#i saw people saying that they can’t remember

[rootedinrevisions]

Just...Stay

SUMMARY: When he rolls back into her life every few months, Tyler Owens brings with him all the irresistible charm and warmth that first captured her heart, leaving her breathless and hoping for more. But as the years slip by, so do his promises, and every departure leaves her with another fracture in her heart and fewer illusions about the man she loves. Caught between the comfort of the life she’s built and the pull of the only man who’s ever felt like home, she must finally decide: will she wait for him one last time, or find the courage to let go and forge a path on her own?

Inspired loosely by "All the Cowboys" by Alexandra Kay.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst. Unrequited love. Mentions of/Implied Smut.

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The screen door creaked as you settled onto the back porch steps, the sun beginning to dip beneath the horizon. You held the phone close, balancing it between your shoulder and ear as you traced absent circles on the weathered wood with your fingertip.

Your mom’s voice crackled on the other end, warm and familiar. “You’ve been keeping busy out there?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, Mama. Got a load of wash done, fixed that fence post that was leaning. Even tried to fix the gutter on the barn.”

She chuckled. “You sound like you’re doing just fine then. So, what’s got you out on that porch, calling me like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

You hesitated, glancing out at the fields stretching endlessly before you, caught between the quiet beauty of dusk and the ache you felt blooming inside. “I don’t know, Mama,” you said, almost whispering. “Just feeling a little lost, I guess.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and you could almost hear her piecing it together. “You saw him again, didn’t you?”

A sigh escaped you, a mix of regret and resignation. “Yeah, I did. He was just… there, like nothing had changed.” You shook your head, remembering the way he’d looked at you, that familiar glint in his eye. “I know what you’re gonna say, Mama.”

She didn’t hesitate. “That boy’s no good. He comes ‘round whenever he pleases, but he leaves just as quick. You can’t be holding out for someone like that, honey.”

You felt your chest tighten, the truth of her words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. “I know, Mama. Believe me, I know.” You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, fingers fidgeting. “But when he’s here… it’s like I forget all that. I forget how many times he’s done this before, how I feel every time he leaves.” Your voice grew softer, thick with frustration. “And then he’s gone, and it feels like… like there’s this empty spot he left behind.”

There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice gentle but firm. “Why do you let him do this to you, sweetheart?”

You exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. Maybe I keep hoping it’ll be different. That maybe… he’ll stay.” The words sounded hollow even as you said them.

You could feel her weighing her response, the silence heavy between you. “Honey, some people just aren’t made to stay. They get what they need and they’re gone, leaving folks like you to pick up the pieces.” She paused, and you could almost see her shaking her head. “But that doesn’t make it right.”

A lump formed in your throat as you thought of Tyler driving off into the sunset, no promises, no goodbyes—just gone. You let out a weary breath, looking down at the chipped paint on the porch step beneath you. 

“Why do they always leave, Mama? Every time things get good, he just vanishes.”

“Oh, honey…” She sighed, the sound deep and knowing. “It’s in some folks’ nature to chase what they don’t have, always looking for something else just over the next hill. Doesn’t mean you have to keep getting hurt by it, though.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth settle heavily in your chest. The silence stretched on, filled only by the chirping of crickets and the fading warmth of the sun. You knew your mother was right, but as you sat there, a small part of you still hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d come back one day and stay.

The memory came back in a slow, aching wave. Just two nights ago, you and Tyler lay tangled up together under the sheets, his arm wrapped tightly around you. The world felt quiet in those moments, like the whole world had shrunk to just the two of you, his warm skin against yours, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

You tilted your head up to look at him, his face softened in the dim light. “So… how long are you sticking around this time?” you asked, half-joking, though you both knew the question carried a heavier weight.

Tyler’s gaze drifted, his lips twitching in that familiar, evasive way. “Maybe longer this time,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t quite meet your eyes when he said it. Instead, his thumb traced absent circles over your shoulder, a touch meant to soothe but only deepening the pit forming in your stomach.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold on to that maybe, but his tone, that shift in his eyes as he looked away—it was the same pattern, the same script. You’d been through this dance too many times not to recognize the truth hiding behind his words. He would be gone by morning. And as much as he’d tried to sell you that soft maybe, the two of you understood this wasn’t a visit that would last.

But in that moment, as you curled up against his side, you pretended you didn’t know. You buried yourself in the warmth of his embrace, letting yourself have just one night, pretending you wouldn’t wake up alone.

And sure enough, the next morning, when your hand reached across the bed to his side, it found nothing but cool sheets. You stared at the empty space beside you, that hollow ache settling deep in your chest. With a sigh, you threw back the covers and padded over to the closet, grabbing one of his old T-shirts he’d left on one of his previous stays, back when you still believed he might keep leaving pieces of himself behind to build something more permanent with you.

The shirt smelled faintly of him, a hint of cedar and summer nights that made your throat tighten. Tugging it over your head, you went to the kitchen, the floor cold against your bare feet as you filled the kettle, automatically going through the motions of your morning coffee.

And that’s when you saw it—the note, lying in the center of the kitchen table, his handwriting scrawled across the torn piece of paper.

It was a short message, just a handful of words that were supposed to feel like a promise, but instead felt like one more empty reassurance. You picked it up, reading the rushed lines that only served to emphasize his absence.

Didn’t want to wake you. Take care, darlin’. I’ll see you around.

The words felt flimsy, like the paper might disintegrate under the weight of your disappointment. You crumpled the note in your fist, feeling the familiar sting behind your eyes. This wasn’t new—this cycle of him drifting in, leaving pieces of himself in the form of old T-shirts and half-hearted promises, only to vanish before you could say goodbye.

You’d been through this so many times before, and yet, as you stood there, clutching that note, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this time was the one that would finally break you.

Your mom’s voice cut through the silence, gentle but firm. “Honey, you still there?”

You blinked, realizing you’d let the silence drag on too long, your mind caught in the weight of memories you could barely hold onto. “Yeah, Mama,” you murmured, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I know you love him,” she continued softly, but her words carried a strength you weren’t sure you had anymore. “But I need you to ask yourself if he’s treating you like he loves you, too. ’Cause, baby, love isn’t something you only hold onto when it’s convenient. It’s there in the hard times, in the moments that aren’t so pretty. And if he’s not showing up for you… maybe it’s time to ask yourself why you’re still waiting.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, staring down at the crumpled note still clutched in your hand. The truth of her words was painful, like a splinter lodged too deep to pull out.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know you’re right.”

“I just hate seeing you go through this, time and again,” she said, her voice tinged with a sorrow that made your chest ache. “You deserve someone who’s there for you, who doesn’t keep running just because things start feeling real.”

You exhaled, forcing a smile that felt as brittle as glass. “Thanks, Mama. I… I just needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, baby,” she said, her tone softening. “You take care of yourself. And remember, it’s okay to let go.”

After a quiet goodbye, you hung up, setting the phone down beside the note. Your mom’s words echoed in your mind, a steady reminder of what you deserved, a grounding tether pulling you back to reality. She was right, of course. She always was. And yet…No matter how many times he left, or how much you knew he wasn’t treating you the way you deserved, there was still a part of you—a foolish, stubborn part—that couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he stayed. Just once.

You closed your eyes, letting the bittersweet ache of a daydream settle over you, imagining what it would be like if he stayed. Just once.

You could almost feel him there beside you, his arm still wrapped around you as you stirred awake. In this vision, his side of the bed wasn’t empty; he was there, his breathing slow and steady, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you rolled over to nuzzle closer. The warmth of his body against yours made you feel safe, grounded, as though he was finally, truly yours.

Later, you pictured the two of you in the kitchen, the early light streaming in through the window as you handed him a mug of coffee. He’d take it, wrapping his hands around yours just a second longer than necessary, his fingers warm against your skin. You’d share a quiet laugh over something simple, something easy, while the steam curled between you. And as he sat across from you, his eyes would linger like he was savoring the moment, like he was savoring you.

In your mind, you watched as he’d finish his coffee, rising from the table to head out to the fields with you. He’d tug on a worn cap and grin over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your heart stumble. You’d walk side by side, falling into the comfortable rhythm of working together, your boots crunching over the soil as you talked about things that never came up in his fleeting visits. What you’d plant next season, what you’d add to the place if you had the time and the money. He’d joke about the future, and for once, you’d let yourself believe in it.

Evenings would come, and you’d find yourselves on the back porch, watching the sun dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over everything. He’d reach for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You could almost feel the weight of his head resting against yours, his soft murmur of how he’d missed this, missed you. And as night fell, the stars would come out, and he’d pull you close, wrapping you in his arms as though he had nowhere else to be.

And then, in this daydream, he’d follow you back inside, his arm draped around your shoulders as you led him up to bed. There, tangled up in the sheets, he’d hold you close, his touch lingering and gentle, making you feel like you were the only person who’d ever mattered to him. His whispered promises wouldn’t be half-hearted or hesitant; they’d be real, as solid as the feel of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. You’d fall asleep in his arms, knowing he’d be there when you woke, that he’d finally found a place with you he wouldn’t leave behind.

But as you opened your eyes, the reality settled around you like a familiar chill. It was just a daydream, a vision of something you’d never have, as fleeting as his footprints fading from the dirt driveway. And yet, you couldn’t help but hold onto it for one more heartbeat, wishing with all the fragile hope you had left that someday, somehow, it could be real.

* * * * *

A MONTH LATER

It was a late afternoon, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows over the gravel drive as you stood on the porch, the distant rumble of an engine reaching your ears. You recognized that sound before you even saw the dust cloud rising in the distance, stirring up memories you’d been trying to put to rest for weeks. His truck rounded the last bend, and there he was, windows down, that easy, rugged grin spreading across his face as he slowed to a stop in front of the house.

Tyler stepped out, stretching his arms like he belonged there, like he hadn’t left you picking up the pieces last time. Dust clung to his boots as he walked toward you, his eyes fixed on yours with that familiar spark—one that made you feel seen in a way that was hard to shake, even when you wanted to.

He looked just the same, though maybe a little more sun-worn, his t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, his jeans frayed in a way that was somehow endearing, like they’d seen as much of the road as he had. He stopped a few steps away, his gaze softening as it met yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm and low, as if no time had passed at all.

You stayed still, hands clenched by your sides. You’d prepared yourself for this—told yourself a hundred times that if he showed up again, you’d keep your distance, guard the pieces of your heart he kept leaving behind. But as he stood there you felt the walls you’d built begin to crack.

“Hey,” you replied, the word catching in your throat.

A beat of silence hung between you, heavy with all the things left unsaid. Then his face softened, his smile widening in that way that always undid you. And, as if by instinct, he reached for you, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a gentleness that felt almost like an apology.

For a moment, you considered stepping back, holding onto the anger and hurt that had filled the empty space he left behind. But as his touch settled, as his thumb traced a line just below your cheekbone, all your defenses crumbled.

Before you knew it, you were reaching back, your hand settling over his as you let yourself lean into him. It was like slipping back into a familiar dream—the one where he stayed, where he was yours for longer than a fleeting moment.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you sank into his embrace, feeling the weight of his chin against your hair, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. And in that moment, against all reason, you let yourself believe that maybe this time would be different, that maybe he’d come back not just to leave again, but to finally stay.

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you with that familiar, unguarded tenderness. His chin rested on top of your head, and for a moment, it felt as if the world beyond his embrace had faded away. His fingers traced slow circles on your back, a quiet, grounding rhythm that felt as real as his voice when he finally spoke, low and rough against your hair.

“I missed you,” he murmured, the words so soft you almost didn’t catch them. He shifted, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “I’m glad to see you again.”

You looked away for a moment, the words stirring both warmth and ache deep in your chest. It was unfair, the way he could come and go, the way he could leave you longing for more, but when he looked at you like that—with his guard down, that rugged charm softened by something raw and honest—it was hard to hold onto your resolve.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, barely able to meet his gaze. He smiled at that, a slow, almost relieved smile, as if he’d feared he might’ve lost his place in your heart.

He let his hand drift to yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a familiar gesture. “Come on,” he said, tugging you gently, “let’s make a day of it.”

With Tyler by your side, you found yourself lost in the rhythm of farm chores that felt lighter, easier, with him there. He was quick to lend a hand, reaching for the same tools you did, working alongside you with that easy, capable grace he seemed to carry everywhere.

You walked through rows of vegetables, pulling up the last of the summer crops, the sun warm against your skin. Tyler watched as you tossed a few stray weeds into a pile, a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, “how’s the team? Boone, Lily, Dani, Dexter?”

He chuckled, swiping a smudge of dirt from his forearm. “They’re all good. Wild as ever. Boone’s still dragging his feet over settling down, though I keep telling him he’s a fool if he lets Lily go. And Dani’s got herself a new truck she’s way too proud of. Dexter? Well, you know him; he’s just happy to tag along for the adventure.”

You smiled at the thought of his friends, feeling a pang of longing for the life he lived—a world of movement and adventure, so different from the one you held steady here. “They sound like they’re keeping you busy.”

“Yeah, they do.” He looked at you, a softness to his expression that made your heart skip. “But they’re not the only ones.”

“What do you mean?”

“Been thinking about you too, you know. Wondering what you’re up to when I’m gone.” He paused, glancing around the fields before adding, “How’s your mom doing?”

You swallowed, touched that he remembered to ask. “She’s good. Stubborn as ever, trying to do too much on her own. But we manage.”

He nodded thoughtfully, reaching out to steady you when you stumbled on a loose patch of earth. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you?”

“Guess so,” you said, shrugging with a small smile. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering, as if taking in the way you belonged here, rooted to this land and this life. For a moment, you thought he might say something more, but he only squeezed your hand, wordlessly acknowledging that unspoken divide between his world and yours.

Later, after a simple dinner you’d shared at the kitchen table, you both made your way out to the porch as the sun dipped low in the sky. He settled onto the swing beside you, letting his arm drape casually over the back of it as you leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his shoulder beneath your cheek.

The evening was calm, the colors of the sunset stretching across the horizon in soft shades of pink and orange, and you found yourself sighing into the quiet.

“This…this is nice,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

Tyler gave a soft hum of agreement, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles along your shoulder. “Could get used to it,” he said, his voice soft, as if testing the thought aloud. “It’s different from the rush of things out there. Being here with you—it just feels right.”

The words settled between you, gentle and unassuming, but laced with a longing that you felt all too acutely. He looked down, catching your gaze, his eyes holding yours in the fading light.

“I know you’ve got your life on the road,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “But sometimes I wonder…what it’d be like if you stayed.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting out over the fields that stretched into the distance. Finally, he gave a small nod. “I think about it too. More than you know.”

You fell into a comfortable silence, his arm around you, your head resting on his shoulder as the last light slipped below the horizon. And in that quiet moment, you let yourself imagine a world where he was yours—not just for today, but for all the days and nights to come.

In the quiet glow of the fading sunset, Tyler’s gaze grew heavy, lingering on yours with a kind of tenderness that always seemed to pull you in too deep, too fast. And in a heartbeat, he was scooping you up, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as you laughed, breathless and already feeling the rush of surrender. He carried you down the hallway, his eyes never leaving yours, each step filling the space with anticipation you could feel in every beat of your heart.

The bed was cool beneath you as he laid you gently on the sheets, his body following close, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance between you. His hands were careful yet urgent as he traced familiar paths along your skin, murmuring against your ear, his voice low and rough with want. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered, his breath warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over you, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. “I’m lucky,” he murmured, his lips brushing your collarbone. “I’m the luckiest damn man alive that you’re mine.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to cling to those words and tuck them away, to let them soothe every doubt he’d left behind. But you pushed the ache aside, banishing it to some quiet corner of your mind where it couldn’t reach you now.

Instead, you let yourself get lost in him, in the way his hands knew every inch of you, how his touch left you dizzy, breathless, like you were the only thing that mattered in his world. Every whispered word, every gentle kiss pressed to your skin, they all felt like a spell you couldn’t break. And for that one perfect night, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

Afterward, as you lay tangled together in the sheets, your body pressed close to his, his arm wrapped around you, it was almost easy to forget. To ignore the hollow ache in your chest and pretend that this time, he wouldn’t slip away with the sunrise. And so, for those last quiet hours before dawn, you let yourself exist in that fragile, fleeting moment, letting go of everything but him.

The soft sound of Tyler stirring pulled you from the haze of sleep. You opened your eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already reaching for his clothes. The early morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over his figure as he moved quietly, carefully separating your clothes from his in the pile by the bed. For a moment, you wanted to reach out, to pull him back, to press your face into his shoulder and beg him to stay. But something in you had finally had enough.

He noticed you were awake, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile that you’d once let yourself believe was meant just for you. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand brushing over your shoulder. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “You need the rest.”

But you couldn’t—not anymore. Watching him move through the room, watching him get ready to leave again as if it were just another morning, you felt something inside you finally shift, that last fragile bit of hope you’d clung to finally snapping.

Sitting up, you took a steadying breath. “Tyler,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. He looked over, a hint of surprise in his eyes at your tone. You struggled to keep your voice even, the words tangled in your throat. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for someone who always leaves when things start to feel... real.”

He stilled, the easy expression on his face fading as the weight of your words sank in. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the same struggle you’d seen a dozen times before, but this time you weren’t going to let it end with an unspoken understanding. You were done with the quiet promises, the hope that somehow, one day, he might change.

“Stay,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at your eyes. “Just... stay. I’m not asking you to give up chasing. I just want you to come home—to make this your home. To choose me.”

He looked at you, something like regret flickering in his gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you wanted. 

Instead, he let out a shaky breath and looked down, and when he looked back up, all he managed was, “I’m sorry.” And you knew, in those two words, he’d already made his choice.

As he turned and started for the door, you found yourself following him, your steps echoing in the silence of the house as you trailed him through the hallway, the kitchen, the living room—all the way out onto the porch. You watched as he opened the truck door, throwing his bag into the backseat like he had a hundred times before.

“Don’t come back,” you said, the words escaping before you could stop them. Your voice wavered but held firm, steady with a finality that startled even you. 

He froze, his hand on the truck door, then turned to look at you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—shock, maybe even hurt—as he crossed the driveway and came back up the steps, stopping just a few feet away.

“You don’t mean that, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and careful, as if he could talk you back from the edge. “You’re upset, I get that, but... you don’t mean it.”

But you shook your head. “I do, Tyler. I can’t keep doing this. If you’re not choosing me, then... then don’t come back.”

He held your gaze, searching for something, as if hoping to see the softness he’d come to rely on. But when he only saw your resolve, he let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. 

“I’ll call you later,” he murmured. “We’ll talk.”

And just like that, he’d told you everything you needed to know. You didn’t need a call. You didn’t need another apology. You’d waited long enough.

You stood on the porch, watching as he climbed back into his truck. He didn’t look back as he drove down the driveway, the morning sun casting his truck in a halo of light as he disappeared into the Kansas countryside. You watched until he was just a speck on the horizon, your heart breaking and mending all at once with the realization that this was truly goodbye.

You’d loved him with everything you had, but you knew now that you couldn’t keep waiting for him to choose you. And when the phone finally rang, you knew you wouldn’t pick it up. Not this time. Not ever again. Because the next time he came back, you’d be moved on, ready to start again without him.

[solxamber]

Can I request a Leona x reader (romantic preferably)

So the it was a other day of Leona forcing the reader to nap with him in the botanical garden but the reader got bored so they made Leona a flower crown because even if he will never become king that he will always be their king 🥺

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

squealed when i saw this, i hope you like it and thank you for waiting <3

It’s another lazy afternoon in the botanical garden, Leona lounging with his head in your lap, pretending to be asleep as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s forced—well, strongly encouraged—you to nap with him here, basking in the soft warmth of the sun and the sound of leaves rustling around you.

But today, you can’t just sit still. An idea sparks, and, with a mischievous glance down at Leona, you gather a few small flowers nearby, weaving their delicate stems together. Your fingers work carefully, and after a few minutes, you’ve crafted a small but beautiful flower crown.

“What are you doing, herbivore?” Leona’s voice is a lazy drawl, his eyes opening just enough to catch you in the act. His brows lift as he watches you finish, eyeing the creation in your hands with mild suspicion.

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, feigning innocence as you reach over and gently place the crown on his head. “Just making sure the king has his crown.”

He scoffs, looking more amused than annoyed, but his tail subtly tightens around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m not a king, remember? Seems you’re the only one who’s forgotten that.”

You lean down, smiling softly as you brush a thumb over his cheek. “Maybe in other people’s eyes. But to me, you’ll always be my king.”

Leona huffs, turning his head just slightly to hide the faint blush creeping up his cheeks, though he makes no effort to remove the flower crown. “Tch, you’re lucky I don’t mind this kind of nonsense from you,” he mumbles, but his fingers find yours, gently lacing together in a way that’s far too sweet for him to ever admit.

You can’t help but laugh, settling beside him and nestling against his chest. “I know you love it. Admit it, Leona. You’d miss this if I stopped.”

He grunts, rolling his eyes. “Hmph, sure. You keep telling yourself that,” he mutters, but there’s a softness in his gaze that betrays him, a tenderness that says he’s touched far more than he’ll ever let on.

Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he turns to you, brushing his hand across your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles. “Guess I’ll keep you around,” he says, his voice softer, a hint of warmth curling at the edge of his words. “If only to make sure you keep making a fool out of me like this.”

You smile, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good. Because I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

And as you settle into his embrace, his tail wraps a little tighter around you, securing you in place, as if he’d never let you slip away.

Masterlist

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 7/11✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: AWIUSBSWDN I LOVE your art especially your LMK comic! Wanted to ask if you've seen that one fan art on twitter from @/Jay_chaos_art on twitter (or X) That is the part where little MK is holding Macaque's finger AAAA that scene is too cute! Also poor MK :']

Awww I saw that! It's sooooo good!!! For anyone wanting to see it, check it out HERE!

Anonimo ha chiesto: ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡᴘᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛs ᴀᴜ ᴡʜʏ ᴅᴏ ɪ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇsᴜɴ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ? ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ɪᴛ's ᴀ sᴏɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜᴛᴜʙᴇ.ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ!

Aw thanks for the song rec!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: If I remember correctly macaque can hear people thoughts so I just imagine mk having thoughts about ✨courtnapping✨ and macaque just hears it

Macaque is just

Anonimo ha chiesto Mei if she knew what was going on inside MK’s head. Mei: it’s called being a “Furry” MK it’s the biggest plus to have in a world filled with anthropomorphic animal Yaoguai. That and the awesome magic stuffs.

me too Mei, the fuck

Anonimo ha chiesto: Soo that time when shadowpeach were at pigzi's and saw tang with the "bite mark"🌝 Did they realise what was goinn on?? Will they like ask mk or smt about it? *I can imagine the shock on their faces*

They don't know if either to be shocked or not since they called it

@straightally2001 ha chiesto: I love and hunger for Spicynoodles! 🍜🔥 What if during demon courting season, Pif decides that even though her son is strong she doesn't want to risk her son to end up court napped by some demon stranger that he doesn't even like. She wants him to be happy. So, she goes to MK and tells him about Red Son's feeling for him and convinces him to courtnap Red Son.

asjcajcb can't answer yet bc of spoilers!!

@stardynamite ha chiesto: I was desperately searching for another good fandom fanfic to latch onto here because I can’t draw fanart at the moment and you have saved me for my eternal searching with your lmk au, thank you sire🫡 I am forever indebted to you for thouesth servicesth

Aw thank youu!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: What would a demon do with the other person after they courtnapped them? Like is it just a forced date?

Nah I mean, If they refuse the courtnapping the captors has to release them otherwise they would just look like an asshole. If they agree then it's more of a surprise date.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Other demons who have tried to cournap wukong seeing Macaque do it with ease: HOW THE FUCK DID HE NOT DIE

He has the advantages that Wukong is a Simp

@wolfsonic ha chiesto: AWWWWWW!!! I LOVE THESE MONKIESSS! I just imagine Mk and Mac training with shadows, and Mk decided one day to practice his shadows by trying to tickle WuKong!

betrayed by his own son

@phoenixeclipse-lmkau ha chiesto: Is Macaque going to have to re-courtnap Wukong because they broke up before? Or would Wukong Courtnap Macaque after all this. Or are they just gonna skip the courtnapping part since they already did it in the past?

depends if we go by the headcanon that courtnapping=marriage

@elixcv ha chiesto: HI! first of all, I just wanna say that I LOVEEEEEEE you bio parent AU, it simply scratches something in my brain. I wish you all the good things in the world(⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ Now, in second place, I have 2 questions (and dw, if it's smth u don't/can't answer i don't mind, i just wanna say it, i guess?): 1. In your AU, pigsy is some kind of lower/not-so-strong demon? And, if he is, did he also Courtnapping Tang in his own way? 2. Can the courtnapping go both ways? Like, it just can happen one time per couple, or is a requirement that u have to courtnapping the other person back to show ur feelings? Bc, I can see a MK Courtnapping RS, and then RS trying to Courtnapping back, and in my head is like they're playing around the city in a complicated game of tag, or a hide n' seek. This can also apply to swk and macaque. I appreciate your thoughts about anything of this, even if I'm wrong in every way. I'm so excited about this AU and really love the way you write/draw it (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤ (sorry for the bad English, I know to read/hear but the grammatical is always a pain in my ass ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ)

Yes, he's a lower demon, but in the end, it was Tang who did the courtnapping bc he thought that Pigsy wouldn't date him if he didn't court him the demon way, while Pigsy was planning on courting him the human way.

Yes. I think courtnapping can go both way but it's not a must or expected to.

@straightally2001 ha chiesto: I was reading your last post about MK and his mortality and I was wondering, if MK was on the verge of dying and there was no other way to save him would Monkey King give him a Peach of Immortality? Would MK be upset about it? Also sorry if this question is too angsty 😅 Anonimo ha chiesto: Isn't redson immortal due to being half celestial or fallen celestial idk? Wouldn't he try to convince mk to take it if they get together? @purpleprinceblood ha chiesto: I think Wukong desperately wants Mk to be immortal but also knows that a) Mk would hate it and b) Wukong would too Like, dude has severe depression from his immortality and his friends leaving him, I think he would hate to watch Mk deal with that I could see Wukong offering Mk a life span growing thing, like in jttw iirc the peaches add like 500 years to your life span, Wukong just eats so many of them that they make him immortal, so I could see him offering it as a "I'm scared to lose you but also don't want you suffering like I do" @sakurablossoms-world ha chiesto: Wouldn’t MK technically be long-living since he’s the child of two powerful entities, I mean Redson is 500 and he’s considered to be in his early 20’s by mortal comparison, so wouldn’t it be expected that he’d outlive everyone (Redson and maybe Mei being an exception)? So while he would still value his mortality, immortality wouldn’t really make that big a difference in hindsight. Then again I could be mistaken.

I think MK wouldn't like to become immortal against his choice regardless. Yes, in S1 we see he wanted to become one, but I think he still was in that phase were he just wanted to be/do everything like his hero. And that included eating a peach of immortality. I don't think he ever thought of the implication of being immortal

@yainmy ha chiesto: If Mk has been developing more of Macaques powers does that mean he can develope shadow clones like Rumble and Savage? Or will it be a chaotic nightmare like that one clones episode in the series?

He can only control one shadow clone: his own shadow!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello, I'm too nervous to send this non-anonymously, but I was wondering if I could take inspo from your ShadowPeach Bio parents AU for my own AU called Twins Of The Cycle? It's an AU with my oc, I basically just gave MK a twin.

Nope. If you want to ask for permission, you need to ask me not in anounymous.

@oddogoblino ha chiesto: Random but I find it so silly to imagine Wukong doesn't have the courtnapping instinct bc he's just a stone monkey (made up of pieces of heaven itself + the earth bc...stone), so the times he blushes over Mac are just him imagining cute innocent stuff like wanting to hold Macaque super close and cuddly. Also funnier thing, I was playing with the idea of shape-shifting being gender-limited for most beings/demons and Wukong's ability to shape-shift into women being wukong being an iconic monkey again so your latest update is a very fun surprise ! Yippee!!!

waitwaitwait I got it-

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can they monkeys purr like kittens?? It will be SOO CUTE if they can!!!✨

Maybe???

Anonimo ha chiesto: was Macaque ever more reckless than Wukong ? Maybe in their youth 🤔

Oh definetely

Anonimo ha chiesto: did the Brotherhood in your AU know about Wukong being trans or Macaque courtnapping Wukong? did one of them try to courtnap someone, including our fav monkey boys? 👀👀👀

Yes, the brotherhood knew

@blossomhill36353 ha chiesto: AAAAAAAHHHH THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOOD!!! I love u and your shadowpeach AU with all of my heart u know that!!!!❤️❤️❤️ I have a question tho!! Soo about the glamour thing are they can teach MK how to use one? And since mac has already shown without glamour Infront of MK will Wukong do the same as well??

Yes MK knows the basic of glamours. as for your second question, who knows....

@cutvdo ha chiesto: How oblivious / dense do you think Redson is? like would he notices when MK is blushing?

I'll tell you that, in the last comic, he actually did (the crowd goes in a standing ovation for the idiots of the century)

Anonimo ha chiesto: sooooo a lot of ppl like having Macaque having white hair/fur bc BUT does Wukong have any that he’s ashamed to admit?? 👀👀👀👀

he has but they are only stress related

Anonimo ha chiesto: I like how the shadow tickle courtnapping implies that Macaque could've gained the upper hand during any of their fights in the series, but he chose not to because the feelings associated with it were still raw.

Ah. Ok. Well, thank you but now I gotta stay in the corner and cry after this information

Anonimo ha chiesto: If Wukong and Macaque had been around for school who would the school prefer come if they called home Macaque or Wukong. I feel like Wukong because macaque would be overprotective.

They are the meme where MK got into a fight and they come in a hurry just to ask him if he won

Anonimo ha chiesto: I want someone to call either Macaque and Wukong old, and they get super mad and try to say they aren't old but they are

they are. they are very old.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Has macaque ever had to deal with Wukong having a period?? Does Wukong even have any if he shape-shifts?? Sorry if this feels inappropriate. Anonimo ha chiesto: WAIT, DOES WUKONG BEING TRANS MEAN MACAQUE HAD/HAS TO DEAL WITH HIS PERIODS?!?!.! ANCHHDMSBJFMDBCMDN 😂

Yup, he still has the normal period symptoms and Mac had to stay with him all the time

Anonimo ha chiesto: Who would ask "would you still love me if I was a worm"

Wukong. And he would do it while shapeshifting as a worm

Anonimo ha chiesto: If they where like super angry at someone or something would Wukong & Macaque hiss (not sure what you would call the noise but, full on fangs out.)

I think yeah.

autism-autobot ha chiesto: Are we ever going to see the pilgrims in the shadowpeach bio parents au?

Nope

k4izershasfreakycanon ha chiesto: Hello,so if you dont remember me i was the one who made a custom outfit for mk! i only have the front rendered and coloref so i just wanted to say that you're always allowed to use it in comics! just please credit me:)

Thank you! But I made already his outfit way prior your own post so I already planned to using my original design.

[mynicosensesaretingling]

hiii ! I saw your post about the elections , i hope you’ll be okay over there even with those results ! Could i request a oneshot or some HC about brocedes with a reader who’s really burnout and struggling through med school ? If writing about the brocedes together is a no-no for you, just lewis or max would be just as fine ! take care ! 👋 from France

thank you for your request and the warmest greetings back to you! 💓

Here are your HCs, I hope you enjoy them:

-Nico immediately notices when you’re feeling off. His sharp attention to detail extends beyond the track, and he’s always quick to check in with you. He’ll sit you down with a cup of tea and listen to you vent, making sure you feel heard.

-If everything becomes too much to you, he gladly takes on the role of the planner, trying to organize a “study schedule” for you , complete with color-coded breaks. He’s determined to help you balance work and rest. He swears by his "methodical approach" and keeps saying, "Efficiency is the key to success!" like it’s his personal mantra. Knowing full well that burnout is something you can’t push through. He even plans study breaks filled with distractions to get you out of your head.

-If he’s not with you, expect him to send you motivational messages at random times. “Just one more chapter, you’ve got this! 💪” and “The finish line is in sight! Proud of you.” He’s very big on helping you visualize success.

-Lewis has been through the highs and lows of intense pressure, so he’s always dropping little nuggets of wisdom about mental strength and perseverance, making it his mission to remind you to not be so hard on yourself.

-When he finds out you’re overworking yourself, he’ll say things like, “You wouldn’t want me to race an F1 car at full speed every day without maintenance, right? So why are you doing that to yourself?”

-Expect Lewis to show up with (vegan) treats or comfort food, gently reminding you that self-care is just as important as studying.

-Despite their rivalry on the track, Nico and Lewis put all of that aside to create a support system for you. They understand what it means to be under immense pressure, so they tag-team in making sure you don’t fall too deep into a burnout.

-They most likely just push their way into your apartment with such ease, like this wasn’t the first time they’d interrupted your study sessions.

-Nico is more practical, offering to help you with organization and structure, while Lewis is all about positive energy and mental health. Together, they provide a well-rounded support system, making sure you feel supported both mentally and physically.

-They’d likely throw in some playful banter between them just to make you smile. “Don’t let Nico make you study too hard; remember who won the most races,” Lewis might say, with Nico replying, “You can’t meditate your way through med school, Lewis. Trust me, the best way to succeed is with a plan.” Lewis, shoots him a cheeky grin,“Yeah? How’d your plan go in 2016? Oh right, you retired after one win.” Throwing a pen at Lewis, Nico laughs. “I’m still a world champion. And unlike you, I don’t make people meditate through stressful situations.”

-They plan a "med school pit stop" day, where they whisk you away for an entire day of fun and relaxation. Whether it’s a day trip to a spa, a race day, or just chilling at home with movies and food, they make sure you’re not thinking about school for at least a few hours.

[holylulusworld]

SHG for killers (1) - The first meeting

Summary: 6 men meet up to talk about their problems. They soon realize they need someone to help them solve their problems. This person is you. Whether you like it or not.

Pairing: Steve Kemp x fem!Reader, Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader, Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy) x fem!Reader, Andy Barber x fem!Reader, God, the bounty hunter x fem!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of murder/killing for money, serial killers/hitmen, mentions of blood/gore, talk about crimes, self-help group for killers/hitmen, world building, we get to know the men first

Self-help group for killers masterlist

“IT STINGS!” His screams of pain and agony echo in Lloyd Hansen’s mind when he wakes from another restless slumber.

He’s a stone-cold mercenary. Merciless and fearless. Or he was. That was until a certain former CIA lapdog pissed onto everything Lloyd stands for. It doesn’t help that he lost two fingers while hunting Six down.

“Bastard,” he curses under his breath as his eyes focus on his hand mutilation. “Still miss my pussy fingers,” Lloyd grumbles angrily. “Wait until I find you, Sierra Six. You’re a dead man; you just don’t know it yet.”

He closes his eyes, replaying the scene again. Lloyd grits his teeth, remembering how he got into a grapple with Six, who blew off Lloyd's left pinkie and ring finger.

The finger prosthetics don’t make him feel better. Sierra’s win over him, the loss of his fingers and reputation, still stings. His self-confidence and ego were not only bruised but torn in two.

For months, he fails mission after mission. His team is long gone, and so is his patience. Lloyd is angry and out for blood. Preferable Sierra Six’s blood.

He tried anything to find the renegade assassin. So far, he didn’t even find a trace. Sierra Six is a master at hiding from his enemies. Lloyd gives him that.

“One day, you’ll pay for what you did.”

“No drugs. No contact with other offenders. No missing an appointment,” Ransom’s probation officer recites all the rules he must follow. “Mr. Drysdale, did you even listen?”

“All of you are telling me the same thing.” Ransom sneers. “You’re the fifth guy in not four months. I know the rules.” He leans back in the uncomfortable and cheap chair the probation officer offered him. “All of you try to get me behind bars again; I get it. You’re pissed because I got earlier than everyone expected.”

“Mr. Drysdale,” the probation officer replies, watching Ransom munch another cookie. “I really don’t have the time to make plans to get you behind bars again. That’s not in my job description. If you don’t have any problems, we can end the meeting for today.”

“Shit, just a sec.” Robert doesn’t have the time to talk to his ex today. “Listen, you got the money and the car. Let’s part on good terms.” He’s poorly hiding his anger. If she says one more word, he’ll sneak into her new apartment and kill her and the bastard who’s banging her brains out now. “I got a job to do.”

Robert hangs up the phone. He’s not done with the body yet. The client wants proof that her husband is dead. She’s a naughty one, Robert thinks to himself while getting the saw out. Well, all for customer satisfaction.

The doctor is not happy. He tried anything to make sure his business was flowing. Sadly, some people try to stop him from being successful.

“You had to cross me, didn’t you?" He looks down at his former partner and sneers. “We could’ve made so much money. But you had to find your conscience.”

Steve kicks the dead man, grunting as he’s bleeding on the brand-new carpet at his office. Killing his partner wasn’t in his plans for today. It’s not the first time he got his hand dirty.

If Steve were honest, he’d admit that he likes to get his hands dirty. As a doctor, he should save other people’s lives, not take them. Still, he can’t help but feel excited about his latest decision.

Watching the family grieve over the death of their recently killed father and husband, God furrows his brows. He never understood human emotions. The man he killed was a tyrant. He betrayed his business partners, terrorized his family, and cheated on his wife.

The man remains in his hideout to watch the family and friends mourn their loss. Lately, he likes to stick around to watch their reaction. Some scream. Others silently cry.

God likes the ones who put on a show for others the most. He did so all his life. Pretending in public that he’s a normal guy.

The truth is, he feels hollow because he never belonged...

Andy Barber steps out of the courtroom with his head held high. He won another case and can’t help but smirk as his opponent seems to be salty.

“Barber,” the prosecutor says, venom in his voice. “Congratulations on letting another monster go free.”

“If you wanted them in jail,” Andy says, and he dips his head to watch his client smirk at the victims of his cruelty, “you should’ve been a better lawyer.”

Andy walks toward his client, a spring in his step to shake the monster’s hand. He smirks and assures the man he deserves to walk out of the courtroom as a free man. Andy squeezes the man’s hand hard, making him wince. Who would’ve thought a lawyer could be so strong?

The serial rapist ends up dead after the accused was acquitted for lack of evidence. Lloyd recites the newspaper. “I see you’ve been very active lately, Barber. Do I need to remind you to keep it low?”

“No one asked you,” Andy shoots back. He doesn’t know why he’s still coming to the so-called self-help group. Andy doesn’t feel guilty for killing his clients. Who else would punish them for their crimes? “They had a choice, Hansen. It wasn’t me letting him go.”

“He’s not wrong,” Ransom says between munching a cookie and sipping on the expensive mochaccino he bought on his way to the group. “Baber got a point there.”

“Who asked you, amateur?” Robert sneers. He just can’t stand Barber or Drysdale. They are not worth his time, or so he thinks. He’s fine with Hansen and the guy calling himself God. They are like him—professionals. “I don’t even know why you, Mr. Lawyer, are here.”

“I invited them,” Hansen grunts. “If you want to leave, you can go anytime. I founded this group, not you.”

“Man, stop making a fuss!” Pronge shows his palms. “I only wanted to point out that they are not professionals. What if the cops find out about their hobby? What if they decide to get a deal and rat us out?”

Lloyd snorts. He looks at the black leather glove hiding his prosthetic fingers. “No one rats Lloyd Hansen out. We all agreed on complete secrecy. What we discuss here stays within this room.”

Andy rubs his bearded chin. Coming to the group to talk about the crimes he committed helped him improve. Lloyd and God even gave him advice on how to make his crimes look like accidents. “I’m going to therapy now,” he admits. “Not to talk about my hobby, though.”

“Therapy, huh?” Lloyd taunts, while Ransom smirks. God and Robert busy themselves with checking their phones for new clients. “I hope you’re not talking about our little group with the doctor.”

Steve sneers. “Don’t call these incompetent wannabes doctors. They are by all means nothing but pathetic losers trying to tell you how to live your life.”

“No one asked you, Dr. Frankenstein,” Ransom snaps at Steve. “Did you work on some nice asses and tits lately?”

“Shut up,” Steve jumps up, knocking his chair over. “At least I got a job, and I don’t live off my family’s money.”

“Shut up yourself!” Ransom puts his cookies aside and throws the rest of his mochaccino at Steve.

“Gentlemen!” Lloyd yells at Steve and Ransom. “We come here to talk about our problems and help each other improve. I didn’t come here, freezing my ass off on the way to watch you fight like girls over the latest fashion trend.”

“The therapy helps me more than coming here,” Andy raises his voice. “Your advice was good, but I think I’ll stick to her.”

The men stop fighting and stare at Andy.

“Her?” Lloyd licks his lips. “You’ve got a pretty little doctor for your therapist? Why didn’t you tell us before? We would’ve been all ears.”

“Why does this make a difference?” Andy cocks a brow. “She’s got a good reputation and listens to me. I talked to her for months, and she never pressured me into talking about my family.”

“Boohoo, your wife killed your murderous son and is as dead as your latest victim,” Lloyd mocks Andy. “Let’s talk about that pretty ass you’re seeing. Show us her reputation and shit.”

“Why?” Andy sighs deeply. He knew it was a mistake to talk about you and your sessions.

“For science,” Lloyd grins and snatches the phone out of Andy’s hand. Before Andy can protest, Lloyd throws the phone at God, nodding at him. “Unlock it, and look for the doc.”

Steve rolls his eyes. He didn’t come here to talk about some therapist. “Can we go back to business? Barber has a therapist. Maybe he even bangs her. Who cares?”

“Bangs her?” That picked Lloyd’s interest. “Not the worst idea. Maybe as a new version of therapy. Fuck all the bad memories out of her sweet cunt.”

“Got it,” God says and throws the phone at Lloyd. Y/N Y/L/N,” he recites your address and contact information. “She looks cute.”

“Cute?” Ransom laughs. “I didn’t know the word cute in your vocabulary. Show me.” Ransom walks toward Lloyd to look at the phone in his hands. “Not bad. Hey Barber, does she have a cute ass too?”

“Why are we talking about some woman? If our meeting is over, I’ll go back to business,” Steve says as he gets up. He wants to walk past Lloyd but glances at the phone. “Hmm…I’ve seen her before.”

Steve snatches the phone out of Lloyd’s hands. He looks at the pictures of you, licking his lips.

“Stop stalking my therapist,” Andy angrily says. “Can I get my phone back now?”

“I remember now,” Steve exclaims while staring at your pictures. “She accompanied one of her patients. They wanted surgery, but she talked them out of it. I hated her.” He shrugs.

“I bet she’s an uptight little doctor,” Lloyd muses. His smirk darkens as he looks at the men he brought together around two years ago. “Barber, did you already have a taste? I bet she tastes like strawberries.”

“Hansen, that is enough,” Andy grumbles. He snatches the phone out of Lloyd’s hands and turns to leave. “This was a waste of time!”

“Not to me.” Lloyd clenches and unclenches his fists. “I think I found something that will help us improve as a group. You all came here to talk about your problems and to get better at what you’re doing. I think this sweet doctor will be a big help.

Tags in reblog.

[dead-boys-club]

†  memories : katsuki.

❥ scenario: i wish that you would stay in my memories. ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ no betas. ❥ requested.

it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

you hadn’t planned on running into him again - not after everything, not after the way things ended back in ua. but here he was, standing in the doorway of your kitchen with his familiar presence filling the space, making it feel smaller and too quiet all at once.

what was he even doing?

katsuki didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the counter with that same intense expression you remembered from years ago. it was the look he used to give you when he was trying to hold something back, wrestling with words he didn’t know how to say. part of the reason you weren't together anymore - his inability to communicate.

the silence stretched on, heavy with everything left unsaid, until he finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “you’re still… here.” The words hung in the air, not just a statement of where you were standing, but an echo of the past he’d never fully let go.

you were struggling to keep it in the past.

you tried to keep your voice steady, folding your arms to create some barrier, any kind of shield between you and the memories that threatened to surface. “yeah, still here. you too, apparently.”

he nodded, glancing around, his gaze lingering on the little details that hadn’t changed since the days you’d spent here together, laughing, arguing, and just… existing in each other’s lives. back then, the kitchen had been your shared refuge, a place where he’d let himself soften, where you’d sit on the counter while he grumbled about his day, cooking you dinner.

he occasionally stayed up to pack you little lunches.

“things… look the same,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes. His voice was softer, almost vulnerable in a way that katsuki bakugo rarely allowed himself to be. “it’s like nothing changed.”

but you both knew it had. the years had shifted you in ways that made even simple conversations feel different, edged with a mixture of nostalgia and lingering pain.

you looked away, swallowing the ache that rose in your throat. “People change, katsuki. things end, whether we want them to or not.”

he flinched at your words, as if you’d struck him. the line between his brows deepened, his frustration clear. “i know that. doesn’t mean it doesn’t still… mess with my head, alright?” his fists clenched at his sides, a habit he’d never grown out of. “sometimes i feel like i could walk in and… like you’d still be here, waiting.”

the admission hung between you, raw and unguarded, and it made something inside you twist painfully. he’d always been so determined, so sure of himself, but now there was a crack in his armor, a glimpse of the hurt he never let show.

“katsuki,” you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “we’re both different people now. you’re a hero. you’ve got your life, your work. And me… i’ve moved on.” the words felt hollow, even as you tried to convince yourself that they were true.

his jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with something fierce and unspoken. “have you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words crashed over you like a wave.

he had always been able to see straight through you.

you wanted to say yes, to give him the closure he needed, but standing here, with the ghost of your past filling the air around you, the answer felt so much harder to hold onto.

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer, his presence intense and overwhelming, as it had always been. “i just… i can’t stand thinking of someone else here,” he muttered, his voice laced with an anger he could barely contain. “thinking that this could’ve been us.”

the words cut deep, stirring the memories you’d tried so hard to bury. in his eyes, you saw the reflection of what could have been - a life you’d once dreamed of, a love you’d thought would last. but the years had taught you that some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how much you wanted them.

with a shaky breath, you took a step back, creating a space between you that felt both necessary and agonizing. “kat… you know we can’t go back.”

he looked away, his shoulders slumping in defeat. for a moment, you saw the boy he’d been back in ua, the one who’d held you with a fierceness that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. but now, as he turned to leave, you knew that part of him was as lost to you as you were to him.

and as the door closed behind him, you were left in the silence of a kitchen that still held the echoes of a love that neither of you had ever truly let go.

[my-my-my]

KINKTOBER DAY 11 - Phone Sex: Adult!Ichigo Kurosaki x Female Reader

This is a request from anonymous.

Summary: Seeing spirits has always been a feature in Ichigo Kurosaki’s life. Even as an adult, well into grad school, he still sees spirits out and about. But one spirit in particular has caught his attention. Unfortunately he can’t hear them, but modern technology is a wondrous thing.

AU, but Ichigo still sees spirits, but no powers, no Soul Society, none of that.

TW: MDNI! Phone sex, mentions of death, mutual masturbation. Implied first time for both Ichigo and reader, bittersweet.

Word count: 2707

Read on AO3 here.

For as long as he could remember, Ichigo could aways sense and see spirits. He never knew what to make of them, as he began noticing them years after his mother’s death. It was one of those things he tried to ignore and deal with on his own.

In middle school, rumours would spread that Ichigo could see something, but when confronted, Ichigo would deny, deny and deny. Tatsuki could never tell if he was telling the truth or not, and neither Mizuiro, Keigo or Chad knew much either.

But there would always be a distant, almost soft look in Ichigo’s face as he would look out the window at school. It was something Orihime and Uryuu picked up as well when they befriended him.

But Ichigo couldn’t really tell anyone. It just didn’t make sense! “Hey guys, sorry for spacing out, that little old lady in the corner has been smiling at us for an hour now.”

It also wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friends or his family, but it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. He can see ghosts! The sky is blue! Don Kanoji has a fun television show! There wasn’t any need to concern others about it, is what he rationalized.

Ichigo remained grateful his ability to see spirits never grew though, even in graduate school he could only see them. He couldn’t speak to them, he couldn’t really interact with them. They were just there as much as the sun, the moon, and the stars were in the sky. As he got older, it became easier to ignore them. They didn’t hurt him, and he didn’t bother with them.

But one spirit remained distracting. You were everywhere since he entered graduate school.

You were always observing people, standing right next to heated conversations, smiling and laughing. Yet no one would bat an eye at you. You wandered from conversation to conversation, class to class, watching people, listening and amusing yourself with those of the living.

Yet Ichigo would always see you, he would watch you, while trying to pay attention in class. It was fun for you, to see where he was on campus, to hear what he was talking about with his friends, classmates and professors.

It was even better when you saw the familiar knot of his eyebrows as he saw you around. It was almost as if he was wanted to yell at you, but he never could since there would be other people around. And he was never sure if he could yell at a spirit.

Sometimes you were bored and made funny faces next to his conversation partner, earning an annoyed grimace on Ichigo’s face.

Other times you sat patiently, listening to what he was saying with great rapport. You were there when he presented in his courses, at talks he attended, tutorials he taught.

Ichigo never could make sense of that.

Which is why he stared at you, in the empty tutorial room. His students had left, but Ichigo didn’t pack up his things, seeing you were still in the room.

“Well, what do you want? You’ve been following me around for months now.” Ichigo commented, ruffling his own hair as he tried to make sense of what he was about to do.

You manifested in front of him, and opened your mouth, but alas.

He couldn’t hear you.

Ichigo tried to read your lips, but you laughed at him. He was terrible at it. He couldn’t make sense of what you were saying, but your laughing earned a faint blush on his cheeks.

He sheepishly scratched his head, when turned around and grabbed the chalk.

“I wonder if you can use this.” Ichigo said out loud as he held the piece of chalk in his open palm, but no, your hand faded through his. You gave him a sad smile.

It was then you saw his phone on the table. You gently hovered your hand over it and, to Ichigo’s shock, his phone was on the line.

“Hello, Mr. Kurosaki.” You smiled at him, his eyes widening as he heard your voice for the first time.

“You can call me Ichigo, but what’s your name?” He asked, staring at you with a soft smile.

You introduced yourself and the two of you chatted through the phone. You complimented on his work, his presentations, and even his studious attitude. You also learned that Ichigo was not good at receiving compliments, with the way his face reddened at each point you shared with him.

“You have a nice laugh, you know.” Ichigo said quietly, giving you tender smile. Now you were shocked for once, but you laughed it off and thanked him for it through the phone. A random student entered the classroom, but could only see Ichigo smiling softly to his phone, as the sound of a woman’s voice echoed through its speakers.

Months had gone by since that day in the classroom, and Ichigo hated to admit it, but he enjoyed your company. While you left him alone when he spent time with his friends and family, he still wanted your company.

You helped him with brainstorming drafts for his thesis, helping him practice his presentations and even lending him an ear for his frustrations. You would check in on him and he would do the same for you.

But there was a gnawing question in the back of Ichigo’s mind. Ichigo was straightforward, honest and to-the-point, but he could never ask you, what happened? Why were you a spirit, and not a fellow student like him?

As far as he knew with the campus’ history, and the surrounding area’s news, there were no murders, no attacks, no… specific violence he could attribute to your death. The question ran through his mind over and over again every time you two spent together.

“Ichigo, you can spit it out already,” you said, noticing the way he would always have a concerning expression on his face. His scowl was still as present as ever, but it looked as if he wanted to say something.

“What happened to you?” He asked, staring at you directly. His eyes were clear, he didn’t want to hear any jokes, any diversions or excuses.

You sighed heavily, knowing that this would come up eventually.

“I was diagnosed with cancer once I started school.”

Ichigo’s face softened, realizing what was your fate.

“It was detected too late, and I couldn’t finish my courses or my dissertation by the time it became terminal.” You whispered, the phone crackling in response. You stared at Ichigo’s own dissertation he had printed out in preparation for his defence.

Ichigo gave you a pained expression, as you hovered over him. Your hand lingered over his face, trying to comfort him.

“But it’s ok, Ichigo. I’ve made peace with it.” You gave him a sad smile, “I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do around here, but it’s been fun attending all the classes and courses I never could have otherwise!” You grinned, trying to break the tension.

Ichigo gave you a frown, his eyebrows furrowed, but went back to his thesis. He would never bring it up again.

You were determined to help Ichigo pass his defence, and through the use of his phone, you helped him by asking him questions, provided him with new readings, and everything in between.

But even then, Ichigo would ask you questions about your past life, questions that you didn’t bat an eye to, or notice the soft look Ichigo would give you as you reminisced about your old life. He never interrogated you, just one or two questions, and then it went back to the task on hand, but you never noticed it.

“Did you ever have a boyfriend?” Ichigo asked, staring at you intently.

You were surprised by the question, but didn’t think much of it to begin with, “no, not really! I had crushes, but never acted on them.” You laughed, dismissing the look he was giving you. “I’m sure you’ve had girlfriends though, Ichigo.” You cheekily said, making the action to poke his cheek.

“Get out of here,” Ichigo scoffed, his cheeks reddening. “As if I had the time.”

You laughed at him, “oh really? I mean, you seem chummy with Ms. Kuchiki and Ms. Orihime” you snickered, but Ichigo’s scowl deepend. “Oh, I don’t mean to be rude, maybe it’s Mr. Sado or Mr. Ishida?” Ichigo frowned and glared at you,

“Stop it!” Ichigo snapped, “ I’m asking about you! Don’t worry about me.” His voice lowered, a sad look appearing on his face.

You gave him a wry smile, “to answer your question, no. I didn’t. One of my few regrets.” You gave him a half-hearted chuckle.

Ichigo nodded his head, his expression unreadable to you. But once again, he shifted the conversation elsewhere.

Ichigo had become accustomed to your presence in his apartment. He knew when to expect you, when you were around his bedroom, and he even sensed you in his sleep.

Which is why he was surprised to see you staring in front of a lingerie shop. You were deep in thought, staring at the pieces in the window that you didn’t notice Ichigo by you.

“Are you gonna move? You’re gonna make me look like a pervert.” He coughed and whispered harshly, as he tried to avoid the glances from pedestrians passing him by.

“I’m so sorry Ichigo!” You gasped, through the phone, startling the people next to him as his phone went on speaker. Ichigo ran back to his apartment in embarrassment.

“What was that about?” Ichigo panted, giving you a glare. “Usually you’re up my ass about reviewing notes. I got worried and found you there.”

Oh he was worried about me, you thought to yourself, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

“I’m sorry Ichigo, I lost track of the time.” Your voice echoed through the phone.

“Did you want what was in the window?” He asked, going straight to the point.

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” You laughed, “not like I can wear it anyways.”

Silence echoed between you too, as Ichigo’s cheeks deepend in colour, as he nervously stared at you, “…well” he started, “I’d like to see you in that too.”

It was your turn to blush, as you stood in his room nervously. “It’s not even possible, Ichi—”

“I know, but I have an idea.” Ichigo murmured. “But if you want me to stop, just tell me, ok.” He said, giving you a kind smile.

You nodded your head as Ichigo pulled his shirt over his head. Broad shoulders, an expansive chest and firm muscles made you unconsciously bite your lip.

“It’s your turn.” Ichigo gave you a smirk, although his cheeks were pink.

“Oh where are my manners?” You smiled, as you undid your own top. Slowly the two of you undid both your bottoms, as you both stood naked in Ichigo’s room.

You had never seen a nude male body like this before, and Ichigo felt the same about your own body, by the telltale blush evident on his cheeks.

Your hands gently hovered over his chest, as he watched them trail down his body. He swore he felt something, but he wasn’t sure. But what he was certain of, was watching your expressions as you examined his body.

“Why don’t you lie on my bed?” He asked of you, a slight rasp hinting in his voice.

It wasn’t like you could truly lie on his bed, you both knew that, but you humoured him nonetheless. You spread your legs to show him your bare pussy as Ichigo gripped his cock over you. Ichigo brough the phone next to you as you gently placed your hand over it.

“Do you want to see how I touched myself, Ichigo?” You teased, your voice echoing through the speakerphone. You gave a soft laugh at Ichigo’s shocked expression.

“Yes, please.” He said softly, as he began to pump his erection over you.

With one hand over the phone, your other hand massaged your clit, your breathing becoming more laborious with each touch. You didn’t realize as a spirit, your own body had sensations again, but you also felt like you were losing your mind, as you followed your own pleasure, watching Ichigo masturbate in front of you.

His thick cock was leaking with pre cum as he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. His eyes would snap open as he moaned your name. His voice became raspier and shakier as he watched you put a finger inside your pussy, his name echoing through the phone. You matched his pants and moans as the two of you watched each other, feeling pleasure never felt before.

You felt so close to Ichigo, yet so far, but you couldn’t stop and neither could he. Your legs were shaking as your own orgasm was approaching, as Ichigo’s shoulders shook too, before his cock spurted thick ropes of cum between your legs. He collapsed next to your spirit, his cum cooling on his sheets.

You also felt exhausted and laid next to him, whispering words of comfort and thanks as you watched him drift to sleep.

When Ichigo awoke in the morning, his phone was dead, but you were still next to him.

It was officially graduation day. Ichigo had passed his defence with minor revisions, all of which you helped him with, and you watched, along with his family and friends, him receiving his degree amongst his classmates.

The spring air was filled with cherry blossoms, as the campus’ trees were in full bloom. Graduates posed with their friends and family, holding their degree with pride. Ichigo’s sisters were especially adamant in taking photos of the three of them together, with his father crying tears of joy that “his brat of a son was now a doctor”

“Not that kind of doctor, pops!” Ichigo would shout back with a laugh.

You couldn’t help but grin watching him so happy. Uryuu and Chad came by with flowers, Tatsuki, Orihime and Rukia with a graduation teddy bear, and Mizuiro and Keigo with a bottle of champagne to celebrate later.

He was so happy and so were you. You smiled fondly at him as he surrounded himself with his loved ones. Easy smiles turned to scowls at something stupid Keigo said, with the group erupting into laughter.

And soon it was time to leave the campus. Ichigo’s family and friends went ahead of him, while he stayed behind.

“C’mere.” Ichigo said to you, surprising you. “Don’t think I forgot about you.” He laughed, “this is as much your degree as it is mine.”

You smiled at him, as you stared at the framed degree. You were so proud of him.

“Ichi-nii, come on! We’re going to be late.” Yuzu yelled in the distance.

“Wait, Yuzu c’mere for a second.” Ichigo yelled back, as his younger sister ran towards him.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Could you take one more photo of me?” Ichigo asked as he gave her his phone, surprising Yuzu.

“Um, sure? We already took so many, but if you insist…”

“I want you to take it with me phone ok? And don’t try to centre me. I…” he thought carefully, “I want to take a picture of the trees.” He lied.

“Sure, sure. Ok, 1 – 2 – 3”

“Cheese” Ichigo bellowed, his grin as wide as ever.

Before Yuzu could look at the photo, Ichigo snatched it from her hands. “It looks great Yuzu, thanks!” He smiled at her, ruffling her head. “Go ahead to Karin and dad, I just need to say goodbye to someone.” He said softly.

Once Yuzu was in the distance, Ichigo turned to face you, holding his phone. There you were, next to him. Tears spilled from your eyes at the feeling rushing through you.

“Thank you for everything,” Ichigo whispered your name, as you began to fade from his vision.

“Thank you, Ichigo, for being here with me. Live your life to the fullest, ok?” You cried and smiled at him, as your spirit floated away with the cherry blossoms into the sky. “I will.” Ichigo murmured, eyes staring high into the sky.

The title for this chapter is from Adieu Aru's "Spectral Romance"! I had this idea in mind for a while, but yes, I don't know why I'm writing ghost sex, AGAIN lol.

The Japanese university system has graduation in the last week of March, hence the springtime setting.

Thanks again for reading!!

[kei-crocker]

Headcanon for me:

Post-AGIT Dan doesn’t cling to his biological parents. Based on what he says and does in "The Ultimate Enemy," he doesn’t show anything particularly special toward them. In fact, Maddie’s actions toward him felt a bit harsh to me, especially when she said, “He is not my son!” in AGIT. (Of course, I completely understand why she acted like that—they nearly got killed by him, the city was destroyed, and they don’t remember Dan’s original timeline.)

(And given that half of him is Plasmius, maybe it feels odd for him to see Maddie and Jack as his parents.)

Jazz, though, was different. To be fair, her circumstances were different from those of her parents. She fully understood who Dan was (even though her parents technically knew too, they seemed to view him only on a superficial level). Jazz even had(more specifically, remember) direct experience meeting him before. The first person to show interest in talking to Dan and sparing him was Jazz. Her feelings toward Dan were not just out of mercy, but closer to familyship, I think. Mercy wouldn’t be much use when the one you’re sparing is far stronger than you. Humans weren't exactly in a position to show mercy to him. Jazz believed that Danny was inherently good, so she thought Dan was one who could be persuaded. Before Danny tried to spare him, she was the only one who’d been willing to.

I imagine Dan’s feelings toward Danny and Vlad are far more complicated. I believe that at his core, Dan’s main feeling is self-hatred. He probably hates the part of himself (Danny) that lost everything he once loved, and his Plasmius side only amplifies that feeling.

At the same time, Dan must feel jealousy toward Danny. Danny has the second chance that Dan never got—he used Dan as a warning and went on to build a better future. In AGIT, we see Dan’s feelings go beyond just hate; his anger toward Danny seems to be fueled by jealousy. After his world vanished, the one clear goal Dan had left was to destroy Danny and make him feel that same despair.

As for Vlad, I think Dan might have at least some positive feelings for him. Of course, Dan was once Danny, and in his timeline, Vlad probably bullied (?) him like always. But when Dan lost everything, Vlad was the one who took him in and cared for him like his father. Even Vlad’s actions that led to creating Dan weren’t out of malice but came at Danny’s request, as Danny was suffering so much. I imagine Vlad really did his best to look after him in that timeline.

That said, Dan could never fully love Vlad. Being partly Plasmius himself, Dan knows Vlad’s darker (or weaker) sides all too well. And, after all, it was Vlad’s actions that led to such a terrible outcome, even if he had no evil intent.

The irony is that the two people who ultimately saved him were Danny and Vlad. His parents only saw Dan as a dangerous ghost, while Danny, understanding Dan’s feelings, didn’t want to hurt him. In the end, it was Danny and Vlad’s actions that saved Dan and gave him that second chance he’d longed for. So, after AGIT, I imagine Dan becomes a little friendlier but still can’t fully accept them, holding onto a slightly bitter attitude. Now that his deepest self has been exposed, we might see him as a sensitive, wounded spirit rather than his formerly confident self. Still, his existence is a shared responsibility for Danny and Vlad, and they’ll do their best to help him find happiness and enjoy this second chance. Maybe one day, Dan may open his heart to them.

[lawofangie]

Hello. I just saw your post about your manifestation journey while struggling with depression and I’ll probably just be another rant about “how difficult it is to manifest”, but honestly I just want to talk a little bit.

I’m at work right now. I’m a trainee in a law office and my relationship with my boss is deteriorating gradually.

While I was at school, I would always think that I would be happier at a job, because I like to feel useful and competent. But now that I have a job, I just feel miserable.

I already received complaints twice about “being distracted” and “not doing my best”, which came as shocking because I’ve been doing my best. I have two bosses and while one looks like she really appreciates me, the other one might be the contrary.

I always fails to do what she wants me to do.

So I have been having really tiresome dreams. I had one where they asked me to type a document and after a while it turns out it was a “you are fired document” and asked me to sigh it.

They laughed and said that “I wasn’t doing enough” and “I wasn’t attending my classes at college” which I WAS but it didn’t matter.

I actually can’t imagine my life better. It’s like my mind just blocks it from me. I feel like I can’t delude myself even if that’s what I want the most.

I really want to just escape and live happily but I just feel trapped and miserable. I think I can predict what you are going to advice me but…I just don’t know what to do. I’m scared.

this is actually kind of relatable. i've felt similarly at many points in my life, i struggled to function, i thought external things would make me happy, applying the law was difficult. i couldn't imagine my life any better either. i understand where this is coming from, i'll try to give less generic advice, but i'm going to be brutally honest, and, this still won't be anything special. its important to remember that regardless of what i say here, manifestation is still just assuming you have your desire and persisting in that fact.

anyways, it honestly gets to a point where you have to realize that you're just wasting your time feeling trapped and scared. you're doing yourself a disservice. no one and nothing can save you, nor is anything or anyone going to. as unfortunate as your circumstances are, you have to do it yourself.

you have to take what you want and prioritize that above how you feel, anyone's made you feel, and how anyone feels about you. your life is meant to revolve around you and no one else. its YOUR life for a reason.

you SHOULD NOT waste the best years of your life being miserable, feeling like a failure, like a victim, like you can't change, like you're trapped like this forever when that's completely illogical. everyone and everything changes. people change in age, appearance, personality, sexuality, preferences, etc. it's physically impossible to be incapable of change unless you're not alive. people change all the time.

you genuinely do not have the time to be so self loathing and miserable, not when you're going to literally grow old one day. and according to those who've made it there already, that day comes fast. do you want to look back at your life at 80 and see what you wasted it doing? when all this information was right in your face? when all you had to do was take a chance and have some faith in yourself?

changing yourself isn't impossible, you're just too scared to assume anything good about yourself, perhaps because you've gotten so used to being miserable. "changing yourself", by the way, just so we're clear, simply means to assume something new about yourself. for example, you already believe you are a failure, and to change would be to simply assume you're successful. that's quite literally it. you just believe in something without physical proof, that's assuming. we assume all the time. you're just assuming about yourself now. the law is extremely simple to utilize, but it's the simplicity that leads to people overcomplicating it themselves.

also, delusion is, by definition, a false belief that is resistant to change, even when presented with evidence that it is not true. an assumption, by definition, is a belief that is taken as true without proof or evidence. you need to realize the difference here. we are telling you to assume, not to delude yourself. we are promising you that the "proof" comes after you've fully accepted it as true. we're not telling you to actively deny something despite accepting it as true. what would be the point in that? if we're telling you that your assumptions, aka the things you believe to be true without proof manifest, why would we tell you to continue to accept something you don't want as true? does that make sense?

being delusional and making an assumption may seem similar in theory, but in practice, they are completely different. one is literally the result of a mental illness, the other is a very normal, very human behavior that we do every day. we make assumptions about ourselves, people, and situations. all. the. time. it seems like it's only a problem and called "delusional" when it's about yourself, and it's something good.

it's like being confident in yourself, believing in your abilities despite what others have to say about you. for example, you have a great confidence in a talent or skill, and the you believe that you will get better as you get older/more experienced/more knowledgeable, and you'll make it places and have great opportunities in the future. let's say some random person decides to insult you and say that you'll never make it anywhere in life. would it be "delusional" to not listen to them? to not let someone else dictate your future? or would that simply be having some faith in yourself and not letting others define you?

this is literally all we're telling you to do, believe in yourself even if your reality seems to be against you. don't fight it, just accept that the unfavorable isn't true and move on. continue to believe in yourself.

and besides, if any person successful to date operated with that "i don't see it so it's not true" mindset, they wouldn't have become successful, would they? would anyone accumulate any kind of success with a mindset like that? the people who have came from nothing and made it to where they were now, had an unwavering confidence in their abilities and the fact that they'd be something one day. despite what anyone's told them, or tried to project onto them, it didn't get through to their unwavering sense of self.

the point is, we are promising you something. all it takes is for you to have some confidence in yourself. to quit hurting yourself. is that so hard?

anyways, the point of manifesting is when you change yourself, the things in your external reality change.

assuming is easy. believing things to be true without proof is easy. you just have to get comfortable with the fact that you need to change before anything changes externally. again, instead of believing you are a failure, that you are trapped, you simply assume you are successful, and you are not trapped.

people also change their minds all the time, they grow to have a different opinion, they realize they were wrong, they want to give something else a chance, or without a reason, they simply change their mind. these things are not impossible, they happen all the time.

i'm saying this to say that manifesting isn't being delusional. to be delusional is feeling stuck and like things can't change, when they so clearly do, all the damn time. you're not special enough for the concept of change to not apply to you. for instance, you are certainly not the same person you were when you were 6 compared to however old you are right now. you changed, therefore you are capable of changing, and i proved it to you with that simple example.

you only feel stuck because you decided you are, you decided that you'll never be unstuck, and so you haven't been. the law is working, just not in your favor. everything you see in your reality right now, perfectly matches whatever you've assumed to be true. that is not a coincidence. it's important to remember that the law isn't a thing with feelings, it does not care about you or your situation. all it does is continue to operate. it's up to you to use the law's indifference to your advantage.

also, you seem to have a victim mindset. it's very obvious in the way that you try to explain yourself, that you were doing as you were supposed to, but it still 'didn't matter'. you're putting so many things (your job, your bosses, proving yourself) on a pedestal, over what really matters, which is yourself. do you even like your job? did you pursue something you were passionate about? because if not, then you have no business subjecting yourself to any kind of mistreatment, not when you didn't even want to be there in the first place. you should be putting yourself and your desires before even thinking about pleasing anyone or meeting any kind of requirement.

your own standards and requirements should come first. remember : you chose to work for them. you have a choice. you also need to remember that your bosses and colleagues are regular people. outside of work (and in the workplace if we're being honest) they have no kind of power over you. you shouldn't be letting such irrelevant people in your life have the power to instill so much fear in you, to the point where you're having literal nightmares.. about typing a document incorrectly.

also, about feeling useful and competent, that's something you have to decide about yourself. are you useful? are you competent? do you honestly feel this way about yourself? definitely not, which is why you're seeking validation from others. but at the same time, it is what's made you so miserable, because you're definitely not getting that validation. and any you get only gives you a short lived feeling of satisfaction. your opinion on yourself matters more than what anyone has to say. that's literally why confidence and insecurity exist. and either way, you still feel a certain way about yourself that outweighs anything anyone has to say about you.

here's another example, let's say you've been insecure about your looks from a young age. if one day, someone randomly tells you you're beautiful or they think you're pretty, is all the insecurity you've felt for years suddenly going to go away? or will your mind find reasons to reinforce the fact that you don't feel beautiful? and if someone confirmed your insecurities, saying you weren't their type, they didn't find you attractive, wouldn't you just justify that reaction in your mind since you feel that way about yourself already?

with that in mind, how much does anyone's words really matter? do the words of others honestly have any significance when they aren't reinforcing something you already believe about yourself?

your reality works in a similar way. whatever you decide to assume/ accept as true/ shift your awareness to/ decide is true/ feel is certain, your reality will reflect. as well as a bunch of reasons to continue believing whatever it is is true. the law is very indifferent and has no bounds. it does not care about your feelings, your specific circumstances, and so on. that's why i'm telling you, you only feel these ways and experience the things you do, because you decided you were. this goes for being miserable, being stuck, feeling useless, feeling incompetent and living in fear. there are no exceptions.

so, with all that said, what do i suggest? first off, you need to practice being secure in yourself. work on being confident in yourself first, then work on your self concept. i say "confidence" as in feeling secure in yourself within the 3d. so, your looks, your body, your social skills, your physical skills, etc. because "self concept" has to do with having confidence in your manifestation abilities. find a helpful method that works for you, like affirming, visualizing, scripting, rampaging, or just simply deciding something new about yourself and accepting it.

self confidence has to do with things like liking yourself, being your own validation, having optimistic thoughts about yourself, and self efficiency. you can't care about what others think, you have to put yourself first, and you can't let anyone dictate your future. be selfish. the only thing that should matter is you and how something makes you feel. nothing bad comes from putting yourself first and not worrying about others.

once you feel confident in yourself, or even while working on your confidence, practice using the law. you could start by manifesting something small, something specific that would prove to you that you can manifest, then work your way up. manifest bigger things or just a large quantity of things, just to prove to yourself that there aren't any limits. remember, manifesting is just assuming: believing something to be true without proof. i mean that in the most literal, simplest way possible. like the example of success i used earlier.

once you've proven to yourself that manifestation is indeed real, play around with it. also, work on your self concept. decide that things always go well for you, that you deserve good things, you're the creator of your reality, learn to mentally reject unfavorable things in the 3d, and so on. this is what i would do if i were you.

i know this was kind of long, but i hope you understand my words and find them useful. feel free to dm me or send another ask if you have anymore questions. 🩶

[21loveatfirstsight]

Agatha Harkness is a genius witch

And I love how they show it more in AAA. Let's just look at what is shown on both WV and AAA.

Got in the Hex without Wanda knowing.

Well, Wanda is still a new witch at that point, but given how complicated the Hex is, it’s still impressive that Wanda didn’t get a “feeling” that there is something wrong with Agatha, unlike other mere humans.

2. Got the Darkhold. 

We still don’t know how, but given the Darkhold fame, it indicates that no one wants to go near it, but she’s powerful enough to get it and smart enough to not get influenced by it.

3. Struck a deal with Death within the first hour of waking up.

Yes, I know Rio is in love with Agatha but at the time, the way she tries to make the deal is still very convincing.

4. Knows Billy’s identity from the start. Here’s some points to prove.

That wasn’t you! Okay, maybe you loosened the jar. She saw Billy say the spell, plus Rio is there. To break a Scarlet Witch spell, it of course would take a tremendous power (Rio), but you have to know how or process Chaos Magic (Billy). And she knows Rio is not a Chaos witch, that leaves Billy, a mysterious young witch who she has no knowledge about.

The Road wasn’t real until you made it real. She knows the ballad is a con and she knows all the witches there don’t process this kind of power, so who else could she be suspicious of here?

I didn’t think you had it in you. She knows the Road is created by Billy, but she is still surprised at how real and stick to the script the Road is, indicating how powerful Billy’s imagination is (given that he is still doing spells from a book) and could be.

5. Succeeds on the first try on how to trigger Billy’s ability and revive Tommy. 

Let's remember that Agatha understands how Wanda created the Hex then got under Wanda’s spell right after the fight; and she wakes up, is in sound of mind for a day full of chaotic events (trials and the Salem Seven).

6. Passed the last trial.

People need to talk about this more. When she puts her mind to it, she figures the trial out in minutes. In previous trials, she half-assed participated in it, even at the Air Trial, all she did was try to wind Billy up, putting pressure on him so his mind would “wish” for something, and that “something” (the shelves, connect Lilia and Jen to the trial) appeared.

7. Figures out how to pick things up as a ghost rather quickly, on the first thing she wants to pick up.

The only time we see her actually show her emotions (not accounting for Rio, that’s a different post) is when they go back to their shoes. That is something she has no control over, the rule of the Road, or Chaos Magic. She can manipulate people, she can put pressure on Billy, she can sneak around and not participate in the trial; but she can’t get off the Road. And that’s why she blew up, she hates the idea of being imprisoned in another Chaos Magic spell.

As a ghost, Agatha is still a very powerful being, as it is shown in the show. Without her power, she still has the knowledge above everyone there. I can’t wait to see more of her and Billy in the future.

[silkendress]

Bitten Bullet

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-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 2: Just You

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

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He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

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Read on AO3

You stare blankly at your phone.

You lay flat on your back on the bed, almost completely swallowed up by blankets, your phone screen the brightest light source in your dark room.

It’s the night after Simon gave you his number. It’s the night where you are wracking your head for what to text him for the first time.

In your mind, you have to text him tonight. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t want his company. Yesterday you tried to think of something to say too, but nothing clicked.

You stare at your phones virtual keyboard, your thumb hovering over letters but never pressing them. You’re on the screen to send Simon something.

You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s awake like you; if he’s a night owl or has difficulty sleeping.

The thought of him sleeping puts the thought of him without his mask in your head. You wonder what he looks like under there. You wonder if he’s waiting on you to text or call like how you’re waiting for your nerves to settle to do one of those things.

You’ve been laying here for what feels like hours.

Maybe just a simple text telling him it was you—so that he could save your number in return—was enough.

That’s what you end up going with. You make sure to include your name and some mildly identifiable information—‘the one that works at a bookstore, you walked me home again yesterday’—and hit send before you become too embarrassed.

You click the power button on your phone to make the screen go dark and you bury yourself under your blankets, your heart pounding as though you just ran a marathon.

When you wake in the morning you pace your morning routine as not to rush. You were putting off checking your messages due to nerves. It wasn’t as if the slower you went would change anything, but it made you feel better to put it off for now.

You make up your bed. You brush your teeth. You shower. You don’t check your phone.

It isn’t until you’ve dried off and redressed that you finally built up the nerve to see if Simon replied to you. He did. There’s a tornado of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Got it.’ Was all he replied. You felt oddly relieved, you weren’t sure what you were so nervous about—Simon didn’t seem the type to be a texter, anyway. That was fine, you were certain many people weren’t. You were just pleased he responded at all.

Your phone hangs loosely in your palm as you walk to the kitchen to have something for breakfast. Thoughts pass your mind, all about Simon.

Another day passes. You fall back into a mundane routine. You haven’t texted Simon since, you’re not sure how to initiate conversation with him, despite your borderline desperate longing to do so.

Chloe told you earlier today that she would be with her sister for another two weeks, that her sister and the baby are healthy but she just wants to be with them. Chloe sounds happy, you’re happy for her.

It’s yet another late night that you can’t sleep. You’re in a cocoon of blankets trying not to stare at your phone—you remember reading somewhere about ‘blue light’ and sleep disruption. It takes a few minutes of you laying as still as a statue until you drift off.

A booming, revving noise makes you jump awake, gasping for air.

The motorcycle again. Your phone is in your hand before you know it.

‘I heard a motorcycle just now. Was that you by any chance?’

You hit send before your doubts can creep up and paralyze you. You hastily click it off and set it on the nightstand to lay back in the bed.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes between that text being sent and now, just that it feels like forever. Now that you thought of it, you suppose someone would have to pull over first to do anything on their phone on a motorcycle.

You were expecting the notification ping of a new text message, so you jolt upright when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the now lit up screen of your phone with wide eyes and lips parted in mild shock. On the third ring you snap yourself out of it and make yourself answer.

“Hello?” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. You mentally wince.

“Hey,” the low sound of him on the other end gives you excited jitters. “Did I wake you?” He sounds careful, a barely-there softness to his voice that makes your hands get increasingly fidgety.

“No, no. I’m just a light sleeper, is all.” You mutter, huffing out a soft laugh in a nervous reflex.

He hums, and then there’s silence.

Not quite silence but close enough because Simon isn’t saying anything. You think you can hear the soft rumble of an engine in the background on the other end. You wonder if he pulled in a gas station to refuel, or if he returned home for the night but decided to call you before heading in.

You think Simon is alright with it—the lulls in conversation. You could relate to an extent, you were quiet too, but he definitely was more self-assured than you. He never felt the impulse to unnecessarily fill the silence with chatter.

You’re so deep in thought that when he speaks again it almost makes you flinch in surprise.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mouth feels dry, you have to swallow before you can speak. “Uh, no, I have work—“

“Day after?” Flat and to the point, he isn’t deterred one bit.

“Yes. I-I’d be free then.” Your heartbeat feels like a drum.

You hesitate before asking; “Why?”

There’s a pause, you can’t tell what Simon is thinking, only that his reply is spoken bluntly.

“Got a second helmet yesterday.”

The day is bright and beautiful, the sky is blue and the warm sun is a welcome contrast to the chilly autumn breeze. Your eyes are trained on the road and your ears are especially attuned to anything that sounds like a motorcycle.

After the call Simon texted you a time and a place. You spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about today, and now you were fiddling with your hands in an attempt to dissipate the nervous energy in your limbs.

Here you were about to get on the back of a bike owned by a man you had a chance encounter with at a bar—a man you had grown increasingly intrigued by and even tentatively fond of, but that was beside the point. You think you’re being more daring than you ever had in your entire life precisely because you were becoming keenly aware of the fact your comfort zone was suffocating you.

It doesn’t change the mild absurdity of the situation.

‘I don’t even drink.’

You find yourself checking your phone periodically for the time, Simon would be coming in a few minutes.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. But then again, you couldn’t believe you met Simon at all, let alone kept in touch with him.

He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was an acquaintance now, surely. You still had so many musings about him, curiosities that had yet to be sated; but you held back. You didn’t want to overstep a potential boundary.

But that didn’t change the fact you curious about him.

You wanted to get a close look at his tattoos. You wanted to know the story behind each one—assuming there was one to be told—and when he got them.

You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like.

You wanted to know what he looked like.

You wanted to know if he wondered about you like you did him.

You wanted to be able to say you knew him, not just an awareness of his existence but a deeper knowledge of him as a person.

You waffle back and forth with your thoughts. ‘He’s the one that offered to take me on his bike,’ you remind yourself in intervals. It works for calming your nerves, but only for a short while.

Your mind combs over things about Simon you do know.

He’s in the military.

He likes motorcycles.

He smokes.

He always wears a mask.

He, for some reason, is keeping in contact with you.

And he is also about to pull up to you.

Your mind belatedly catches up with your senses. You hear the revving first then you see Simon—and the bike—in the distance.

It’s like all of your self-soothing methods were for naught. Your stomach flutters with frenzied nerves and you shift your weight on your feet repeatedly in an effort to shake off some of the jitters.

A part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually show up.

You don’t know much about motorcycles, you couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it. It was black and shiny, the metal bits of it reflected the sunlight.

Simon looks in his element on it. More than competent. Your legs feel wobbly.

He rolls up and his boots settle on the ground, then his heel pushes out the kickstand. You can tell it’s a motion he has done many times before, there’s no hesitation or carefulness to it.

Simon flips up his visor. His eyes take you in, lingering for a moment on your fidgeting, gloved hands—the gloves he gave to you—then back up to you.

He dismounts his bike, a lazy cadence to his movements. Your face feels warmer all of the sudden.

His helmet comes off much the same way, he’s wearing a mask like you expected, and denim jeans and a thick hoodie. He rests the helmet on the seat of the bike for now. In the sunlight his cropped blond hair reminds you of straw.

“Nervous, are you?” He nods down towards your hands. You tuck them in your pockets.

“A little, yes.”

He grunts. “Don’t be,” he meanders to the back of the bike and opens up the trunk box attached to it. “I won’t be goin’ above the speed limit. Not while you’re with me.” His tone is almost protective. You’re not familiar with that tone general, it makes your insides feel fuzzy.

He pulls out another helmet. Your heart rate doesn’t go any slower.

Simon comes over to you with the helmet tucked underneath his muscular arm. Your hands are about to extend outwards to take it from him, but he takes another step forward.

He takes the helmet from under his arm holds it out. “Gonna put this on ya now.”

He says it slowly, almost tentative. His eyes are so intensely trained on you that you almost feel self conscious. Your mind swims, a vast sea of uncontrollable thoughts.

Your brain catches up in slow motion. Simon interprets your silence as a green light to continue.

It’s no-nonsense and straight to the point, but for you it feels like an eternity. You are paralyzed in place and looking straight ahead to avoid his gaze—straight ahead just so happens to be his broad chest, which fills up most of your vision.

He’s careful yet swift with placing the helmet on your head, his gloved thumbs brush over your cheek incidentally as he settles it on you. His palms almost encompass your entire face.

‘His hands are big.’ You realize helplessly.

It wasn’t like you’ve never seen his hands before, it just was that there was something about having said hands in such close proximity that made you starkly aware of their true scale.

You don’t have to wonder if there’s callouses or nicks on his hands, you’re so confident in your assumption that it would be more of a shock if there wasn’t.

It wouldn’t stretch your imagination too far to twist the brief, unintended contact into the image of him cupping your face instead. Your stomach swoops and you mentally berate yourself, mortified.

He demonstrates how to flip the visor up and down and how to take it off yourself. You find it remarkably difficult to absorb his instructions even despite your apt attention.

Then Simon’s eyes narrow questioningly down at you. Your heart lurches for a moment, he must have said something that should have prompted you to answer, but you were much too preoccupied with dousing the fire growing in your face and breathing slow to steady the rabbit-kicks between your lungs.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this—“

“I-I want to.”

You surprise yourself with your sudden insistence. The words tumble from your mouth inelegantly and rapidly. You truly wanted to crawl under a rock in that moment, you felt as though your desperation for human connection couldn’t have been more obvious. Rationally you knew that your blurted out reply could be understood as mere excitement, but you weren’t being very rational right now.

Fortunately, you don’t spiral further into self-deprecation as you are not given much of a chance to, not when Simon utters a single word that has your mind scrambling for a reason you’re not certain of.

Simon’s head slants ever so slightly, a look in his eye that you’d almost call amused. “Good.”

Something in the timbre of his voice reminds you of the fact that very soon you will be in the closest proximity you’ve ever been with him—or with any man for that matter. Hugging your male family members didn’t count.

He takes one step backwards away from you before turning on his heel and approaching the bike to put his own helmet back on.

“Alright,” he starts with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you pay attention. “When we go around corners don’t lean. If we get on the road and you’re too nervous just tap me and we’ll pull over, won’t be able to hear you that well unless we’re stopped.”

His speech isn’t harsh but it demands attention. Your eyes are wide, you’re nodding along. You wonder if he’s done this before—give people direction. It sounds like it. You are reminded of his job, military, he told you.

“Understand?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head at you.

You nod. “I understand.”

He tips his head slightly forward in a single gesture of acknowledgment, seemingly pleased with your answer. He goes towards the bike, one hand on the handlebar and the other near the back.

Then, with an effortless amount of strength, he tugs the bike forward along with the momentum of taking a large step. The kickstand rolls up and away.

Your mouth goes dry when some ancient, primitive part of your brain shudders in delight. You shift your eyes away and downwards at your feet, burning and mortified.

 Simon settles himself on the bike, his long leg easily swinging over the side. He then motions you to come over with a single croon of his two fingers. Your heart is a drum.

With every step to him your nerves rise in anticipation, excited and electrified. You’ve never been on the back of a bike before.

When you come around to the side of the bike you pause. You find yourself once again thinking of how his presence will be adjacent to yours once you sit down behind him.

“Just swing your leg over it.” He supplies, acknowledging your hesitancy but being unaware of the deeper source.

You make yourself do it, lest you tick him off to the whirlwind going on inside your head.

You had to throw your leg wider than you were expecting, your shaky legs didn’t help you much. You were fearful that you would lose balance, but somehow scrambled on the back of it in one piece.

Your knee brushes against his hip incidentally, it’s barely a second of contact but you jerk your leg away like you had been burned regardless.

With how hot your face was feeling, you might as well have been.

It was an almost uncomfortable contrast; the heat of your body yet the chill on your skin due to the breeze. Your palms felt clammy in your gloves.

You pressed yourself as far back as you could on the seat, which wasn’t much considering the minuscule amount of space you were working with. The way you were seated was a bit awkward, it would be all too easy to scoot yourself forward to get more comfortable, but then you’d be pressed against his back.

“Settled?” Asks Simon. You nod, but then sputter when you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.” You clear your throat.

There’s a pause that stretches on long enough that you were worried you said something wrong somehow, you begin to analyze your conversation up until this point to try and figure out what, but before you can begin combing through your memories in earnest Simon speaks up.

“You can hold on if you need to.”

For a moment you don’t know what to say.

“Okay.”

And Simon just waits, almost expectant. He gave you the go ahead to hold onto him,and now he’s seemingly waiting for you to do exactly that. You weren’t even on the road yet.

He said you could. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

You move in increments. Your hands reach out slowly in front of you, slow enough that you don’t think Simon is aware you even are. Then you lurch forward, and there’s no discretion about it.

You move up in the seat, your arms hover over his sides, and—

Two hundred-something pounds of muscle suddenly becomes less abstract.

He’s solid. You can’t even wrap your arms around him entirely. You feel dizzy.

Your hands are laid flat and stiff over his abdomen, you can feel the steady rise and fall of him as he breathes. You imagine his heartbeat, strong and anchored. Not at all like yours, which was pounding with an almost frenzied electricity.

He shifts a little in his seat, he’s only getting comfortable but you are panicked that he’s attempting to nudge you off, so you lift your hands off him.

His hand, which completely wraps around your wrist, comes down to reposition your hands where they were previously.

It’s so fast yet so absentminded that you are convinced it’s more of a reflex than a conscious move.

He says nothing. You say nothing. Your palms rest against him.

The engine roars especially loud suddenly, you jump against him in surprise.

Your stomach swirls with nerves.

“Hold on.” His voice is raised just enough so that he can be heard over the noise. You find your fingers curling to clutch onto him when the bike begins to slowly move forward, turning to pull out into the road.

You cling ever tighter.

Any and all semblance of personal space is disregarded when he begins to ride in earnest.

He doesn’t go over the speed limit just like he promised, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were still trembling behind him. You hug onto him tight when he goes on the highway. If it bothers him he makes no show of it—verbal or otherwise.

You feel even smaller pressed up against him like this, his broad back filling your vision to the point that if you wanted to comfortably see what was in front of you, you’d have to try and sit up and look over his shoulder.

The sound of the wind whipping past you is almost static to your ears. You’re caught between two separate strains of nerves, one from anxiety over being on a bike for the first time, the other from the rapid pace of your heart thanks to the sturdy man you were clinging onto for support.

It makes your hands jittery and your stomach swoop. When you go around a turn for the first time your hands squeeze him like your life depended on it. You doubted it bothered him, considering how he eclipsed you in every way.

He comes to a stop at a red light.

“How are you holdin’ up?” His calls over the hum of the engine, his helmet muffling the sound somewhat.

“Good!” You call back to him, moving one of your hands to give him a small, yet shaky, thumbs up.

His chest rises and falls sharp and quick, a short chuckle. You can’t hear it. It makes your heart feel warm nonetheless.

As the ride goes on your nerves melt away bit by bit. You find comfort in Simon’s solidity.

It was when you relaxed somewhat that it dawns on you that you had no clue as to where he was taking you—if anywhere at all. He didn’t really specify anything other than a time and place to collect you.

Time ticks by, the feeling of Simon’s presence so close to your own becomes increasingly familiar. It still doesn’t rid you of the occasional fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, much to your chagrin. It wasn’t an awful thing to feel small in such a way with Simon—far from it; the issue was how embarrassed it made you.

You went out of your way to ensure your thoughts never crossed that line you drew for yourself, but as you were holding onto his broad midsection it became an increasingly daunting task.

So lost in thought you are that you do not notice that he has turned into somewhere until the bike goes slower than you were expect. You sit up just a little in your seat in an attempt to look over his shoulder the best you could.

It’s a quaint little restaurant. A sign with chalkboard written on it sat out in front of the entrance, informing potential patrons that they were still serving breakfast.

He parks the motorcycle. Then he waits, and waits. It isn’t until he shoots you a glance over his shoulder that you realize he’s waiting for you to get off the bike first.

You dismount as carefully as possible, but you can’t shake the feeling you look awkward regardless, like a newborn filly. Once both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground Simon follows.

You are reminded to take off your helmet when Simon does. Once it’s off your head you hand it to him, wordlessly waiting for him to confirm your assumption that he just took you to breakfast.

He takes your helmet with two of his thick fingers hooked into it, then he’s placing both helmets back in the trunk box. Your eyes dart from him to your feet in random intervals. You were still wrapping your head around the idea of breakfast with Simon.

You’re not certain of what to say, if anything. Thanking him right at this moment felt too presumptuous, so you hold off on that. When he clicks the box shut he regards you for a moment, observant.

When your eyes meet you give him a small smile, it’s more of a reflex if anything. Whatever was there disappears, his posture eases.

“C’mon.” He beckons with a nod of his head towards the building. Looks like you were having breakfast after all.

You are quick to follow. You notice his steps are slower to make up for your shorter strides.

Subconsciously, you are walking closer together than before. You notice it only when the fabric of your jacket brushes against him. You flinch and yank your arm away. You’re about to sputter out an apology.

But Simon remains impassive, almost as if nothing unusual occurred, like you didn’t accidentally cross over into his personal space.

The thought of your hand in his is an unbidden one.

Simon opens the door for you. You tell him ‘thank you’ in a hushed tone as you skitter inside.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. There aren’t many people within, it’s small but not claustrophobic. The primary decor is wood and earth tones, the scent of coffee drifts across the air invitingly.

“Any preference?” You blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for what he was asking.

‘Seating preferences,’ you realize belatedly. “No.”

You and Simon end up seated at a table in the far back. Simon takes the seat facing the entrance.

He’s leaned back lazily in the chair across from you, It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. His legs are spread in nonchalantly and his arms rests across his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him.

This is also the first time you are acutely aware of Simon’s legs. They’re thick and long, his denim jeans cling to his limbs as his legs stretch the material out. The jeans weren’t tight or form fitting, just that he was so well-muscled he ended up filling most of the space in them out.

His voice startles you out of your observations. “Get whatever you want.”

You feel embarrassed, even though Simon can’t read your mind it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. You sheepishly lean forward in your seat to skim over the menu, your hands still neatly folded in your lap. Then you glance up at Simon.

“Thank you.”

He simply nods.

“I like this place.” You suddenly say.

Simon cocks his head. “Do you, now?” You ignore how the rough timbre in his voice gives you pleasant butterflies.

“I do. It’s very…” Your brows knit together as you search for the word. “…Rustic. I like it.”

“Had a feeling you would.”

You force yourself to read the menu to help you get your mind off of your increasing body temperature.

“What will you be getting?” You ask after a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Simon doesn’t bristle, but you can’t ignore the almost exasperated tone in his voice, like he’s had this conversation before and is already bracing himself to have it again.

“Nothing.”

You peek up at him. He holds your stare. He eases a little when you don’t push the subject any further.

His following words are more neutral in tone, a clear change of subject. “Get what you want.” Simon points to the menu with his eyes.

You do exactly that.

Eggs, potatoes and bacon sounded delightful, so that was what you ended up getting.

You just ordered, so there still would be some time until your food came.

This was uncharted territory for you. You’ve never been on a bike or had a man take you somewhere to eat, two new things in a single day; that was a very welcome rarity for you.

“Do you come here a lot?” Now that you were in such a setting with Simon you found yourself more conversational than usual. There was a desire to know more about him, no matter how mundane. He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

Simon lightly shrugs his shoulder. “Not that much.” He answers. “Just enough to know the food’s decent.”

“Well, thank you for taking me.” You mumble sheepishly, not quite certain on how to word it.

“Should be thanking you for coming with me.”

There isn’t trepidation in his tone but there is a sort of carefulness there that you can’t place. You’re not expecting it, so you can’t help the way your eyes widen. You nod quickly, not wanting your surprise to be mistaken for something negative.

“I got to try two new things today thanks to you.” It slips out easily, without much thought.

His eyes crinkle somewhat. “Liked the bike, then?” There’s the faintest twinge of pride in his tone.

You like it, you like the thought that he takes some measure of satisfaction in it; it humanizes him and gives more clarity to the jagged edges of his exterior—it doesn’t sand them away, just makes them more legible.

Your lips twitch in a brief smile. “I was scared at first, but yes, I did.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You don’t have the time to register the potential implication there before he speaks again.

“What’s the other one?” Your confusion must show in your face, he elaborates. “You said there were two new things.”

‘Oh.’

The soft clatter of a plate being set down before you makes you jump. You are quick to hastily apologize and stammer out a thank you to the waitress, she only smiles at you and gives an apology of her own for startling you before leaving.

You didn’t even realize you slipped and admitted that, now your mind was working overdrive to figure out how best to word it. There’s an awkward beat of silence until you pick up your fork. You take a bite of potatoes first. It’s more than just decent, it’s delicious.

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asks wryly.

You chew and swallow before speaking. “Very good.” You reply cheerfully. Simon seems pleased.

He then looks at you expectantly.

There wasn’t really much point in dancing around it, you already brought it up by accident, the issue was how to say it without earning potential judgement.

“The other new thing was this.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Never been taken to dinner, either?”

You shake your head. You poke at the food on your plate, growing increasingly self-conscious. Simon catches it.

“Not your fault some bastards don’t know how to act.” Despite his flat delivery it’s reassuring. You find yourself feeling less insecure. You don’t get the impression that Simon is a man to sugarcoat or utter empty platitudes, so you are appreciative.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, though.”

Simon cocks his head at you, intrigued. “Wouldn’t know?” He asks, parroting it back at you.

“Wouldn’t know.” You confirm, taking another bite of your eggs. You don’t realize that you just implicitly admitted you’ve never had a boyfriend until you’re taking a sip of your water.

For an imperceptible second you freeze before forcing yourself back into motion. In this situation it would be better to just move on and ignore it, but that still didn’t stop your face from feeling like a bonfire.

You think Simon recognizes the implication immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised at all. You’re not certain of how you feel about that.

What you are certain of is the relief you feel when he doesn’t press on about it, but you still feel a tad mortified. If he’s put off by your lack of romantic experience he doesn’t show it.

Maybe it’s the desperation to change the subject that makes you ask Simon;

“So, what do you usually get when you come here?”

That simple question kicked off a sort of back-and-forth conversation between the two of you, which the questions becoming increasingly mundane as it went on.

The questions are asked by you, and Simon answers, then waits for you to give him an answer in return before you toss another question at him.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Favorite color?

What about your favorite season?

Cats or dogs?

Things of that nature are thrown back and forth between you two. You’re pleasantly surprised that Simon is entertaining you.

You decide to push your luck and dip your toes into more slightly personal questions—nothing inappropriate, of course. Simon doesn’t hesitate.

Early bird or night owl?

When’s your birthday?

Have you ever rode with any of your friends?

Simon sits up a little. “What, on the back of it?” His tone is so incredulous that you fail to suppress a giggle.

“No, no, just in general.” You amend. Simon leans back in his seat once more.

“No. Just you.” Just you. No one else. You wonder if he was simply solitary or if there was something else—maybe both. You brush off the warmth blooming in your chest.

You think about what kind of friends Simon would have.

“Doubt they’d be interested.” He continues.  “Don’t think any of ‘em even ride.”

“Ah. I’m assuming you don’t have breakfasts with them either?” It’s more of a joke than a question.

Simon answers regardless. “Sometimes I do,” you can’t discern the look that’s in his eye. “But nothin’ like this.”

You cock your head at him, curious. “Never took them here?”

“No.” He confirms bluntly.

“Just me?” You ask. His dark eyes stare at you intently. Your heart pulses.

The entrance to the restaurant opens and Simon’s eyes dart to the door, severing the intense connection briefly. Then his sights shift back.

“Just you.” He replies without skipping a beat.

You look down at your plate just to give yourself a reprieve from the lingering intensity of his stare. You’re almost done with your food by now.

His voice dips a bit lower in a light tease. “I was going to ask you if you ever had any other men walk you home, but I already know the answer to that one.”

Your face awash with warmth. “What’s the answer?” You manage to speak.

You notice the corners of Simon’s eyes wrinkling, the pitch black in his eyes almost look warm for a flicker. Your heart aches with every pulse. He says it in the same tone he had when asking you if you liked his bike.

“Just me.”

Simon ends up paying for your breakfast. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he insists that it’s not a problem. You acquiesce.

He opens the door for you as you’re exiting just like he did when you were entering.

“I’ve got a place in mind to take you to, if you’re up for it.” He has already retrieved the helmets from the back of the bike.

You nod immediately.

Simon was right, you were getting more accustomed to being on a bike already. You still clung onto him for support, however. You were able to appreciate things that you couldn’t before due to your fear; the cool wind blowing past, the auburn trees lining the road.

You cherish what little time you have left being so close to him.

Time that slips by too fast even when you’re holding it tight, because before you know it he’s pulling in somewhere and slowing to a complete stop.

You glance around. It’s a park, if not secluded. You don’t see any other vehicles parked. The trees in the vicinity are so red they might as well be torches.

“It’s beautiful out here.” You say aloud, dismounting the bike.

Simon takes your helmet and puts it along with his in the trunk. “Thought you’d like it.” Unless your ears were deceiving you, you detect a hint of cheekiness there. You’re not used to it coming from Simon, he sounds as dry and flat as usual, but it’s there’s an element that’s foreign to your ears. You cherish it.

You smile sheepishly and turn around to get a better view of the trees in the vicinity. “Do you like coming here a lot?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Sometimes.” He sounds indifferent.

“Oh, hopefully I’m not being invasive or something—“ You begin to stammer, the words tumbling out almost reflexively.

Something in his expression softens. “You’re fine.” Simon replies. You relax a little, but not by much due to how you’re chastising yourself.

You force yourself to brush off the negative self-talk when Simon comes over to stand next to you. Once he’s there he’s grabbing something out of his pocket. A box of cigarettes, you realize.

You’re busying yourself with admiring the trees, you hear the sound of fabric shifting. A comfortable silence envelopes you both. It isn’t until you notice Simon’s hand moving up to his face that your eyes shoot over to him.

He hooks his thumb up and under his mask, underneath his chin. You blink and suddenly you’re staring at pale skin where midnight fabric used to be.

There’s light-colored stubble on his jaw, you catch a scar running there and up, it disrupts the natural growth pattern of his facial hair.

There’s  a scar on one side of his upper lip—the same side the other scar on his jaw is—it is vertical and goes from the seam of his lips to seemingly all the way up, maybe even to his nostril. You can’t tell, his mask is still dipped low enough to obscure his cupids bow and the rest of his face. It intrigues you because you’ve never seen a scar like that before.

His lips themselves look like how you expect, slightly chapped and maybe a bit redder than usual from the cold.

You make yourself dart your eyes away. It would be rude to stare.

But then holds the cigarette between his lips, and you find yourself paying as much attention as possible through your peripheral. He feels in his pockets for a lighter for a fraction of a second before he’s bringing it up and setting the cigarette alight.

It isn’t long before the scent of nicotine follows.

And the two of you simply exist in one another’s presence like that for a little while. Nothing is said because nothing needs to be at the moment. You think about how nice it is to have someone be effortlessly content with you. There wasn’t any song or dance you had to do while tone deaf and out of rhythm just to keep away the dreaded labels of ‘odd’ and ‘strange.’

It was just you and Simon.

He says your name. You turn to look up at him.

“Yes?” There’s a pause there, you watch his lips thin out into a line, the motion is almost imperceptible. It’s a welcome strangeness to see a portion of his face now. A small part of you that you bury deep hopes that the sight won’t be unfamiliar one day.

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes are far away.

“In a month or two I’m gonna be gone for a while.” Smoke pours out his mouth in wispy coils. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still looking at the autumn trees.

“Oh.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“How come?” You ask, then realization dawns. “For work?” The question is asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He confirms after a stilted pause. He takes another drag.

“I’ll be back.” He says after a beat of silence. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at the moment.

You don’t want him to leave, but that was just the reality of things. Sensibly, you knew that a month or two was still a lot of time, but just like the time you clutched as tight as you did Simon on the bike, it would slip away before you knew it.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” The words sort of pour out, like water from a stream. There’s no question about it, you’ll wait for him; there’s no harm in it. It wasn’t like you’d be putting anything or anyone on hold.

Simon finally looks down at you. His eyes are cavernous, searching.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for or not, only that he looks away from you and back to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else.

The subject leaves a lingering melancholy in the air that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You make an attempt at further conversation to shift the tone.

“You’ll be here for Halloween.” You state, not quite sure where you’re going with it.

Simon only grunts in reply.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Simon stills for a moment. “Not sure.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Like what?” He sounds mildly amused.

You think.

“Something with a skull or skeleton on it.” You eventually decide.

“Have jokes, do you?” He says dryly, though not offended.

“Not a joke. But I have an actual joke to tell.”

“Go on.”

“What do you call a pile of kittens?”

“You tell me.”

“A meow-tain.”

He actually snorts through his nose, you even see the scarred corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smirk, he’s more endeared by you than the joke itself. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”

You beam up at him, and the silence is comfortable yet again.

It’s a minute until next he speaks. “I know what I’ll get you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll see at Christmas.”

Something about the rustling of trees and the soil being stamped underfoot is soothing.

After Simon put out his cigarette and lowered his mask back over his mouth he asked you if you wanted to walk around the park for a bit, which was how you and him ended up walking on one of the short trails.

Simon walks closer to you than usual. You don’t think you’re imagining it, not when you incidentally brush against one another at sporadic intervals.

Neither of you make a move to put some distance between one another.

It’s the distance—or lack thereof—that makes your mind wander.

You think about that day at the convenience store, the night at the bar, and the othernight at the bar when he walked you home for the first time.

You think of Simon, the scar on his jaw and the muteness in his obsidian eyes. The oddly stable monotony of his voice. Big hands that put your helmet on for you for the first time.

You didn’t expect him to show up.

Not when he standing on the other side of the street, not when he came into the bookstore to give your freezing hands gloves, not when he pulled up on his bike.

When does it stop being chivalry?

It was a dangerous thing for someone as sentimental as you to ask.

You didn’t want to smother. To desperately clutch so tight that it suffocated. Having false hopes flood your heart almost always ended with you drowning, so as always, you just took what you were given.

You’d mentally reprimand yourself for every skipped heartbeat and flutter in your stomach, and you would convince yourself that it would be fine if Simon suddenly stopped talking to you one day. Drifted away, further and further until he was a stranger once more.

Your heart was soft and bleeding, too easily bruised for your own good, that’s why you always got so hurt. It was why in spite of having a lovely day you now found yourself hurting.

So you bury down your desires of companionship and the word-you-refuse-to-say with a shovel that’s so well-used it might as well be another limb—

A single, thick arm shoots out and grabs you by the middle.

You are caught before you fall forward on the cold earth. So lost in thought you were, that you tripped over a pebble.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Your mind is in utter disarray.

‘It was just an off-handed term of endearment, let it go.’

It slipped out from his lips without thought, it didn’t have to mean anything, you’ve heard people use that word before, it didn’t have to mean anything.

It’s difficult to let it go when his strong limb remains wrapped around your waist. He waits until you steady yourself before slipping his arm away.

It’s just as difficult to forget about the effortless strength he exerted to pull you upright before you fell over, especially when that ancient sense hums in delight at such a display.

Your heart pounds hysterically despite your best efforts.

“Thank you.” You mutter quickly. He gives a single, curt nod.

You wait until your pace returns to a normal rhythm before speaking again, you want to put as many syllables between you and that term of endearment as possible.

“Did you ever read that book?” You can imagine the green cover and gold lettering clear as day.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Try as you might, you could remember the letters but not the specific ones which formed the title on the book.

“Mythology.” You blink up at him in mild surprise.

You didn’t take Simon as one who would be interested in that subject. “Oh! Do you usually read those?”

“No.” He answers flatly, “Wasn’t my first choice. Just wanted somethin’ different.”

“I understand.” You do, you truly do.

A beat of empathetic silence washes over the two of you.

“Do you read a lot?” You carefully store the bits of information about him in your mind, in hopes that one day you’ll be able to paint a fuller picture.

“Not often.”

You shoot a curious glance at him. “Oh, so what do you do in your spare time?”

Simon says nothing for a moment. He’s searching for an answer, you realize.

Eventually he responds. “Wait.”

You blink at him, momentarily puzzled by his response. ‘Wait for what?’ Your gaze says. He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

You see two birds foraging. Further down the trail is a little babbling brook. You exclaim your enthusiasm for both, and for every other thing which grabs your attention on the path. Simon only gives you an endeared scoff in reply.

You can’t help but feel dispirited when the trail eventually loops back around and you see the parking lot in the distance. You can’t help but feel a bit childish; not wanting the day to end just yet.

When you reach the bike you stand awkwardly next to it for a moment, waiting for Simon to retrieve the helmets for the final time today.

Simon comes over, the length of his shadow swallowing yours. While looking down at you his brows crease briefly. You are frozen in place when his free hand comes up to your head, slowly and gingerly, giving you time to flinch away. You don’t.

It’s too easy to imagine him cupping your face. That’s twice now that you’ve imagined that. The lump that forms in your throat following that thought is nigh impossible to swallow.

He pulls his hand back and he flicks his fingers so fast that it barely registers that he plucked an autumn leaf from your hair. You’re too caught up with what just happened to feel even remotely embarrassed over that.

An unknowable feeling dawdles around between you. You’re staring forward, avoiding looking up to meet Simon’s eyes, directionless.

You manage to choke something out to break the silence. “Thanks—“

“Don’t mention it,” Simon’s reply is swift, yet no less understanding for it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You decide to just give Simon the directions to your home to drop you off. You trusted him at this point.

The ride there felt too short despite being a good distance away.

Simon only speaks to confirm he was at the right house, and then he’s pulling over to let you off.

You linger on the bike a second longer than needed. Simon doesn’t say anything or look over his shoulder to wordlessly tell you to get off. He sits there with you.

Your arms are still wrapped around him.

You shake off the urge to give him a final squeeze goodbye. Eventually you do get off the bike, and you take off your helmet. You’re about to give it back to him until he stops you.

“Keep it.” You blink at him, and tuck it under your arm instead.

You stand there aimlessly while you try to think of what to say.

“Thank you. For all of this.” There’s a quiet that settles between the two of you. It isn’t an unwelcome one.

Simon hums in reply after a time.

“I…” Your words slip past your lips and out of your head. Simon stares at you intently, waiting on every syllable.

“I appreciate it.” The words fall flat on your tongue, they barely scratch the surface of how you feel, but you hope he understands how much this day spent meant to you.

“I really enjoyed today.” You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

“Likewise.” He replies. Your lips twitch in a smile that never fully forms.

“Text me when you get home.” You blurt out. Simon simply nods.

And just like how you lingered for a second too long with him on the bike, Simon lingers a second too long with you.

“Talk to you soon.” He says after a moment. You wonder if he was going to say something else. You make yourself nod in agreement.

“Bye, Simon.”

You watch him leave, your eyes stay on him until he’s out of view.

You’re already laying in bed about to drift off to sleep for the night when you hear a high-pitched sound from your phone on the nightstand.

You swipe at the screen, your half-asleep eyes burning uncomfortably with the light that floods your vision when you open your phone. When you read Simon’s name you’re rubbing your eyes to help them focus on what he texted you.

‘Sleep well.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Looks like this will be more than 2 chapters after all!

I also wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, the positive response really motivated me to finish this. It really means a lot!! 🫶💘

I actually read an article and watched a video on how to use kickstands on bikes, there’s always a possibility I described something wrong, but I hope that can be overlooked!

The plan is to ramp up the romantic intensity a lot in the next chapter. (This story will still shift to an explicit rating once we get there.)

Thank you so much for any and all likes and reblogs! Please feel free to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[clockworkbee]

in that reading era where nothing less than a 3.5★ book sticks in my head all that much

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

like on the one hand language matters and i too sometimes find slang trends annoying and/or concerning and on the other hand sometimes women do actually make jokes and talk shit on the internet with their friends and it is not actually that deep and commentary on phenomena gets to a weird point where i’m like i don’t know how “these idiot losers on the internet using a two to four word phrase they will have moved on from in a year are basically the primary cause of patriarchal oppression” is the feminist take. like sometimes i start to think the plot has been lost.

[starryluminary]

“John decided I didn’t have to die over an honest mistake” WHAT.

[mgjiyu]

The difference between Max “I don’t know what formula 1 will be in 10 years but I sure won’t be there” Verstappen and Charles “I’ll be 40 in 14 years so hopefully it’s 14 WDC” Leclerc shows

[kaitcake1289]

you are watching mythic quest season 3. i am watching the mythic quest season in my mind where cws death has an actual effect on most of the characters that prompts their development. we are not the same