#i wish everything did shine and bloom

[themoonstonechronicler]

its so pretty

[itoshiexx]

blossoming love

synopsis: sae is not good with words, so he communicates with flowers instead. / or, every time itoshi sae gave you a bouquet in significant moments.

pairing: itoshi sae x gn!reader | words: 2.9k | warnings: fluffy fluff, tiny bit of angst if u squint, rin and sae’s relationship isn’t fucked up, kinda proofread, ooc sae maybe? i love him tho, its really just three thousand words of him talking about love

notes: this idea has been on my mind for a while since i adore the language of flowers, and even tho sae is probably ooc, i really liked the final result ♥ also i'm trying a new layout so lmk if y'all like it~ and finally thank u so much for 2.5k followers, i love you all sm!!

masterlist

i. sunflowers for a confession

never has itoshi sae been so painfully aware of his flaws and limitations quite like the day he realized he liked you as more than a friend. because, even though he wasn’t the type of guy to wait for the universe to give him everything he wished for, anyone within three miles could see how absolutely awful he was at communicating.

so that was the dilemma: how could he express his feelings to you if the words just didn’t come out?

“flowers.”

“huh?”

rin was sitting at the couch in their parent’s home, a paused horror movie on the tv. sae didn’t even notice he started mumbling and spilling his secret crush to the younger itoshi, and the tips of his ears went red at that. he was supposed to be the smooth, suave, aloof kind of guy that gave his little brother some love advice, and not the other way around.

(not as if any of them had some kind of experience. emotional intelligence didn’t really run in the bloodline.)

“just give them flowers, nii-chan. did you know each of them has meanings? it could help you express yourself.”

“you mean like… the language of flowers or some shit?”

rin rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“just try not to use ‘some shit’. i don’t think they’re into that,” he joked, and sae could only grimace and send him the middle finger.

but as much as he didn’t want to admit, his brother was right. you were special, and you deserved the best he could give — even if it wasn’t much. he was going to learn how to be better for you, but meanwhile, the language of flowers should suffice. 

the first time you receive a bouquet from itoshi sae, they are beautiful blooms of sunflowers, expressing his adoration towards you. the small card that comes with it has a simple question:

go out with me?

ii. white gardenias and the start of something new

your first date with the pro-footballer is something simple yet sophisticated, a dinner at a famous restaurant he rented just for you two. the dim lights make everything more romantic, and your heart is beating so loud you’re afraid sae might hear it from the other side of the table. despite the euphoria that leaves you nearly breathless, you manage to talk during the night while he mostly just listens.

itoshi sae is not familiar with dates — not actual ones, at least —, so to say he was nervous was an understatement. however, he hid it well behind his nonchalant persona, even if meant avoid talking just so he didn’t fuck things up. 

sae was never a talker, anyway. and it was long ago he figured he’d rather listen to the sound of your voice and drown in the image of your sparkly eyes every time you were excited about something. 

when dinner is over and sae drives to drop you home, you’re a little shocked to see him take another flower arrangement from the floor of the backseat, just hidden enough so you didn’t notice during your ride. the petals are a pure white color with beautiful twirls, and you can’t help but gape.

“is that… is that for me?”

sae wants to scream, because of course they are for you — who else could they be for? as if he’d ever look at anyone when you’re the brightest light shining on his life.

inevitably, you’re all itoshi sae can see.

“they are gardenias,” he simply says, fighting the heat that climbs through his neck. he pushes the bouquet a little more towards you. “they made me think of you.”

your chest swells with affection, and the sweet aroma of the blooms mixed with sae’s perfume makes you a little dizzy. you only realize how close he is when his nose touches yours, hands grazing your left cheek as if you’re something fragile that he’s scared to break.

but he kisses you anyway. his mouth is delicate against yours, trying to convey his longing as a complement to the flowers on your hold.

when your lips part and you finally say goodbye, you’re certain that sae has blossomed an entire garden in your heart. starting with the white gardenias that mean new beginnings, affection and a revelation of a secret love. 

iii. blue hyacinths for an apology

sae knows how much of an asshole he can be. contrary to popular belief, he knows how sharp his words can feel and how mean his voice can sound. even if he wasn’t exactly self aware, his brother rin would sure be able to spit it to his face every time they argued. 

it wasn’t like he always meant it. sure, he didn’t care about his behavior towards the media or people he found particularly annoying (pretty much everyone), but there were people in his life that he cherished; people he didn’t want to hurt. the thing is, itoshi sae was just really, really awkward when it came to his own emotions, and he was the worst at saying how he felt. 

it’s a few months into your relationship that sae learns he would rather never play football again than make you cry. it’s a silly argument, really — he doesn’t even remember what he gets so worked up for. maybe it’s jet lag that makes him lash out on you, but it doesn’t really matter when he sees your eyes glisten and a little sniffle comes out of your lips.

“i’m s-sorry,” you say, uneasy in a way that makes his stomach churn. he wants to wipe that expression off your face, and beat himself up for being the one who put it there. 

him and his stupid ass mouth, as rin would say.

“what? why are you saying that?” his tone is more exasperated than he intends to, and god, why can’t he just shut the fuck up?

“i didn’t mean to annoy you or make things harder… i know you’re tired from your game and i… i’m sorry, sae.”

he should be the one apologizing for being an idiot, he knows; but the words are so foreign to his system that sae doesn’t even know how to put the letters together. it’s only when you pick up your stuff and leave his apartment without another word that the pro-player is shaken out of his stupor.

“fuck,” he curses under his breath. “fucking hell, sae.”

he hates that he hurt you, hates that he doesn’t know how to fix it and hates it even more that his little brother lectures him on the phone later that day, when he calls to vent.

“you already were a shitty brother, so don’t be a shitty boyfriend too,” are rin’s exact words. 

okay, ouch. kinda stings, but he figures he deserves it.

it’s almost 9pm when sae goes to your house, two bags of your favorite treats resting on his forearm while he holds the carefully chosen bouquet. the surprise on your face when you open the door makes his heart reel, though the glimmer of happiness is what makes it all worth it.

“i messed up”, is what he says as soon as he can before you decide to kick him out. “i didn’t mean to snap at you like that and… i’m sorry. i never want to hurt you.”

you take the blue hyacinths from his grasp and look at them fondly before smiling, and sae thinks the sun is shining again. he’s eternally grateful you understand the sincerity and the regret that comes from those tiny petals.

iv. red roses and the epiphanic awareness of love 

journalists from all around the world are well aware of how much itoshi sae hates interviews. it is always pretty clear with the bored — if not extremely annoyed — expression on his face and the rude answers that make anyone break a cold sweat. he doesn’t like stupid questions (all of them) and much less when the press tries to meddle in his personal business. 

it wasn’t new to be asked about his romantic relationships, and this particular topic was something that made sae scowl and diss whatever nosy, lukewarm journalist decided to pry to earn a penny. by now, everyone knows that inquiring if the midfielder is dating anyone is forbidden territory.

still, the media keeps trying to find small loopholes in what they really want to know, questions safe enough to not enrage the itoshi. it’s one of those that makes sae’s world come to a halt in the middle of a press conference in italy.

“itoshi, can you tell us about the things you love most in life?”

his brain instantly shuts down, and suddenly, sae is no longer in a room with hundreds of microphones and cameras shoved on his face, but instead in a cozy little picnic at the beach with you by his side.

if he was being honest, sae never really thought about things like love for most of his life; and not just the romantic one, but love as a whole. sure, he knew he loved his parents and his little brother, but they were parts of his life he didn’t choose, almost as if those feelings were meant to be there ever since he was born.

thinking about his life growing up, he could never really tell if what he felt was ‘love’ or just ‘like’. did he love soccer? did he love salted kombucha tea? did he love the beach? or were all these things temporary fulfillments that could end at any minute? this feeling was such a difficult concept for sae that he never bothered to actually search for answers. 

but you’ve been dating for seven months now — and sae simply knows, as a universal truth written down his bones, that the feelings he has for you are too otherworldly to fit inside the mere perception of ‘like’. liking you doesn’t do justice to the way his heart leaps and his chest is filled with happiness and peace and anxiousness and euphoria all at once whenever he thinks of you.

it’s the strangest epiphany of the century, he thinks, but that is the exact moment itoshi sae is sure you are the sole definition of love. 

he loves you. he loves you the most in life.

and even if life is hard, because the world always is, loving you amongst this chaos is the easiest thing sae has ever done.

so when he comes back from his trip and you stay over at his penthouse, he tries to demonstrate this overflowing feeling when he touches you and kisses you and makes you fall apart just to put you back together. and when the morning comes and you paddle to the kitchen for breakfast, he is there holding the prettiest bunch of classical red roses with the faintest blush on his face. 

you’re beautiful even with your unruly hair and bleary eyes, and sae is certain he will never get tired of seeing you smile for him. 

with his throat clogged with emotion, the words don’t come out. but you take the flowers in your gentle embrace and kiss him with such fondness and infatuation that he can’t help but wish you understand the deep, unconditional love he feels for you.

“i love you too, baby.”

and thankfully, you always do.

v. pink camellias for longing

longing wasn’t a feeling sae was particularly used to. 

when he left japan at the ripe age of 14, the first few months were especially harsh, since he was in a foreign country with a totally different language and culture. sae found himself missing the place he grew up, not so much for the place itself, but for the comfort its familiarity could bring. he missed rin, too. 

but as time passed and itoshi sae transformed, he stopped viewing japan and everything it had as his home, solely becoming a wandering soul in the big, cruel world. the athlete, then, longed for nothing but to be the best. 

however, he realized that life as he knew would never be the same after falling in love with you, for those feelings were strong as tidal waves, all-consuming and capable of changing everything in its course. 

everytime he was away, sae really fucking missed you.

“how long will you be gone for?”

even before he left. 

“…a month.” 

his voice is low and slightly hesitant. you’re together on the living room couch, watching a shitty rom-com movie that sae hates but always watches because it’s your favorite. his arms are around you while your back rests against his chest, and he feels a little dizzy — whether it’s from your sweet perfume or the fear inside of him, he doesn’t quite know.

though he will never admit it, the midfielder is always scared whenever he has to leave for longer periods of time. because what if you get tired of him? what if you start feeling so alone and neglected you end up hating him? the thought alone is enough to make him want to throw up. 

you turn around to face him, and the little pout of your lips suddenly has him feeling sick. 

“so long? you really have to?”

he sighs, because yeah, unfortunately, he does have to stay that long to follow the team along the season. even if he’d rather stay with you and just fly near game days.

“yeah. i’m sorry, mi amor.”

sae lets you turn around fully and adjust yourself on his lap, each leg sitting comfortably around his hips. both of his hands are immediately holding on your waist, as if afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t. 

“don’t apologize, handsome. i know it’s your job. i’m just gonna miss you a lot.”

he has the urge to kiss your sullen look away, and it’s exactly what he does. his lips touch yours with the same tenderness they always do, but there’s a certain urgency in the way his mouth moves and his tongue carefully glides with yours, as if he’s trying to convey just how much more he will miss you.

because although no one would ever believe him, he always misses you more.

“i wish i could stay here with you,” he says when you part, and the little bashful smile you give him makes his heart soar. 

“but you love what you do, though.”

yeah, but i love you more. the thought is something that has been plaguing his mind during the nearly two years you’ve been together, because sae never expected to have something — or rather someone — who would become his entire world quite like how you do. it’s frightening and dreadful and not what he wished for himself, but sae can’t say that he hates it. there’s nothing about you or the gentleness of your love that he can hate.

that’s why when the time of his trip comes, a beautiful bouquet of pink camellias is placed on your kitchen island, and you know it’s his way of showing his longing for you.

vi. amaranthus and the promise of forever

even if many people disagree, sae knows he is always right. it’s how he knew you were the one even before he had you, and more so even before he realized he wanted you. somehow, it’s always been a truth his mind couldn’t ignore.

it’s on a lazy sunday morning at your shared apartment that itoshi sae is taken by a sudden urge of asking you to marry him. 

there’s nothing extraordinary about the scenery; just you making him a snack after waking up from your — now shared — 3pm nap, hair tied in a bun, swaying your hips while stirring the food on the frying pan. he hugs you from behind and rests his head on your shoulder, nosing at the crook of your neck in an attempt to absorb all that you are. you giggle with the ticklish feeling, and the warmth that spreads through his chest somehow doesn’t feel weird anymore.

somehow, it’s now something he deeply cherishes. sae can only describe being with you as pure bliss.

and he’s always been selfish, a true egoist to its core. it’s why he’s faced with his deepest desire to have the honor of spending a lifetime by your side, if only you’ll have him.

he’s had the ring for a while now, hidden behind several socks in his drawer. it might as well be the time, he thinks; a lazy sunday afternoon that has nothing grandiose. sae was never one for big gestures anyway.

so when you both finish eating, sae tells you he’ll be out for a jog, and you just hum with your pretty smile. his heart is beating abnormally fast when he goes to the flower shop, and by the time he’s back home, he thinks it might just explode.

but this… you are it for him, he’s certain. the same way he was certain four years ago, when your love started to blossom until it became the prettiest garden.

and when sae is down on one knee asking the most important question of his life, ring box in one hand and the bouquet of amaranthus on the other, the teary smile and whispered “yes” you give makes him certain that, no matter what, your love will be eternal.

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

You wake with a start. Your frantic dreams fade into black but your adrenaline continues to surge. The shadows are unfamiliar, further sparking your panic. There’s something heavy around your middle. You push the arm off of you and roll out of the bed. 

You fall onto the floor and shield yourself, groggy and confused, as you crawl towards your closet. Only, it’s not there. You come to a wall and feel along the plaster. What’s going on? Where are you? 

There’s a grunt from the bed. A large bed. Not yours. 

“Doll,” Bucky rasps as a soft glow blooms from beside him. He withdraws his hand from beneath the lamp shade. “You alright? What’s going on?” 

You turn onto your backside and heave, looking around, searching, listening. It’s completely silent. There’s no yelling. No crashing. No crying. 

You don’t know what dreams threw you into consciousness but you can guess they weren’t so far from reality. Or what it had been until that man came into your life. No, you walked right into his. You asked him to do what he did. To make you do what you did. 

“I’m... I’m sorry.” You croak and get to your knees. “I’m sorry. I... I... I must’ve been sleep walking.” 

You get up and blink, heart racing, skin tingling. You stare at him, his broad shoulders, his hewn muscles, his strong chest. Your father was a scary man, a powerful man in that house, but Bucky is more than him. He makes your father look like a cockroach. 

“Sleep walking? You do that?” He beckons you back to the bed. 

You cross the room and grab the blankets. You quickly hide as you recall your lack of coverage. A button popped open in your sleep and your chest is all too close to spilling out. 

You recline. “No.” 

“Bad dream,” he lowers himself to his side and tickles your sleeve. 

“I guess,” you say to the ceiling. 

“About me?” 

You shake your head, “can’t remember.” 

You don’t remember the dream, but you remember everything else. Your mother’s pleas, the sound of his assaults, on her, on your sisters, on you. The nights hiding in the closet with Kitty and Adrienne. You wish they were here now. 

Those nights are over. No big loss. But with them goes your sisters. He won’t keep them as close as you like. 

“Doll,” he touches your neck and you wince again. You brace yourself as if he might hit you then shake yourself out of it. You glance at him and his eyes shine with concern. “You think I would... do something like that?” 

You shake your head. For as dangerous as you know he is, as much as you don’t want to trust him, he hasn’t hurt you. No, he got rid of the man who did. 

“I don’t mean to...” you look away, embarrassed. “He’s dead. I know that. But some of me doesn’t.” 

He hums and strokes your cheek, “I get it. You’re all locked away. That’s what kept you safe before. That’s what I admire in you. Cause I know you’ll sparkle on my arm, keeping yourself all inside, saving it just for me.” 

You exhale and cross your arms over the top of the blanket. 

“You really think that? I’m not that woman.” 

“You are the woman I want,” he assures you. 

He draws back and reaches to shut off the lamp but stops. “You okay if I turn out the light?” 

“Mhmm,” you drone. 

He flicks the switch and rolls back to you. He settles down on his shoulder and curls his arm around your middle once more. You stay as you are. He sighs and kisses your temple. 

“And I’m the man you need, doll. Understand. No one will hurt you,” he promises and nestles closer. “I will make sure of that.” 

💀

“Castro left this for you,” Bucky presents you the dress on the hanger as you clear your eyes of sleep. 

No more dreams came to haunt you and you only woke as you felt the bed shift. Reluctant, you didn’t rise with him. You clung to the warm, to the disconnection. To denial. 

Now you have to face the day and him. 

And that dress. 

Red, sophisticated, expensive. It feels entirely not you. But it’s pretty. 

“It’s a good colour for you,” he says as he comes closer. His chest peeks out under his satin robe. “But I don’t think anything could look bad on my woman.” 

You sit up and make your lips curve. You touch the skirt. 

“Very nice,” you assure him. 

“Of course, you got time to clean up and all that.” He turns and drapes the dress over the embroidered armchair. “Gotta get myself together.” 

He faces you and combs his fingers through his hair, only mussing it up further. You watch him trying not to squirm with your insides. You consider him. He’s not ugly. Far from it. 

You never saw yourself with a man like him. You truly never bothered to imagine yourself with any man. Your father put you off the idea. Could you do worse? Surely. Not better, but he is still what he is. You’re not living some white picket dream. 

“Woof, doll,” he comes to bed and sits on the edge, “you know how to turn a man to stone.” 

You arch a brow, “what?” 

“The way you’re looking at me. Measuring me up for the slaughter,” he scoffs and he puts his hand on your knee, squeezing it through the blanket. “Kinda sexy.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t meaning... I was only thinking,” you assure him. 

“Mmm, and what are you thinking about?” He prompts. 

You shrug and look away. 

“Well, now, we’re gonna be married and you’re already keeping secrets,” he accuses. You look at him and blanch. He snickers. “I’m kidding with ya. I’m just curious.” 

You shake your head, “just thinking.” 

“Hm, alright,” he shows his palms. “We’re gonna have lots of time to figure each other out.” 

You nod, “yeah.” 

“But I do wanna know... you still think I’m... handsome?” 

Your eyes flit away. “I already said--” 

“Locked tight, I know,” he says. “A man’s gotta try.” He runs his hand up to your hip and leans in, "you don’t gotta twist my arm to make me tell you how gorgeous you are, baby. I’m all too willing to show you.” 

He presses his lips to yours and your eyes round. His warmth is intoxicating, his hold on you unbreakable, and for the first time, you don’t really want him to stop. A soft touch is better than what you’ve known. 

[moody-alcoholic]

Sub Ala Angeli

Part 6 - Nice and Slow

Summary: Ghoap x fallen angel!reader, mini fic. Sub ala angeli - Under the wing of an angel.

CW: +18 content MDNI. Smut, oral (F receiving), fingering, reader is a virgin - ya know being an angel and all.

AN: never written a virgin reader before so be gentle.

Previous - masterlist - next

Enjoy <3

You wake with your arm and wing wrapped around Johnny. He’s still sleeping, you don’t even remember being bought into their bed. Where did Simon sleep? He’s not in the bed. You prop yourself up looking round the room, you can see sun coming through the window. 

You almost don’t want to disturb him, you smile watching his chest rise and fall. As long as he’s still breathing he’s safe. You move your hand up his chest, you can feel each muscle and scar under his shirt. He turns his head and your hand freezes, his eyes blink open and he looks over at you. 

He smiles, turning over and pulling you into his arms.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“I feel good.” You say, he smiles his hand comes up to stroke your face. He kisses you running his hand back down your body. You pull your wing tighter around him squeezing him against you. 

“Where’s Simon?” You ask when he breaks from the kiss.

“Probably on his run.” You smile at him, then you feel sadness. 

“Johnny. I’m worried about you.” Johnny smiles.

“Don’t worry about me. It’s going to be okay. Besides, I'm pretty sure Simon’s ready to fight God himself.” Johnny chuckles, it does help put you at ease. You sigh, relaxing against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat. You remember Mary yesterday, surely the name is a coincidence. 

One of Johnny’s hands glides down your body, it rests on the small of your back. You like his touch, you’ve never been touched like this before. You can feel your face getting warm, you look up at him. You feel something bloom deep inside you, it sends vibrations through your body. You want more, you want to chase the feeling. He smiles at you, his nose rubbing against yours before he leans in to kiss you again.

You close your eyes as his tongue glides in your mouth, your hand runs up his chest gripping his shirt. His fingers dip past your waistband, digging into the soft skin of your hip. You want more of his kisses, more of his touch. More of everything, you moan in his mouth and he breaks from the kiss looking into your eyes. He blinks and you watch his pupils dilate. 

“Johnny.” You ask, it’s almost a whisper, you don’t want to break this perfect moment. You can feel the heat of the sun on your exposed back. “What's sex like?” 

He smiles, his hand moving from your hip to your face, he strokes your cheek. 

“Do you want to know?” He asks, there’s a shine in his eyes and a grin on his face. Now you’re not too sure, you don’t know if you really do want to know. 

Sex, it’s always been portrayed as something forbidden. You’ve watched humans do unthinkable things to each other just for the pure thrill of sex. Sin is sin, but people seem to go the extra mile when sex is involved.

“Yeah. I think so.” You reply by swallowing the lump in your throat. 

He opens his mouth to talk but Simon walks into the room. You can see the shine of sweat on his face and arms. His hair is stuck to his forehead. Johnny sits up swinging his legs out the bed and you move your wing off him.

“How was your run, love?” He asks going over to Simon and slipping his arm around his waist. He presses a kiss on Simon's cheek. 

“I’m sweaty Johnny.” He replies but doesn’t stop Johnny as he nuzzles his face into Simon's neck. 

“Never stopped me before.” Johnny says his other hand running under Simon's shirt up his chest. You sit there watching them, wishing Johnny’s hands were on you instead. Simon hums, taking a deep breath in. 

“I’m going for a shower.” He says turning in Johnny's arm. 

“Wait,” Johnny stops him, he smiles at you before leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Simon looks at him and frowns before letting out a sigh and leaving the room. You feel like you’ve just invaded their privacy or something but before you know it Johnny comes back over to the bed. 

He sits next to you like before, his eyes scanning all over your body. It makes you feel strange, like you’re being studied, his expression softens and he smiles. 

“Lay back.” He encourages while arranging the pillows behind you. You lay back against the pillows, you’re not laid flat but you’re not sat up straight either. Johnny moves closer to you using one of his arms to prop himself up next to you. His other hand slips under your top exposing your stomach. 

“You don’t have a belly button.” he says, running his fingers over where it would be. 

“We’re created not born, that's why we don’t have souls.” You say. He smiles at you, his fingers brush across your skin causing goosebumps to rise on your body. 

“So I guess there's no sex in heaven?” Johnny asks. You shake your head. “So you’re a virgin?”

You nod. “There's no desire in heaven, there’s no intimacy. We know about sex, what happens, how it happens.” You let out a breath, you’re not sure what to say.

“I have all these new feelings and emotions I've never experienced before. Some of them are harder to ignore than others.” You explain. Johnny hums, his hand rests on your stomach before slowly working its way up your top.

“We can help. Show you how good it feels.” His voice is low, he's pressing kisses on your shoulder, your neck. “If you want us to stop, you just have to say.” 

You feel nervous all of a sudden, you have no idea what is supposed to feel good, or wrong. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, trying not to sound nervous. His head comes up from your neck, his fingers pull your chin up to look at him. 

“We’re going to take it nice and slow, okay?” His eyes are soft and twinkling in the morning sun, it’s not a satisfying answer but you trust him. He kisses you and lets your chin go, his hand going to your chest. He does move slow, just like his kiss. It almost feels painfully slow, you’re playing with his tongue as his hand slips up your top. 

His fingers are soft and you find yourself wrapping your wing around him. His hand gently cups one of your breasts. His thumb brushes over your nipple and it makes you gasp breaking from the kiss. 

“Good?” He asks brushing his thumb again, making your nipple harden. You nod your lips tingling from the lack of contact. He hums his thumb brushes over your nipple again, it sends pulses down your body. It takes you a second to get used to the new sensations. 

“What do you know about sex?” He asks, his fingers running over you, lingering on the soft sensitive parts of your skin. 

“I know people do it when they love each other. It’s how you procreate.” You swallow the lump in your throat. 

“People do horrible things for sex. Commit the worst of sins. I never understood why? What makes it so good that you would go as far as killing just for pleasure? That's how it was always described, pleasure.” You explain, Johnny hums again his hand stopping on your stomach. 

“People do horrible things for sex. But that's because they’re horrible people. For most people, it’s romantic-” he kisses your cheek, “-it’s something you do with people you like, people you love.” 

“Love?” You say. He nods, kissing your lips again. “What does love feel like?” 

“I can’t describe that. It’s just something you feel, something deep down inside. When you love a person you would die for them.” He says. You’d die for Johnny, or maybe that's because it’s your Job. Only it isn’t, you’re not his guardian angel, he’s not your responsibility. 

You couldn’t imagine it any other way though, maybe this was why you ended up in his backyard, maybe you fell to save him. Is that what love feels like? You go to open your mouth but you’re interrupted by Simon coming into the room.   

He stands there with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He looks at you as your eyes wash over his body. You can see each muscle and scar, beads of water drip down catching in the sunlight making his skin look shiny. 

“Simon, why don’t you come and make yourself useful.” Johnny says his hand running down to the waistband of your shorts. Simon waits for a second, his looking over you both, Johnny's hand slips down and you find yourself spreading your legs slightly. 

His finger travels lower pressing between your folds, the brief contact with your clit makes you moan clenching your legs. His hand stops. You open your mouth to apologise, but Simon lets out a sigh. 

“You’re too eager Johnny.” He says coming over to the end of the bed. He bends over crawling on the bed over to you. His hands travel up your legs, they stop when they get to your waist. 

“Ready?” Simon asks looking up at you, you nod Johnny removes his hand and Simon pulls your bottoms down and flings them off the bed. You feel heat rushing to your cheeks, you keep your legs pressed together. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful love.” Johnny says his hand gently pressing on the inside of your thigh encouraging you to spread your legs. 

“Really? You ask looking up at him.

“Really.” Simon breaths his hands running up your legs as he slowly shoots himself up to your knees. When he gets to them he picks up one of your legs and moves it so your knee is over his shoulder. You scoot down the pillows a little. Johnny’s hand runs back under your shirt, hitching it up and exposing one of your breasts.  

Simon smiles then starts kissing up your thighs, he looks up at you before each kiss, he’s slow and gentle, his lips are soft and puffy. When he can't make it any further he stops. His breath is hot on you, you’re already so wet, you don’t know if that's good or not. You’re too nervous to ask. 

“Nice and slow.” Johnny breathes in your ear. You let out a breath and watch as Simon’s eyes leave you, you feel his breath then he presses his tongue on your clit. You moan, tipping your head back, the sensation is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. One of your hands grips the bedding as Simon's tongue presses firm, dragging long strokes that make your breath hitch in your throat. 

Your heart starts to feel like it’s pounding in your chest, and you squirm in Simon’s grip. Johnny’s mouth is back on your neck, his thumb brushing your nipple. It’s almost too much, they’re somehow working in time with each other. You feel your breathing starts to pick up, you’re moaning more, you don’t care if you’re being too loud, everything feels too good. 

Now you can understand why people sin for sex, why people do horrible things for this. You’re not even sure how to describe the feeling, it’s like there are hundreds and thousands of tingles all over your body. You feel warm too heat pulsing through you with each flick of Simon’s tongue or Johnny’s thumb. 

You twitch, a new sensation bubbles in you. “Simon.” You moan looking down at him with his head bobbing between your legs. 

“Good with his tongue, ain’t he?” Johnny says in your ear. You can only nod in response. Johnny’s hand travels down your stomach then he runs his fingers through Simon’s hair. It makes him hum on your clit and you have to grit your teeth so you don’t squeeze his head between your thighs. 

“Feels good doesn’t it?” Johnny breathes nipping on your earlobe, you feel heat rushing to your face. 

“Yeah,” you reply, your breath catching in your throat. “Feels good.” 

“Good.” Johnny says he reaches over, pulling your chin to look at him. He’s smiling, his eyes are glossed over, he leans in and kisses you. His tongue moves faster this time, rougher like he’s trying to drink you up.

“Si-” You call pulling away from the kiss. Johnny’s hand ends up back on your breast, pinching your nipple. It’s enough to push you over the edge. Your body pulsates as you throb in Simon’s mouth, his tongue presses long strokes on your clit. 

Johnny doesn’t stop dragging his tongue on the soft skin of your neck. It’s like you can’t breathe, there’s a soft ringing in your ears, it feels amazing. Your whole body is throbbing, you’re feeling things you’ve never felt before. You’re not sure what to say or do. You just turn your head to Johnny who presses his lips to yours. 

You feel Simon’s head come up you break from the kiss to look down at him. His lips are puffy and shiny, he smiles at you and it makes your heart melt.

“You’re glowing.” Johnny says, you look down to see a faint yellow glow coming off you. 

“I think it happens when I’m happy.” You say smiling. Simon drops your leg moving up the bed, when he kisses you his lips are sweet, you can taste yourself on him. When he breaks from the kiss he looks over at Johnny. 

“Do I get a kiss too? Or are you going to make me beg?” He asks with a cheeky grin. Simon tuts and leans over to kiss him too. Johnny chuckles when Simon breaks from the kiss.

“Think you could go again, love? Simon’s good with his fingers too.” Johnny says kissing your neck. You swallow looking up at Simon. 

“I don’t know.” You say. 

“We can stop, there’s no rush.” Simon says.

“No.” You blurt out a little too fast. Johnny pulls his lips off your neck. “I mean. I want to try?” You want to feel like that again, it’s addicting. 

Simon smiles leaning in to kiss you quickly. “Whatever you want.” He says before moving back down your body. Johnny’s more sure with his movements this time he scoots down the bed a little, you watch him, his hand runs over your stomach and up your chest. 

Instead of him playing with one of your nipples though he hikes your shirt back up. Maybe it would have been better to take it off, but you’re not sure they want to go to the effort of getting it over your wing. 

You’re almost not paying attention to Simon whose head is back between your legs again. You look down at him as his fingers brush your clit, spreading your folds. It’s a different sensation now, you’re already so sensitive. 

You gasp when Johnny locks his mouth round your nipple, his hand gently squeezing your breast. Simon’s head snaps up, his eyes flicking between you and Johnny who hums letting his tongue wet your nipple. Your hand goes up to the back of his head and you run your fingers through his hair. 

You look back down at Simon who smiles at you. “Ready?” He asks. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to be ready for but you nod anyway, you’re already struggling to focus with Johnny’s tongue circling your nipple. 

A second later you feel Simon press a finger into you, it makes you moan, you clench around him before you can stop yourself. He presses his finger in further and you blow out a breath letting yourself sink back into the pillows. 

“Relax.” Simon says, you nod. Johnny pulls off your nipple and you whine at the loss of contact. That makes Johnny chuckle. He quickly kisses you before letting his hand run down your stomach. He presses his fingers on your clit and starts rubbing circles. You moan, tipping your head back.

Simon pulls his fingers out adding another one in, this time the stretch is amazing. You pull Johnny's hair as Simon curls his fingers inside of you. 

“Simon-” You call bending your knees up, it feels amazing. You didn’t know you could feel this good, you close your eyes trying to keep still. Johnny matches his rubs with Simon’s thrusts, his fingers rubbing against the soft spot inside you. 

As you feel yourself getting close already you open your eyes looking down at Simon who looks up at you. 

“Gonna cum again love?” He asks, it makes a shiver run through your body. You nod trying not to squirm too much but you can’t help it, it's almost like you’re chasing Simon’s fingers trying to get him to push deeper into you. You arch your back when you cum, you clench round Simon’s fingers as Johnny rubs your clit riding you through the orgasm. 

When you finally lay back down and they’ve removed their fingers off you, you feel exhausted. Letting out a long breath as your body throbs. It’s a good feeling, a strange feeling. You can’t put it into words. You let your body go limp and your wing falls down and off the bed. Johnny comes up to stroke your face.

“You look fucked out love.” You’re not sure what that means but you smile anyway. He leans over to kiss you and you feel Simon get off the end of the bed. You let your knees fall down, your heart is still pounding in your chest. 

When Johnny breaks from the kiss he starts brushing your hair.

“You make such pretty noises, you know.” Johnny says. You feel yourself blushing, he smiles. “You did so well. Let’s take a break, we’ve got plenty of time to show you all our tricks.” You look down over the end of the bed and see Simon pulling a shirt on. He throws a towel at Johnny who tuts and uses it to wipe his fingers before wiping between your legs.

“Bath?” Johnny asks when he’s done. You smile nodding at him. You go to swing your legs out the bed but Johnny won’t have you doing anything apparently. He scoops you up in his arms as Simon rolls his eyes smiling saying he’ll make some breakfast. 

Johnny seems willing to just dote over you while he helps you wash. He keeps telling you how well you did, how pretty and perfect you are. You like the praise, it makes a warmth bubble inside you. It makes you feel good about yourself. When you’re done he brings you clothes and you both head into the main living room. 

Simon is already sitting on the sofa with a bowl in his hand, watching the TV. You walk over to him while Johnny goes into the kitchen. Simon moves when he sees you. You sit down next to him resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” You say to him as he leans back on the sofa so you can lay more comfortably against him.

“You don’t have to say thank you.” He says, you look confused.

“What do people normally say afterwards?” 

“Depends. Sometimes people fall asleep, Johnny likes to talk.” You don’t know why that makes you smile as you look over at Johnny in the kitchen. He comes over with 2 bowls in his hands but before he gets to even put them down when there's a knock at the door. 

It makes you jump sitting up, Simon sits up too resting his bowl on his knee. You hide your wing as Johnny hands you the bowels. He walks over to the door and opens it slightly to see who it is. You hear a cheerful voice and a second later the door opens fully. 

It’s Mary, you’re already on your feet going over to the door, putting the bowls down on the nearest surface you see. You didn’t think you would ever see her again, she looks good, she’s smiling as Johnny makes conversation with her. Her angel is stood behind her with their hand on her shoulder. 

“-Anyway, I’m sorry for bothering you so early. I wanted to say thank you.” She holds out a bag, Johnny takes it out of her hand and looks inside. You feel Simon come up behind you, his hand rests on your back. 

“You didn’t have to,” Johnny says, you peer over to see clothes, you recognise some of them as the ones you were looking at with Simon.

“Well it’s the least I can do after you saved my life.” She says beaming. 

“Are you sure you’re alright to be working so soon?” Johnny asks. 

“Fit as a fiddle! Even that silly murmur I had is gone. Doctor couldn’t believe it, said I must have someone watching over me.” She says. You feel a lump rise in your throat. Her angel moves as she takes a step back. 

“Let me give you something for these.” Johnny says heading to go back into the house. 

“Don’t be silly John!” She calls after him. “It’s a gift, a thank you.” 

“If you need anything you just have to ask.” Simon says. 

“You’re too kind. Honestly, I’ve never felt better. Besides, my daughter and the grandkids are staying for the week.” She explains. Johnny returns with a wallet pulling some money out while Mary is protesting. 

Eventually she relents taking the money. “Thank you.” She says handing it immediately to Simon who takes it out her hand. 

“Hey!” Johnny protests and it makes you chuckle. 

“Okay, thank you again. Come visit soon, yeah?” She asks as she starts walking down the steps back towards her car. 

“Of course!” Johnny chimes as she waves at you all. 

“Hey.” You take a step forward calling out in your head for her angel, the turn to look at you. “Is she going to be okay?” 

“She’s going to be okay.” They reply. You smile and step back into the doorway. 

“Good luck with John.” They say. It makes you feel sad again and you look over at him. He looks down at you and smiles. You reach out for his hand and he laces his fingers with yours, waving at Mary as she drives away. 

When you all turn to go back inside you feel tired, your body feels heavy. You can’t tell if that's from the sex or the angel, you always seem to feel drained when they're around. Which is the opposite of how you should feel. 

You go over to sit on the sofa, Simon sits down next to you resting his arm over the back and you’re already leaning up against him. You stop hiding your wing and pull it round in front of you. The feathers already look like they’re growing back. You run your fingers through a gap feeling the short young feathers growing underneath. 

“Is there any way to get your wing back?” Simon asks. You stop running your hands through it and let it rest over you both. 

“I think God is the only person who can do that.” You say, and you’re not very hopeful about that. Johnny comes back over and sits next to you. You let out a sigh, it’s okay that you’ll never get your wing back. You are going to miss flying though. 

You let yourself relax against Simon and before you know it he’s running his hand over your wing, you like that and pull your legs up on the sofa tucking them in. Johnny’s hand lands on your ankle, it’s warm, he squeezes it now and then. 

You listen to them talk watching the TV, it's not long before your eyes are drooping closed. 

—

“Wake up.” The voice is sharp in your head. It makes you jump. Your body feels stiff, Simon’s arms wrap around you. He hasn’t moved either, you sit up. You look over at Johnny, his body is turned facing you, his legs pulled up on the sofa, his sketch book resting on his knees. 

You look round the room, you see an angel standing in the light of the window. How long have you been asleep for? It seems like the sun is already setting. 

“What is it?” Johnny asks as you lean forward. 

“Simon’s guardian angel is here.” you say. 

“Where?” Simon asks, you point over to where they’re standing even you know they can’t see them.

They smile at you, you watch as Johnny’s angel appears too. You’re not sure what to say so you just wait, maybe they don’t want to say anything, maybe they’re just here to watch you. Maybe they’re mad you had sex. No, angels don’t get mad, maybe they’re just curious. 

“What do you want?” You ask in your head, frowning. You feel calm, like all the fear and worry has just been sucked out of your body. You pick up Simon’s hand, he looks up at you for a second then you watch him relax. His shoulders lower and he blinks at you, you smile at him. 

“You need help.” They say in your head you turn back to them and frown. 

“From you?” You ask. 

“You need Johnathan Price’s angel.” 

“Who?” You ask frowning. They don’t say anything, just smile at you. 

“Who’s Johnathan Price?” You ask looking over at Simon. He sits up. You look back over and the angels are gone. That is annoying, they keep leaving you with vague information. You can’t work with that, you can’t protect Johnny if you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be protecting him from. 

“John’s our boss.” Johnny says. You turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Apparently I need to talk to his angel.” You say. 

“Why?” Simon asks. You shrug. 

“I have no idea, but I think it has something to do with helping Johnny.”

next

Banners by plum98

[ink-stainedkiss]

Intertwined

Pain in the Ass —> next chap

Sukuna has been a pest to you since for as long as you have known, but his hateful cover always seemed to crack around you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Contents: Bullying, childhood bully/friend, sorta confession (not really), cute Sukuna,

Summer was in full swing. The sun shined brightly above you, showing off the ultraviolet colors of nature. From the blooming flower or the evergreen trees, it seemed to be at its prettiest state. It was also a perfect time to spend your childhood days outside and you showed no hesitation with taking a box of chalk to the park. Your mother sat on a bench shaded by a tree, flipping through her book and taking short glances at you. While your hands worked hard on the concrete, constructing a large pink flower and many more daisies to accompany it.

Were they the best drawings? Definitely not, but you were only six, so no one was expecting perfection. Humming a soft tune, you set your stick down, hovering your hand over the other colors. Despite the happy day, someone always had to be the terrible guy. It only took a second of you looking away when a small foot stomped on your pink chalk and crushed it to bits, all over the center of your flower. You gasped, watching as their foot dragged against your drawing, ruining it inch by inch. A mischievous giggle sounded from above you and instantly, you knew who was trying to rain on your day.

“That drawing was ugly anyway,” A spiteful voice called. Sukuna. God, how you hated him and hating at six years old is pretty unnatural, but he deserved it. Even from the day your mothers introduced you two, Sukuna made it his life’s mission to destroy any happy or joyful feelings you expressed. You never knew why, since you never gave him a reason to be so terrible. In the end you guessed he was just full of hatred. An angered growl forced its way through your gritted teeth,”Why would you do that!?”

Sukuna stood there, arms crossed, a smug expression resting on his face,”It was gonna ruin the sidewalk, I did the town a favor.” Maybe it was because he was a year older than you and he had some sort of superiority complex, but it still gave him no right to bully you. So with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him back, wishing he would just disappear,”You are so rude!”

Because of his shock, the boy stumbled back a bit, but quickly regained his balance, a vengeful sneer on his face,”Yeah? And you’re a brat!” You were about to tackle the boy again, but then you caught a glimpse of your smudged drawing. Sadness overtook your anger and you slowly walked away from Sukuna, sitting down in front of your ‘art’. What you didn’t see was the twinkle of guilt zip past Sukuna’s eyes. He stared down at your somber face, staring sadly out at the mess he created, but no amount of guilt would ever make him apologize to you.

To Sukuna, you were odd. He didn’t like being around you, hearing your name, or even seeing someone with the same hair color as you because you were so infuriating. Everything about you. Your personality, how stubborn you were, your dumb face, your kindness, how bright your smile was—Nevermind. You just wrap yourself around Sukuna’s brain like an obnoxious parasite. Sukuna would never apologize to you…but he would grab a blue chalk stick and start drawing over your failed attempt at a flower,”Watch how I draw. I’m a lot better at it than you.”

And no, Sukuna didn’t like how you got all surprised and impressed at his shark drawing. Nor did he like the fact you bugged him into teaching you how to draw one. He just wanted you to stop pouting like a baby, it made his chest feel weird, but that happens to everyone. Right?

✮⋆˙

Middle school is when Sukuna grew more annoying and more confident. For some reason, people liked Sukuna, and it led to him being able to bully you with group approval. You kept your head up, no matter what dumb insult he threw your way.

“You’re such a moron.”

“Who would ever want to be friends with you?”

“Don’t talk to me. I don’t want people thinking I actually interact with someone like you.”

Sukuna also grew more mean in the years that passed. It wasn’t a great feeling when he would spit something out then a chorus of laughter followed after from his loyal followers. His quick popularity was like a persistent bug flying around you and no matter where you went, the constant buzzing of his greatness swarmed you. The harassment made it hard for you to find a good companion, because who would want to sit next to the girl who is getting bullied?

The realization that you didn’t have a friend came when it was your birthday. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, let your mother place a pretty bow in your hair for the occasion, but when you arrived at school, there wasn’t a singular ‘happy birthday’. As the day progressed, your happiness drained, everyone was talking and acting normally, because they thought it was a regular day. It was your last class and at this point you just wanted to run to your mother and cry. It seemed that no one was going to give you the joy of saying two simple words.

A rough nudge to your side had you shooting up at your desk. You must have been thinking pretty hard because you didn’t even realize the bell had rung. Your classmates were picking up their stuff, already existing,”Hey,” Ugh, what did he want? You let out a sigh, facing your tormentor, and expected him to do his usual bit. However, there was something softer in his features, Though it was hard to tell since he was barely making eye contact with you. Sukuna mumbled something under his breath, something inaudible,”What?”

The boy groaned as if it was your fault you couldn’t hear the words he said just under his breath,”I said, happy birthday, or whatever.” Your eyes blew open, shock hitting you like a freight train. Was Sukuna the first to say happy birthday to you? He glared at you harshly, mumbling another quick sentence,”My mom forced me to give this to you.”

It felt like a fever dream, like you had to be imagining it, but it was indeed real from the way he shoved a small box into your hand. It was aggressive and short, his gesture, and you didn’t have time to thank him before he was racing out of the classroom. You were stunned in place, hands frozen on the present. You were the only one left in the classroom and you were a bit scared to open the box. Knowing Sukuna, you hoped that it wouldn’t be a dead insect or a rock, but wouldn’t he wait around and want to see your reaction if it was that?

Throwing caution to the wind, you lifted the lid, jaw dropping at the sight before you. Inside the container was an adjustable ring, one with a heart charm etched on the smooth metal. It was simple, but it meant the world to you. Racing home, you eagerly busted through your door, darting to your mother to see the piece of jewelry. She bent down, examining it with a cute pout on her lips,”Well that was nice of him,”

You blew raspberries at her,”Yeah right, it was his mom who got it, or at least that’s what he said before he ran off.” What you weren’t expecting was for your mother to pause, mid cut through vegetables, and give you a confused look,”Ryomen’s mother? She didn’t say anything about getting you a gift.” Your face dropped and you stared at the ring in horror. If what she was saying was correct, then Sukuna had gifted you the ring just because he wanted to.

No. That was insane to even think. You denied, denied, denied the notion, but you mother only had a knowing look on her face,”You know, he may have a crush-“ “I gotta go upstairs! and do homework!” There were a lot of things Sukuna did; bully you, ruin the things you liked, belittle your accomplishments,but to say he would ever like someone was enough to make you laugh. Your mother was just being a cliche mother. There is no way, not in a million years, that Ryomen Sukuna would fall for you.

✮⋆˙

Your first years of high school was a rocky journey. Being completely new to the school and system entirely, it was anybody’s ground to find their clique. Of course Sukuna immediately grouped with the unstandable jocks, fitting perfectly with their gross personalities. Sadly, you were still trying to put yourself out in the middle of the chaos and find yourself, but Sukuna was always there to make you stumble.

“It’s kinda sad watching you fail to make friends,” Sukuna hummed next to you on the bleachers. He was your ride home and was already able to drive, so you had to play nice or it meant walking. Unfortunately, he was the captain of the male volleyball team, so you had to sit in on their after school practice,”Can you shut the hell up?”

He chuckled deeply, always finding your anger amusing. You would like to say your ‘friendship’ with Sukuna got better after middle school. It’s probably because he was too busy with his team to worry about you and it felt pretty nice. That’s not to say he stopped all together being a pain in your ass, but it just dialed down—for now. The squeaking of soft leather pounding the ground echoed in the large gym, the team’s warm up session coming to an end. Sukuna hopped off the bleachers, jogging to his teammates and yelled out for them to create two teams.

You got comfortable against the plastic seats, scrolling on your phone to pass the time. Even past your headphones, you could hear the gruff voice of Sukuna, barking orders and compliments to his team. There wasn’t just a change in his demeanor, but it was clear Sukuna was going to the gym. He had grown bigger, more bulky, and his voice was a huge shift. Going from crackly and high pitched, to a gravely baritone. His face was growing sleeker, his jawline more sharp, and you hated to admit, but he was good looking. All the girls in the school had already decided this, doing whatever it takes to grab a sliver of his attention.

God, it sucked having to sit in for these boring practices. It also sucked having to see Sukuna play in a mock game, racing around the court and spiking the ball with a vicious smack. He always grew sweaty and would wander over to the water fountain. Somehow, your eyes had fallen off your screen and over to where he was lifting his shirt to wipe the droplets off his forehead. It felt like a sin to stare at his abs, but you just liked to call it window browsing. If he was putting them on display, then who were you to turn away?

“Alright, practice is over, Go home. You all stink.” That definitely wasn’t an overstatement. You sighed, going back to your phone as they all skittered into the locker room. Only a few more minutes and i’m out of here, You reminded yourself. Five minutes turned into ten and you curiously stared at the opening door, hoping it would be Sukuna that exits, but it never was. Ten turned into fifteen minutes and at this point no amount of social media was saving you from your level of boredom. As the timer struck twenty minutes, you were fed up. The entire team had to be gone already, but for some reason Sukuna was just taking his sweet time.

You’ve yelled at Sukuna in front of his team before and vice versa. Since you were always there for the dumb meetups and what not, there was a small friendship you grew with them. Not enough to just walk up and start a conversation with, but enough that they would sit next to you if they weren’t playing. So when you opened the locker door, you were about to call out in the middle of the doorway, but then you heard their voices.

“Not trying to be noisy, but who’s that chick you always leave with?” A voice questioned, earning a few agreeing sounds.

“None of your business.” Sukuna’s gruff tone answered back.

“What, is she your girlfriend?” The boy raised his pitch and mocked his captain, a few chuckles following his words

“No. Don’t be stupid.” Sukuna huffed,”If you couldn’t tell, she hates my guts, and I'm perfectly okay with that.”

Another voice spoke up,”Aw, captain’s having girl problems.”

“Tch, she’s not my damn girlfriend. She never will be.” His response was so stern and clear, but it was truthful. Still, why did your chest feel so painful?

“Too bad. She’s gorgeous,” Another player said,”Maybe I'll try and get her number.” A few wolf whistles and chuckles sounded from the room.

“Are you sure you don’t want her to be your girlfriend?” One of them pushed

You were just about to close the door, in hopes to block out the inevitable answer, but you were surprised to hear a sudden softness in Sukuna’s voice.

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but I'm sure she would laugh in my face if I asked her.”

You inhaled sharply. Did you hear correctly? Before you could listen more, collective footsteps wandered around the corner, about to exit the locker room. You scrambled back, landing in your original spot and just in time for the door to swing open. It wasn’t Sukuna, thankfully, and you had to pretend you weren’t in a crisis as they walked past.

‘if I asked her.’

‘Can’t say I haven’t thought about it.’

What did this mean? Was there a genuine possibility that Sukuna thought of you more than a nuisance? It was crazy to even think. You were so focused, that you didn’t even notice Sukuna standing next to you until he flicked your forehead.

“Don’t think too hard, your brain might light a fuse.” He teased, but instead of your usual irate response, you just stood quickly. Muttering something for only yourself to hear, Sukuna stared at you with confused eyes,”Why are you acting so weird?” Again, you just skittered toward the doors, already exiting the gym. Sukuna didn’t think he made you wait that long.

The drive to your house was eerily quiet. There was no banter or petty back and forth, it made Sukuna shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat, but he tried to make you go back to normal,”Man, it’s kinda peaceful, this silence.” He heard a vague scoff from beside him and it was enough for him to poke you again,”It should stay like this.”

“It would be better if you shut your fat mouth.” A cocky grin fell onto Sukuna’s mouth,”Now you wanna talk.” Your fight to remain silent ultimately failed and you relaxed into your seat. A comfortable conversation started up,consisting of you just judging Sukuna’s music taste and him threatening to swerve you both off of the road.

However, you couldn’t help but notice how happy you felt. Maybe you were just cocky since he basically admitted to not hate the idea of dating you, but you swore something was different. You stared at the man beside you, realizing how pretty he looked with the setting sun casted over his face. The thought made you blink harshly, facing the front again and trying not to freak out. Was there truly something between the two of you? You had been around Sukuna all his life and same goes for you, but you swore he hates your entire being. Was it all an act?

The true question was why weren’t you disgusted? Appalled? And more importantly, why didn’t you just go up to him and ask? Maybe if he had told you, he wouldn’t have watched as you slipped from his fingers.

[redroomreflections]

Her Best Secret Part 4

1950s Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and R are two married woman having an affair

w/c: 4.9k

Part 1

Warnings: Hetero Sex, Slight Violence, Angst, homophobia

Note: If you don't like angst don't read

Being in love is surreal. It’s nice. It makes you feel alive. The butterflies in your belly never seem to settle. The flowers bloom like never before. The sun shines brighter. Your senses feel heightened with every brush of skin, every lingering glance.

Being in love is what humans are made for. To love is to be loved.

Being in love behind your husband’s back… well, that’s a bit harder to sell.

You wish you could say you never meant for this to happen, but that would be a lie. It was never supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to feel this impossible, either.

Early morning showers were your favorite. They gave you a moment of peace before the house wakes up. A quiet moment before Claire’s cartoons fill the air before Sam’s voice calls your name. Just you, the warm water, and the illusion that everything is simple.

But today, it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt suffocating. The steam clung to your skin; no matter how hard you scrubbed, you couldn’t wash away the guilt. Or the want.

You pressed your forehead against the cool tile, exhaling sharply.

What were you doing?

You already knew the answer. You’dknown it since the first time Natasha kissed you. Since the first time she pulled you into her arms. Since the first time you realized you loved her.

You were thinking with your heart and not your head. You were thinking of yourself without any regard for others. It was a confusing feeling. It should be exciting and thrilling. Which it was. But also scary. It was overwhelming. It was terrifying.

How did this happen? How did you let this happen? You love your husband. You've always loved your husband. And you love your daughter—more than anything.

So how was it possible that you also love her?

How was it possible that you fell in love with a woman you've known for years but never truly met until a few months ago?

Sam made you happy. Sam loved you. Sam married you. He gave you a home and a family.

Natasha makes you happy, too.

God, she makes you so incredibly happy.

Maybe that's why you were terrified. You'd never felt this kind of happiness before—this kind of love.

And the worst part was that it wasn’t a competition. You didn’t love Sam less because of Natasha. And you certainly didn’t love Natasha more because of Sam.

This wasn’t supposed to be hard. This isn't supposed to feel complicated. This wasn’t supposed to tear you apart.

"Hey," Sams's gruff voice startled you as he poked his head into the shower curtain. "Mind if I join you?"

You shook your head.

He stepped inside, and you backed up a few inches to accommodate him. You're standing toe to toe, bare and wet.

The shower wasn’t big enough for the two of you, and he had to keep his arms at his side because if he lifted them, he'd touch you.

It wasn’t the ideal setup. You didn't care before. How close you were to him. You didn't care about silly things like personal space.

Now, everything mattered. Everything felt like a test. Everything felt like a mistake.

He tilted his head to the side and studied your face. His eyes narrowed as he reached forward and grabbed your arm.

"What's on your mind?" He asked.

"Nothing," You lied. "I'm just a bit tired. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Hmm," He hummed. He reached forward to kiss your forehead. "You feel pretty good to me."

"Thanks, I think."

He chuckled.

"Come here," He wrapped his arms around you.

It was awkward and uncomfortable, but you didn’t push him away. You didn’t tell him to stop.

Because this was Sam. Your Sam. And even though you're in love with Natasha, you're still in love with Sam.

"I love you," He whispered, kissing your lips.

"I love you too," You kissed him back. You know where this is going. You and Sam had sworn off shower sex long ago. It was too slippery and much too dangerous. Standing there with him, though, you couldn't say no in his space. You didn't want to say no. "Sam,"

He pressed his forehead against yours. "I've got you,"

And then he kissed you again.

The shower was forgotten. The guilt and the want were forgotten. The world was forgotten.

There was only Sam and his warm, safe, loving embrace.

It wasn't the shower that washed away the guilt. As he pressed you against the tiles, you allowed yourself to react to his hands. His touch was familiar.

"You're so beautiful," He murmured.

"Yeah?" You questioned as his hands traveled along your body.

He kissed your neck. He sucked the skin, marking you as his own. You moaned.

"Please,"

"Anything,"

You knew the second he was inside you that the guilt would come back. And it did. But then, you could pretend it didn't exist. When he lifted you in his arms to get a better angle, you could imagine a life where nothing had changed.

A life where Natasha had never entered the picture.

A life where things were simple and easy.

But a life like that didn't exist.

You couldn't have both.

"Oh God," He groaned.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," You repeated his name like a prayer.

When he came, so did you. You clung to him. Your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, your head buried in his neck, your breath hot on his skin. You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes. You were still thinking of her. Still imagining you were in her arms and not his.

"Sam," You sniffled. Quickly adjusting your positions, you dropped your leg so that you were firmly planted on both feet.

"Yeah?" He panted.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

*******

The bell above the diner door jingled as another occupant stepped inside. Wanda crossed her legs, adjusting herself in the booth, trying not to display her discomfort. This place was nothing special - vinyl booths, checkered floors, and the sounds of a tiny boombox playing from the end of the hall. Natasha had been there before and invited her. A cigarette sat between her fingers, untouched but smoldering. She had a way of making herself look relaxed even when she wasn't

"Thanks for inviting me here," Wanda smiled gratefully. "Between the twins and Vision, I don't get out much."

Natasha smirked, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray. "Figured you could use a break. Motherhood’s a hell of a thing, ain't it?"

Wanda exhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It is. Rewarding, but exhausting." She tilted her head slightly. "Still… doesn’t seem like you to call me out for something like this."

The waitress approached, setting down a steaming cup of coffee before Wanda and refilling Natasha’s without asking. She gave the redhead a polite smile—one Natasha didn’t return.

"That so?" Natasha murmured once they were alone again.

Wanda blew on her coffee, observing Natasha over the rim. "Yeah. It is."

Natasha finally took a sip of her coffee, leaning back against the booth, her free arm stretched along the seat. "Can’t a girl just want some company?"

"Of course," Wanda shrugged. "I didn't mean to assume. It's just that you and y/n are usually attached to the hip. We've never truly hung out alone. Not in ages."

"We used to."

"Right, right. I remember. Those were the days, huh? We had some good times together."

Natasha nodded slowly. "We did. Things were simple back then. Easy."

"Are they not easy now?" Wanda raised a brow.

"You're a loyal friend," Natasha guessed.

"To a fault, yes," Wanda nodded.

"So loyal that you haven't brought up what you saw or heard even to me."

Wanda stiffened, fingers tightening ever so slightly around her coffee cup. She held Natasha’s gaze, searching for any sign of playfulness, but found none.

"Should I have?" Wanda asked carefully.

Natasha shrugged, tapping ash from her cigarette. "Most would’ve."

"I'm not most people," Wanda said plainly.

"No," Natasha agreed, studying her. "You're not."

Silence stretched between them, tense and unspoken.

"You gonna tell me what you want me to say?" Wanda finally asked.

Natasha smirked, but there was something tired in it. "A confession, a scolding, a warning—take your pick."

Wanda sighed, setting her cup down. "You love her." Her voice lowered.

It wasn’t a question.

Natasha inhaled slowly, flicking her cigarette against the ashtray again. "Yeah."

"You’re playing with fire," Wanda warned.

Natasha finally looked away, exhaling smoke through her nose. "I know."

Wanda hesitated, glancing toward the door as if checking for prying eyes. "Steve and Sam don’t know."

"Not yet," Natasha murmured.

"But they will," Wanda said. "Secrets don’t stay buried forever, not in this town."

Natasha hummed in agreement but didn’t offer anything more.

Wanda shook her head. "And when they do, you think you can handle the fallout?"

Natasha turned back to her, a small, almost wistful smile on her lips. "Doesn’t matter. Damage is already done."

"She's a woman," Wanda began, but she couldn't find the words. This was Ohio in the 1950s.

Natasha leaned forward, stubbing her cigarette out. "Don’t,"

Wanda sighed, rubbing her forehead. "You can't expect this to be a secret forever. You have families. There's a child involved."

"I'm aware."

"So you're prepared? For whatever comes next?"

Natasha swallowed thickly.

Wanda watched her, a deep sadness settling over her. She didn't have the words. What could she say that would make things easier? What could she say that wouldn't make things more complicated?

"I'm sorry."

Natasha closed her eyes briefly. "It's not your fault. Just promise me you won't say anything?"

Wanda looked down, tracing the handle of her cup. "You have my word."

"Thank you," Natasha's voice cracked.

She couldn't bear to say anything else.

Not here.

Not now.

******

Steve never minded running errands. He enjoyed getting things done and checking items off a lengthy task list. Natasha always had something waiting for him whenever he got too busy with work. He’d be apologetic and get to it whenever he could. It was usually simple stuff—mowing the lawn and cleaning out the garage—nothing out of the ordinary.

This time, it was the car. Buddy’s Auto Shop had been expecting it for a tune-up. He was almost out the door when he remembered something. Weeks ago, Natasha mentioned her wedding ring needed resizing. He figured he’d swing by the jeweler while he waited for the car.

Keys in hand, he pivoted and headed upstairs to their bedroom. Her perfume still lingered in the air. He liked that. Doing something nice for her, even small, made him feel good.

He checked her nightstand first. Nothing. Then, the vanity. He never really went through her things, so he wasn’t sure where to look. The dresser drawer stuck slightly when he pulled it open. Inside, the usual clutter—loose change, an old receipt, a tube of lipstick rolling in the corner. No ring.

His fingers brushed against something different—a small, leather-bound book. The spine was worn and creased from being handled often. He picked it up, wondering if the ring had fallen underneath, but his attention snagged on a photo slipping from between the pages.

Huh.

Their wedding picture. He always liked that one. Maybe she was making some kind of scrapbook? Natasha wasn’t sentimental, but she always found new ways to surprise him.

He almost put the book back. Almost.

But curiosity got the best of him.

Just one page.

His thumb flipped it open to the bookmarked section. The first line hit like a punch to the gut.

"I never meant to fall in love with her. I never meant for us to be this close. Her smell. Her eyes. Her touch. When she looks at me like that, I forget the life I built before. I forget my name."

Steve’s grip tightened around the pages. His eyes scanned for a name, some clue, anything that told him this wasn’t what it seemed.

But there was nothing.

Just Natasha. And someone who wasn’t him.

The book hit the vanity with a thud. His breath felt too heavy, too loud in the room's quiet. He ran a hand down his face.

Natasha was in love.

And not with him.

*****

Steve paced the length of the bedroom, back and forth, for what felt like forever. His mind was a whirlwind of scenarios, each worse than the last. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe this was something Natasha was writing—fiction, not a confession. None of it was real. It couldn’t be. Because if it was, then he was a fool. The faithful husband hoped his wife wasn’t stepping out on him.

His jaw clenched as he ran through the possibilities. Who could it be? It had to be someone he knew. Natasha didn’t talk to strangers easily. That was one of the things he always admired about her—her ability to keep a close-knit circle despite being distant. But had that distance been because of him? Had she grown tired of his late nights, his unwavering predictability?

Steve forced himself to reason. He went over names.

Diane from three doors down? No.

Wanda Maximoff? No, not her type.

Not that he even knew what Natasha’s type was regarding women.

Then, his stomach twisted.

You.

His fingers trembled as he opened the book again, flipping through pages, scanning for confirmation. There was no name. Not once did Natasha write your name. But the descriptions are so vivid and specific. He knew.

It all made sense.

His grip tightened around the book before he snapped it shut. His anger burned white-hot beneath his skin, but he refused to let it take over. He needed to think and be smart about this.

So, he made two phone calls.

One to you.

And one to Natasha.

He needed answers. Now.

*******

“Mama, a worm!” Claire said excitedly, stepping barefoot through the garden. Her little toes were practically covered in dirt as she explored, utterly unbothered by the mess.

You were absentmindedly pulling weeds from your flower bed when she toddled over, holding up the squirming creature with pride.

“Oh, dear, please put that down,” you said, scrunching your nose. It wasn’t genuine annoyance—just amazement at how fearless she was.

“Hey, how about some lemonade?” Sam called from the porch. “And maybe those sandwiches you like? I can try my hand at it.”

“Oh, I would love sandwiches, Daddy,” Claire lisped, clutching the worm. “See?”

Sam chuckled as he made his way down the steps. “Always an adventurer,” he mused, crouching next to her. “Are you scaring your Mama with those things?”

Claire giggled, wiggling her toes in the dirt.

You wiped your hands on your shorts, shaking your head with a small smile. “She’s fearless, that’s for sure.”

Claire beamed, utterly unaware of the slight wriggle of the worm in her grasp. “It tickles!” she giggled, watching it squirm.

Sam laughed, stepping off the porch and walking toward the two of you. He bent down, ruffling Claire’s hair. “Alright, kiddo. How about we let Mr. Worm go back to his family?”

Claire pouted, but after a moment, she carefully placed the worm back into the soil. “Bye, Mr. Worm,” she whispered before returning to Sam. “Can we still have sandwiches?”

“Of course,” Sam grinned. “I’m about to make the best sandwiches you’ve ever had.”

You raised an eyebrow, standing up and dusting off your knees. “That’s a bold statement.”

Sam smirked. “You doubt my skills?”

“I’ve seen you burn toast, Sam.”

Claire giggled, clinging to his leg. “Daddy, don’t burn the sandwiches!”

“Okay, okay,” Sam threw his hands up in surrender. “No burnt sandwiches, I promise.”

You chuckled, kissing Claire’s forehead before glancing up at Sam. “I’ll come help you. Just to make sure we don’t end up with a disaster.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow. No faith in me at all.”

You shrugged playfully. “Not when it comes to cooking.”

Claire ran ahead toward the house, already excited for lunch, and you followed to grab her arms quickly.

"You are not stepping on my clean floors with those feet, Missy," You shook your head. "Nuh-uh, I'm going to hose you down right out back."

"Mama, no!" She protested, laughing as you scooped her into your arms.

"Mama, yes," You grinned, carrying her to the hose. "You're lucky I'm not washing you with a bar of soap, little girl."

"I don't smell that bad!"

"Oh yeah?" You challenged, putting her down. "How about you give me a big hug and a kiss, and I can be the judge of that?" Claire fell into your arms, leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek. 

"I'll get started on the sandwiches," Sam didn't linger. He was hungry, too.

"Good idea," You winked. You reached for the hose, turning it into a gentle spray, and directed it towards her toes.

"Mama!" Claire cried as the cool water splashed against her feet. "it's cold." She shivered.

"I'm sorry, kitten, it's just for a second," You cooed. "Just a quick wash."

You hosed her feet, cleaning the dirt off her little toes. In the distance, you could hear the phone ring.

"Sam?" You called.

"Got it," He yelled back.

"Now, who could be calling us on a Saturday afternoon?" You mainly said to yourself.

"Maybe it's Grandma Joyce," Claire shrugged. "She likes to talk."

"That she does," You laughed, grabbing the towel. "Maybe wear shoes next time you decide to explore, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You kissed her nose.

You carried Claire into the house, kissing her cheeks and making her giggle. Her little arms wrapped around your neck, clinging to you as you stepped inside.

As you crossed the threshold, you saw Sam hanging up the house phone. The old rotary dial clicked as it settled back into place.

“Who was that?” you asked, shifting Claire in your arms.

Sam glanced up, his easygoing expression slightly strained. “No one important.”

He turned to the counter, focusing on the sandwiches, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Claire wiggled in your hold. “Can I help, Daddy?”

Sam smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How about you play in your room for a bit, sweetheart? I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

Claire pouted. “But I wanna help.”

“I know, peanut,” Sam said, ruffling her damp curls. “But Mama and I need to talk for a minute. Just grown-up stuff.”

You watched as Claire’s little face scrunched up in protest, but Sam had a way of persuading her. “Tell you what,” he said, crouching to her level. “You pick out a book, and we’ll read it together after lunch. Even the long ones.”

Claire considered this, then nodded. “Okay, Daddy.”

She kissed you quickly on the cheek before scampering off down the hall, her bare feet pattering against the wooden floor.

When she was out of sight, you turned to Sam, crossing your arms. “Alright. What’s going on?”

He let out a slow breath, wiping his hands on a dish towel before finally meeting your gaze. There was something different in his eyes—something guarded.

"Six years together, and I thought I knew everything about you," He said.

"What?"

"Why?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You shook your head.

"Tell me now!" He asked again, slamming his hand on the counter. "The truth, goddamnit."

"Sam, I swear I-"

"You've been seeing someone," He interrupted. "For months. A woman."

You felt the blood drain from your face. Your knees felt weak. This was the end, wasn't it?

"Sam,"

"Answer me!"

"I..."

He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. "That's it, huh? You can't even deny it."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "You've had that woman here under my nose for months, and you're sorry?"

"Sam,"

"What could she possibly have given you that I haven't?" He demanded, stepping forward. "What has she done for you that I haven't?"

"Please," You took a step back.

"Is it the sex? Is that what's got you going?" He stepped closer to you. "Or are you so stupid to ruin your life for no reason?"

"Sam, stop."

"Or is it something else? Are you in love with her?" He pressed. "Tell me now." His voice was louder, making you jump.

"Sam," You repeated, swallowing thickly.

"You have a daughter," He reminded. "We have a daughter."

"Sam, I know, but if you'd just let me-"

"There's nothing you can say," He shouted. He was getting angrier by the minute. You'd never seen him so angry. "She's been in our home. Our fucking home. She's been watching Claire. She's been touching our daughter. Infecting you. Breaking what we have apart. Did you think about that when you were fucking her?"

"I-" You choked, tears forming in your eyes. "Don't say that."

"What? The truth? That's what's happening, isn't it?" He stepped closer, but you didn’t even realize your back was against the counter. "You're fucking her."

"Don't touch me," You slapped his hand away when he reached for you.

"I can't believe you." He was shaking his head.

"Please, just calm down,"

"Calm down?" He scoffed, grabbing your arm. "How can I calm down when you're being so reckless, huh? Do you have any idea what you've done? I knew I shouldn't have moved you here. I should have listened to my parents."

"You knew this was coming."

"I knew I should've married someone more like Diane."

You tried to pull away, but he held onto you. "Stop. Don't say that. I'm not a mistake. Sam, just talk to me."

"Talk? You want to talk?" He asked, backing away from you before swiping his hand across the table. The plate clattered to the floor, shattering.

"Sam, don't,"

"Shut up," He snapped. Another bout of anger has him almost in your face again.

"Sam, Claire's here," You told him brokenly. "She's here and doesn't need to see you like this."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Sam, please."

"This is your fault, y/n," He growled. "You did this. You're the one who wanted to move here. You're the one who has been sleeping around. You're the one who's fucking a woman."

"Sam, enough," You pleaded.

"God, I just..." He breathed. "I'm leaving."

"What? Sam?" You followed him to the foyer, where he grabbed his jacket and keys.

"I can't be here right now. I can't look at you."

"Sam, please. Don't do this. It's not what you think."

"What's it then? You've been lying to me," He accused. "You're fucking someone."

"It's not like that," You shook your head. You couldn't believe you had to plead your case.

"It's exactly like that. You're sleeping with a woman,"

"I didn't plan for it to happen."

"You never think, y/n," He sneered, shaking his head. "Always doing whatever the fuck you want. I bet that's why she's with you."

"She loves me,"

"I love you." He shouted louder this time. "That doesn't matter to you. Don't wait up for me. I can't even look at you right now."

"Sam," You reached for his arm, and he shrugged you off.

"Get away from me," He said lowly. "If you think I'm going to let my daughter be around this shit, you're dead wrong. Don't come after me."

"Sam," You tried again.

His shove wasn’t hard—just enough to create distance—but the way you stumbled and the sharp gasp that left your lips was enough to snap something in him. His rage flickered, replaced by something unreadable, something almost haunted.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said again, softer this time like he was more afraid of his own words than you were.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, breath caught in your throat.

He shook his head, something breaking in his expression. “I’m leaving. Stay the fuck away from me.”

The door slammed behind him.

And just like that, everything was ruined.

Your marriage.

Your family.

Everything.

You sank to the floor. Numb. No tears came, not because you didn’t want to cry, but because you didn’t know how. The exhaustion, the weight of it all, crushed your chest, leaving you hollow.

This was the end, wasn’t it?

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

What had you done?

“Mama?” Claire’s small voice carried from the steps. “Can I come down?”

You didn’t answer.

“Mama?” she asked again, hesitant this time.

You forced yourself to lift your hand, patting the floor beside you. “Come here.”

Claire ran over, climbing into your lap without hesitation. She curled into you, warm and trusting, her arms wrapping around your middle.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, tilting her head to look at you.

Your throat tightened. “Daddy’s…” The words wouldn’t come.

“Is he coming back?” Her voice was so small, so full of unshaken faith.

You swallowed hard. “He’s… not feeling well.”

Claire frowned. “Is he sick?”

“No,” you whispered, stroking her curls. “Just a bad day. A really bad day.”

*********

Natasha entered the front door, dropping her keys onto the entryway table. The brunch with Wanda was nice until the call came.

Steve’s voice had been calm. Too calm. Come home.

Now, standing in the living room, her stomach dropped.

Two bags sat by the door, neatly packed.

She furrowed her brows. “You going on another fishing trip?”

Steve shook his head. “They’re for you.”

Natasha’s stomach twisted. “What?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for something on the coffee table. The moment she saw it, her pulse stuttered.

The diary.

"You went through my things?"Natasha’s jaw tightened. Anger flared, hot and immediate,

"Don't." He said firmly, holding the book in his hand.

"Why do you have this?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Steve,"

"Answer the question," Steve interrupted. "I have a right to know, especially since you've been keeping it a secret from me. For months."

"You went through my things."

"And what you wrote," He ignored her. "You know the things you write what you've been feeling. How long?"

Natasha clenched her fists. "Steve, this isn't the right time for this conversation."

"There is no better time than the present," He snapped. "I can't believe I've been so blind. I knew you were hiding something, but this? I was going through your things to get your ring resized. You know the one you haven't worn in months?"

"Steve, you don't understand," She pleaded.

"Don't understand what, huh?" He challenged. "That you've fallen for someone else? That you've been having an affair?"

"I never meant to fall for her," Natasha said, looking at him.

"What difference does that make, huh?" He raised his voice. "You did it anyway."

“Save whatever explanation you’ve got,” he said evenly. “I already called Sam.”

Her breath hitched. Sam. You. Claire.

Fear clawed at her throat. “Steve, tell me you didn't call him-"

"I did," Steve interrupted. "Because he deserves to know."

Natasha bit her lip.

"How long has this been going on?"

She remained silent.

"Tell me how long," Steve repeated.

"Long enough," She finally admitted. "Six months."

Steve's expression hardened.

"How could you?" He said in a low voice. "How could you do this to me?"

Natasha took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

Steve clenched his jaw. "That doesn't mean shit."

"Steve,"

"No," he interrupted. "Do you know what this means? Not only are you fucking someone, but it's a woman. I'm not even worth your respect. You don't respect me as a husband."

"That's not true," She said, stepping forward.

"Really?" He scoffed. "How else would you explain this? How would you explain the fact that you've been cheating on me for God knows how long if you're telling me the truth."

"Steve," Natasha breathed. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. For you to find out like this."

"Oh, were you going to sit us down for dinner and have a conversation? I don't fucking think so."

"Steve,"

"What?"

"Let's talk," She insisted. "Not like this. Just let me-"

"There's nothing to talk about." He interrupted. "We're done."

Natasha felt like the ground was falling out from under her. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"I booked you a room," Steve continued. "At the inn. I won't be there."

"Steve, please," Natasha said, a tear running down her cheek. "Don't do this."

"Take your bags," he said firmly. "I'm not letting you stay here a second longer."

"Steve, this is my house too."

"Was," he corrected. "Your bags are packed. Take them and leave."

"You can't do this," Natasha shook her head. "I can't."

"You can and you will," he replied.

"I won't."

"Fine," He said. "You can sleep in the car. I'm not changing my mind."

"Steve," Natasha said. "I love her. You have to understand."

"You're a fucking liar," Steve spat. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have cheated on me."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it," Steve said, his jaw tight. "Tell me what I'm supposed to understand. Tell me why the woman who I've spent my life with, the woman I've committed to, has betrayed me."

"She makes me happy,"

"So do I,"

"Steve, it's not like that,"

"How's it like then?" He asked. "If you've fallen in love with someone, how the fuck am I supposed to compare?"

"She's-"

"Enough," Steve shook his head. "Get the hell out."

Natasha's shoulders dropped.

What had she done?

next part

[iwishthebestforyou]

OUT OF TOUCH — 🥀

fic inspired by the song out of touch

content: angst, knew they had didn't have enough time so didn't confess x thought they had enough time so didn't confess,

scara x reader

maybe ooc

cw: Death, loss

chrysanthemum 💐

—

Entering the hospital room of his childhood bestfriend, the room smelled faintly like antiseptic, it wasn't the empty room or the odd decorations on the wall that got his attention first— no. It was the flowers that were in full bloom sitting on the windowsill, soft petals bathing in the sun that almost seemed too bright.

It was so like you to carry flowers around. For some odd reason, you have a very big interest into flowers, flower language- everything of that sort, carried them in notebooks, bags, in your hands, everything flower related was always nearby, he always found it odd and never really asked other than some teasing comments, but now, at this situation he wished he did.

The memories that always seemed so little value suddenly seemed to be worth alot, the times where'd you would tell him about flower language, bringing him bouquets- even pressured him to take care of his own flower that only bloomed since you were always reminding him to take care of it

Scara stood in the doorway, just staring into the room, his fists clenched by his side's, eyes focused on the patient who was just resting there, you've gotten smaller, paler and those bright eyes were closed. The white around him was starting to irritate him, white walls, white everything. White always suited you, just not in this setting.

It wasn't supposed to be this bad. He knew that illness of yours has been there since the start but- you've always lived with it, you've always brushed it off, so why now? Why now are you failing against it? You've always been so strong.

He swallowed hard as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in, speaking the first few words even after standing there for what felt like an eternity. " ...I'm here. " His voice cracked saying it, there wasn't any mockery, sarcasm or anything laced in his words like it usually would have.

Your eyes opened almost immediately hearing his voice, their lips curving into a faint smile, a happy but a tired smile. " Your.. your here. " They whispered, voice filled with something he couldn't decipher.

Scaramouches gaze flickered back to the flowers on the windowsill, still blooming despite the situation. You must be magical, since how are those flowers still alive? The rest of the hospitals flowers have either died or been replaced by plastic. Yours is the only one alive. He forced a nod and stepped inside " Yeah.. " he murmured, his throat starting to feel clogged. " I came, y/n.. "

Scaramouche sat down on the chair beside the bed, his hands trembling as he continued looking at the flowers, they were vibrant, so full of life just bathing in the sunlight. It felt cruel. Like those flowers were mocking him, mocking you. You were once as bright as those flowers too, always shining and full of life, but now your barely even holding onto that life. he looks at your weaker form and his heart clenches, the contrast was too much for him to bare.

" ...You didn't have to.. don't you have practice today? For that concert. " You whispered, voice soft and strained. Despite your condition, your voice was still filled with that familiar warmth. "And I know how much you hate hospitals."

He gave a bitter laugh, though it just came out like a broken exhale " Yeah? Well, you didn't really give me any other choice. " He replied, trying to sound lighthearted or atleast bring back that usual sarcasm in his voice. But his voice crack at the end betrayed him.

You chuckled softly, the chuckle quickly turning into a cough. Both sound and sight made him flinch, but you still smiled at him, smiled at him despite of how much pain you were in, trying to reassure him it was okay, you were fine. But that smile only worsened his anxieties. You weren't okay, they both knew that.

You were the only one who looked at him without any anger, someone who looked at his heart and not just his mean, hardened exterior. He never got to say it, but you mattered alot to him. Maybe even the only person that was close to him.

Growing up, there wasn't much he could claim as his, not his family, not the sense of belonging, not friendships. Everything was fleeting— be there for a second and leave, that was everything and everyone around him. But you? Your friendship? Was the only thing he could call his own, the one thing he had for himself

And now that too, something he thought would last an eternity was slipping away, just like everything around him always did. He never really was lucky huh?

" But to be honest, I'm glad you came .. I was waiting for you, you know? " You said softly, gaze at the ceilng " I thought you wouldn't, but I understand. You hate goodbyes. "

His chest tightened, guilt clawing at him but also a surge of anger " Don't say that. " He muttered, cutting her off before she could continue. " This isn't goodbye. "

You gave a him a look, a look that broke him more then he already was, a look of bittersweet acceptance and it made this stomach churn. " Scara.. " you said, voice barely above a whisper " You know it is. We both know. "

His chest tightened even more and he felt like he was losing his a ability to properly breathe, hands clenched tightly digging into his palms as he struggled to keep himself to calm. " Stop it. " He said harshly, his voice trembling. " You don't get to decide that, your going to beat that fucking illness,  you always have. "

You didn't reply immediately, your gaze softening even more as you looked at him again. " The flowers are blooming. " you said, catching him off guard.

He blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. " What? "

" You know, the chrysanthemum.. " you continued, eyes turning to the flowers that sat so prettily on your windowsill. " They mean goodbye in flower language. "

His breath hitched and for a moment, he couldn't speak. The weight of your words suffocating him, the hopeless tone in your voice.

" They're beautiful, aren't they? " You whispered " I always wanted to leave something beautiful behind, even if they're just flowers. "

" Stop, " he said again, voice cracking " Just shut up.. stop talking like that.. stop talking like your leaving. Your going to stay, then- then we're going to go back to how things were. I'll even let you make fun of me, okay? "

You laughed sweetly, the sound bittersweet. " It's okay scara, really, I've made my peace. "

But he hasnt. And he wasn't really to let go, not yet. Not ever.

" Don't say that.. " he didn't even realise the years that started to form. He didn't cry. But, how could he not at the situation? His voice breaking with every word. " Don't.. Please don't say that. "

You reached out weakly, your hand brushing against his. Your touch was so gentle, so light. It shattered something inside him. He'd rather how you were before, hitting him and throwing things at him then whatever this is. " It's okay. " You murmured you words barely audible with the soft hum of the machines surrounding you. " I'm getting tired.. I hope you don't mind if I go to sleep. "

He nods and you smile, your eyes closed, breathing steady but faint. He sat frozen, eyes locked onto your peaceful face.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. The silence in the room grew heavier, pressing down on him like a heavy weight.

A trembling breath escaped his lips and he lowered his head, starting to breath heavily as his vision blurred, he couldn't properly breath anymore, hands covering his face, shoulders starting to shake and silent tears streamed down his cheeks, quiet sobs as tears soaked his hands. He didn't make a sound, didn't dare disturb that peace of yours.

It was the first time in years he left himself cry, and it hurt more than he thought it would. It felt so unfair. Everything felt so unfair, he only had this one thing and even that's been being taken away.

The blooming flowers on the windowsill blurred through his tears, their vibrant colours with your pale face gave a cruel reminder to him of what he was going to lose.

For now, you were still here. Still breathing but he couldn't stop the overwhelming dread gnawing at him, knowing this peace won't last forever.

So he let himself break as you slept, completely unaware that the stoic, rude and usually sarcastic bestfriend of yours was breaking right beside you.

A few days pass by, and tonight felt oddly colder. Harsher and even more darker, a few people inside the room silently sobbing as the day finally came, the day he dreaded so much. Scaramouche remained seated beside you, his gaze fixed on you, as if silently begging for you to just magically get up and laugh at him, to tease him for being so emotional. But your breathing was growing fainter by the second.

He didn't dare move, he couldn't even think properly.

" Scara..? " Your voice, softer than before, weaker than ever and more fragile.

He leaned closer, his chest tightening " I'm here.. " he whispered, his voice hoarse

Your eyes fluttered open briefly, the corners of your lips curving into a soft faint smile. " Are the flowers still blooming? "

His breath hitched. Of course, it's about the flowers again. His chest ached at that question and he nodded, his eyes betraying the composure he was trying to hold. " They're alive, blooming like how you wanted it to. "

You exhaled a shaky breath, smiling at that. Seeming to finally fully come into terms on whats gonna happen. " That's good, i'm glad.. "

Scaramouche clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to atleast stay strong for you. Atleast not let you pass seeing a frown on his face.

The heart rate monitor was beeping slower and slower, the nurses put their head down.

Please. Please. Don't take them away. He dosent believe in miracles, but please- if that's what it takes to bring you back to your old self then please.

Please don't do this to him. Please.

He was spiralling, tears starting to form as you broke the silence with a whisper, so faintly that it was barely audible.

" Take.. take care of the flowers. I'll see you.. someday "

Beep.

Beep.

Nothing.

Your eyes were shut, and this time they didn't open at the sound of people talking or his voice. They just stayed shut, the sound of the monitor flat lining pierced through the air as choked sobs from friends and family came from behind him, his own tears and sobs filling his senses, nurses and doctors looking down.

" No, " he whispered, his voice breaking and his heart torn into pieces, there was so much he had to say, there was so much time he thought they had- so he didnt say anything, he didn't wanna believe that the time was slipping from his fingers.

He reached for your hand, gripping it slightly but it didn't have that warmth anymore, it was cold. Too cold. His body trembled as the realisation hit him like a tidal wave. You were gone.

More nurses entered the room, voices quiet and respectful, muttering apologies and condolences, but he barely registered their presence, feeling numb and his eyes focused on you.

Cruel.

Your too cruel.

A few weeks later, he was helping your family take your belongings from the hospital room. It was too cold, emptier. He stood by the windowsill, just looking around on the tiny pieces of you that you left behind.

His eyes took notice of the chrysanthemum, his fingers brushing against them, the flowers you cared so dearly for, the flowers that were wilted, petals lifeless.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, the sound harsh and hollow. " The flowers.. they're wilted. " He muttered, his voice breaking. He broke the promise you left him with, but then again, he was never good at the keeping promises thing.

His chest ached as he picked up the pot, looking at it, holding it so fragile like it was an extension of you. He couldn't cry, no, you wouldn't want him to cry. But his vision blurred and the tears started rolling down anyway.

You were gone, and yet, despite it all he could feel you, your smell, your interests still scattered all over the room. The memories that clung to every corner in his mind, he still had so much to tell you, still so much to do, still so much to talk about, so much things he couldn't say.

He set the pot down carefully, brushing a hand on the dead petals " You said youd leave something beautiful behind, " he whispered. " But what am I supposed to do now when your not here to remind me to take care of it? "

The words echoed in the empty room, the weight of your absence pressing down on him.

And for the first time in his life, scaramouche wish he believed in miracles. Because if he did, maybe he could've atleast had that hope that he'd maybe see you again, even if you were just a flower.

But alas, just like that flower has wilted, you did too. But maybe that beauty you wanted to leave behind wasn't the flower, but the memory of you.

I'm sorry if it's just yap, I was just bored and spilled my feelings in hehe it feels a bit self indulgent

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me?]

F!Reader proposing to Simon, let’s see what happens :D !!

The breeze touches your cheek tenderly, bringing you a sliver of coolness, just what you need now to calm down your anxious yet excited mind.

Everything is just as you planned. A nice dinner with some wine, you suggest going for a short walk just like you two always did. You watch Simon walking beside you, left hand engulfing yours in his warm and calloused one and looking in front of him, so you tuck your hand in your pocket.

The little box is there, and you sigh in relief, the whole date tonight you’ve kept checking its presence while making sure Simon doesn’t notice.

You two stop by the lake you both love. The stars shine dazzling in the sky, with the moon accompanied their beauty.

Everything’s perfect. Now it’s the time.

“Simon.” You take a deep breath, and watch your lover turning his head to meet your gaze.

“yeah, luv?”

“I have something to tell you.” You let go of his hands, shifting your body so you’re face to face with him. You can see his eyes dancing across your face with curiosity inside, but he just stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

“Simon Riley, I might not be the most beautiful person among others, might not be the smartest person that can help you the most, but I’m the luckiest person, because I found you in the crowd.”

You clenching hard at your skirt, under Simon’s wide eyes, you continue your words.

“Just like I said, I may not be the smartest, but I’ll always be by your side, holding your hands when you’re unsure of yourself, hugging you when the world is cruel and you need warmth. You are the person I wish I could spend my whole life with you...”

With wobbly knees, you lift your skirt slightly to kneel, and you can hear people standing by and gasping, but all you can see is the man you love with your entire life, eyes sparkling with surprise and the love you have in yours too.

“Will you marry me, Simon Riley?”

The box you have been checking along the whole night is now placed directly in your palm, the diamond on the ring shines majestically just like the stars above you two.

“Of course.” You can sense the difference in Simon’s voice, his voice is shaking too, but the happiness and touch inside is undoubtful. “please stand up, love.”

You let out a sigh of relief, steady your legs and start to straighten your legs.

“ahh!” the sudden relief doesn’t stop your trembling legs, and your body waddled, causing you to stumble onto the ground.

“Lovie!” Simon drops to his knees, your knees hurt, but you don’t care about it when you watch the ring box roll out of your hands and drop into the lake.

“the ring!” Crying out, you stumble to your feet and run into the lake. You know the lake is shallow, you can still find it, you need to find it—

A splash comes in your ears. Through your watering eyes, you see Simon step into the lake with you. His left hand steading you while his right arm swirls inside the water.

“It’s okay, love, it’s here, I found it, don’t worry.”

Finally, the white box appears in Simon’s hand when he retrieves his arm from the lake. Fortunately, besides some dirt and grass, the ring lies safely inside the box.

You don’t have a single energy to speak, letting Simon lead you back to the ground, both of your clothes are damp, and you're still recovering from the fright, but Simon’s chuckles bring you back to reality.

You stupidly watch him burst into a low laugh, a smile blooms on his scarred yet gorgeous face.

“You really aren’t the smartest person.” He hugs you closely until you can hear his heartbeat, faster than usual due to the accident, yet soothing just like you always listen to when you snuggle with him on the bed.

“thank you for confirming, Simon.” You pout, but a grin spread on your lips too.

“but you’re the bravest person, and I’m the luckiest man.”

Raising your eyebrow, you lift your head with disbelief, which vanishes when you look into his eyes.

There’s affection. immovable. unquestionable.

“Let’s go home and take a shower, yeah?”

“Sounds amazing”

Simon reaches out his hand, and you take them into yours. They’re wet this time, but it doesn’t affect the heat radiating and sharing through the connected palms.

“But next time don’t jump into the lake immediately, it could be dangerous. ‘kay?”

“Okay. I'm a dork I admit.”

“yeah, a cute dork.” He squeezes your hands playfully. “My little dork.”

[saltyfruitbat]

His universe

Note: I’m barely coming back into writing as college takes a lot of effort, and drains my energy. Also, I’m so sorry if it’s so ooc, I haven’t been catching up with the animated movies. But i hope you guys enjoy it, even if its short as my attention span 😭

An infatuation.

That’s what you were.

He couldn’t forget you, his thoughts of you invaded his mind. You made him nervous, so unlike him. It almost him feel pathetic, almost.

At first he had wanted your presence out of his life, he had wallowed, wilted at the warm feeling you had given him. He was used to passion, even if had been a fleeting one, paramours that had paved their way into his heart, and mind; and out.

But you, he couldn’t rid his thoughts of you, those feelings that bloomed, even when he scolded himself for having them.

He lurked in the darkness, making sure the night was peaceful, that the citizens could at least rest well for another night.

You didn’t deserve to be in the darkness.

You shined the brightest in the light, when the clouds would dissipate, parting for all to see the bright sky, and the happy sun, a rarity in the gloomy city, the sky always filled with smog.

Yet you had stuck by, clinging to his side when he had begged for you to leave his side, giving you the chance to leave his life permanently. You had rejected that offer.

You stuck by his side even as the darkness consumed his very being, unbothered by his self-loathing, his regrets, his insecurities; Was he doing the right thing? Did it even matter?

It did, you always told him it did, he had changed the streets to a safer place, one-step at a time’ and that was enough to comfort him.

Even during those nights where he felt everything crashing down at him, where words were meaningless. All you did was hug him, his scarred back pressed to your chest, scars that had at times had made him disgusted at himself.

But you cherished them, tracing them tenderly, his skin was sensitive so he would shiver, his breath hitching as you would kiss them so lovingly.

The first time you had done it, his eyes had teared up as he buried his face into the pillow.

That’s when he knew— you were the one for him.

And as the years went by, it was even more telling.

You had become his universe.

The exchanging of wedding rings had been a joyous experience, something he wished to always do, until you both became old.

Even as his first son had arrived, his nest broken, and his heart shattered, filled with such rage, you had been by his side, a loving spouse, and a loving new parent to his son, and the child that had been born between you, and him.

A child that had been born out of love.

A family of four, of five counting his dutiful father-figure, and so on when the rest of his children, and family had arrived.

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 11

We're back! Finally after four months we're back! I appreciate your patience, I promise you all, the really good stuff I've been dying to write is coming up real soon. I've also updated the masterlist to include some of the fanart I've gotten in the meantime and a couple oneshots/requests.

(To the anon who requested the fic about sick Helina I WILL eventually write it, I promise, it's still in my inbox)

No warnings today, really. I hope you all enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris @antartzz @your-local-furby

The clacking of keys slows to a stop, and the office is momentarily quiet, save for the winds outside the window. You take a moment to stretch, your spine aching from your horrific posture the past few hours. You sit up straight and let your eyes scan over the freshly typed ink. 

I can only imagine how he looks right now, but I know for certain he’s looking at me. I know the warmth of sunshine shining on my face, and how his hand wraps so protectively around mine. I feel the smile on his lips when he brings my knuckles to them.

I feel my heart blooming in my chest, a symphony of words too loud and too many to come out all at once. I want to sing his praises, chant in holy prayer, make the world my stage for a performance no composer or director can ever match, but tonight’s antics have left me too tired.

Instead, I lean in close, and I tell him I love him. 

Gently, you begin the process of removing the page from the typewriter. You pull it free and smooth out the paper. Your hands move to the top of the page and you rip it in half. You turn the ripped pieces to the side and rip them into quarters, then eighths, so on and so forth until you have a little pile of homemade confetti sitting on your desk. At that point, you place your head in your hands and let out a frustrated yell.

This is the End. The finish line is within sight, and it feels like every time you try to write the final lines to this book, you’re finding new ways to trip and fall face first into the dirt in this proverbial race. Endings are always the worst part of writing any story, and you still haven’t figured out how to actually end this story. You know how and where it ends, you’ve known for years, but your efforts feel fruitless. The words you thought sounded great in your head read like nonsense when physically typed, and do not give justice to everything else you have written down. You love your other books, you do, but with those ones, they were more formulaic, more cliché, simpler. They were not unique, and your readers did not care so much as they could imagine themselves in the arms of a loving gentleman or prince or noble or whoever they wish would love them. This book is different, and as such, there is high reward and even higher risk if the audience gets to the end and is greeted by disappointment.

Or maybe, and this is a very big maybe, you have spent too much time writing and not enough time sleeping or eating? A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. All this to say you are in desperate need of a break.

Your father is at work and your mother is out of town for the day to visit your extended family. You like the peace and quiet it gives, especially considering last week’s public spectacle with your father. He hasn’t said a word to you, not since the argument was recounted in the paper (though it did not make the front page, thankfully). You heard your mother scolding him for making an ass of himself by nearly brawling with his own son for days, though she didn’t say much about how it started because he threw a fit over homosexuality. You think she should have maybe focused on that a little more, but you’re not in the mood to bring that up again.

It should be break time for the staff, so the kitchen is empty. You use the opportunity to make yourself a late lunch, or really late breakfast. It’s a simple sandwich that’s mostly ham and cheese, though it’s tempting to grab some of the pastries your mother bought as an apology on your father’s behalf. You’re saving those for after you finish your book.

You’re halfway through scarfing your sandwich down when the kitchen doors open. You look over and see Colleen, looking mildly frantic and then shocked when she sees you leaning against the counter with a sandwich. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. I was worried when you weren’t in your study.”

You swallow. “What is it?”

You’re biting back into your sandwich when Colleen informs you “Lord Pantalone is here.”

“... Wha?” you ask, with your mouth half full.

You see the man’s face as he peers over Colleen, smiling as he is one to do. He says nothing, simply waving. You barely avoid choking on your food, and don’t imagine the sight of you narrowly spitting up a half chewed lump of ham, bread and cheese is a flattering site. You swallow the lump down, and it’s not a pleasant feeling. 

You stand up straight, face flushed. “Regrator! I… did not think you would be here!”

Pantalone laughs, taking in the sight of the kitchen. “Good afternoon to you too,” he says, “I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all,” you say. It’s not lost on you that you probably look terrible right now. Your clothes are clean, but entirely too casual for a meeting with Pantalone, you haven’t slept, haven’t shaved in a few days and wait, shit, when was the last time you showered? You think it was a couple nights ago, but you secretly fear it’s actually been several weeks. (You know it hasn’t, but your unkempt appearance in front of a pretty man is making you internally panic.)

You offer a very clearly tense smile. “So! What brings you here?”

“I was curious as to why you haven’t replied to any of my letters,” he explains. “I know you’re busy with your book and all, but I figured surely we have enough rapport that you would write me back.”

“... What?”

He tilts his head. “My letters. The letters I’ve sent you.”

“I genuinely do not know what you’re talking about,” you reply, “I have not received any letters, and no one has mentioned anything about you sending us mail.”

“How strange,” he remarks, “I have my staff personally deliver it all, so it’s odd you haven’t received any of it…”

You conjure the mental image of either your mother or father, possibly both, angrily sorting through the mail and confiscating anything that has your name on it. That’s something you’re going to have to bring up at some point, or you can just snoop through their room. You’re fairly certain you know the safe’s code, but it’s not like it would be hard to guess if you didn’t know. You’re one of five siblings, after all, one of your birthdays has to unlock it.

You put a pin in that for later. “So… is there anything specific you need me for? Since I haven’t replied to any of your letters.”

“Well, I had cleared my schedule to invite you for tea,” he says, “but I can assume by your appearance that we’ll have to reschedule?”

Ouch. You force out a laugh. “Yes, today is unfortunately not a good day for me.”

“Clearly.”

“Can I offer you anything?” you ask. “I’m not sure what we have as far as tea goes, that’s more my mother’s thing, but ah…” 

Pantalone watches the figurative light bulb go off in your head, and you immediately begin rummaging through the cupboards. He looks to the maid next to him, silently asking if this is normal, and even she seems confused by your behaviour. There’s something mildly amusing about it, so he continues observing you.

“I just got these yesterday,” you say, then turn around holding a small dish in your hand. Sitting in the centre is a small fried cake with some sort of cream and jam swirled on top of it. You walk over and offer it to Pantalone. “Here, I hope a little vdolek will suffice as an apology for not writing to you.”

Graciously, your unexpected guest accepts your offering. “Why, thank you, my dear writer.”

You don’t see Colleen slip out of the kitchen, but you’ve also forgotten she was there to begin with. Pantalone brings the little pastry up to his lips and bites into it, humming cheerfully. He licks some of the cream off his lips and you turn your attention back to your lunch lest your mind linger on that image too long.

“Delightful,” he comments, “I’ll have to get some next time we meet. I know a marvelous blend of black tea to pair this with.”

“S-Sounds good.”

Get it the fuck together.

There’s a minute or two of quiet as the two of you finish eating. You hear Pantalone set the dish down, and you’ve now grown very familiar and very fond of how audible his smile is. “So, how is the book?”

“You’ve got better eyes than me,” you joke, gesturing to yourself, “I think you can tell how it’s going.”

“They’re really not that much better,” he says, pointing at his glasses.

“They’re correctable.”

“Fair enough, now do you mind answering the question?”

“It… It’s going.”

Pantalone gives you an odd look. “Going? Good or bad?”

“It’s going to kill me,” you tell him, “I am right at the end, and I’m stuck on the last few lines and have been for two days now.”

Pantalone smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. What is it specifically that you’re stuck on?”

“I just can’t think of anything that isn’t really underwhelming compared to the rest of the story,” you explain, “it either brings down the quality of the story as a whole, or it feels like the story just stops rather than ends.”

You feel Pantalone studying your appearance, and once again feel self conscious. It doesn’t help when he smiles cheerfully and says “I think you’re well overdue for a break.”

You shake your head. “I am this close to the end, if I stop now I’ll lose the little momentum I have.”

“And how is that working out for you?”

“It hasn’t stopped me yet.”

“In all seriousness, you really should take some time to adequately rest,” Pantalone tells you. “I am very much the pot calling the kettle black, but my occupation has much higher stakes. You don’t gain much from all-nighters or working through your meals compared to me. Or, rather, I suppose it’s more accurate to say I stand to lose a lot if I don’t put all my effort in, but that’s all semantics.”

“Thank you, mom, I’ll remember to eat my veggies too.”

Pantalone chuckles. “Goodness, you’re rather petulant when you’re tired.”

Your face flushes again. You look at the ground, and imagine this isn’t helping the petulant accusations. Shaking your head, you look back up at Pantalone and stand up straight again, like a good and mature host would. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” you ask. “I’d be happy to spend time with you but I do have a deadline to meet in a few days.”

“So eager to kick me out,” he teases, “but I guess I won’t take it too personally. I suppose I did drop in rather unexpectedly for you.”

You make your way out of the kitchen, Pantalone following behind you. “To be honest, I don’t think I would have been able to meet up anyways if I did know.”

Pantalone looks over his shoulder and sees the maid from before standing next to the door, clearly listening in. Her face flushes, and she promptly walks the other way while you are none the wiser. “That’s a shame. I was rather looking forward to talking to you without your family interrupting.”

“You can still do that,” you tell him, “just not for long. Deadline aside, my mother will have an absolute fit if she hears you came by.”

“Then I’ll make it quick,” he states, “I want to know more about your typewriter.”

You pause, and turn around. “My typewriter?”

“It’s been on my mind for some time now,” he explains, “I recognize the brand as we use their typewriters at the bank, but I’m not familiar with that specific model. Now granted, I don’t typically use typewriters, so I’m sure there’s a gap in my knowledge there, but in the times I have gone looking for new typewriters, they’ve never had that model as an option.”

Moments ago, you looked tired, frustrated, and drained. Your appearance is still a little unkempt, but you noticeably perk up as soon as Pantalone explains himself. The bags under your eyes are dark, but the fatigue has faded. Your posture, slightly hunched from your time at your desk, has straightened. You smile.

“Oh, that’s because mine is from a now discontinued line,” you explain, then pick up your pace. “I believe there was also a limited stock of them, but I don’t think they were necessarily limited edition. They were just very expensive to buy and even more expensive to make, not to mention they required very brand specific tools and repairs, hence why the line was eventually discontinued some… twenty-five years ago?”

“Fascinating.”

“That’s what I can recall off the top of my head, anyways,” you tell him as you begin climbing the stairs to the second floor. “There aren’t very many of them around now. They were difficult to repair as is, but they don’t even make the parts for them anymore. The only way you can fix them is if you somehow find another one that hasn’t had the part you need harvested. Despite that, it works beautifully when it’s in good condition.”

“It sounds like more hassle than what it’s worth,” Pantalone comments, “but I suppose it must have some value among collectors. My question is why you would use such a delicate piece of equipment as opposed to anything else.”

You reach the top of the stairs, and turn to address Pantalone. “Why would I need a new typewriter when mine works fine?”

“I respect that approach,” he says, “what I meant was there are surely better typewriters out there, ones that aren’t a pain to maintain and completely useless if something breaks. Why not use one of those ones?”

“... Sentimental value.”

Pantalone raises a brow. “Oh?”

You guide the man to your study. You push the door open, and he takes a moment to observe the crumpled pages littering your floor. The door clicks behind him. You take your seat at the desk and motion for Pantalone to come close. He does, standing right behind you. Before you can continue explaining the story, you see his hand reach over and pick at the pile of ripped up paper in front of your typewriter.

“Ah, sorry. Forgot to clean that up.”

“I love him.”

“What?”

Pantalone hands you the torn scrap of paper, which sure enough reads I love him. You laugh. “A-Ah, right.”

“So about the sentimental value,” Pantalone says as you begin sweeping up the ripped pieces.

“This belonged to my grandfather,” you tell him as you dump the pile into the trash, “my mom’s father, he’s where I got my condition. He got the typewriter as a gift from a friend in Fontaine, I believe. He died two years later, before I could meet him. A couple years after I got diagnosed, my grandmother found it, and gifted it to me as a memento of sorts, and I’ve used it ever since.”

“Really now?”

“My grandma said he’d want me to have it,” you say, “and she smacked me when I made a joke about him giving me his bad eyes too. Lightly, of course, but still.”

“You were making fun of her blind, dead husband,” Pantalone remarks.

“If what my family says about him is true, he would have made an even worse joke,” you retort. “I’m giving my nephews and nieces permission to make fun of me if they have it, my grandfather would probably do the same.”

Pantalone chuckles. You turn your head to continue speaking to him, and see he’s looking at you instead of the typewriter. It sort of catches you, mostly because of his eyes. You didn’t really notice it when you met him for tea, mostly because you were more focused on the feel of his fingers holding your face and how close he was, but his eyes are really, really pretty. The light from your window hits his face just right, making his eyes shine like gemstones.

You realize you’re staring again and snap out of it, and you doubt it’s all that subtle. “I am also giving you permission to make blind jokes around me.”

He gives you a bewildered, but amused look. “What? Now why would I want to do that?” “Because they’re funny,” you answer, “that’s why I make them.”

“Yes, but you’re actually blind, or going to be blind.”

You lean back in your chair a bit. “I promise you, whatever you think of, my siblings will have said something infinitely worse and gotten away with it,” you say, “excluding Adéla and Gala, my younger sisters. Gala feels bad making fun of me, and Adéla means what she says.”

(Which is rather hypocritical of her, if you’re to believe your siblings’ words about her getting her son tested for your condition. That and her ongoing pregnancy might be why she hasn’t tried picking a fight with you in a while.)

“If you insist,” he says, “but I suppose I should get going now.”

“Oh, wait, really?”

“You said before that you have a deadline, no?” Pantalone asks, his expression almost curious until you see the way the corner of his lips twitch, how his eyes seem a little too knowing. “It wouldn’t be right to keep you from your work. Hopefully we can better coordinate a visit or outing some other time.”

The only thing stopping you from insisting that it’s okay for him to stay a little longer, really, please stay, is the knowledge that your parents will eventually be home and Pantalone’s presence will cause absolute chaos. That, and the fact you look like shit. Probably worse than when he gave you the letter from Guuji Yae, because you were clearly hungover, but at least you had cleaned yourself up. 

You swallow.

“I wish you could stay a little longer.”

Pantalone tilts his head.

“... but yes, we should, ah, probably pick this up another time.”

He smiles, entirely too knowing for your comfort. “Hopefully next time you actually get my letters.”

You bid Pantalone farewell, but he is already leaving your office without another word. He opens the door, and you briefly see either Colleen or Adelaide staggering back before the door closes.

You load a fresh page into the typewriter, and you stare at it. You stare at it like that is what is going to make the words appear, and somehow you’re always disappointed when it doesn’t. You wish you didn’t rip up the last page now, just so you can make sure you won’t write something as equally terrible.

After some time, your office door opens again. You step into the hallway, now vacant and cold. There’s a weight in your stomach, a growing pit of anxiety as you begin walking down the hall. You pass your room, then Gala’s room, then the bathroom, your siblings’ old rooms, and stop when you reach the door at the end of the hall. The master bedroom, your parents’ room.

The door opens when you twist the knob and push forward. You shiver as cooled air passes you. The fire must have gone out some time ago. It doesn’t stop you from entering though, not when you have a pretty good hunch on why you mysteriously haven’t gotten any letters from Pantalone. 

You waste no time in investigating. You spy an old painting hung up on the wall depicting a younger version of your mother and father on their wedding day. You carefully pull it down from the wall, revealing their safe. You don’t remember what the code is, just that it’s one full turn left, one full turn right, and then left until it’s the last number. You’re fairly certain it’s either their anniversary or one of their children’s birthdays. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be proven wrong. Brow furrowed, you try to think of something else they would use for a code. You consider the day they met, or the day they fell in love, but you have no idea when that would have been. You consider your grandfather’s death date, but that’s entirely too morbid. You’re about to start twisting the dial in any direction until you hopefully hear a click, and then it hits you; they’re grandparents. You quickly try your nephew’s birthdate, and you hear a distinct click sound unlike the turning dial’s. You pull on the handle, and it opens.

You almost celebrate until you see there aren’t any envelopes or letters addressed to you. You see photo albums, some jewellery and trinkets, as well as a few other odds and ends of sentimental value, but no letters.

You sigh, and begin putting everything back in place. Maybe it’s hidden in the study or something, or maybe in your father’s desk at work. You’ll have to ask Lydia to have a peek, though there’s a good chance she would have mentioned that to you already. You’ll still ask her about it next time you see her.

You’re hanging the painting back up when you feel another shiver up your spine. Usually the staff try to keep the fireplaces lit throughout the house to keep everyone from freezing, but for whatever reason, they’ve forgotten your parents’ room. You decide to do that yourself, as your conscience is making you feel guilty about snooping.

You sigh, crouching down in front of the fireplace. You grab the door handles and pull the doors open, seeing the charred remnants of firewood long gone cold. You pick up the fire poker and begin prodding at the wood until you catch sight of something sticking out of the ashes. It almost looks like kindling, but your gut tells you to investigate further.

You reach inside, and you immediately know it’s paper. You pull it from the ashes and sit back. It looks like the corner of a page at first, and then you realize it’s part of an envelope. You flip it over, and your blood runs cold.

You recognize that address. Not too long ago, you were invited to afternoon tea at that exact location. You realize there’s still a bit of paper inside, and you pull it out. The paper falls apart in your dirtied hands, but you can make out the first few characters of your name in familiar handwriting. You feel sick, you feel angry. You don’t know which one of your parents is responsible for this, but this is too far for either one of them. 

It takes you a few moments to compose yourself. When you eventually get off the ground and storm out of your parents’ room, you make sure to leave the burned remnants of your letter in an obvious spot for your parents to find it. You leave ash on the door when you slam their door shut. You want to scream, you want to ask what the hell their fucking problems are, but they’re not here right now. You have new energy to burn, new emotions you need to vent in some way, but most importantly, you have a book to finish, and you’re going to finish it.

[hana-no-seiiki]

HELLO??? WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS MASTERPIECE??? especially the last line holy shit im scared yet excited at the same time 😬😬

YANDERE! AQUAMARINE HOSHINO x REINCARNATED! READER x YANDERE! RUBY

Guess I gotta do a full fic about it huh. Here we go. Link to previous part in the ask!

tw/cw: yandere themes, gaslight tactics courtesy of aqua, girlkeep tactics courtesy of ruby, girlboss [y/n]. mentions of suicide. reader is gn but gets described as beautiful.

is this really a yandere fic when both the twins are canonically insane tho-

IT WAS SAID THAT DURING THE NIGHT OF YOUR BIRTH THE SUN WAS AT ITS HIGHEST POINT AND FULLEST BLOOM.

Its rays buried humanity under a blanket of heat and devastation. Fortunetellers would wax on and on of the disasters you would soon bring upon the world.

That was your experience in your first life.

Many could only wish of being born to a worldwide pop-star, but to you it was a reality. You resented those that vied for your place. How could they romanticize such a life when every single day was torture for you. Some predicted you to be world-class singer before your first cry. People knew you before you could even speak to them. Everyone already idolized you, expected you to do great things before you’d even learn the alphabet.

The pressure had already been insurmountable the moment you took your first breath.

Your second life was terrifying to say the least. It didn’t matter that way you died before, just the thought of experiencing the same motions again frightened you to your bones.

And so you pretended. A shining star to a dim moon that barely reflected any light. Ever so meticulously making sure none knew of your so called genius. The last thing you wanted was to be labeled a prodigy even with the more lax nature of your new family.

But art will always call to you, a sunflower drawn to its source of energy.

You kept everything as lowkey as you could, reconnected with contacts you knew would keep their mouth shut, and even kept your identity away from prying eyes.

To the world you were just this masked musician that was oddly reminiscent of their previous luminescence.

You were satisfied with that life. Fame wasn’t something you agonized about or wished for. But now that veil had been taken away, it’s as if everything was crashing down yet again. Emails, messages and articles about your success as a young star was beginning to show its true weight. Stress began accumulating further and further as you had distanced yourself from your family and threw yourself to work as a distraction.

On one such ‘productive’ night, you were met with a face you didn’t expect.

“Aqua-niisama! Nice seeing you here. Thought you would be staying at that director’s place for the night—“

“Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you promise to tell me everything? Don’t you trust me?”

Aquamarine had this knack of being utterly terrifying without meaning to. He had the talent to frighten at a glance. His beautiful sea-like eyes turn dull, murky. Capturing all the light, and drowning you in the same pressure your old family would throw you under repeatedly.

With his arms caging you between his form and the wall, you knew there was no escaping this. So in spite of the crippling anxiety, you gulp it do

“I wasn’t confident enough with my skills. Your mom is the Ai Hoshino and Ruby is so talented I—“

He lowered his face, nestled it right beside yours. You could swear he was breathing in your scent. “You looked anything but ‘not confident’ up on the stage.”

“Liar.” His hands then moved from the wall to encircle themselves around your body; his face to your the top of your head and nose between your hair. Yet even in this tight embrace you still felt chills down your spine. “I scare you don’t I? You were worried that I would stop you like I did with her.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a terrible brother.”

“No, I understand you. You just wanted to keep her safe and I—“

“Not for that.” He pushed himself away for a couple of moments, and for that short amount of time you were ashamed to say that you felt utterly relieved until— “This.”

— he kissed you.

You’ve seen Aqua kiss Akane before. Both on and out of camera. You respected their relationship despite knowing of how unhealthy it truly is. They’d eventually break up and things would go smoothly you thought.

Pfft, as if. You knew shit would hit the fan. You were just too much of a coward to get in his way. Akane could suffer for all you care, she chose to date your psychopath of an adoptive brother anyways.

But you didn’t expect him to fall for you.

He never seem interested. Despite your mother telling you time and time again that Aqua cared deeply about you, you just couldn’t see it.

He was the deep, dark ocean. You were at the highest point of the sky, sailing across the cosmic sea. There was no way you two could meet eye to eye much less love normally.

You did the only thing your body could muster at the moment and slapped him.

“You’re right. You are a horrid brother.”

As you ran away, sobbing, Aqua couldn’t help but feel aroused.

Oh, how charming you looked with tears streaking down your cheeks.

It felt like hours when you first started crying nonstop. You never cried in your original life. You had no time or energy to. You never expected that your second, mundane life would be the one that shattered you.

And shattered you it did. You felt sorry for the future you who had to wash off all the tears and snot on your pillows and bedsheets, but it had to be done. You knew if you didn’t let it all out that day it’d happen sooner or later at a more inconvenient time.

Aqua only entered once to leave a tissue box and water bottle before he left. The sounds of typing outside of your room never ceased however, indicating he never actually went too far.

Ruby arrived far earlier than you expected as well. Her schedule that day should have had her busy til midnight but you had the feeling Aqua told her what he’d done.

“Ruby-nee—“

“Ssshhh…” Ruby silenced you with a kiss to the forehead.

“Why would he do that— he - he has a girlfriend.” You stuttered and hiccuped throughout your speech, still crying as hard as you did back then.

“Do you really think he loves her?”

“No.”

“But that isn’t what you’re worried about isn’t it?”

Ruby brought you up to her shoulder, massaging your back in a circular motion. “Trust me, nothing will change. He loves you very much. We both love you. I’m just sorry we didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to share your passion with us. You’re amazing [Y/N] in every shape, way or form. You don’t have to be the brightest to the world, you have no obligation to.”

“To us you’re already perfect.”

You never knew she had the capability to be this comforting in a mature sort of way. She always radiated a loud vibration; refreshing most of the time, though it did get tiring.

Never have you been afforded this kind of consolation. It was always you against the world. Being reminded that there are other stars in the sky beside you gave you a strange sense of solace. An odd variety of relief borne out of being insignificant in the sky.

“This incident just means he loves you in a different way alright?”

“But what about Aka-neesama?”

“I’ll talk to him about it.”

“You should thank me. I left them all vulnerable for you.” Aqua spoke, his right hand quickly moved across his laptop’s keyboard and his left held a can of Monster.

“You felt it too didn’t you?” Ruby exhaled. It took a while to get you to lull you into sleep; a necessary step to have the conversation she was partaking in.

“Yeah. . . I did.” Aqua took a sip from his drink, his starry eyes laser focused on the recording of your performance. He had set up several fan accounts and gotten footage from all sorts of angles. He couldn’t wait for your next stage. May it be from sheer excitement or the caffeine in his blood, but the man was absolutely shaking all over over in anticipation. “We have a second chance, don’t mess things up.”

“I should be saying that to you. Break up with Akane by next week. And be careful with how forward you are with your feelings.”

“Already done.” Aqua held up his phone without breaking moving his head at all, in his phone were a few texts between him and a panicking Akane. “and no promises”

Ruby sighed one last time that night, leaning her head back to your bedroom door. “. . . You were right.”

“Hm?”

Both of her eye’s stars hard turn tar black, a blush covered her cheeks.

“[Y/N] does look enticing when they cry.”

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

A day in the life

Summary: You visit Seo-Wan in the hospital

Warnings: None

You slowly step through the sterile, white halls of the psychiatric hospital, your heart fluttering in both excitement and anxiety. It’s been a while since you last saw Seo-Wan, and your visits always leave you feeling conflicted. On one hand, you love seeing him, hearing his voice, even if it's sometimes mixed with the delusions that make him feel so far from reality. But on the other hand, the place itself—clinical, cold—always reminds you of the painful struggle Seo-Wan endures each day.

The nurses at the front desk smile warmly at you. “He’s in his usual spot,” one of them says, handing you a visitor’s badge. “He’s waiting for you.”

You nod and make your way down the hallway, finding Seo-Wan in the small garden area at the back of the building. The space is simple—two benches, some potted plants, and a few trees that never seem to bloom fully. Despite the lack of color in his surroundings, Seo-Wan sits on the bench in the corner, a book held loosely in his hands, his attention somewhere far beyond the pages.

“Seo-Wan?” you call softly, hesitant.

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, his expression lighting up with recognition. A smile breaks across his face, the kind that always seems to shine through no matter how deep the fog of his delusions.

“Y/N! You came!” His voice is a little too loud, too bright for the muted space. “I knew you would. The stars told me you would come today.” His eyes glimmer, that familiar intensity taking over as he looks at you with an almost manic energy. “It’s good you’re here. We have a lot to talk about. Did you see the moon last night? It was trying to tell me something. I think it was trying to tell me we were supposed to meet in the garden today.” He pats the empty seat beside him, and you sit, your heart aching for him.

“I didn’t see the moon, Seo-Wan,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours. “I’m just happy to be here with you.”

He stares at your hand for a moment, as though remembering what it felt like to hold you outside of this place. A brief flicker of something soft passes through his eyes. “I’m not crazy, you know. I know things. I know you are the one who came from another world to help me, to fix me,” he says, his voice lowering with a hint of mystery. “I’ve been waiting for you... You’re the only one who understands.”

You take a deep breath, squeezing his hand tighter. "I know, Seo-Wan. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks at you, his lips curling into a smile, but it’s a little sadder now. “I wish it were that simple,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting to the ground, where a few fallen leaves collect at the edges of the garden.

“What do you mean?” you ask softly, feeling the pull of his sadness.

“I don’t think they believe me here. They tell me I’m imagining things. That I’m lost in my own mind,” he says, his voice trembling with frustration. “But it’s real, Y/N. The stars... the moon... they speak to me. They’re trying to tell me something, and I don’t know what. I’m... I’m just trying to figure it out. But when I’m here, it’s like I’m... trapped. Trapped in my head.”

You reach up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, and in that moment, you wish you could take away the pain—the confusion, the isolation he feels. You wish you could tell him that he wasn’t alone, that everything he believes in is okay, even if it's not entirely grounded in the reality you both share.

“I’m here with you, Seo-Wan,” you say, your voice steady and comforting. “I don’t know what the stars are telling you, but I know one thing is true. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for some kind of validation that he isn’t completely crazy. When he finds it in the depth of your gaze, his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words heavy with meaning. He reaches for the book again but then stops, his fingers hovering over the pages. “I’ve been reading this book, Y/N. It’s about a man who believes he can change the world. Maybe... maybe I’m that man. Maybe I can change things, too. Maybe I can change.”

“You already have, Seo-Wan,” you say softly, placing your hand over his. “You’ve already changed my world.”

He looks at you, his eyes shining with a mix of uncertainty and hope. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

For the rest of the afternoon, you sit with him, talking about the things he believes, about the stars, about the moon, and the strange world he lives in. You listen as he tells you of the secrets he’s uncovered, of the mysterious messages he thinks he’s receiving. Some of it is difficult to follow, but you listen because you know it matters to him, and that's enough for now.

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm orange light over the garden, you stand up. “I have to go soon,” you say, your voice soft.

Seo-Wan doesn’t look upset, but there’s a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to go. I wish you could stay forever.”

You smile at him, brushing a gentle kiss against his cheek. “I’ll be back, Seo-Wan. I promise.”

He nods slowly, his hands gripping the book again, his delusions taking him to places only he understands. But for a brief moment, just as you turn to leave, he looks up at you one last time.

“I’m glad you came today. The stars were right. You were meant to be here with me.”

And even though you know the stars might not have had a say in this moment, you can’t help but agree.

[bubblegump-1-nk]

Shall I Write It in a Letter

pairing: Gryffindor!Reader x Theodore Nott

summary: In which Theo wakes up one morning and realizes he can no longer not have you, so he writes you a letter. But when that letter gets lost, things become complicated. - inspired by Anne with an E; song: Bloom by The Paper Kites.

Warnings: angst that could be fixed by simple communication 😒, hints of cheating

P.S: I super duper highly recommend to listen to the songs either before, during, or after you read my fics . Not only do they encapsulate what the fic is about, but they’re also just super good songs!! <33d

~~~

Christmas break had been in session for about a week and a half, and Theo was spending his time off at home. Although he was sad to be away from his friends, he was happy for the much needed alone time.

The sun was shining brightly through the dark velvet curtains in his room, and he slowly woke up from his dreams. As his eyes fluttered open, he felt a pang of pain in his heart. His dream had been of you, specifically of kissing your soft lips on a warm summers day by the Black Lake. He’s found that more recently than ever, his head is full of you, as is his heart. As he’s laying in his bed, he closes his eyes once more, trying to hold onto the bits of you he won’t ever experience. In this moment, thoughts of you more prevalent than ever before, he realizes he doesn’t have to not have you. Quickly, becoming fully awake, he springs out of his bed and walks quickly to his desk.

He pushes all the papers and miscellaneous items off the surface, and pulls out a paper and quill. He’s become fully aware of just how much he longs for you, and why should he not be able to tell his best friend that he’s in love with her? He’s been yearning for your love for as long as he can remember, and it has finally transformed him into a fool, giving him the confidence to express his love for you.

My dearest y/n,

I’ve found that you’ve been circling my thoughts more than usual lately, so much so that I can hardly call them my own anymore. I think about you all the time, yet I’ve been too much of a coward to say anything. But I’ve realized that I don’t want to wake up one day, either in the near future or in the years to come, and regret not trying, because of pride, or embarrassment, or just simple fear. I need to escape this torture chamber I’ve made for myself, where I must hold you at arms length though I know I wish for nothing more than to be wrapped in your embrace at all hours of the day. So I need you to tell me if it’s all in my head. That the lingering touches and longing stares are just simple delusions I’ve created in my mind. But if they’re not, and Merlin how I hope they’re not, I’m telling you here and now that I am in love with you y/n l/n, and I don’t think I can bear to be apart from you any longer. I also want to go ahead and apologize for telling others I loved you, that they knew before you did, but to be fair I think everyone knew before I did, too. You are my breath of fresh air, the light in all my darkness, my proof that life is pure and good and that happiness is achievable. I may not be a religious person, but if worshipping you was a religion I’d be its most devoted follower. And if my feelings are not reciprocated, please find a way to put this past you because I could not endure losing you as my best friend as well.

Yours Forever, Theo.

After pouring his heart out onto the page, he carefully placed it into an envelope, wrote your name on it, and walked to give it to owl. After sending it away, he walked back to his room, his anxiety suddenly crashing through. Thoughts swarmed his head: She doesn’t love me, I’ve ruined everything, I should stop it from reaching her. But his heart quickly stopped his brain from doing too much damage. You needed to know or else Theo would live in agony for the rest of his life. Upon reaching his room, he sat back at his desk and sent letters to each of the Slytherin boys, confessing what he’s done. He even slipped a copy of the letter to Mattheo, the only one he felt he could truly trust with that piece of his heart.

~~~

It had been two days since the letter had been sent. Had his owl reached you by now? Had you seen it? What were you thinking?

He was an utter mess, his mind swarming with questions and his body teeming with anxieties.

Soon it was 4 days, then 6, then a week, and then the last day of break rolled around the corner. Still he had received no response from you, perhaps you wished to talk in person? His heart hoped that that was the answer, and that the lack of a letter was not your rejection

~~~

You got onto the train just as it was about to take off, thanks to your missing jumper. The train was packed with kids saying their hellos and catching up, and with much effort you finally found Harry, Hermione, and Ron and got inside the compartment.

“Is it just me or is it crazier than usual?” You ask as you sit down.

“Definitely crazier, apparently Lavendar and Parvati got into a huge fight over break so everyone’s running around to hear about it.” Hermione explains as she hands you some candy she bought for you.

You say your thanks and continue talking with your friends when there’s a knock on your compartment.

“Hi Dean!” You say as you get up to slide open the door. You step out quickly to talk with the tall Gryffindor boy.

You have a friendly conversation, lasting about 10 minutes before entering the compartment again.

“What was that about.” Ron asks, before anyone else has the chance to.

“I saw him at Diagon Alley over the break and he asked me out. We hung out a couple times over the break.” You explain.

“Never would have expected that one.” Says Harry.

You raise you eyebrow at him, “and why would that be?”

“Just always assumed it would be Nott.” Harry says.

“I can’t just sit around like a fool waiting for him. He’s shown he just sees me as his best friend and the quicker I get over him the better.” You explain.

“But, he hasn’t shown you that he feels that way.” Explains Hermione, who is team Theo and y/n.

“He hasn’t shown me any differently. Wake me up when we get there I’m taking a nap.” You say, tired of constantly being reminded of your inability to be with Theo.

~~~

You arrive at the castle, and you make your way through the crowds to find your Slytherin friends. Just as you spot their group, Dean Thomas stops you.

“Hey, I’ve saved you a seat next to me, ok?” He asks, while his hands snaked around your waist.

“Thanks, I’ll be right there.” You say to him, giving him a small smile before turning your attention back to the group

-

“Merlin.” Theo says, causing the group to turn their heads. He had seen you walking around the crowd, and had turned away quickly when you had finally spotted them. He hadn’t seen you on the train and obviously hadn’t received your letter, so a part of him still hoped that you just wanted to talk to him in person. His anxiety began to take over him when he saw you walking towards him - would you tell him to fuck off? That he’s some sort of creep best friend? Or would you tell him that your heart beat for him? - that’s when he saw it. Dean Thomas gripping your waist and you sending him that sweet, tooth rotting smile his way.

“Oh shit.” Said Mattheo, who had been the first to spot the pair.

“Fuck that’s messed up.” Said Draco.

“I’m sorry mate.” Enzo said, patting Theo’s shoulder.

“How’d that even happen?” Asked Blaise, confused because he had never really seen you interact with Dean.

Mattheo sent him a look, warning him to drop it.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Mattheo said, gently grabbing Theo’s arm, pulling him away towards the dining room.

Theo could still feel his heart breaking, each shard falling to the pits of his stomach and stabbing him. He got his answer at least, not only did you not love him, you clearly didn’t care enough about him to even write back to him. And now, his God-sent Angel, was flaunting around with another man. How could the sweet girl he grew up with, the one that showed him that even salt could be beautiful, break his heart and crumble its pieces in your fist?

-

You were confused when you suddenly saw the group leave, making their way into the dining hall. You tried to get to them, but the crowds of people pushed you back until finally, you realized it was fruitless when the crowd began pushing you back towards the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall. You decided to just sit down, and that you would try to find the group, Theo specifically because you missed him deeply, after dinner.

Dinner passed quickly after the tedious sorting ceremony. You talked with your friends and caught up with those around you, sneaking glances towards the Slytherin table as often as possible. Finally, Dumbledore dismissed the students and you all made your way towards your common rooms. Since it was the first day back, teachers were making sure students went directly to their rooms, leaving you no time to find the Slytherins. You decided it would be best for you to just wait until tomorrow, though you thought you might implode if you spent one more second away from Theo. A thought that made you feel instantly guilty when Dean appeared at your side.

~~

The next day rolled around, and still you hadn’t been able to get ahold of the Slytherins. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have assumed they had been avoiding you. Finally, right before lunch you entered the library to grab some books when you saw the boys congregated in the back. You made your way over to them, carefully stepping around the stacks of books Madame Pince was reorganizing.

Once you finally reached the group, you went to announce your presence before Theo looked away from Draco (who was telling some boring anecdote) and looked down at you. Before you had any time to give him a smile or say your hello’s, he detached himself from the group and stormed right past you, through the stacks of books, and out the door. You stood shocked, facing the doors before finally turning back around to face the group. Your face was painted with an expression of confusion, which only deepened you received a nasty look from Enzo.

“We’ll be on our way now.” Said Enzo, walking past you with Blaise following close behind.

What..?” You finally managed to get out in your state of shock.

“Listen, y/n, just do us all a favor and leave us alone, especially Theo.” Mattheo said, in quite a rude tone before walking passed you. You stood confused and shocked at the interaction that had just unfolded. What had you done? Why were the boys mad at you? What had you done to Theo?

~~~

“I just have no idea what it could possibly be.” You said to Hermione, as you paced around your dorm room, recounting the story from earlier.

“Maybe it’s Dean. Maybe he’s just jealous.” Hermione offered.

“No, but I’ve had flings with guys before, and it’s not like he hasn’t been with girls before. It’s some thing deeper than that I know it.” You state, picking at your fingernails.

“And your sure you haven’t done anything? I mean you can’t think of one thing that could possibly have led to this?” Hermione asks, just as confused about the situation as you.

“Yes, I mean I literally cannot think of one thing that could have led to this. I would never hurt Theo, ever.” You say, plopping down on you bed, exasperated by the days events.

“I’m sorry y/n but I have absolutely no idea why they’re acting like this.” Hermione said, sad she couldn’t be of more help.

“It’s fine Hermione, it’s not your fault. I’m just going to go to bed.” You say, wanting this nightmare to end.

Could you really be losing your best friend to a reason unknown to you? Not only can you not be with the man that you love because he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, but now you may have just lost him completely. You fall asleep after hours of rolling back and forth contemplating your complicated relationship with Theo, and even in your unconscious state you cannot escape him because he peeps into your dreams.

~~~

The following week is agony. Your best friend won’t talk to you, let alone allow himself to be in the same room as you, the boys you’ve known since childhood give you nasty looks every chance they get, you have to entertain a relationship with Dean your not even sure you want to get into and your teachers are stuffing you with assignments. All you need is a good party with lots and lots of alcohol. Once Friday afternoon finally rolls around, you can feel a slight weight lift from your shoulders.

~~~

You walked into the Slytherin common room with Dean. Pansy, Daphne and some other Slytherin girls hosted the first party since break and seeing as you’ve been close with them since 1st year, you were clearly invited. You decided you were going to look your absolute best for this party: you’re makeup was flawless, your hair done to perfection, and the corset and low-waisted mini skirt you were wearing was doing your figure perfect justice.

“Fuck me.” Said Theo as he saw you walk in with Dean. “I’m going for a smoke outside.” He says.

“Need company?” Mattheo asks, not wanting to leave his vulnerable friend alone.

“Nah mate, thanks though.” He says, before walking outside quickly, before he can see anymore of you.

It had only been a few minutes, and you had already downed about 3 drinks. Once the alcohol started to hit, you detached yourself from Dean’s grip making up some excuse, before finding your way towards the Slytherin boys.

You spotted Mattheo sitting on the arm rest of a couch, sipping out of a plastic cup. You walked up to him, hips still swaying to the music.

“Where’s Theo?” You stated, once you reached him, your confidence booming.

“What do you want?” Mattheo asks, looking up at you with contempt.

“I need to find Theodore Nott. Where is he?” You state.

“You have some serious nerve.”

“What?” You ask, taken aback.

“Listen, y/n, you’re once of my closest friends, but Theo’s my best mate. And what you did, that shit’s just fucked up. Like seriously, I didn’t even know you were capable of that.” He says, disgust leaking out of his words.

“I’m sorry?” You say, confused by his words.

“Merlin y/n, I mean how dull can you be? You just expect everything to be all right after you not only completely ignore his letter where he fucking tells you he fucking loved you, but you turn up with some Levski (famous quidditch chaser) wannabe? I mean that’s some next level shit.” Mattheo says, getting up as he presents his rage induced speech.

“What letter?” You say, unaware of what he’s talking about.

Mattheo just stares at you, stuttering to get some words out.

“I said: what letter, Mattheo?” You say, much more sternly.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you never received it?” Mattheo asks, in shock.

“I don’t even know what I didn’t receive.” You say, exasperated.

“Just, wait right here, I’ll be right back!” Mattheo says, before running up the stairs towards the dorms.

You stand there in shock, your adrenaline pumping. Had you heard him right? Theo had sent you a letter confessing his love to you? How had you missed it?

“Here! Here! I have it!” Mattheo yelled, running towards you, waving a piece of parchment around in his hand.

“This. One.” Mattheo says, between breaths as he reaches you, handing you the parchment.

You rip it from his hands, reading it quickly yet thoroughly. Tears brim at your eyes, did he really feel this way? Merlin you felt so stupid, how could this have gotten lost?

“I-I…” you stuttered, unaware of what to say.

“Outside. He’s outside. Go!” Mattheo said, stilling catching his break.

“I- ok, thank you!” You say, before quickly running out the door, finding your way outside.

You see Theo sitting outside, smoking a cigarette. His face is illuminated by the moonlight and you swear in that moment that you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Theo! Theodore!” You yell to him, as you run towards his figure. The grass was still wet from the rain that had fallen earlier that day, and the blades of grass began to stick to your calfs.

Theo looks at you, before getting up and attempting to escape you.

“Theo, wait, please! Mattheo just showed me the letter! I never got it!”

He stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around.

“What?”

You finally catch up to him, breathing heavily.

“I never got your letter, I didn’t know about it until just now.” You explain, showing him the letter Mattheo had given you.

“What?” He said again, bewildered by what was going on.

“I wasn’t ignoring you, or your feelings. I just never got to read about them until tonight.”

“So, you’re telling me you never received it, at all?”

“No. I never got a letter.” You explain, your eyes searching his for some hint of how he was feeling.

“Did you read it?” Theo asked slowly.

“Yes, just now I did.”

“And…” Theo asked, hope returning to him and hitting him like a truck. He was filled with anxieties and he felts his stomach doing flips waiting for you to answer.

“Of course I’m in love with you, I thought I made it so obvious!”

“I thought I made it obvious!” Theo said with a laugh, all negative feelings and thoughts leaving his body and head at your confession.

“My heart quite literally beats for you, Teddy. I’ve never been so scared then when I thought I was losing you.”

“Really?” He asks. His eyes are lit up and he can barely contain his smile

“Yes you idiot!” You say, smiling wildly

“What about Dean?” He asks, afraid.

“Fuck Dean! It’s only ever been you, Teddy. It’ll always be you.” You say, staring up at him with nothing but love and devotion.

“Does this mean that you’ll have me?” He asks, grabbing your hands.

You nod vigorously, unable to get any words out as tears of happiness are threatening to spill if you utter a single word.

And with that, Theo dips down and kisses you. The kiss is deep and passionate. You two explore each others mouths, and your hands explore each others body. You taste every bit of each other, and feel each others hair, faces, arms, waists, chests, in ways that you’ve never felt before. You take this chance to make up for all the lost time you’ve spent pining for each other in secret. The kiss is hungry, yet gentle and Theo holds you close, as if if he doesn’t hold you as tightly as possible you’ll slip away from him. After a few minutes he pulls away, touching your forehead to his and holding your face in his hands.

“I’m so so sorry for believing the worst in you. I was just in so much pain. Ignoring you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done” He states, referring to the week prior.

“It’s ok, Teddy. Let’s not worry about that now.” You say, causing his lips to come crashing down on yours again.

[ominium]

do i look like him?

character : geto s. context : suguru want satoru but satoru not there >:(  pov : second (you bruh) content : angst no comf :( never comfort :( also written with lyrics/song-based (some verses are skipped) + one (1) curse word

note(s) : got flooded with ‘like him’ edits (tyler, the creator), so here you go. also i’m alive soz for not posting >.< ++ not edited, if there's a part that looks confusing buh! +++ i know 'like him' is abt tyler's relationship with his dad...i'm taking the lyrics very face value here

—

Mama, I’m chasin’ a ghost 

Every morning, you woke up in the estate to an empty bed. Stretching your limbs, you get ready for the day to do what you did yesterday: walk around, and be a trophy. 

I don’t know who he is

Some days, you would stroll around the garden, counting each blooming flower for the millionth time. Others, making small talk with the people.

Mama, I’m chasin’ a ghost

On a good day, you would get to share a conversation–maybe even a meal–with Suguru, who always seemed busy with his ‘cause.’ Most of the time, though, you seldom even get to see him: always going to bed alone, always waking up alone.

I don’t know where he is

One thing you did notice, however, is the interesting amount of photos littered around the estate: almost none. You had taken some with your beloved partner, but you’ve only ever seen them as your own background…and you weren’t allowed to take a peek at his device. 

Mama, I’m chasin’ a ghost

“Hey, I need to talk to the people tonight. Can you join me?” Suguru asked, taking another spoonful of his soup. You ponder, staring down into your untouched bowl. The both of you know that you have no plans…you never do. So why the hesitation?

“Alright. I will see you then.”

Do I look…

At the event that night, you sat next to Suguru at the main table, nodding and clapping along as you needed to during his speech. Eloquent words spewed from his mouth, seemingly filled with passion and raw emotion; emotions that you wished could reach you again. 

At some point, Suguru had wandered away from the table to share conversations–most likely with the top financial supporters. All you could do was watch from afar, sipping your lukewarm tea every now and then. People-watching wasn’t new to you, and being a trophy partner certainly wasn’t new at all during events like these. 

As you looked around, analyzing each attendee, your eyes fell to a shine to your side. With widened eyes, you dare to keep a straight face while staring down at the cell phone. ‘He’s never left it unattended…’ Your thought trails off, eyes wandering out to find him. 

With his attention completely focused on a large group of people, the urge starts to creep up, stubborn to breach your mind. You trusted Suguru, right? You followed him out here because of your trust, right? Because he cared for you just as you cared for him?

You wouldn’t look through your partner's phone out of distrust, right?

Slowly, your thoughts shifted to self-manipulation: it’s perfectly fine to look through your partner’s phone on a whim–out of, say, boredom. You knew of the trust between the two of you, so it wouldn’t have mattered if you looked through his phone or not…even if you’ve never done it before. 

(Like what?)

You grasp the device, palms getting clammy…the device feeling heavy. Is this right?

Like him 

You look back up to make sure he hasn’t moved. Why would you check though? Why did you check? You shake the thoughts out of your mind, looking back down at his phone. 

I would never ever lie to you

Clicking the power button, your eyes stare dead into the screen. Your first instinct was to move to Suguru, who filled up half of the screen. He looked as beautiful as he was right now, his long hair tied back, an unfamiliar yet natural smile adorning his face. The tiniest smile crept up onto you, seeing what you thought was a great look on him.

You ain’t ever gotta lie to me

I’m everything that I’ve strived to be

Your smile finally falters to near-horror seeing not you, but a white-haired man sharing a similar grin. A feeling of confusion, realization, grief, and despair swirls around you all at once. 

It was Gojo Satoru. Gojo. Fucking. Satoru. Your eyes widened more, staring at the picture as a whole. It was a selfie of the two of them, looking happy, as if the world wasn’t going to tear them apart. It was taken before that mission.

It was taken when Suguru was happy. 

So do I look like him?

As you put away the phone in haste, your eyes wander back to Suguru, who had moved on to another group of people. How long has he been like this? How long had Gojo been at the forefront of Suguru’s mind?

Was what Suguru felt to you real?...or did he just replace who he couldn’t have to someone he could.

Do I look like him?

Your mind wanders back to the garden, lined with the blue Forget-Me-Nots and white Lilies. You think back to every meal shared…they, ironically, always fell on the same day of every month: the 7th. You think back to last December, reminiscing about the more-extravagant dinner that he had set up. “It’s to celebrate Christmas early, honey. You know I get busy around that time.” You think about all the other 7th of the months you had eaten with him. “I just had free time today.” “The world seemed a bit brighter today.” “It was a striking blue, with a few of the whitest clouds I’ve ever seen.”

It all made sense now.

(Like him, like him, like him, like him)

You stare at Suguru with despair, frustration…disappointment. He was happily chatting away, unbeknownst to the new knowledge you’ve uncovered. Each passing second, you think back to every speck of affection he had shown you. The bouts of doubt that he would erase with one caress, one hug. 

The candy bowl that was never empty.

The assortment of cakes you were able to eat wherever, whenever.

The signs. They were there. They were always there.

I don’t look like him

The evening was over…to you, at least. With the music seeming to not end, the conversations not dying, you decided it was best there and then to leave. To escape.

There was no point in finding reason. There was no need to put in the effort to understand. What was missing? What could’ve fixed it all? That it was all just a mere coincidence?

You left the event hall, each stride heavier than the last. Your mind was foggy, but you knew one thing: you wouldn’t sleep until you got away.

(Like him)

[justjams2003]

The Saltiness of Flesh

Another Elvis one for you all. I recently went on vacation and this came to me after walking on the beach. Also, Over-ripe will be updated, I just needed to get this out of my mind.

Pairing: 1968!Elvis Presley x fem!reader

Summary: After Elvis' divorce fell through and the constant non-stop touring, he finally gets a moment alone on the beach. He finds a doll, shy and almost stand-offish and things suddenly bloom between them.

Warnings: Absolutely no hate to Priscilla, I love her so much, she is mother <3 In this story, they got engaged but broke up before they got married. Barely legal reader, flirting, but not much else.

Word count: 2,2k+ unedited

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @luvcsbn

Elvis can’t remember the last time he woke up this early. Salt lingers on everything when your hotel is next to the coast. And it’s so early that there aren’t any cars on the road yet, so it’s just the sound of the beach waves crashing that fills his ears. He groans as he sits upright, his feet hitting the fluffy carpet. He looks out, the waves match the fluff of the carpet. 

It looks so inviting, when was the last time he went to the beach? When was the last time he was alone like this? There’s always someone watching him, talking to him, waiting for him. But his rehearsal isn’t until 11:00, there’s nothing for him to do now... A smile, not big just barely, overcomes him. 

The wind blows and there is almost nobody on the beach today. It’s cold and he wraps his leather jacket closer around his body. His feet drag through the sand and dirties his fancy shoes. His hair is now tussled and he’s slightly regretting ever leaving his perfectly airconditioned hotel room. 

He sighs, his eyes going between the horizon just over the sea and the footprints in the sand. Step, step, step, and then the waves wash it away. He rolls his neck, and lifts his arms up as he stretches, maybe this isn’t so bad? The fresh air is a nice difference from the constant cigarette smoke from the other men. 

His mind feels...clear. Clear and he can finally think straight after weeks of non-stop traveling and preforming. He rubs his neck and then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. His feet dragging across the sand, following the footsteps that have yet to be washes away. 

The man sighs, if the media saw him now like this, they’d rip him apart. His engagement fell through, after one huge fight. Word and actions that he hadn’t wished he said and hadn’t done. Now, he’s all alone, walking along the beach on a windy-icy day in California. Thinking about where exactly did he go wrong? 

Was it his choice? He should’ve known in the beginning when she talked about working that she would never be completely his. She would never be as devoted as he wanted her to be. He should have known that she likely just wanted the fame and the money until it all became too much for her. Then she left, right before the start of comeback. 

The wind picks up again, throwing his hair to the side and he clenches his eyes shut so that the sand doesn’t scratch at his eyes. He continues trudging forward, stumbling as the sand fights for him to take another step. 

A voice causes him to snap his eyes open. “You should watch where you’re goin’ mister.” The first thing he sees are her dirty bleached jean dungarees. The way her shoulders sag while her hands are in her pockets. Her feet are covered in sand halfway up her calf. Hair, lightened by long hours in the sun, is wild in the wind. 

She’s standing next to a fishing pole that’s been planted into the sand, along with an old rusted pickup truck that’s strapped with other fishing poles. With an upturned button nose and these plump pick lips, she’s small, but not physically, more small in her presence. Like she doesn’t quite really want to be seen. 

The sun is just barely over the mountains, shining right on her sun-coloured hair and makes it look like a holy halo is just hovering on top of her head. Her head tilts up, looking up at him. Elvis gets that thump-thump feeling in his chest all over again. The beginning of falling and tumbling and needing to know more of this little thing. 

Her toes dig into the sand, making a small hole, uncomfortable. He hasn’t said anything and is just sort of looking at her with this smile that makes her feel warm like the sun. “I-I’m sorry, little lady, it’s quite windy isn’t it? Struggling to see.” He chuckles, all his charm suddenly gone and he feels like an awkward teenage boy talking to a pretty girl. 

Goosebumps are evident on her skin and she shivers when the wind blows. Her arms are bare and her dungarees short, not exactly shielding her from the harsh winds. She doesn’t say anything, just looks him up and down again, then nods. “What you fishin’ for?” 

She raises and drops her shoulders, “Just about anythin’ that’ll bite.” She mumbles, her nose scrunching as the sun begins reflecting on the water. A faint smile ghosts over his lips, she’s so pretty and the sun only seems to highlight it more. “Mind if I keep yah company?” He asks, needing to stay with her longer. 

Again, she shrugs, “I ain’t supposed to talk to strangers.” Small, again so small, not wanting to say no, not willing to say yes, too uncertain to make a choice. “Well, uh, I’m Elvis.” He expects her to have at least some recognition behind her eyes, but nothing. She mirrors his words with her own name. 

“See? Now we know each other. Now we ain’t strangers.” He speaks, giving his kindest smile. He can see she’s still wary of him, biting down on the inside of her cheek, nodding slowly. “Rare to see a pretty girl like you fishin’. Especially all alone.” Her lips part, pink and plump and suddenly her cheeks become the same colour. 

Her head turns, looking over at the rusty pickup truck. “I’m visitin’ my grandpa for the summer. He’s-” she turns back to face him, “-he’s gone to the little boy’s room. He’ll be back.” Elvis has to fight off a grin, knowing that she’s likely saying this as some sort of warning, as if he’d try something. 

Elvis nods his head, “Well, he’s lucky to have such a sweet little granddaughter visitin’ him.” He watches intently as her top teeth capture her lip, trying to fight a smile. Her cheeks stay this pink colour, either from blushing or the harsh wind. Again she just nods, unsure how to reply to that really. Small. 

“You catch anything yet?” He asks, his eyes falling to the empty bucket next to truck. This does seem to spark something in her. A huff, her heel kicking the sand, making it spat until it reaches the waves. “I’m actually not too good at fishin’...” she raises her head to look up at the top of the fishing pole. 

He can tell she’s trying to gauge if she has a catch by the way the pole bends. But it doesn’t, it stays pin straight. “My grandpa is tryin’ to teach me but...” she then looks back down at him. “...it ain’t workin’.” She huffs again, keeping her hands in her dungaree pockets. He can’t help but let out a hearty chuckle at her huffing and distaste for not getting this right. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” She snaps, her brows plucking together in a frustrated look. “I’m sorry, little one, yah just too cute.” Again, she doesn’t say anything, her eyes scrunching as she glares at him. As if willing him to unsay what he just said. Clearly not liking this idea of being cute. 

“Maybe the fishes are just shy today. They don’t know what to think of a beauty such as yourself.” He watches as she scoffs are rolls her eyes. “I don’t think the fish can see above the water.” She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t see the smooth words that he lures her with. “It’s true, really. That’s why pretty girls don’t fish. The fish are too shy.” 

He has a charismatic smirk, enjoying how she just looks past him. “Oh please.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes and then looking out at the beach. “It’s true, you’re unique.” This seems to make her even more upset. “Unique is just another way o’ sayin’ ugly.” She crosses her arms, protecting herself from his gaze. 

Elvis lets out a hearty laugh. “Is that so?” She nods, refusing to even looking at him. “My mama always says I’m unique when the pretty girls at school bully me. ‘You’re unique and they just don’t like that.’” Elvis just skips over the part where she talks about school, not really caring how old she is, they’re just friends. 

“You ain’t ugly in the slightest. You’re just as pretty as a flower in the bloom.” He can see the pain in her eyes when she says that. He knows well just how ruthless pretty girls can be. Just how deep their cruel words can cut and just how long the pain lingers. 

Her mouth opens to speak again, but her eyes fall to the sand when an old man suddenly appears. Presumably her grandpa. Elvis gives his classic grin and holds out his hand. “Mornin’ sir. Nice day for some fishin’, ain’t it?” The old man’s brows furrow and he raises his cap, to get a better look at him. 

The recognition is quick to come, he shakes his hand. “Why, aren’t you that Elvis Presley fellow?” He’s used to being recognised, but from a man this age, it catches him a little of guard. “The one and only. You’ve got a good set o’ eyes, sir.” The old man nods his head, walking over to his truck to fix up another fishing pole. 

There is a moment of awkward silence between the three of them. The girl’s head snaps around to him, her brows plucked together and her head tilted to the side. “You someone famous?” Her expression makes him chuckle, he shrugs his shoulders. “Somethin’ like that.” She hums and purses her lips. 

“Well, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t recognise yah, Mister Presley. I ain’t from ‘round here.” She stutters, suddenly feeling shy all over again. “That’s alright, youngin, where yah from then?” She licks her lips, dry from all the wind. “A little farm in a little town in Utah.” He furrows his brows, “I have performed in Utah before.” 

She purses her lips and shrugs. “Ma and Pa don’ like me goin’ out too much.” She shivers again, “It wasn’ this damn cold when I packed.” Again he chuckles slightly, “It gets windy on the coast.” Elvis begins to make quick work of the jacket he’s wearing. His long arm hold it out for her to take. Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head. 

“Here, Darlin’. Take my jacket and you won’t be shiverin’ no more.” Again she shakes her head. Holding out her arms to keep it away. “Oh no, sir, I couldn’t possibly.” Now he’s the one who shakes his head, placing the jacket in her arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, youngin. You’re shaking like a leaf in autumn. An’ you don’t wanna get sick durin’ yah vacation.” 

Reluctantly, she takes the jacket, having mauled it over for a few seconds. Her fingers glance over the embroidery of the letters “TCB”. She spells the letters out loud. “What’s that mean?” Her eyes look so curious when she looks up at him. “Means, ‘taking care of business’. Kinda the slogan of my life.” A slight smile plays on her lips, her thumb slides over his name on the bottom. 

She carefully shrugs it over her shoulders. It does look plenty big on her. He feels almost ready to eat her up, scoop her into his arms and never ever let her go. He curses himself for feeling so suddenly so...attached. Watching her every move, wanting her far closer than the few steps between them. 

Her eyes almost form this...sparkle in them. Big and beautiful and- “Lord save me...” his thoughts escape his mouth. Her little teeth come out and bite down on her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a full smile. “What?” A slight chuckle comes out along with her word. “I could eat you for breakfast, little girl.” 

Usually, for compliments, she’d have a snarky remark ready. But his words take her so out of her little world. The way his eyes match what he’s saying makes it even more... She knows for a fact she’ll be replaying that moment over and over in her mind. If anyone ever says that no one wants her, she’ll retell this word for word. 

And suddenly she can just scarcely taste the saltiness of the flesh of his fingertips. Thumb tracing the trip of her lip. Faintly she feigns uncaring. But truly her heart is thump-thumping. Pinching and plucking at her pretty soul. “Let me see you again?” Grasping at air, grasping at words and coming up with but a nod. 

Pulled from his all keeping attention, unable to swim for else the water fills her lungs from those blue, blue eyes. It does not compare to the ocean they are forever now bonded by. Chain me, keep me, make me, let me be what you want from me. Words that do not fall from her lips, but instead only: “Grandpa’s house is on 13 Church street.” 

And a smirk and a grin and a nod and a goodbye. All so fast, all so quick, gone from his grip. And she licks, licks, at her lips, wanting to feel the burn of the salt on the tip of her brimming, beaming, bubbling body again.  

I'm gonna do a part 2 for sure. Please do tell me if you want to be added to that tag list <3

Part 2

[danosrosegarden]

Hey ur my favorote Eddie Nashton fic writer, if you're taking requests at all would you write something about reader throwing him a birthday party? I imagine he didnt get many in the orphanage :( Supposedly 7/21 is his birthday!

sweet tooth - edward nashton x gn!reader

{contains: brief mentions of past trauma but mostly fluff/celebrating edward :-)}

Edward got up for work early, when the sky was still a dark, milky blue-black and the air was still chill and silent.

40 today. He would rather not think about it.

He was perfectly fine with you forgetting. He could count on one hand the amount of happy birthday letters he had received in his four decades. He was fine without a stupid cake or colorful candles or glittering balloons. He was a fully grown man, not a selfish little child. Who needs them.

But while you're still sleeping in bed and he's putting on his jacket, getting ready to head out the door, he sees something shining on the kitchen counter. He walks over and sees a card. Sweeping, cursive letters and a drawing of a cupcake decorate the front.

It's Your Day!

The counter is bejeweled with small, glittering pieces of rainbow confetti. He doesn't notice that his hands are trembling as he opens the card.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. I hope this year is the year you flourish like never before.

I can't wait to celebrate you when you get home.

His stomach is churning as he places the card back on the counter and it stays twisting and turning throughout his day at work.

Not a single happy birthday, Edward! Not a card or confetti decorating his desk.

But you. You remembered.

He scoffs a laugh as you practically tackle him in a hug when he walks through the door.

"I'm so glad you're home, darling."

It takes genuine strength to blink back his tears as you shove a gift in his arms. It's wrapped in glimmering green paper.

He thinks of the orphanage as he tears it. He thinks of the children he shared a room with. He wonders where they are. How they could've bloomed like neon flowers in the beating summer sun if only they had been given a chance.

You looked worried as he peers at the gift: a thick book of crosswords.

"It's kind of stupid, but I thought you'd like it. It's supposed to be harder than the New York Times. I know you love a challenge."

He shakes his head and says nothing as he envelops you in a quiet, warm hug. You can feel his smile against your cheek and suddenly, it all is worth it. The nightmares that keep you both up and make your stomach cave in worry. The times you have to run your fingers through his hair and pat his back as he dry heaves into the toilet. The days where the world is too loud for him and his voice is far too quiet to fight back...it all is worth it if it means he could blossom with you. It wasn't easy, but getting to be a part of him would always be worth it.

You think of him, him in his entirety. His high, trembling giggle as he stumbled his way through a dumb joke. His compassion and dedication, the times he'd pick up market flowers for you or write you long, handwritten letters just because. The truth of the matter was that despite everything he had weathered, Edward Nashton was sweet. He was kind to you. He was yours, and there was nothing you'd trade that for.

Edward did not look forward to his birthday. He hardly remembered it when it rolled around each year. But then there was you. God, he never could've imagined that this would be his life. A life where he's celebrated, not crumpled like a piece of ruined paper and thrown away. A life where he's thought of and cared for, not just another number.

He is loved. That's all he could've wished for.