like this- you will think he is weak. that he is broken and everything about him is fake.

"hey asmodeus- i accidentally grabbed a size too big in this skirt. would you go grab another one? pleeeaaasee?" your giddy and laugh filled voice fills his ears from through the thin walls. he sighs in again, jealousy, and says he will come right back with it.

when he returns eventually, you open the door peeking out to grab it. sure asmodeus has seen you half naked many many times, but you don't want other shoppers to see as well. once he hands you the garment you thank him with a quick kiss to his cheek. and as the door is closing, he hears you say that 'i wish i looked as good as you do right now!'

it should be comforting, it should make him feel slightly relieved that you still think of him highly. i mean, for devils sake- half of the items in this outlet are designs he made himself.

so why does he feel so...ugly?

no, the world cannot see him like this. not after they have seen all of his best looks so far. they will remove all his designs and work from stores if he doesn't pull it together and make himself beautiful once again.

so after you try on all your outfits and purchase the ones you like, you two head home; asmodeus is empty handed.

not even when you hand him the most beautiful necklace and say its a gift does he have a real smile.

fake it till you make it, he decides. he will not let you ever see him again if this keeps up. no one will ever see his face again.

beelzebub: once more to see you

then i wouldn't have to scream your name / atop every roof in the city of my heart / if i could see you / once more to see you

just as our big buff demon boy is constantly hungry for food, he is constantly hungry for you.

your smile, your laugh, your presence next to him.

its reminiscent of when lilith were alive, and he had that one comforting shoulder to always slump against. sure he still has belphegor, and his other five brothers, but his bond with lilith was...different. it was as if she was his protector, his lifeline when he needed consolation.

he had never been able to fill the lilith sized hole in his stomach until the day you walked (more like stumbled) into his life.

he now has not just a friend- a best friend, a comfort person, a workout buddy, a midnight snack bring along.

most of all- he now has a lover.

such a delicate, fragile and human shaped lover. one that has promised to never let him suffer alone. but things have been slipping since the day belphegor was broken out of the attic.

you stopped wanting to work out (actually, just with him in particular), and you stopped saying yes to you twos adventures around town to eat everything possible. it was painfully obvious to everyone involved that since he was so close with your ...killer, you kept a distance out of fear and slight annoyance.

fear that it could happen again and beelzebub would protect his twin; annoyance that beelzebub forgave him so quickly for literally taking your life. to you, this was not a matter of anyone forgiving belphegor but you. it just wasn't fair that everyone immediately forgave him when he said sorry, when they all found out you were a descendant of lilith.

so rightfully, you kept your distance. especially with beelzebub.

deep down you were aware it would eat beelzebub alive to not be able to hold you as he used to. but your state of mind and peace mattered more than any demon ever could.

when finally confronted about this, beelzebub came up to you in the kitchen since you both had dish duty. belphegor wasn't with him, but the paranoia still stood firm.

"am i losing you because of what happened?"

without missing a beat, "everyone has. are the rest just more oblivious than you may be?"

beelzebub stands stunned. the dish in his hand is dripping with soap, the wet sponge in his other hand running a trail down his arm.

"i don't want to lose you. when i think about losing you my heart does that thing your stomach does when you are hungry."

at this, its your turn to stand stunned for a second. you knew you had definite feelings for the demon, but thought he was just using you as a replacement sister in place of lilith. hes never been the best with explaining his feelings, but relating it to his stomach pain makes it all too clear to you.

beelzebub is in love with you, maybe more than you are with him at this point. you have a hungry dog on your lead, and he is patiently sat waiting for a treat.

"can i hug you? just one more time?"

your shoulders shrug, afraid to say yes outloud for it may cause a hurricane to swirl inside your eyes.

and beelzebub pulls you closer, not too close though. holds you tight, but not too tight. he is afraid of where he should put his hands and ends up setting on your back and head.

beelzebub wants to scream. he wants the whole world to know how much he utterly and completely aches for you. just once more. let him hold you before you slip from his grip forever.

belphegor: i want you

i found you / i found the door / but when i stepped through / there was no floor / you're coming back / and its the end of the world

belphegor flinched as the sound of your scream resonated through the entire house of lamentation.

it was one of pain, fear. he had heard it many times before. in nightmares of yours, ones of his own, and that one fated day he heard it because of his own actions.

footsteps cut through his thoughts as he saw beelzebub getting up and leaving, presumably going to you. and dear lord belphegor wishes he could go with. but he fears him appearing in real life directly after a nightmare will cause more damage than control.

so belphegor tried to fall back asleep. he was abruptly interrupted when beelzebub reentered the room- but not alone. no, he had for devil knows why brought you back with him. if belphegor knew what an anxiety attack was, that would be what he was slowly experiencing in this moment. frozen in his bed, he tried to squeeze his eyes shut as hard as possible, begging his body to sleep.

"belphegor?"

looks like he's not getting sleep anytime soon. damn it.

he rolls his body over slowly, to see you and beelzebub sat next to each other on his brothers bed. your expression is hard to make out in the dark, but he can sense the fright in your voice. theres no possible way beelzebub could've convinced you to come here, so it must have been your own decision. belphegor doesn't know what to say. so he just stares.

"i'm sorry," is all he can seem to say.

"don't be."

"why? even after you have so gracefully forgiven me and come to be my friend, i still end up tormenting your safest place. your dreams."

for a second you look shocked, not knowing how he knew the nightmares were about him. the only person you had confided in them about was simeon- who had given you a soothing sleep potion to help fight off the nightmares. so how did belphegor find out?

see, the thing is, every single brother, both angels, your wierd sorcerer friend, hell even the lord diavolo himself knows the content of your nightmares. it wasn't that difficult to piece it all together when they had only begun after your 'death'.

realizing you hadn't answered him, even though it wasn't a question, you spoke again.

"i'm not actually afraid of you."

beelzebub seems to feel relieved next to to you as you speak, but you are not finished.

"i'm only afraid of what you can do, belphegor. just like how i'm not afraid of satan, but i'm terrified of wrath."

you wanted to put it into gentle words he would understand. you wanted to have a connection with him, it was just going to be a long bumpy road of healing and acceptance. for both of you.

at this belphegor sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

"so why did you come here? to tell me that?"

beelzebub sat up straighter, moving his legs a bit.

"belphie, they asked if they could come here, 'cuz they said they want to trust you."

belphegor mulled over his brothers words. what did that mean? you trusted him just because you were able to speak to him?

somehow you picked up on his confusion. "will you...put me to sleep..? i mean- you don't have to but, if i can trust you with that it would help. i think."

belphegor is stunned. you, the dear human his brothers adore, want him to help you with something. you, on your own accord, have come to connect with him. he can't fully promise that he will always be there to protect your dreams, but if you will give him this opportunity he will try his best.

you, laying together with belphegor- the demon who has once killed you. you want to trust and come to have a bond with him. just as you have all the other brothers.

but some nightmares are just too much to handle. and maybe it is best if you stay away for a bit longer to deal with it alone.

bonus! mc: fireworks

and then one warm summer night / i'll hear fireworks outside / and i'll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry

not a day goes by that you do not miss your seven beloved demon princes.

at first, for a few months after you left, one of them would randomly jumpscare you in your own home with a 'surprise visit'. that usually ends in a scolding and reminder that the d.d.d exists for a reason.

nonetheless, slowly the boys stopped visiting. sure you met up with solomon quite a bit, or even met up with simeon and luke.

it hurt to feel them slipping away, but you only wanted to remember all the good things. no use in holding a match to an already blazing forest fire.

so you started doing things for yourself.

self care (asmodeus had some influence in the particular brands), working hard in your studies, making sure to eat well and use working out as a stress relief. for a while this happy dance of pretending to be getting better helped, made you feel like yourself again.

one particular outing you had planned was to go see a firework show out in a small town next to your own. it was advertised all over the place, so you were determined to go and enjoy the show.

when the day, a mere tuesday, finally arrived- you were ecstatic. elated at the idea of having somewhat of a date with yourself in the town next door. it wasn't going to start until around nine pm, so you had the entire day to prepare and get ready. you may be going alone, but damn all you will be the best dressed there. asmodeus had taught you once some fashion tips to make your outfit really stand out in a good way, and you mixed those tips into tonight's outfit happily.

the drive there was pretty easy, not much really going on in your own town at the moment and lots of cars leaving to go next door for the show.

the breeze was warm- but not the bad kind. rather a comforting kind, as if the wind was hugging you tightly.

many people from your own town were milling about, and you stopped to say hi a few times before settling down into the grass with a blanket.

"mc? hey, what are you doing here?"

a familiar voice. solomons, to be exact.

you were quite excited to see solomon but at the same time- he just reminded you more that you and the boys aren't together anymore.

"i came for the fireworks, why are you here?"

solomon pondered your question for a second before answering. "i don't really know."

you both laughed in somewhat confusion, before solomon explained that he had heard about the show but didn't know why he actually had chosen to come. but that he was glad to see you, glad he came regardless.

he sat with you as you both waited now. there was a bit of small talk, but not much. you two were pretty caught up in each others lives most of the time.

as you two continued chatting and waiting- a call rang through the air. you reached for your phone to see its from your family member, and quickly pick up to see what they want.

though your heart sinks when you hear them crying over the line.

"hey whats wrong? are you okay?"

they attempt to stifle their cries, saying they are sorry.

"my car broke down, i was on my way to the fireworks when the engine just...stopped."

they sound panicked and scared, you know those feelings well. and it isn't exactly safe to be stranded out this late waiting on a car shop to send someone to help. so, you offer to come pick them up. its not too far away, and its only around eight thirty now. the fireworks won't start for a bit.

your family member thanks you relentlessly before you both say your goodbyes and you explain to solomon. he is bummed you have to go, but tells you to hurry back so he has someone to enjoy the fireworks with.

the drive there is relatively easy, your family member not being too far or in a strange spot. their car had broken down right near a gas station, so a kind stranger had at least helped them push the car into the lot.

"(family member name), i'm here," you speak as you walk around the back of their car. but you don't see them in the passenger seat, and assume they might've gone in the gas station. so you go in as well.

the cashier greets you politely, and you ask if he had seen your family member. unfortunately for you, the cashier explains that they had seen them, but that was ten minutes ago when a patrolling cop had come to pick them up and call for a car repairman.

their phone might have died, but you can't help the frustration you feel. its now around eight fourty seven, and the drive back will take you roughly fifteen minutes. its cutting it extremely close, but you are damn well determined to see these fireworks and enjoy a carefree night with solomon. so, you quickly purchase some water bottles and hurry your way back to the car.

its not like luck has ever really been on your side, but tonight seems particularly bad. there is a sudden traffic rush, assumingly people last minute trying to make it to the show. and you are caught up in their hurry. every single light was red, causing you to constantly be stuck waiting to move.

you grab your d.d.d at one long red light and call solomon. he picks up immediately and tells you to hurry back, to which you explain what happened. he sounds almost as frustrated with your family member as you are, consoling you that you won't miss the fireworks. he sits on the phone with you as you drive, keeping you from getting anxious or having to be alone this late.

it isn't until your car clock strikes nine o one that you finally start to see familiar buildings. you have entered the correct area of the town, and now just have to navigate your way back to the park field. telling solomon you're almost there, you decide to hang up so you can focus on driving only.

unbeknownst to you, when you had hung up, solomon was not actually sitting alone anymore. he now had seven guests sitting with him, waiting not for the show- waiting for you.

and it isn't until you hear the first firework go off that you give up.

you park the car, climb out and up, and sit atop it.

you can barely make out the shapes and colors from so far away, but at least you can see them. the breeze has cooled down a bit, pushing against your shoulders and hair. the fireworks are beautiful, even from this distance.

and in some sick way, the universe had given you this exact moment on purpose. you had intended for it to be a date with yourself, and now it truly was.

poor passerby cars are left to just watch your figure in the dark, atop your car. you are thankful for the dark of night for the first time in your life.

because no one can see your tears.