#if anyone is wondering about the song it was “A sadness runs through him” by The Hoosiers

[kyuoki]

Way back in Nov/Dec of 2023 I've started working on a PoTC PMV that's based on "KSiP" - a PoTC fanfiction created by me and my friend. Long story short, I've decided to abandon the project since it's way too much work (clean lineart, cell shading etc etc) and it's still long to be finished. Figured I might as well share some of the finished drawings on here. Maybe I will pick it up again one day, but the style will definitely be different so that it would take me less time.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hazbin Hotel Men - Take care of you

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, crying, no use of Y/n, fem reader

Characters : Alastor , Angel Dust, Husk , Sir Pentious, Vox , Valentino

Info : So it is here my first work for the hazbin hotel fandom and I'm very excited. I'm in it again after watching years ago the pilot, the first few episodes of hb and the great/amazing music video adict. So have fun everyone and enjoy it ;)

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Alastor : A smile always graces his lips and even if you're not used to it, he's quite disturbed when his loved one doesn't smile too. They've been through a lot together, but when he walks through the corridors of the hotel from his broadcasting studio and finds his darling sad, even crying, the static goes out of his voice for a moment. He will always worry about his darling, the only one in his dark, twisted heart. ,,Darling, what's wrong...who should I make scream?" he asked, his claw-like fingers resting on your hands, the strange charged static running through you strange yet familiar. Almost judging and somehow tickling. He would listen quietly to what was on his darling's mind and let a soft song play over his wand, the song that had played when he got the letter. Your letter of admiration in such a cruel place as hell the radio demon had marveled at. ,,Or I'll just stay with you mhhh a little show?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheek with his fingers before pulling his sweet tone from the bed and flicking the room into a reddish dance hall. The radio waves turned to a song and he gently guided his darling around the room, brushing away her tears with each turn, reminding her of the things they had together. The time they had together, the things they had done for each other. His special affection, his gratitude and his love that belonged only to her. ,,You know I'm always with you darling, no matter what," he reminded his heart before leaving a gentle kiss on the back of her hand as the music faded.

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Angel Dust : Angel Dust knew best what it meant when it came to money. He had lived it hell he was in that vicious circle and knew what it was like to be exploited for money almost every night. But in all this fire and poison he had found his own drug, so to speak. The one that had helped him when he was down, when he needed a break, when he couldn't sleep after night after night. She had sacrificed herself, Val had practically thrown herself at the throat, had taken it upon herself to become the number two in the business, something "enough" as Valentino called it. But Angel knew better than anyone that something like this didn't just pass you by. Which is why, with a warm tea in his hands, the spider heard the quiet knock on the door before he heard the ,,Come in." He didn't have to look to know that the runny makeup was from tears and other things. ,,Hey princess, come here," he murmured, putting the tea on the side table before slowly putting his hands around her. Never firm enough that she couldn't resist, always calm enough to show her that he didn't want what the others in the store wanted. The words flowed slowly over her lips and even though they both knew there was no point in talking about it, it felt good. It eased the pain and Angel was able to wipe away her tears before he gave her the tea. Because if there was one thing he had learned, it was that a cup of tea could work wonders in a few minutes and make you feel warm and safe. ,,I promise this will all end soon," he murmured, letting his beauty lay her head on his chest and he smiled gently as he saw the trembling of her body lessen with his calm heartbeat. At least they would both have something like hope for a while...a moment of calm and peace in the vicious circle.

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Husk : The clinking of glasses was something that could always be heard at the bar, either when the former overlord was sorting, washing or serving the glasses. The bottles made about the same sound but darker. But something still filled his bar: sniffling and sobbing. The sadness of his favorite, lucky clover, sitting at the bar with his head buried in his hands. He had just blown away to take another order because everyone else was already off to Satan's place. The beating of his wings could be heard as he hurriedly came over to her. He didn't need to look at the sad face, ,,I know you've given everything we all know that" he said and reached for the right drink he knew her favorite order was the one she had brought him back when he was lucky. He handed her the drink and slowly and gently took her hands from her face before she took the drink with a slight look of gratitude. He nodded in acknowledgment as he saw them both just sitting there for a moment, he slowly wrapped his sweat around her waist and pulled her a little closer, placing a wing on her shoulder. Knew the feathers were something she wanted. Because he was right, she let her fingers wander over the pattern. She finally gave in and told him about her yet another failed attempt to get money and power for the hotel, maybe even a few free ones, but nothing had worked. Instead, only the usual cursing and swearing...as the cave was true. Without happiness and kindness. ,,But our happiness and togetherness will last forever," he said and handed her one of his golden dice before the two of them rolled it over the wood of the ceiling. But in fact, when Husk pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek, both dice landed as doubles. They knew that together they had the best luck they could have as a couple.

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Sir Pentiuos : The airship's engine was loud, but the serpent demon was able to distinguish between the sound of an engine, the cracking of eggs and the sobs of its first officers. Turning away from the steering wheel, hoping that a cherry-scented bomb would not be thrown through the windshield, he made his way into the interior of his airship. ,,My beauty? Are you in here?" he asked as he looked into the individual rooms of the ship before he heard her from the craft room, where she was mostly developing her weapons. Weapons that had often led them both to victory, but this time it didn't work out. it was the third time in the last week that they had been caught by the bombs. He saw her sitting on one of the tables with another broken weapon in her hands, a mistake she took to heart. ,,Ohh darling please don't I'm here come here" he whispered and his forked snake tongue wetted her cheek lightly as he pulled her into an embrace. The kiss on her cheek made her smile as she saw that the serpentine demon was a little pink in the cheeks himself. His cuteness that he mostly didn't know about always cheered her up, he would always manage somehow. His snake tail curled around her body and his slightly scaly skin felt warm when she put her fingers on it. He knew his scales soothed her and his words dug into her like the bite of a snake. He slowly put her weapon aside and cuddled her again, encouraging her. ,,Shall I fetch the eggs? A big party, my dear, maybe a party," he suggested with a smile and shortly afterwards he lifted her into his arms before the two of them went to the little ones. The family sat down together and soon instead of crying, laughter and joy could be heard as Sir Pentious stood by their side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox : Voices can get loud, programs can get loud and with the three Vees it can get very very loud. If not the models, then Val's employees or hookers suffer from this. But this stress for new eriesn, new porn shoots and new clothes became too much for every demon. And when Vox went back to his office/broadcasting station he had, as always, an overishct on everything. A look at everything and everyone, but a look at the one screen he always had closest to him. Just a second later, he showed up in her room using his skills to make the viewers go haywire. They were always surrounded by noise, so he knew how good it was to have silence. ,,Hey button we'll take care of the ratings later...what do you need mhh?" he asked taking her cell phone from the one she was using to monitor the other ratings. He used his hands to pull her towards him, moving her slightly around the room, not necessarily dancing but playfully looking for that spark. ,,Come on, tell dear Vox what it is? Something special you want me to take care of?" he offered a small spark on her body, seeing that she smiled briefly knowing she liked it, that little shock that made her heart beat faster, drove her nerves and dispelled her fear. ,,You know no one can do anything to the four of us, we're different...and hot," he reminded her, laughing with her as his mood brought her back to her proper self. She felt the loaded kiss on her lips briefly but like catching up on a television. Before they moved across the room they shared a drink and she rested her head against his shoulder as they looked across the cave knowing that if they all stayed together she would stay with Vox he would never leave her and everything would work out in the end.

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Valentino : Obscene noises, neon pink signs, and a reclamation board and TV that gave a taste of the videos and movies that would come out if you went to the brothel in the compartment that belonged to Valentino. In this particular business, one thing mattered above all else. Stamina. Stamina if it was going to be a long night with twenty guys, stamina to film it all, stamina to count the money at the end and stamina when you were in hangover. It was exhausting for the employees and for Val, but especially for the assistant. The brothel mother, designer, scriptwriter and partner of the moth demon. It all just became too much at some point, which is why it took the Overlord a moment to realize that crying wasn't what he knew. In a flash of his smoke and the flutter of his wings, he made his way to their shared room. ,,My sweet kitty, what's wrong? No inspiration shall I fetch Angel or our favorite maybe Vox?" he suggested with a grin and took a puff on his cigrette as he approached the bed. Sha, however, that this only made him more depressed and his grin diminished as he extinguished the cigarette in the smoke and came to her, his wings blocking out the bright pink light from everywhere and the two of them a little darkened. Quiet and just the two of them. ,,Too much...I know it's a bit too stimulating sometimes," he mumbled, trying to find the right words, still not the best at taking care of others in his egocentric worldview of sex and money. But for her he would give anything and he could feel how it bothered him not to see her smiling, not shining with inspiration. He held out his hand to her for permission as she slowly cuddled up to him. ,,Here just the two of us just here and no one else just us" he whispered quietly trying not to hold her too tightly but not too loosely as the wings wrapped around them both like a blanket. As they both listened to each other's heartbeats, the sweet smell of Valentino was familiar but reassuringly true. It was just that hold they b oth needed in a place where they knew there was no going back.

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[poopwons]

**Break My Heart**-Ft. Jean Kirstein 18+ MDNI!!

Synopsis: You and Jean break up, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Maybe you'll call him? (surprise, you will)

Content: (NSFW), F!Reader, Jean’s POV, post break up feelings, angst, cursing, depressed Jean, pet names, handjobs, fingering, praise kink, Jean has a teensy bit of a size kink, collaring (if you squint), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people), cream pie, hair pulling, light alcohol consumption

a/n: I have never written anything this long before, but I got the idea in my head and it would not get out so, here it is. I was literally driving home from work listening to Olivia Rodrigo and Happier came on, so that's what inspired this 🥰 Huge shoutouts to @jeanboyjean and @cowgirlikets for encouraging me through this entire process!💜💜💜 ***also I know absolutely nothing about plumbing, so sorry if all of that is completely inaccurate LOL***

words: 6.9k

Two months, four days.

That’s how long it’s been. That’s the last time Jean saw you in person, talked to you at all. Sure, he’s wanted to reach out, he’s gotten drunk a few times and Connie had to wrench his phone out of his hands when he saw your name on the screen. Jean had yelled at him, tried to push him off, but Connie ended up with the phone, locking it away before helping Jean to bed. All in all Connie was looking out for him more than anyone else. That’s what good roommates are for, right?

Though, Jean is sure that Connie never expected to ever see his friend like this. Hell, Jean never thought he’d be this way; he never even thought of the possibility of the two of you splitting at all. The first week after you told him you didn’t want to keep seeing him, he stayed in bed, blaring awful sad songs, just wallowing in his own self pity. He supposes he still is, even months later.

The days without you have slowed to a crawl. He still thinks about you all the time, it takes all his will power not to scroll through your instagram, wondering if you’re thriving without him, or if you’re just as fucked up as he is. He doesn’t want to know, he’s not that desperate yet. Still, thoughts of you plagued him every moment it seemed like. Who does he make breakfast for now? Making a single serving for himself just seems.. pathetic, pointless, in comparison to making something for you.

The two of you had a great routine, his favorite, he thinks. You’d wake up, curled in his arms, peppering little kisses to his face, trying to wake him up. He’d groan at you before running his hands to your sides to tickle you, calling you a menace for disturbing a man’s sleep. The little giggles he’d pull from you were his favorite sound, he’d never heard anything better. Then he’d get up, make coffee and breakfast for the two of you while you showered. Sometimes he’d say fuck the breakfast and shower with you instead. Hot water cascading down the two of you, the smell of your shampoo in his nose as he kissed the back of your neck while washing your hair. Fuck. He needs to stop. Think about anything else, he curses himself, his brain can’t keep doing this to him, can it?

But, turns out, it can. Who makes your tea the way you like it, muddled with honey and a splash of cream? Who else knows that you only want earl grey when it’s raining because that’s what your mom would give you when you came inside from splashing around in puddles when you were little? That you want chamomile when you’re sick, and coffee most mornings, unless you’re anxious, then you want English breakfast. Who knows the way you order your meals from your favorite restaurants? That you don’t like water chestnuts because “they’re too crunchy without enough flavor”, or that you hate fast food lettuce but will completely devour the caesar salad from the diner downtown because you say the lettuce is always “the perfect amount of crisp and never soggy”? What does he do with all this little information that he’s learned about you, that’s now completely useless to him since you’re not here?

Connie managed to drag Jean out to go have lunch with him and Sasha the next day. It’s the first time he’s been out in weeks for something other than work. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the most he can manage with how exhausted he’s been. The little chain that you picked out for him draped across his collarbones. He likes that memory. You dragged him into a jewelry store, showing him the necklace, saying something about how you thought it’d look good on him. He was never much of a jewelry person, but for you? He agreed, but only if you’d get a matching bracelet, and you did. You said it was your favorite, you loved it so much, and it went on like that, the two of you, in your matching pieces, wearing them everyday…

“Jean,” Connie breaks him out of his thoughts, he wonders if he could tell that he was thinking about you again.

“What,” his tone is flat, nothing like his usual light hearted one.

“Dude, don’t you think you should take that off?”

Jean looks down at his chain, then back at Connie, a frown plastered on his face.

“No, I don’t want to take it off.”

“Look, man, I know you’re still upset, but.. doesn’t that make it worse?”

Jean can’t stand the look of pity he’s getting, he shrugs and doesn’t reply. Take it off? And then what, get rid of it? No. No, he can’t get rid of it, you got it for him. It would be like throwing you away.. and he’s just not ready to do that, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

Sasha kicks Connie under the table, the two of them had clearly talked about how to handle today and it seems like Connie is going off script. Jean can’t take it anymore, he can’t stand the way his friends are looking at him, he wants to look anywhere else. So, he does what he’s been trying to avoid. He pulls out his phone, opening up your instagram. You haven’t posted in a while, but there is one new picture. Jean’s heart lurches into his throat when he sees it. Who is that? Why is he with you? He’s never seen this guy before and he doesn’t like it, right down to his stupid green eyes, that idiotic man bun, and that shit-eating smile plastered on his face, like he’s mocking Jean without even trying. The picture is innocent enough, a selfie with his arm around you. But why is he touching you? Why are you letting him? Did you really move on this fast? Did you forget about Jean already? Is this the real reason you ended things with him, for this other guy?

He hears a faint grunt from across the table, then Sasha is talking to him, he hardly hears it, the blood is rushing in his ears. Connie snatches his phone from his hand, Jean can’t even find the energy to snap at him. Connie groans when he sees the screen.

“Shit, man… I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.” Connie practically winces when he meets Jean’s eyes, tears welling up in them. His voice breaks when he finally speaks up.

“Who is that with her?” He sounds like the world has been ripped from him.

Sasha speaks up from her side of the table, having seen the post as well. “I don’t know.. maybe they’re just friends. Don’t overthink it, it’ll be okay.”

He sends a pitiful look her way, it most definitely would not be okay. He takes his phone back from Connie, rising from the table, hell bent on getting back home. His brain is going a mile a minute thinking about you and.. whoever that was.

Two months, fifteen days.

He stays in his room all week. Barely leaving, laid up in bed scrolling through your entire instagram. All the pictures of you and him are gone. He can’t believe you got rid of them, did you delete them off your phone entirely? Were all those pictures slowly being replaced by new ones with this guy? He hates the thought of this stranger taking up camera space that should be his. He knows he shouldn’t.. looking through this idiot’s instagram isn’t going to make him feel any better, but he has to know why you chose him instead.

He swipes through this guy’s pictures, he’s even got a stupid name. Who spells their kids' name Eren? There aren’t a ton of posts, but the few that Jean does see has him rolling his eyes, gym selfies and photos of him playing a guitar, his long hair flowing down his shoulders. Great, so he’s ripped and talented. Jean’s not out of shape by any means, but he isn’t as cut as that, especially since he’s been skipping the gym the past couple of months, unable to find the energy to go, and he definitely can’t play any instruments. Maybe he should learn, would that impress you enough to finally reach out to him? No, that would take way too long, he wants to hear from you so much sooner than that. Maybe he can start growing his hair out.. would you like that? You never complained about his hair before but, this whole thing has thrown him for a loop. He’s questioning everything about himself wondering what Eren has that he doesn’t. Maybe Eren’s better in bed? No, that can’t be it. You never once complained about Jean’s performance, all those pretty sounds you made when he touched and kissed and sucked at all the right spots. No, he definitely knew what he was doing in that department. So, that can’t be it, which almost makes it worse. That must mean Jean failed you in some other way as a partner. Was he not attentive enough, not supportive enough? Did he not make enough time for you? Maybe he should have tried to plan more dates. The thoughts go on and on like this until he finally falls into a fitful sleep, what little dreams he has are plagued with you laughing at Eren’s stupid jokes, of you being happier with Eren than you ever were with him.

Jean is sitting up on the sofa in the living room, Connie had begged him to at least come out of his room so he knows the poor guy’s still alive. Jean is scrolling through yours and Eren’s pages, checking yet again for any more posts.

“Dude, seriously? Are you looking at that guy’s page again?” Connie asks, as he sits down on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

Jean gives him a noncommittal grunt, before shoving his phone in Connie’s face. “I mean, what does she even see in him? He’s not that good looking and he has stupid hair. He probably can’t even play that guitar.” 

Connie gives him a sympathetic look, he knows it can’t be easy for Jean to see you with someone else, but it’s been almost three months since you two split. All the same, he’s Jean’s friend, he can’t always tell him what he wants to hear, right? He sets his bowl down with a sigh, bracing himself for what he’s about to say.

“Come on, man. He looks like a decent enough guy. I know this is hard for you, but don’t you want her to be happy?”

“She’s supposed to be happy with me! Me, not this fucker with a guitar, who’s side are you on, anyway?”

“I’m on your side, you know that, but this is nuts, she’s just a chick. You’ve been hung up for almost three months. You need to get back to the shit you used to do. When was the last time you even went to the gym? That used to be so important to you. You should go back, get some endorphins going, that would make you feel better.”

Jean huffs, Connie just doesn’t get it. He gets up off the couch and walks over to the entryway, pushing his shoes on. “She’s not just some chick, dude.” He spits the words out before walking out the door. Maybe a walk would clear his head. He knew in some regards, Connie was right, he hasn’t been taking the best care of himself lately, but his “just a chick” comment has Jean seeing red and he can’t focus on any of the other rational things Connie’s said.

He walks and walks until it gets dark outside, when he finally gets home he scarfs down a protein bar and flops down in bed. Closing his eyes and drifting off relatively quickly, worn out from the walk, maybe he should go back to the gym, he thinks, if a walk has worn him out so much. He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for, but the buzzing from his night table lulls him out of sleep. Bleary eyed and groggy, he picks up the phone staring at the screen. He must be seeing things. Or he’s still asleep and this is a dream. He sits up abruptly, rubbing his eyes, looking at the screen again. Sure enough, it’s your name that’s up on the screen, the phone is still buzzing in his hand as he stares at the caller id. It finally hits him that if he doesn’t answer it’ll go to voicemail and you might not call back. He fumbles to swipe his finger over the answer key, almost dropping his phone in the process.

“Hello?” Jean tries to make his voice sound calm and not rushed, despite the fact that his heart is practically beating out of his chest over something as simple as a phone call, at the prospect of actually hearing your voice for the first time in months.

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Well, duh, you probably know that.” Your voice sounds just as angelic as he remembers and part of him thinks he might cry right on the spot. “um, listen, I didn’t know who else to call, I-I know it’s late.”

“No, no, I’m uh, I’m awake. Wha-what’s up?” He hates how nervous he sounds, but he can’t help it, even his hands are shaking. 

“Can you come over? There’s like, a leak in my apartment, and the office is closed, I just don’t want to lose my deposit. I’m sure they’ll find some way to blame it on me and not their shitty plumbing. I mean.. Obviously, if you’re busy, it’s okay, I can figure something else out.”

So, you’re calling him to come help you, not Eren, interesting. Jean feels over the moon, maybe Eren isn’t all he’s cracked up to be after all. 

“No, I’m not busy, it’s fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just try to soak up all the water you can.” Jean says as he scrambles off his bed, going to the bathroom to check his hair in the mirror, smoothing some parts that got ruffled in his sleep. He looks at his shirt, cursing silently that he’s still wearing this sweaty t-shirt. He puts you on speaker and quickly pulls the fabric off, throwing it in the hamper.

“Thank you so much, you’re really doing me a huge favor.”

He pulls a fresh shirt over his head, the shirt getting caught in his frantic movements causing him to have to talk louder than normal, so you can hear him over the muffle of the fabric, “yeah, it’s no problem, I’ll be there soon.” He’d do you a million favors if it meant he got to see you. You hang up and he slips on his shoes, rushing out the door to get to your place with his tools.

Jean’s heart is hammering out of his chest the whole drive to your place, it feels like his body is vibrating with anxiety. He’s practically white knuckling his steering wheel, his brain just going and going. He finally gets to see you, he’ll get to see you. He hopes you’re wearing his favorite pair of sweats. He always thought you looked so cute in them, so comfy and cozy. Excitement is starting to bubble in, until he thinks, oh, god. What if he’s there? What if Jean has to see you and Eren together in person, in a situation where he can’t just walk away. Oh, fuck, why didn’t he think about this before? He was just so excited to hear your voice, to see you, that he wasn’t thinking. If he has to see this idiot touch you right in front of him he thinks he might punch him. That would not look good on him, you’d probably even get mad at him, that’s the last thing he needs. He pulls up to your apartment before he knows it, punching in the gate code that he still has memorized, begging and praying to whatever good karma he’s drummed up in the universe, that Eren fucking Jaegar is not in your apartment with you.

He knocks on your door, fussing with his hair a little as he bounces on the balls of his feet, unsure what to do with all this nervous energy. When he hears the lock disengage he pulls his hand away from his hair as fast as he can, trying to look as casual as possible, like he hasn’t thought about you every second of every day for the past three months.

“H-hi,” you answer the door, obviously feeling a little uncomfortable with this whole situation yourself, but he doesn’t know if it’s the same kind of nerves he’s having or something else. But fuck, you look so pretty, so so pretty, with your hair draped over your shoulders in loose waves, the way you always wore it before, wearing a crew neck and some shorts. 

“He-” Jean’s voice cracks, it fucking cracks. Seriously? What, is he sixteen again? He clears his throat and starts again, “Hey,” 

You let him in, and he gets enveloped in your smell, he practically sighs as he breathes in the familiar comfortable scent of you and your things. He didn’t know you could miss a person’s smell this much. He looks around expecting to see the place how he remembers, but he’s thrown off when everything looks different. You’ve rearranged all your furniture. Thankfully, though, you’re the only one here, there’s no sign of another guy having been here at all. He lets out a little sigh of relief, following you into the kitchen where sopping towels are littering the floor. 

“I just came home from work and found it like this. I don't know what happened.” you say, waving your arm to the floor.

“Well, let’s just see. I’m sure it’s just a loose rivet or something,” Jean walks past you, trying his best not to let your proximity as he does get to him, fighting the urge to just take you in his arms and not let go. That’s not why he’s here, you didn’t call him for that. He’s thankful that you called him for an actual task, something for him to focus on so he’s not just staring at you, he’s afraid if he stares too long he’ll snap.

You stand in the kitchen with him while he patches everything up, it’s an easy fix, just like he thought. A baby with a wrench could fix this, so again, his mind drifts back to why you called him and not Eren, not that he’s complaining. He thinks it all feels very domestic, you watching him fix up things around the house. He’d fix everything you asked him too if he could hold onto this feeling. He’s surprised when you crouch down next to him, trying to see what he’s doing.

“It was loose, right here, I’m just tightening it up.” He smiles as he looks at you briefly, he can’t help it, you just look so pretty and you’re right next to him, right where you belong. 

You smile back at him and he feels his heart lurch again, turning the wrench a little more, satisfied with his work, he catches your eye, “and that should do it, you should be all set now.” 

He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants before offering you a hand up. When you take his hand he bites back a smile at the feel of your hand in his again after so much time, even if it is a harmless interaction. Standing up with him, you don’t pull your hand away right away, lingering there for just a second too long. Did he imagine that? No, no you definitely lingered. 

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear and smile at him sheepishly. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.” God, your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“It’s not a problem, I don’t mind helping you.” Jean runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck, looking away from you, still nervous. He knows the whole reason he came is taken care of now, and he doesn’t want to leave, but he thinks that’s what you might want. 

“So, I should–”

“Do you want–”

You both speak at once, sharing a nervous chuckle. Jean lets you go first, giving you a look that says so.

“Do you, um.. Want a drink?” You look nervous, awkward. Surely he’s imagining it, he doesn't want to get his hopes up too high. “It’s the least I could do, calling you over here on a Friday night. I’m sure you had better things to do.” You give him another shy smile and he swears he could melt into a puddle right there.

“Uh, sure. Y-yeah, a drink sounds good.” 

“All I have are those hard seltzers I usually get, that okay?” you ask like you expect him to remember, and he does. He wants you to know how much he remembers about you; everything, he remembers everything. 

So, just drinks for yourself? No beer, no liquor, nothing he thinks a guy like Eren might drink. Interesting. So far, everything he’s observed has led him to the conclusion that maybe you and Eren aren’t together. Maybe Sasha was right, and the two of you are just friends?

“That’s fine,” He bends down, putting his wrench away, placing his tool bag on your counter. Turning back to look at you, the slim can in your hand as you hold it out to him. He takes it, following you over to the couch where you both take a seat next to each other. 

His body feels like it’s vibrating, sitting this close to you. You didn’t have to sit this close, but you did. He pops the tab, taking a drink to calm his nerves, and you do the same. 

“So, how have you been? It’s been a while.” You speak so softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear again, a nervous habit. Are you feeling the same tension he is? Is he making it all up because he missed you so much?

“Uh, good, good.” He lies, what is he supposed to say? That he’s been completely miserable without you? No, if he’s wrong and you have moved on, he has to at least pretend he’s been doing alright. “Work is, well, work, you know. Haven’t been doing much else. What about you?”

“Y-yeah, no, things are, um, they’re okay. I finally got promoted at work.” you smile at him again, before taking another sip. “I’m officially management.”

Pride swells in his chest, he knows how badly you wanted to move up in your job, how much you craved more responsibility. He’s glad your place of work is finally acknowledging your potential.

“Hey, that’s great. I’m really happy for you,” and he is, genuinely. “Is it everything you wanted it to be?”

You give a little snort, “I mean, I guess. Workplace drama is a lot more stressful when you’re actually the one in charge of trying to defuse it, instead of just listening to all the gossip.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’re handling it fine, you were always good at that kind of stuff.” 

You huff a little laugh again, thanking him before pulling the sleeves of your crew neck up while adjusting your position on the couch. That’s when he sees it, that little glimmer of silver on your wrist. His heart pounds harder as he sees it. You’re still wearing your bracelet. You still have it. 

“You’re still wearing that,” Jean points out, his voice coming out little more than a whisper, like he just can’t believe it, his eyes locked on the bracelet.

A blush blooms across your cheeks and Jean is positive it’s not just the alcohol. Fuck not getting his hopes up, you wouldn’t still be wearing something he got you if you didn’t miss him a little bit. 

“Oh, yeah..” you fiddle with the bracelet with your free hand, “I um.. I feel a little naked without it, you know?” you cheeks are still flushed as you look up at him. 

Jean just smiles at you, “yeah, I know what you mean.” he says as he pulls the chain out from under his shirt. “I got so used to wearing it everyday, it just doesn’t feel right with it off.” It’s not even a lie, just, not a full truth. His nerves are slowly fading away, getting replaced with renewed hope.

“Well, it does still look good on you,” you reach your hand up to run your fingers along the chain, Jean feels a jolt of electricity in your touch that practically lights his skin on fire, and that’s when he really knows. There’s no way you’d be touching him like this if you didn’t miss him, if you were seeing someone else. He’s never felt so much relief in his life. “Suits you, for sure.” 

He takes his hand placing it over yours, goosebumps prickling his skin where your fingers dance along the chain. “You..um, you have good taste,” he says, his breath turning a little shallow, he knows he’s not imagining all the tension that’s been slowly building up since he got here. “I never would have picked anything like this for myself.”

Your hand is so small in his, he’s always been bigger than you, taller, more muscular. He didn't realize how much he missed it until now, he was so caught up with missing all the other parts of you that this bit seemed to have slipped his mind. You’re looking at him with your pretty doe eyes, letting him hold your hand, he can practically see the hearts in your eyes, looking at him like you used to. Fuck it, he’s going for it. Drinks completely forgotten on the coffee table as he scoots a little closer to you, just enough so that your knees are touching.

“I’ve really missed you.” He whispers, leaning in just a little closer, he hears your breath hitch in your throat, your eyes flitting to his lips. 

He smiles as you lean in too. You want it just as much as he does. “Me too..”

When he finally presses his lips to yours he almost explodes with happiness, he’s feeling giddy, all these pent up feelings pouring out into your lips. He cups the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, a silent request for permission. He sighs as you grant it, opening your mouth for him so he can glide his tongue along yours, and you moan into his mouth. You fucking moan. He loses any semblance of control he had. His hands move, roaming over your back and the two of you lose yourselves in the moment. Without really thinking about it he pulls you onto his lap, moving his mouth to press hot kisses to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin. It always was one of your favorite spots. His hands run under your sweatshirt, caressing your back, savoring the feel of your soft skin under his palms.

“Missed you so fucking much.” Jean breathes out between kisses, groaning as you grind your hips onto his lap when he kisses your neck again.

“Missed you too. Thought…Thought about you all the time…” Your words are broken up by little gasps. Jean thinks he could die happy, just like this, but then your hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off, running your hands over the contours of his chest and he feels like he’s going to burn out of his skin.

His hands follow suit with yours, pulling your sweatshirt off, discarding it on the floor next to his, drinking in the sight of you, sighing when he sees your bare chest. Running his hands over your tits, kissing his way down your neck and your collarbone before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and starts kissing and sucking, pinching at the other one with his free hand. You arch your back into his touch and he moves his hands back around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He just needs you closer, so much closer.

You just grind against him, he can feel the heat coming off of you, listening to your breath get more and more ragged as you wrap your arms around his neck in order to get closer, pulling his head up. 

“I’m sorry. Jean, I’m so sorry.. I never should have–” your voice sounds broken, despite the desire and need coursing through the both of you. It breaks his heart to hear you sounding so sad. You don’t even have to explain what you’re apologizing for, he already knows. 

Jean cuts you off with a kiss, running his fingers through your hair, shushing you softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He soothes, pressing soft kisses between his words. “Later. We’ll talk about it later, yeah?” He pulls back, pressing his forehead to yours, looking in your eyes with all the love he has for you. 

You give him a feeble little nod, kissing him passionately. Your tongues glide together as you taste each other, making up for lost time, and god, does he want to make up for it. With that in mind, his hands move to the plush of your ass, squeezing as you keep your lips on him. As much as he doesn’t want to push you away from him, he needs to touch you. He runs his hands over your bare thighs before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, pushing you back just enough so he can get the leverage he needs. Tugging them off, you lift your hips to help him. He looks down and sees you clad in lace, one of his favorite pairs. A brief look of surprise as his brain sorts through it. You… you planned for this, at least to some degree. All doubts completely leave his head as a satisfied grin curls on his lips. 

“You wear these just for me, baby?” He murmurs into your ear as he nips at your earlobe, fingers already dancing along the sides of your panties. 

You give him another nod and a breathy little sound that he assumes, if you were able to form the words, would be a confirmation. He pushes the material aside, running a finger through your folds. Shit, you're so fucking wet for him. He’s going to lose his mind. His finger swirls around your clit, eliciting moans and gasps from you. You’re already starting to squirm for him and he doesn’t let up, still swirling little circles with the pad of his finger. 

“J-Jean,” you moan out his name and cling to him, holding his head tightly to your chest. 

“‘M right here, baby, I got you. You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” 

“Y-yes, yes, yes, fuck!” He feels your legs shaking on him, still moving his hand. God, he missed seeing you like this. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl, did so well for me. ” He purrs into your skin, pressing kisses to your neck, giving you a second to catch your breath.

Turns out you don’t even want a breather, your hands moving desperately to his lap, frantically trying to undo his buttons, slipping your hand in and wrapping around his cock. 

“Fuck,” Jean groans under his breath, lifting his hips with you still on his lap, so he can shove his pants down enough for you pull him all the way out.

Your hand pumps him, smearing the precum over his flushed tip, causing him to suck in a sharp breath. You keep working him, your hands are always so soft, twisting your wrist a bit on the way up, squeezing the tip just a little. He loves the way he looks in your hands, your smaller ones making him look even bigger. His eyes catch a little glimmer, and he groans again when he sees you jerking him with your bracelet bouncing on your wrist with your movements. All he can think about is that you’re his, you're his, you're his. That one little accessory tells the whole world. Maybe he’ll replace it with a ring. He leans forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, taking a shaky breath.

“Shit, you’re makin’ me feel so good, but I don’t… fuck, I don’t want to cum like this.” He pulls back to look in your eyes, seeing nothing but how good you want to make him feel and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve you. 

He pulls your panties to the side again, lifting you up, lining himself up with your entrance and pulls you down onto him. Jean thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. He has never felt anything better than you wrapped around him like this. You both let out audible moans, as you adjust to him. Without any warning, you start bouncing on him. His eyes roll back as he drops his head to the back of the couch. Your bounces are slow, deliberate, he’s sure he’s in heaven.

“You feel so good. Love how full you make me feel.” You murmur, breathy, into his ear, bracing yourself on his shoulders. 

As much as he’d love to just sit here and bask in you riding him, he’s going to cum way too soon if he lets you keep going like this, especially if you keep using that mouth of yours to whisper everything he’s been wanting to hear for the past three months in his ear. He moves his hands back to your ass, grabbing handfuls of you, doing the work for you for another second or two before he wraps his arm around your waist he starts fucking up into you. 

“Missed my pussy so much, baby. She’s mine, yeah? That’s what this means doesn’t it?” He growls, taking your wrist, adorned with your bracelet, showing it to you. “That’s why you never took it off? Been mine this whole time haven’t you?”

Your walls squeeze him, as you hear his words, and he groans again. “All yours, Jean.. al-always yours.”

In all his desperation to get close to you, to get inside of you, he didn’t think your panties would cause a problem, but at this point they’re in his way, they won’t stay to one side. He moves his hand, gripping the flimsy garment, and pulls hard, tearing them.

“Jean!” You protest, looking down at where the two of you are connected.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” He mutters before he picks up his pace, finally able to fuck you the way he wants, slamming his hips up into you. 

You don’t seem to care so much anymore, as your eyes roll back, and you let out a cry. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, moving to bury your face in his neck. And for Jean, right now, that just won’t do, he wants to see you, wants to see your face contorted in pleasure. He brings his hand to the back of your neck, tugging your hair so you’re looking at him. 

“Look at me, baby, wanna see you.” Shit, he already feels close. Not having you for all these months, and finally getting you, getting to see in your face how good he’s making you feel and how much you missed him too. He didn’t think he was going to last long anyway. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you hungrily, all tongues and teeth. 

“Ba-baby, ‘m close,” you whine, eyes glazed over, face scrunched up just the way he likes. 

“Me too, cum with me, yeah?” His hand snakes between you, finding your clit, rubbing circles on it with his thumb.

He feels you clenching around him, cunt pulsing and god he missed this feeling, missed feeling you come apart just for him. You say his name again and again like a prayer and he just can’t hold back anymore. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m shit–” He tries to warn you so you can get off of him, but you just stay put, slamming down on him again and again. He cums hard, painting your insides white. 

Still holding onto you tightly, one hand on your neck and the other around your waist, you both just stay locked in an embrace, panting. Each of your heads are resting on the others shoulders, Jean presses little kisses there while he catches his breath. 

“God, I really did miss you so much.” He whispers into your skin. “And not just this, all of it. I missed all of you.”

“I know, I missed you too. I wanted to call you or text you, or anything. I just…didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.” Your fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck and he just savors the moment. 

Neither one of you moves, you just sit there holding each other. You haven’t even gotten off of him yet, his cock going soft inside you, feeling his cum leak out onto his lap, but he couldn’t care less. He just runs his fingertips up and down your back tenderly. 

“You really scared me, you know that?” Jean says when he finally feels like breaking the silence.

You lift your head, giving him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? How did I scare you?”

Jean sighs, it sounds stupid now, in hindsight, thinking that you had moved on. “I thought you were dating that Eren guy. You posted a picture with him and I kind of freaked out.”

It seems like it takes a second for his words to register, because you’re quiet for a moment before you burst into a full fit of laughter. Jean just gives you a pointed look. He doesn’t see what’s so funny about that. You’re laughing so hard you practically roll off of him, landing on your side on the couch, your legs still draped over him. He follows suit, cuddling you when he gets onto his side. 

“What’s so funny?”

You finally stop laughing long enough to answer him. “Eren? EW.” you manage to get out before you start giggling again. “He’s like a brother to me, we grew up together. I haven’t seen him before that post since he left for school. You really thought I was dating Eren??” 

Jean’s cheeks flush, a little pout forming on his face. “What was I supposed to think? He was way too close to you in that picture.”

Your laughter subsides, and you brush some hair out of his face, giving him a soft smile. “He just took me out for the day because I was so sad about you. I felt like I’d made a big mistake, and he just wanted to get my mind off of it for a little while. Besides, even if he wasn’t like a brother, he’s been in love with the same girl from middle school since he was like, twelve years old.”

You look like you have more to say but you’re hesitating. Clearly feeling a little nervous, he just nudges you gently, wanting you to continue.

You take a deep breath before going on, “I am sorry.. I shouldn’t have broken up with you, and for such a stupid reason.”

“What was the reason, exactly?” He asks, he never actually got the full story.

“I just… I liked you too much, things were going too well. I guess I kind of panicked, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.”

Jean just stares at you, of all the reasons he thought it was, he didn’t think it was this.

“So… you broke up with me, because things were going too well?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that!” You bury your face into his chest, hiding your blush. “I said I was sorry.”

“What if there’s no other shoe? What if we’re just good together? Did you think about that?” He asks, no malice or hurt in his voice, just genuine curiosity. He presses a little kiss to the top of your head, trying to soothe you.

“There’s always another shoe.” You mutter, not bothering to lift your head up.

Jean sighs, taking your chin in his hand, pulling you up so that you’re eye to eye with him. “Baby, I promise, I will do everything in my power to ensure that there is no other shoe, okay? You have a problem, just talk to me. Let me be there for you, let me try and make things better. I’m not saying everything will be perfect all the time, but just know I’ll try my damndest for you.” He presses a kiss to your lips, sealing his promise. 

“Yeah.. okay,” you finally give him another smile, and he kisses you again, unable to resist. “So, can I be your girlfriend again?”

“As long as you promise not to break up with me for such a stupid reason ever again.” He smiles at you again, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his chest.

“Promise,” you mumble as you nuzzle into him.

Jean’s happier than he’s been in months, with you in his arms, right back where you belong.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!💖

[uglypastels]

Hello love!! Your #1 fan back again with another request 😋

Was wondering if you could do a Logan x Gothic reader where the reader is apart of the team but not liked all that much due to their closed off manner. Not being receptive to any sort of communication or touch with anyone. But that’s due to her not wanting to have a meltdown and hurting others. Her and Logan are in a secret relationship cause obviously they’re the same in terms of personality and past traumas. I’d love it if reader could have slight reality warping powers, so she wears gloves to keep from accidentally touching someone and hurting them.

There’s this party going on inside the mansion. Some sort of holiday or something (whatever you’d like!) but reader isn’t a huge fan of social gatherings so she goes outside, finding Logan on his bike. She talks to him about feeling bad for not trying harder to be more open but he reassures her that she didn’t need to change for anyone to like her. Especially not him. The night could end with them heading back to her room and doing who knows what lool

(You don’t have to write anything you’re not comfortable with!! Thanks again for reading tho! Take care 💚😙)

ahhh i love this. hope you like what i made of it <3

warnings: social anxiety, overstimulation (lights and sounds, get your head out of the gutter).

~ X-Men requests are Open ~ Masterlist ~

The mansion was buzzing with excitement. The school had suddenly turned into a sort of nightclub with music blasting from the speakers. The lights were swinging and crisscrossing in colourful beams. Mutants, intoxicated with excitement as well as alcohol, danced all around you, singing along to any song to come up. Before had even started, it had become too much for you. The loud noises, the smells, the lights. But you had also promised Rogue to show up and at least try to have a good time. 

Well, you weren’t. No matter how hard you tried, these things just weren’t for you. Like you promised, you had stayed out on the floor for a bit. Tried to let the music move you and dance a bit, but it was so crowded. With each bump on the arm or back, you just kept getting flashes of the people’s minds. And who knows what they saw when they touched you?

It was all a waste of time. You were just being a burden on those who simply wanted to let loose and have fun. 

So, as the rest partied, you slipped out. No one would miss you. The one person who maybe would wasn’t even there. Or so you thought.

‘Logan?’ you asked as you saw his silhouette shift through the corridors. He didn’t look up at the sound of his name, but it was clear he didn’t hear you above the volume of the party. 

‘Logan.’ you called again, picking up your page as you went after him. Through the corridors, the main hall, out the large oaken doors. He was just sitting down on his motorcycle as you reached him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Out to get some milk.’ He grumbled, adjusting his grip on the handles.

‘You’re kidding me.’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his excuse. ‘You might be an old man, but not that kind.’

‘Watch it, bub.’ He warned you with a stern glare. ‘I just… had to get away from—

‘All of that?’ you finished the sentence, ‘Yeah, I get it.’ Neither of you was the social type, and perhaps that’s what brought you together in the first place. The quiet on the outskirts of chaos drew you closer.

He must have seen the sadness on your face, as not much later, he said, ‘care to escape with me, sugar?’

And as much as you immediately want to hop on that damned motorcycle of his and run away into the sunset with him, instead, you took a step back, wrapping your bare arms over yourself. ‘I— I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lo.’ You nearly whispered. ‘What if I accidentally give you some kind of vision and you drive us off a cliff.’

‘Give me some credit, sweets.’ He chuckled. ‘I can drive a bike.’

‘Even when,’ you gently touched his forearm, ‘the road looks like this.’ For a moment, the driveway of the mansion turned into a sunny beach in front of your eyes. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. You knew it wouldn’t do any good, but you let go of him and shut the hallucination off. 

Most of the time, you could control your powers, but it was still something you had to learn. The quirks and kinks were hard to get out. For example, make sure you don’t accidentally give people hallucinations when you come into contact with them.

‘We should get out there sometime,’ Logan said. You looked up at him in confusion as to what he meant, and so he clarified. ‘To the beach. For a getaway. Just you and me. What’ya say, hun.’

‘You’d want to go to the beach? With me?’ never had you expected Logan to suggest something like that. You tried to imagine him in a pair of swimming shorts, sun-kissed skin and water dripping— you blinked quickly, erasing the images from your mind before they’d take over. Still, even if it was a joke, the idea of Logan taking you away for a holiday filled your body with fluttering butterflies. 

Logan huffed out a smile as he got off his motorbike. ‘I’d take you anywhere you’d like.’ His hand found its way around your waist, and he pulled you closer. ‘Just say the word, sugar, and hop on.’

Your mind immediately went into a mode of protest, apprehension and fear taking over, but he silenced all of that with a kiss. When he held and touched you, all the voices and lights went quiet. It was just you and him.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[shy-taylorsversion]

Lie To Girls - Dean Winchester x Reader

summary- y/n always knew dean winchester would be the death of her.

warnings- language, violence, hurt, and absolutely zero comfort. this is very very not happy and extremely sad, that's all I'm saying.

a/n- inspired by this song by the wonderful sabrina carpenter i was listening to short n sweet and i couldn't not write this when i heard lie to girls. i apolgize in advance. (not beta read either, oops)

Dean Winchester was a good liar, a professional one at that. He could get anyone to believe anything if he just talked for long enough and flashed that smile.

But since the beginning, he’d never needed to lie to her.

Her life had gone to shit in a matter of a few days. Her best friend was found dead, ruled a robbery-homicide but it never made sense.

Nothing was stolen, then he’d shown up. Claiming to be her best friend’s cousin but she’d seen right through it. It wasn’t long before she’d pieced it together on her own, monsters were real and he hunted them.

He didn’t seem to realize that she liked him enough that he didn’t have to pretend with her, she’d just do it for him.

It never stopped him though, spouting one excuse after another. Swearing he’d see her soon and call even sooner. He’d promise he’d only had one drink that night, that he’d left alone and was just thinking about her. Guilt crept in and he’d text her, talking like old friends.

When he’d go weeks without calling, he’d apologize and say it wouldn’t happen again, an isolated incident. He’d show up at her apartment after months of silence with some vague story, she learned to not ask.

She’d take his excuses at face value, accept his apologies like she hadn’t already. She forgave him every time walked out the door. He didn’t have to lie to her. She’d rationalized his indiscretions before he’d committed the act. Knowing what he was doing but letting him anyway.

She’d cry at the door of her apartment as she watched him drive away, telling herself that he’d be back to stay one day. Every time he’d come back, all smiles and laughs at her door. She’d call the ache in her chest for butterflies but it was more like cardiac arrest.

It was all lies she’d made up in her head, delusional fantasies of a shitshow she’d turned into forever.

– – –

Years later he was still everywhere she went. She’d been acting like a stupid girl so hung up on a man who didn’t care but she didn’t how to stop. All she ever did was wonder where he was, what he was doing, or if she ever crossed his mind.

There was a cavern in her chest when an old rock song was playing or when a brown leather jacket caught her eye, he was top of her mind at all times. For Christ’s sake, she’d looked at a fork one night and thought of the first time they’d gone out to a diner. Forks are fucking everywhere, they don’t belong to Dean Winchester.

She reminded herself of her mother and how she ignored the nights her dad didn’t come home or of her sisters who spent countless nights crying over facts they’d sworn were incorrect. The girl outside the strip club, makeup smeared as tears ran down her face and tarot cards clutched to her chest.

All the women she’d ever known were clever enough to see through their lies but stupid enough to let them get away with it.

---

From the first grin, all green eyes, and flirty remarks, he’d been shameless and she’d caught herself laughing, enjoying life in the middle of a living hell

She’d known in that moment, Dean Winchester would be the death of her. She hadn’t realized how true the sentiment would be.

It hadn’t hit her what was happening until the woman had thrown her against the wall. Someone had screamed her name. She’d caught a glimpse of black eyes before blacking out.

The world was hazy when she woke up, her head was light and the room spinning. Something hot and wet was running down her stomach, she shifted to try to check but she was held back.

A hand found her shoulder, pushing her back down. They were saying something to her but her ears were ringing. She dragged her gaze up, blurry. Every movement left her exhausted like she’d run a mile. Green eyes met hers and she couldn’t breathe. He was back and he was here, with her. A sluggish smile spread across her face when his hand found her cheek, warm and rough. She let her eyes close for a second before she was shaken, just slightly.

“No, No, No, Sweetheart. Eyes open, eyes on me.” Dean’s voice was muffled and rushed but she peeled her eyes back open, mumbling about being sleepy. He nodded and said something she couldn’t hear.

Her eyes fell to slits, she tried to keep the open but everything was so heavy. A bone-deep chill was running through her now, all she wanted to do was curl into him and sleep. She could see his face still, his expression was all wrong though.

There wasn’t any boyish smirk or teasing grin. He was frantic, eyes wide and mouth still moving.

She understood when a smear of red down his wrist caught her attention when his other hand found her face, wet and sticky like her shirt.

She was dying and Dean Winchester was scared.

It explained the way she felt nothing, other than cold and tired. Bloodloss would do that, she couldn’t remember where she’d learned that from. It was probably him.

“You’re gonna be fine, ok?” His words were panic, running over the top of others. “Cas, he’ll be here soon-”

She cut him off, dragging hang up to his face. Her hand was covered in blood like everything else seemed to be. He covered his hand with hers and leaned into it.

“You’re gonna be ok. You’re fine. You have to be fine.” He was still rambling, she let her thumb run over his lips and he stopped.

She knew by the glint in his eye that she wasn’t making it out. But he was here, holding her and telling her she’d be okay so she did what she’d always done for him.

“I believe you.” It came out like a whisper, not having enough strength for more. Warm streams of tears fell from her eyes, she didn’t know when that started. He shook his head. She wiped his own tears away and smiled. "it’s ok I believe you. I’m gonna be ok.”

Her vision was vignette now, corners fading into black and all she could still make out was him. He was a hazy shadow, clutching onto her. Her hand had fallen from him, at least she thought.

The white-hot cold had consumed her. She was limp in his arms, suspended into nothingness.

The world was filled with green eyes.

Then nothing.

[f1letters]

anti-hero | cl16

"I wake up screaming from dreaming, one day, I'll watch as you leaving"

summary: no matter how many times charles told her she was more than enough, this misogynistic world kept giving her reasons to run away

warning: a little bit of angst but fluffy end, driver!reader, Williams!reader, kind of secret/private relationship, mentions of parental abandonment, daddy issues (cause same lol), misogynistic and degrading comments towards the reader, slut shamming, swearing, self-sabotage, low self-esteem, anxiety, just an overload of ups and downs, platonic!reader x alex albon

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

word count: 3.6k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

french words used: mon ange = my angel; mon amour = my love

is it possible to fall in love with your own fictional character? cause I think I just did! hope you enjoy this (not really surprising haha) anti-hero story!

masterlist

I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser

Midnights become my afternoons

When my depression works the graveyard shift, all of the people

I've ghosted stand there in the room

Life seemed to be falling apart for Y/N.

In the middle of the dark room, the only noises that filled the deafening silence were the ticking sound coming from the big clock on the wall, and the troubled thoughts that seemed to reappear in her head night after night.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock. 

Tick. Tock.

Time passed and passed, but Y/N remained there, frozen, haunted by her own demons.

To be completely frank, life had never really felt right for the young woman.

The battle in her head was something usual, ever since she was just a little girl. It didn't matter how old she got, she never got wiser.

It felt completely unreasonable how she could feel herself drowning in sadness when just hours before she had had one of the happiest days of her life.

Charles's strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, the skin of her back against his warm chest, their eyes fixed on the dazzling sunset before them on the clear waters of Monaco, as they lay on the bed of his yacht.

The warm tones that painted the skies and waters were intoxicating, as was Charles's presence.

As much as she tried to keep her attention on that magical gift of nature, Y/N could only thank fate for having that wonderful man by her side.

I don't know what I did to deserve you, she thought to herself.

"Mon amour?" The Monegasque's voice woke her from her trance. "Do you think we... Forget it, it's silly."

The girl turned towards her boyfriend, their eyes now connected, just inches apart. "What is it, Charles? You know you can tell me anything." She said, though her anxiety was already starting to creep up in her stomach.

He took a deep breath, gathering all the courage in him, and with her eyes shining brighter than ever, she asked. "Do you think we'll ever get married?"

Her heart skipped a few beats at the driver's words, looking as nervous as ever, but for a second... Y/N allowed herself to dream.

"If it's not you, I'll never be with anyone else, Charles Leclerc. You're it for me."

Hours have passed since one of the most breathtaking moments of her life, and there she was: scared to death about the future.

Charles was fast asleep in their room, his light snores echoing down the hall through the open door.

Y/N looked at the time - 12:05 AM.

It was midnight, and the girl just sat on the leather couch in their living room, with only silence for company.

As the girl got up to go back to her bed where her boyfriend was waiting for her, she couldn't understand how she got everything she ever dream of, but she just couldn't feel as happy as she should have.

I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices

I end up in crisis

(Tale as old as time)

For as long as she can remember, she's been that way.

She could remember the exact moment when her world changed, when her walls closed in around her, when everything she knew crashed into pieces to the ground.

For little Y/N, just an innocent child at the time, her father's sudden absence from their home seemed inexplicable. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and there was no sign of him.

With no message, no farewell, no explanation.

Just like air, he was just… gone.

The colourful house where she laughed and played with both of her parents quickly became a set of broken walls, colourless and lifeless.

Her mother had never been the same ever since, and even today the young woman cannot forget the image of the woman she loved most in her entire life, sitting on the old sofa in her childhood home, exhausted, empty, without the energy to cry anymore.

Much like she mirrored it now.

Months turned into years since her father left her but, like a ghost standing there in the room, the lingering consequences of his actions still haunted her until that day.

No matter how much therapy she got, Y/N always felt like that lonely girl who could never make friends, who sabotaged every single relationship she had.

It seemed the only permanent companion she was going to have in her life was her crushing, persistent depression.

That was until she met Charles, right at the moment she most needed a shoulder to lean on.

It was 2020 - the year her biggest dream finally came true.

Y/N was finally going to become a Formula 1 driver.

Wherever she looked as she entered the circuit for the first time, the young woman could sense the eyes fixed on her and the curiosity that revolved around her.

Y/N L/N, the first woman in the 21st century to be part of the very competitive F1 grid, the promising new rookie racing for Williams Racing.

It was a whole mix of emotions: the happiness, pride and satisfaction that the new young driver felt for fulfilling her dream couldn't help but be overshadowed by all the controversy, hatred and hostility that her entry into the sport brought with it.

'This is not a girl's sport'

'She must have slept with someone important'

'She's just a pretty face'

Y/N heard it all while trying to turn a deaf ear to all these hateful people.

The girl sat in the chair in the middle of the conference room, prepared to face the world on her first day in media, but reality quickly managed to bite back at her when one of the interviewers walked over to her, eyes wide with scorn plastered in his face.

"Question for Y/N: How does it feel to know that such a talented driver was left with no seat in the team for you to join, just because you're a woman?"

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day, I'll watch as you're leaving

'Cause you got tired of my scheming

(For the last time)

To say the woman was taken aback was an understatement.

Her voice seemed to have disappeared and her brain to have stopped being able to form sentences as she tried to understand the complete, unfair misogyny she was suffering just for being a person trying to achieve her goals, regardless of gender.

Out of nowhere, a warm voice echoed through the room, drawing all attention to him.

"How about you stop being a complete idiot and try to do your job like a professional instead?" The brunette in red spoke, full of confidence and determination. "Y/N is here because she deserves it and because she has immense talent. No one here is going to take credit away from her just because they're a sexist pig."

Her eyes threatened tears as his met her grateful gaze.

Little did she know that the hero who stood up for her would end up being the love of her life.

Back to that day, Y/N suddenly woke up from her dream screaming, still tormented by the discrimination she had to face and still had to face until that very day.

"Hey, hey..." Charles woke up, cupping her face gently in his hands, making her look towards him as he wiped the tears that were streaming from her eyes. "Are you all right? Breathe, mon ange. It was just a dream."

"Yes, it's okay." Y/N swallowed hard, lying through her teeth. "It was just a nightmare, Charles. Don't worry."

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight to comfort her, but in reality, in the back of her mind, she could only think of the worst.

He deserves so much better than the mess I am. He'll get tired and just leave me one day. Like everybody else does.

It's me, hi

I'm the problem, it's me

At teatime, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Until sunrise, the girl stayed awake, her mind doing what she knew how to do best: racing.

Not even the strong arms that enveloped her body, or the heat that her partner's body emitted were capable of transmitting some calm, or some security.

She was the problem.

Tired of lying in bed without any rest, Y/N gave up on being there and, exhausted, she got up, heading back to the cold living room in the centre of the apartment.

She tried everything to get her mind away from the negativity poisoning her system: reading a book, watching a movie, cooking breakfast. But all in vain.

Hours passed before she heard Charles's footsteps interrupting the silence, and soon she could see her boyfriend, shirtless, showing off his excellent physical shape, and stretching as he walked towards her.

"Good morning, mon amour." Charles said, hugging his girlfriend's body from behind and placing a soft kiss on the top of her shoulder. "Did you make breakfast? Damn, I'm lucky." He chuckled, still noticeably sleepy.

You're lucky? You deserve so much more than this, than me, her self-sabotaging thoughts returned.

"So what are we going to do today?" The man asked as he bit into the toast in his hand. "I was thinking we could have lunch at that restaurant by the marina that you love so much."

"I can't, Charles. I have to go to the team headquarters later." Falling back into her harmful tendencies, and without having the courage to look back at him, Y/N tried to keep her distance from him, using the scheduled meeting (which she didn't need to attend) as an excuse.

"Ah okay…" The Monegasque felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, as he sensed that something wasn't right with her. "If you want to do something when you get-"

"We'll see." She interrupted, answering dryly. Y/N grabbed her things and headed towards the entrance, her eyes still unable to take in his image. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, mon ange." He agreed, trying not to pressure his girlfriend. "I love y-"

He hadn't even finished talking and she was already out the door.

Sometimes, I feel like everybody is a sexy baby

And I'm a monster on the hill

Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city

Pierced through the heart, but never killed

Within a few hours, Y/N arrived in Wantage, where her second home was: the elegant, welcoming HQ of Williams Racing.

Although still fragile, Y/N felt slightly more energetic and optimistic just being there, the memory of her professional success enough to give her a small boost of self-esteem.

The girl would never be able to put into words how grateful she would feel for the rest of her life for the chance the team gave her.

Entering through the large glass door, Y/N soon found Jost, her team principal, who supported her unconditionally during her two years on the team. The two quickly fell into casual conversation, rambling about the car's performance and the strategies used in previous races.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, until the voice of one of the engineers chanted through the walls of the long corridor, clearly unaware that he was being heard.

"I just don't understand what that she is fucking doing here, man. Y/N is just a little girl, we need a strong man behind that wheel."

The man quickly came face to face with the duo, fear spreading across his face: not for hurting Y/N's feelings - that he couldn't care less; but because he got caught red-handed by his superior - a man, that held the power over his job.

Jost tried to put a hand on the young woman's shoulder, but her body was already out of sight as the driver made her escape, the sound of Capito's scolding the rude man barely audible to her as she ran away from the scene.

She was the problem.

She simply would never be good enough.

Did you hear my covert narcissism

I disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman?

(Tale as old as time)

Unbeknownst to the girl, her teammate, Alex, couldn't help noticing her tearful figure escaping towards the garden that decorated the back of the headquarters.

Without thinking twice, the Thai hurriedly followed her, gently grabbing her wrist to stop her.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" The boy asked him, a worried look on his face.

Despite the girl being able to count on one hand the true friendships she managed to build in her entire life, Alex Albon was one of the few people she really connected with.

The genuine, loving boy felt almost like the brother she never had, protecting her with everything he had since the day she joined Williams. 

Two years had passed since then and his presence in her life was now unparalleled and irreplaceable.

"Just tale as old as time." She spoke without thinking, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Forget it. It's no big deal."

Her friend put his arm around the girl's shoulders, pulling her into a comforting hug. "You know I can read you like the back of my hand, Y/N."

"It's just…" The girl sobbed, letting her cheek rest against the tall man's chest. "I'm fed up. Sometimes I just want to give up on it all, on Formula 1, on motorsports. I'm tired of feeling less than everyone else just because I'm not a man."

"Hey, look at me." Alex said, placing both of his hands on the girl's forearms. "You're here because you deserve it. You've won championships in the junior categories. You've scored a hell out of points for a driver in a car like Williams. You and I are literally the most successful duo in the team in the last decade."

The girl couldn't help but laugh softly, sniffling her nose. "When you put it that way..."

"Believe me, Y/N." Albon spoke, hugging the girl he saw as his 'little sister' again. "I'm so proud of you, Charles is so proud of you, all the drivers on the grid are. Fuck what others think."

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day, I'll watch as you're leaving

And life will lose all its meaning

(For the last time)

To say that Alex made her feel so much better was an understatement.

Suddenly, Y/N had a pep in her step, a grin from ear to ear, a renewed energy within her and an eagerness to return home to the one she loved.

The girl couldn't help but feel guilty for the way she treated Charles that morning, so she decided to surprise him with her early return and also a small gift.

Y/N was a gift giver, especially for Charles, who always looked like a little boy on Christmas Eve every time she did so.

Charles had spent weeks and weeks drooling over a sweater from his favourite brand, helping his girlfriend choose the gift. With her headphones in her ears, the girl glided through the aisle of the store in Monte Carlo, straight to the selected piece of clothing.

As she searched for the correct size, the side of her face heated up as she felt someone's attention suddenly on her. The whispers distracted her from what she was doing and she discreetly turned down the music on her phone to listen to what the two laughing girls were saying.

"I don't know, I've heard rumours about them but I don't think so."

"I hope not, I mean, he's Charles Leclerc! He can have any girl he wants."

"You're so right. He's probably just fucking some bikini model on the low."

The sweater remained on the hanger, as Y/N left the store empty-handed.

It's me, hi

I'm the problem, it's me

At teatime, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

It looked like she simply couldn't catch a break that day: the world was determined to bring her down.

Opening the apartment door, Y/N entered, being immediately seen by her boyfriend who had a smile the size of the world.

"Mon amour, you're back!" He got up from his chair, nearly tripping over his own feet with the excitement that filled him. "You don't understand how happy I am to see y- What's wrong, Y/N?"

The boy was caught off guard by the discouraged, beaten-down look on his partner's face, as he expected her to come home happy to have visited the team she loved so much.

"Charles, we need to talk." She spoke, her eyes still not looking at him, similar to the morning.

"I don't like that tone. Are you going to break up with me or something?" He joked nervously, trying to break the tense atmosphere between them.

However, when he looked at her, Charles understood that this was exactly what she was thinking about.

Suddenly, the weight of the velvet box he'd been keeping in his pocket seemed to have tripled.

I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money

She thinks I left them in the will

The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out

"She's laughing up at us from Hell"

After a few agonizing seconds of silence, the young woman gathered her courage and looked at the other driver, who had a terrified look on his face.

Charles felt a multitude of emotions at once; he was scared, confused, angry, desperate.

How could she try to do that to him when he was preparing to take the next step in their relationship?

"Charles, don't look at me like that." Y/N turned her tearful gaze to the ground, not having the strength to watch the boy's heart break as hers did. "It's for the best. You deserve so much. You are the best person in this whole fucking world, and I... I'm just me: talentless, worthless me. You can do so much better than-"

"Don't even dare finish that sentence." Charles threatened, lovingly grabbing the girl's face by her jaw and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much. I love you more than anything and anyone in this world."

The girl couldn't hold back the sob that threatened to come out of her lips, as she shook her head in opposition to the words the Monegasque was saying.

"Just stop!" The man said, his voice rising. He leaned his forehead against hers, wiping her cheeks with one of his hands. "It's you. You're it for me, remember? You told me so, and I feel the same way about you."

"There is no one else for me. No one better than you, no one who makes me feel like you do, or who I want to spend the rest of my days with." Charles continued speaking, trying to make the girl realize how much she meant to him, desperate to change her mind.

He felt her body relax slightly against his and he knew right there: it was now or never, this was the moment for his grand romantic gesture.

Guided by his impulsiveness, Charles reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the navy blue box, setting it on the counter in front of her.

Y/N felt her breathing stop. Was that what she thought it was?

The Ferrari driver opened the small box, showing her the most perfect diamond ring inside.

"You are the love of my life, and I never doubted that for a single second. So please, make me the happiest man in the world and marry me."

It's me, hi

I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi

I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi

Everybody agrees, everybody agrees

God, she wanted to say yes.

But she couldn't. Not when he came into her life as a hero rescuing her from the world, and she... 

She was just an anti-hero in his story.

Selfishly, Y/N wanted nothing more than to accept his proposal and fall into his arms.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Charles?" The girl looked at him fearfully.

"Mon amour, just say yes and end my agony once and for all." Even in a moment like that, the man still managed to find humour in the situation, letting out a small laugh and placing a tender kiss on her lips.

Both deposited all the love they felt for each other in that kiss, getting stuck in the moment as if they were the only people in the world.

"Yes." Y/N gave in, opening her eyes surprised when she realized that word had slipped out of her mouth without her even realizing it. 

Charles smiled at her, picked her up from the floor and kissed her. And he kissed her again, and again, his lips just couldn't stay away from hers. "Yes, Charles. Yes. Yes!" She repeated, gradually becoming more and more confident.

With tears in both of their eyes and a shiny new ring around her finger, she looked at the man in front of her: a man who loved her unconditionally with all her flaws, all her struggles, and all her past.

Right then and there, Y/N knew that Charles was her true home, and she could only belong in his arms.

Maybe things weren't falling apart.

Maybe things were starting to fall into the exact places where they needed to.

It's me, hi

I'm the problem, it's me

At teatime, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

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(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

[winterlynightlystories]

Didn't know where to go

Tw; mention of death, blood and mental breakdown. Angst!

Please do not copy or steal my work.

Gojo Satoru/Male!Reader

Note; it's almost one in the morning. I'll correct it later in the day 😂 I wanted to have my take on Satoru after killing his best friend, so here it is!

Summary; You seemed to be the only one noticing how Satoru isn't doing well since Geto left. So you approach him, you talk. You never imagined where it would lead you would get on.

~~~~~~

You were worried. Well, more than usual, and for cause. Your friend and crush Satoru was acting weirder and weirder with each passing day. Ever since that failed mission and Geto going rogue, you could barely recognize him. Of course, Satoru kept smiling and being an asshole, but something was off. Almost as if there wasn't really someone behind those sunglasses. His smiles and laughs were... empty.

It took you a few days before gathering enough courage to approach him. For once, you found Satoru sitting alone at a wooden table, staring into the distance. You almost turned around a few times, fearing to bother him. But Gojo turned his head toward you and waved his hand in your direction, calling for you.

- “Y/n-chan!” he called with a sing-song voice, making you grunt

- “Don’t call me chan, you asshole! I'm a man!”

His only answer was a laugh, empty too.

You sat by his side and Gojo returned watching nothing. Maybe he hoped to see Geto coming back.

- “Satoru... Are you okay?” you finally asked, almost whispering your question.

- “Mah, what do you mean? Why wouldn't I be?” he asked back, but didn't look at you.

- “Well, your best friend is gone and, I don't know... You don’t look really happy. When you laugh, it doesn't reach your eyes, like you are forcing yourself to.” you looked away, sighing. “Honestly man, you look like you are faking everything as if what happened didn't matter or affect you. I'm just worried about you.”

There was no answer and you wondered if you went too far. It was none of your business after all, but you couldn't leave your friend alone. Not after everything he just went through. Gods! You could remember his clothes soaked in his own blood and his pale skin still stained with it. He could have died, right there! And you would have lost him. You knew your feelings were one-sided, but you still cared for him.

- “How did you see through my acting, Y/n?” he asked with a sigh, his voice blank of emotion.

- “I guess I know you well enough.” you answered with a small smile. “Satoru, you know you can come to me, right? Won't judge you or repeat it to anyone. Just... How are you really doing?”

You turned your head only to find Satoru without his sunglasses. He had closed his eyes and threw his head back. The fake smile was gone and, overall, Satoru seemed sad. Terribly sad.

And lonely.

- “Not so well I think.” he replied and you put a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it. “Empty, angry, there are so many emotions I feel at the same time. Yet, it's like I don't feel them at all. Numb maybe.”

- “I see.” you replied before passing your arm around his shoulder and pulling him in a hug. “I'm sorry you have to go through it. I'm sure Geto is doing just fine. Never saw you two apart for this long, so I'm pretty sure he's going to come back running just for you.” you added, feeling Gojo return your embrace and put his head on yours.

- “And I am so angry at him. Why leave me behind? Why... Why does it feel like we meant nothing?” he asked, voice slightly shaking

- “I don't know Satoru. I really don't know”

And it's true, you don't know what Geto had in mind by leaving. Especially when he said nothing to Satoru, which was so unusual. Because you knew Gojo Satoru would have followed that man down in hell with no hesitations.

After a few minutes, you separated when you heard Satoru's phone buzzing. By his face, you knew it wasn't good news. You gently cupped his head in your hands.

- “Promised me to come to me. Whenever, night or day, it doesn't matter. I'll be there if you need me”

- “I'll try to not forget,” he said with a smile.

And just like that, he was gone.

A few weeks passed by and you had no news from Satoru. To say you worried for your friend, and crush would be a euphemism. You knew Satoru was more than probably fine, but still. You knew him well enough. He should have at least texted you some stupidity or just sent you a picture of his meal. A few days were normal, but weeks?

Then, there were the rumours about Geto. Worse, they seemed to be getting true. Could he really have turned into an enemy? Into someone, you and Satoru might have to fight?

Hopefully, no. You were not at their level, more use as a tracker for cursed objects, not a fighter.

That night you took a long shower, trying to relax and forget about your worries. You could smell the food cooking in the oven, only making you hungrier. You still had almost an hour before it would be ready.

But then came the shift.

Under the water, you froze, trying to understand what had shifted. The pressure, you thought at first, as if you were flying in an airplane. Or the gravity, as you felt heavier than you truly were. You began to feel sick and light-headed. Quickly turning off the shower, you got out and grabbed your towel.

Coming out of the bathroom was a terrible mistake. Crashing against your wall, you almost let go of your towel. Cursing, you tried to stabilize yourself. After a minute or so, you got a little use and could walk into your living room. You froze, again, on the sigh before you.

Hair bloody and his blue eyes almost mad, Gojo Satoru stood in the middle of your room. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and his hands shook uncontrollably by his side.

- “Satoru? W-what happened?” you asked, feeling the pressure in the room getting worse by the second and you felt as if your head would explode.

- “I killed him.” he simply said before laughing hysterically, without it reaching his eyes.

- “Satoru, who did you kill?” you asked, heart racing in your chest.

- “I didn't know where to go, but I remembered what you told me. Mind if I crash for the night?” he ignored or didn't hear you. “Your sofa will be perfect, but I think I need a shower first.

- “Of course!” you exclaimed, trying to step closer, but just could not. “Satoru... What?”

- “Great! Because I don't think I can support longer the feeling of Suguru's blood.” he said, a broking sob passing his lips as tears kept rolling.

- “Omg...” you gasped, a hand covering your mouth. “T-this way, come with me”

Turning around, you led Satoru to your bathroom. Behind you, you heard the man ripping his clothes off his body and throwing his shoes away. You turned the shower on, immediately on hot water, and watched your friend almost jump under the water.

Leaving him some intimacy, you went to your bedroom, after turning off the oven, to get some baggy pants for yourself and Satoru. You knew that even your biggest probably wouldn't fit him properly; the man was a fucking giant after all. Finally, you went and grabbed a clean towel for Satoru and took care of his ripped clothes.

You went back toward your bathroom and, for a second, didn't know what to do. Should you wait for him to finish or should you go in and keep him company? You were happy that Satoru felt safe coming to you, especially with his current state of mind, but you never saw him like that before. How would he react now? Taking your courage in both hands, and a deep breath, you went in.

Still in the shower, Satoru was washing his hair. You couldn't see any trace of blood on him, or anywhere. The pressure and gravity were finally back to normal, or so, and you could breathe normally again.

After putting the pants and the towel on the sink, you approached Satoru. The poor man was still shaking, and probably crying.

- “Satoru? Do you need help with your hair?” you asked, as gently as you could. You watch Gojo stop moving for a second. “C’mere, I'll help you. I'll make sure there is no more blood.”

You saw Satoru's shoulders drop as if giving up before slowly turning toward. You tried to ignore how he flinched under your touch when you helped him down on his knees, but couldn't hold back a ‘sorry’ as if you had hurt him. With a quick look, you concluded there wasn't any more blood and helped him rinse his hair.

Even if Satoru was now calmed, he looked absent, dead. You had to help him more by drying him and giving him a hand to put his pants on. And like a child, you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

- “C’mon, I'll let you get the bed. You're too tall for the sofa.” you said gently and watched him lay down.

To your surprise, Satoru didn't let go of your hand. Instead, he pulled you onto the bed, next to him.

- “Please, don't go,” he said, voice so low you almost didn't hear.

- “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.” you replied, entwining your fingers.

You watched Satoru close his eyes before doing the same. After a few minutes, Satoru’s breath slowed and his hand relaxed in yours; he was asleep. It took you longer to fall asleep, fearing he would disappear into the tin air. But in the morning he would still be there, clenching your hand in his. And if your phones rang, or if someone came knocking at your door; no they didn't.

[colins-bridgerton]

penelope & colin playlist

a year ago by james arthur

i wish it was a year ago i wish that i could hold you close now i'm driving past your house, i know the lights are on, you're not alone i wonder if you're making eyes i wonder if he loves you like the way you said that only i could do i wish that i could tell you that I miss you

ghost of you by seconds of summer

too young, too dumb to know things like love too young, too dumb to I drown it out like I always do dancing through our house with the ghost of you and i chase it down with a shot of truth that my feet don't dance like they did with you

far away by nickleback

i wanted you to stay 'cause i needed i need to hear you say that i love you i loved you all along and I forgive you for being away for far too long so keep breathing 'cause i'm not leaving you anymore believe it hold on to me, and never let me go

oceans by seafret

it feels like there's oceans between you and me once again we hide our emotions Under the surface and try to pretend but it feels like there's oceans between you and me i want you i want you and i always will it feels like there's oceans between you and me

give me a minute by the coronas

and i can't remember how we got so wrapped up in it hold on i'm not finished just give me a minute i'm not finished and if you don't mind i can live with it just a minute i'm not finished would you be so kind just to forgive it

can i be him by james arthur

i heard there was someone but i know he don't deserve you if you were mine i'd never let anyone hurt you no no I wanna dry those tears, kiss those lips It's all that I've been thinking about 'cause a light came on when i heard that song and i want you to sing it again i swear that every word you sing you wrote them for me like it was a private show

before by ulrik munther

before we burn each other up before we lose our minds before i'm not enough for you baby I need some time before you break my heart oh before we need to talk before it even starts i mean i'm sorry i didn't call

you're loosing me by taylor swift

how long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life? i gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy and all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier fighting in only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me i'm the best thing at this party (you're losin' me) andi wouldn't marry me either a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her and i'm fadin', thinkin' "do something, babe, say something" (say something) "lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "choose something, babe, i got nothing" (i got nothing) "to believe, unless you're choosin' me"

deep end by birdy

i don't know if you mean everything to me and I wonder, can i give you what you need? don't want to find i've lost it all too scared to have no one to call so can we just pretend that we're not falling into the deep end?

love me or leave me by little mix

and love me baby please cause i could still be the only one you need the only one close enough to feel you breathe yeah I could still be that place where you run Instead of the one that you're running from, ooh you, can take this heart heal it or break it all apart no, this isn't fair love me or leave me here

cross your mind by calum scott

tell me, do i ever cross your mind? do i ever keep you up at night? thinking 'bout what coulda been if we did it all again i've been trying to keep an open door even though you've got the locks on yours tell me even after all of this time do i ever cross your mind like you cross mine? do i?

wrong direction by hailee steinfeld

loved me with your worst intentions didn't even stop to question every time you burned me down don't know how; for a moment it felt like heaven loved me with your worst intentions painted us a happy ending every time you burned me down don't know how; for a moment it felt like heaven and it's so gut-wrenchin' fallin' in the wrong direction

loves you like i coudn't do by dunacan laurence

i hope you find that someone who'll love you and it feels like all that you wanted thought it would last if we just kept running we played our hand, now we're left with nothing hope you find that someone who'll hold you In a way that i always wanted to a hundred shots, but we kept on missing there's no regrets, 'cause we tried, my love I hope you find that someone who loves you like i couldn't do

a little bit yours by jp saxe

you found someone new, before me and you didn't try nearly as hard and maybe that's the problem i don't know how to take it away from you without giving someone else my heart all I do Is get over you and i'm still so bad at it i let myself want you i let myself try i let myself fall back into your eyes i let myself want you i let myself hope i let myself feel things i know that you don't you're not mine anymore but I'm still a little bit yours

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain

2.7k words

A/N: A little nod to @palmtreesx3 series "Get Off" in the form of a little Smash or Pass 💛 Thanks for always being my cheerleader lady, I owe you my heart and life because of it, I'm afraid 🤷🏻‍♀️

He regrets how hard the door slams behind him almost immediately. 

His vision blurs, his fingers swipe down the sides of his nose, pressing harder than he ever has but it’s no use. 

Steve Harrington doesn’t cry. 

Except he is. 

It’s this awful choked sound that leaves his lips, it’s pathetic and angry and hurt all rolled into one horrible sob as tears rapidly fall down his cheeks. 

He tries, he really does, to get it to stop. He presses his palms into his eyes as he walks, and decides that’s a really fucking bad idea in Chicago. And so he just ducks his head and he clears his throat and he walks. 

But it just gets worse and worse.

Not the crying, but the feeling in his chest. Every time he blinks he sees your hurt face. He sees the shattered glass dish. He sees Robin’s blue eyes breaking just like the shards all over the floor. He sees Eddie put his hand on your back. He sees Nancy glaring at him. He sees every bad decision he’s made for the last few months and his stomach rolls with each reminder of his mistakes. 

He fucked up bad this time. There is no bonk to the head that can fix this. It doesn’t feel like any way he apologized would ever make it okay. 

All he wants to do is talk to any of the people who hate his guts right now, and more tears slip over his lash line when he realizes he may never get to talk to the most important person of the bunch ever again. 

The longer he walks, the clearer his head becomes. He can fix it. He can. One step at a time. 

But despite the cold air against his damp cheeks bringing clarity, it also quickly makes him realize he doesn’t have his coat, his keys, or his fucking car. He slows down as he rounds the corner, debating turning back, wondering where the hell he even ended up on this sad walk. 

He’s on Robin’s street. Because of course he is. 

Steve swipes at his nose, keeping more tears at bay successfully this time, and he sits on her stoop, waiting. 

Maybe it’s selfish, to seek Robin’s comfort when he lied to her, but if there’s anyone he can talk to about how much of an idiot he is, it’s her. 

So he waits. 

He sits there for what feels like an hour, and maybe it is, with his elbows on his knees and his hands running through his hair he’s refusing to cut because at least he can keep his hair long in some sort of pathetic excuse of a stand against selling his soul to his father. 

“Ryan Gosling?” 

The question startles Steve, his head whips up at the voice. 

“Oh, smash, definitely.” A girl giggles in a group walking past. 

“Yeah but which Ryan Gosling?”

Two girls chime in with “The Notebook” at the same time laughing and Steve loses it. 

There’s no way to ward off the tears this time, and he drags his fingers over his lips so his sob is muffled and his temple falls against the railing. 

Maybe it’s because he’s been so stubborn his whole life, but it sort of feels like every tear that’s ever wanted to be shed by his body is falling now. His entire vision is blurred and his arms encircle his stomach because it fucking hurts to feel this sad and broken. 

How could he do this to you? How could he lie to Robin? How could he just do exactly what you said and not stand up for himself? How could he not choose the life he wanted? Why didn’t he fucking fight harder for you? For what he wanted? 

He was pathetic. He was lazy. He was scared. 

“Holy shit, you actually love her, don’t you?” 

The sound of Robin’s voice and her question makes a loud sob leave Steve, the most horrible sound he thinks he’s ever heard save for Robin crying. It just keeps coming and he covers his face with his hands, sure he looks disgusting and miserable and as pathetic as he feels. Snot and tears and red cheeks like a fucking kid. 

There’s pressure against the side of his thigh, and then warm arms around his shoulders and it isn’t fair to her, but he turns into her body and wraps his own arms around her waist. 

Steve cries into his best friend's shoulder so hard, he feels a little dizzy from the pain that’s demanding to be felt and he stutters out a pathetic apology.

“Ro-Robin, I’m so, I’m so-”

“Dingus, shut up.”

Which only makes him cry harder and squeeze his arms tighter for her to squeeze him back. 

Then it starts to rain. 

And not like a few sprinkles, but just pouring, out of nowhere, like the earth is as sad as Steve feels. 

“Shit, come on,” Robin yelps, pulling at his shoulders and dragging him to her front door. 

Steve swipes at his eyes and finally gets a less blurry look at her, wearing his jacket, his car keys dangling from her finger, and his pan of mac and cheese in her arms. 

The guilt smacks him so hard, he actually takes a step back. 

“Rob-”

“Don’t. Come on, inside,” she sighs around the command, nodding her head to the now open door. 

Her blue eyes are glassy, or maybe it’s just the rain soaking both of them, but her chin does this sort of horrible quiver that he knows means she’s going to start crying too, and apparently that’s all he does now, because there’s a fresh wave falling from his eyes. 

“Robin,” he chokes on her name, like he doesn’t remember how to talk, “I am so sorry. I-”

“Steve, please,” she starts crying, clutching the pan with both hands now, “I don’t care about an apology right now okay? I care about getting you inside and wiping that snot off your face cause you look real fucking sad and you don’t cry okay? And I don’t know what to do and I’m really sorry because maybe it’s my fault you know? Maybe I made you lie to me because I’m shitty and told you not to date her, but obviously you really fucking care about her I mean on some sort of astronomical level because-”

“Robin,” Steve laughs around his crying, stepping towards her and hugging her, “Will you shut up for once in your life and let me apologize?”

She shifts so she can wrap an arm around him again, her face pressed to his chest before she starts laughing around her own crying too. 

“What’s this shutting up you speak of? Is there a switch? How does one simply not spew out every thought that passes through their brain to fill the silence?”

His cheek presses to the top of her head, voice muffled in her hair, “I love you.”

Robin’s arm squeezes around his waist, “I love you too, Dingus.”

Now, she sits across from him. Having changed almost immediately upon entering her apartment. She cranked the heat and pushed him down onto the couch and just said, “Explain.”

Which is how he finds himself on her couch, with a cup of hot cocoa spilling over the rim and marshmallows overflowing the mug as he finishes, “I don’t know what to do.”

Robin’s fingers fiddle with her rings as they wrap around her own mug. She stares at the drink for a long time, before she finally lifts her gaze to his.

Blue eyes that pierce directly into his soul as she shrugs and says, “I think you know exactly what to do, Steve.”

The intercom buzzes loudly and Robin moans, “Oh thank god, food.”

Except when she stands, the speaker crackles and your voice comes out of it. “Robin?”

Steve freezes, the mug of cocoa suspended to his lips as Robin stares at him with wide, blinking eyes. 

It buzzes again and your quiet voice fills the room, “Please Robin? I know you’re home…I just…”

“I’ll…I’ll tell her to go?” Robin looks worried, her fingers pulling on each other and Steve shakes his head. 

“No, I…I’ll climb down the fire escape. Won’t be the first time.” He makes his way to her window. 

“Excuse me, what?” Robin crosses her arms, frowning. 

The buzzer rings three times, long and annoying and Steve’s lips twitch despite the thing inside his chest feeling like it’s going to somehow shrivel up and dry out and explode at the same time. 

“You should really talk to her, it…it says a lot she came here to talk to you.” Steve taps at the window frame, looking at the door like he can somehow see you downstairs through it. 

The intercom vibrates again, and your voice sounds pained as you shout through it, “Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

As if on cue, Robin’s stomach grumbles and she crosses her arms, frowning. “I’m not even hungry. Dingus, I can tell her to leave, I want…I need you in my life-”

It buzzes again, your choked words making both of them stare at the speaker with sad eyes. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s breath inhales sharply and Steve smiles. He squeezes her hand and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere, Buckley. Go hug it out with each other. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She squeezes his hand back, and heads towards the door as he disappears out the window. 

Robin was right, he knows exactly what he needs to do. 

“I don’t believe you,” tone matter of fact as you shrug off your coat in his hallway.

Steve laughs as he shuts the garage door, shaking his head. “I told you, she’s too wrapped around Robin. I could never.”

Your feet pad down the hallway, past the laundry room and half bath as you spin and walk backwards pointing at him, “Nah. No way. You’re so smashing Julia Roberts.”

The conversation started after your anniversary date to the movie theater. His yellow sweater sits wrapped around your shoulders, warm and comforting, and a slight cherry red slushie stain on the hem now. Steve’s green sweatshirt is absolutely not green anymore, the majority of said slushie landing on him when he tried to do a “move” at the theater. 

Steve catches up with you, a box of milk duds in his hand as he grabs for your waist with the other. “Baby, I promise you, I’m passing.”

You narrow your eyes, lips twitching, as you prod, “Steven. Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman? You’re passing?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, but his mouth fights a smile as he shakes his head. “Robin has been Vivian so many times for Halloween, there is no way I’m smashing Pretty Woman Julia Roberts.”

“Mm. Sure.” You nod, face full of faux believing features as you press your lips to his pout. 

When you spin and head into the kitchen, flipping the lights on as you do, Steve catches your waist and lifts, causing you to yelp out a laugh. 

“Put me down!”

“Not until you believe me!”

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh as your head tilts at the giant box on the counter, “Wait, what’s that?”

Steve slowly puts you down, his arm remaining around your waist. “That,” he whispers, “Is a very late present. Or early Christmas. Or right on time anniversary. ”

“For me?” You turn and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning. 

Steve looks very serious, the playful moment gone as he grabs for your chin gently, tilting your head for a slower, and longer kiss. It feels important, something swooping in your stomach, collecting the butterflies flying around there and surrounding your heart. 

“For you,” he whispers when he breaks away from the breath stealing kiss. 

Your eyelashes flutter as you come back to earth, his fingers cradle your jaw as you clear your throat. 

When you turn back towards the package, your heart drops into your stomach though. The brown shipping material is covered in European stamps, packaging labels showing it went a lot of different places before ending up here. And it’s a fairly large box. 

“How…how much did this cost?” 

Steve’s going to a drawer for a box cutter, opening two different ones before finding the right junk drawer, still getting used to his new stuff and space. 

He shrugs, eyes focused on cutting the tape. “Babe, don’t-”

“Steve, you can’t do this.” Your head shakes back and forth as you press your fingers to your temple. 

“I can’t what? Give my girlfriend gifts?” He sounds irritated, hurt. 

“You can’t keep giving me expensive gifts. Paying for everything. You paid for Inigo’s vet bill last month, you can’t-”

“You like the gifts, I have the means to pay and if it’s a date, of course I’m paying. And absolutely I paid for his vet bill, it was insane. And you were going to take out another credit card to pay for it like a crazy person.”

The words make something ignite under the surface of your skin, cheeks growing hot as he sets the box cutter on the counter and glares at you. 

“That’s not crazy! People do what they have to do! I would have paid it off, it’s not like I’m in a crazy amount of debt Steve. In case you’re forgetting, I’ve made it on my own for quite a long time.”

Your hand presses to your chest as you stare each other down. 

Steve’s jaw tenses and he shakes his head. “I know that. I’m not discrediting that. But it’s crazy to still do that when I can help.”

Your hands fly in the air, frustrated, “Okay, fine! Thank you for the vet bill, nevermind, but this,” you gesture to the box, “Has to stop.”

Steve laughs, dragging his palms down his face. “I’m not gonna stop getting you gifts.”

“How am I supposed to compete with the fancy shit Steve? How am I supposed to feel when you get me expensive things for holidays and I get you dumb trinkets or hand made shit like coupons?”

Steve takes a step toward you, “I like the coupons and trinkets that aren’t dumb. If you just-”

“I’m not opening that.” Your hands are in front of your chest in surrender, eyebrows raised as you walk backwards. “I do not want it. Return it, whatever it is.”

“Honey,” Steve’s eyes turn somber, hand running through his hair, pleading, “You have to open this, please.”

“Baby,” you glare at him, “I’m not going to.”

His fingers tug in his hair, an aggravated huff surrounding his words that get increasingly louder, “I swear, I won’t get you another present for…for a year. Six months. But you have to open this.”

“No.”

“Open it.”

“Nope.”

“Babe-”

“Steve-”

“Oh my god, fine!” 

He shouts the last line, flaps of the box flung open as he reaches inside through white packing peanuts that spill out onto the counter as you roll your eyes.

Until he’s holding the sapphire blue pie dish in front of you with glassy eyes and pink cheeks and red ears. 

“I know, okay, I…I can’t ever apologize for breaking your mom’s enough. And I know this can’t ever replace it, or be the same, but I just thought…I kept searching for it, because I just thought if I could fix it…” he trails off when you step in front of him. 

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears as you stare down at the dish, your fingers trail over the cool glass. A shiver runs down your spine because you’re fairly certain, somewhere, somehow, your mom and dad are here. Your mom is shouting at the TV screen of your life, telling you to kiss him, to tell him. Your dad is rolling his eyes, but they’re a little misty. 

Steve’s nose taps yours as he tilts his head, eyes looking into yours as he hesitates, waiting until he sees what he needs to. 

His lips press to yours softly then, the dish held in both of your pair of hands between you. 

Something inside of you crumbles, it breaks off into a billion pieces, each one belonging to him. 

You are undeniably, irrevocably, in love with Steve Harrington. 

And that’s fucking terrifying. 

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part i

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Words: 3800

A/n: Me? Starting another series to avoid updating ongoing fics? No wayyyy. This is going to be a 4 part mini series and their song is When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, just so you know. Also available to read on AO3.

Tom Bennett had always had a talent for getting under people’s skin.

Kitty knew it when they were kids, when they’d run around the streets of Longsight and the alleyways behind Slade Grove. He would rile anyone up, regardless if they were older or bigger than him. He didn’t even do it for a reason, he just liked to get a raise out of people.

He used to tease her too, for all sorts of stupid reasons, because she was a year younger than him, because her mother used to dress her in shirts and shorts that used to belong to her older brothers, because when they’d buy bags of Yorkshire mix from the shop, she would only eat the red ones. Every Sunday after Church, they’d sit in the park or on the front step of the Bennetts’ house, and Tom would pick out every sweet he knew she liked, and keep the rest for himself.

When Tom was eleven he moved to the big school, where Kitty’s brothers all went, Eddie, Art and Stevie. Eddie was a prefect. He used to come home with all sorts of stories of Tom Bennett, ‘from over the road’. Tom talked back to his teachers, disrupted assemblies, picked fights with other kids, every offence Kitty’s mind could imagine. 

It only got worse when his mam died.

Thursday 12th July, 1928

Kitty had never been to a funeral before. She had a new dress and a black overcoat for the occasion. It was cold in the church graveyard, overcast and windy. Mam had held her hand so tightly she wondered if she’d ever get it back. 

The Bennetts stood together, on the other side of the grave. Lois’ hair was braided into a messy plait that stuck out on one side, the ribbon at the end tied into a knot rather than a bow. She was trying to hold her father’s shoulder as he cried, but she couldn’t quite reach. Tom stood a little further away from his father. His hair was messy, his knees scabbed and bruised, his shirt skewed and the buttons done in the wrong places.

Kitty kept her eyes on him, all through the service, the burial and the wake back at number 27. Tom didn’t cry once.

That night, when she should have been asleep, she lay awake in her bed, listening to her brothers whispering and in the next room as they always did. Sometimes she felt sad to be left out of their antics, but tonight she was glad to be on her own, in her little box room at the front of the house.

Until she heard a tapping on the window.

She froze between her sheets. Was it too late for it to have been a bird?

And then it came again, tap, tap, tap.

With a determined little huff, she rose from the bed, smoothed her hands down the front of her nightgown and drew back the curtains.

“Tom?” she whispered.

He grinned when he saw her, perched on the windowsill behind the glass. 

Kitty raised the window and before she could invite him in he was crawling through it.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

Tom shrugged and went to sit on the edge of her bed. He glanced around the room, at the little shelf of books, dolls and small wooden animals, the black overcoat hung on the back of the door and the drawings stuck to the wardrobe. He’d been in the Wheelans’ kitchen before, but he’d never been allowed upstairs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, far too loudly for Kitty’s liking.

She pressed a firm finger against his lips. She held her breath, waiting for one of the lads to notice, but they kept on chatting– whatever it was teenage boys chatted about.

“Keep your voice down,” she said.

Tom smiled against her finger and made a cross over his heart.

She sat beside him, swaying her legs while she tried to think of something to say.

Tom reached for a book on her bedside table and flicked through the pages. When he was bored of that, he grabbed her teddy. He tossed it about in his hands and ran his hands over the ancient and matted fur. It had been Eddie’s, back in the day. Every single one of her brothers had owned it before her.

“I don’t like seeing my dad cry,” Tom said.

Kitty frowned. “Why not?”

“I just don’t like it. He’s always been a bit…”

Dad had often mentioned the case of Douglas Bennett. They had fought in the same regiment in 1914. When Micheal Wheelan came back from war, he returned as a self-proclaimed hero. His boys loved to hear his stories and take turns wearing his medals. Douglas Bennett had returned to Manchester a far more troubled kind of man.

“And with mum he–” but he stopped himself with an irritated grunt. “Can I stay here?”

“What?” 

“Not forever, I just… can I sit here, just for a moment?”

Kitty took the teddy from him and placed her hand firmly in his. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

From then on, Tom made quite a habit of appearing at the window and hiding in her room whenever he was in trouble.

Saturday 2nd September, 1939

Being up and out before the boys are awake is a strange feeling, it’s the only time the house is so quiet.

It’s just before dawn. The sky is a hazy shade of dark blue but an orange glow is starting to appear over the rooftops. Mr Gregory wants her in the shop early to help with a delivery.

Something draws her eyes from her black leather shoes on the pavement, up to the end of the street. A figure makes his way down Slade Grove. She recognises the sway of his shoulders and the end of a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says when they’re in earshot of each other, taking the cigarette between his fingers. “What are you doing up so late?”

“It’s early,” she says. He’s in a jacket and slacks, and he has a dazed sort of look in his eyes. She can guess where he’s been but it doesn’t stop her from asking. “What have you been up to?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, taking another drag. He tilts his chin up and exhales the smoke above their heads through pouted lips. “Just been down the pub, nothing scandalous.”

A likely story. She’s seen the police knocking on their front door twice in four weeks.

“How’s your job in the shop going?” he asks.

It was supposed to be temporary, a little money to make ends meet after dad got laid off from the factory. Six months later and she’s still there. 

“Grand,” she says.

“Can you do me mates rates on a packet of Marlboros?”

“Yeah, if you promise to actually buy them.”

He clutches his chest and his face lights up in an ironic expression. “Of course, what sort of man do you take me for?”

The sort who used to sell cigarettes in the schoolyard— God knows how he got his hands on them in the first place. At that age he could talk himself out of anything. That’s what makes Tom Bennett every parent’s worst nightmare, he’s a troublemaker with pretty blue eyes and an infectiously charming smile.

“I should get going,” she says, taking another step until Tom moves in front of her. Her eyes meet with the collar of his jacket and the hollow of his throat. She can smell the musk of the pub on him, the cigarette smoke and the faded scent of his aftershave.

She looks up to his face and his expression has changed, not quite smiling but amused, smug and somewhat severe.

“What?” she says impatiently.

“Nothing,” he says, unphased, “have a good shift.”

The morning drags on at a gruelling pace. Mr Gregory’s getting on a bit now so Kitty has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, piling boxes into the storage room round the back, going through the stock in the shop, filling the shelves, flattening the boxes and bringing them to the bins outside. It feels like hours of work, but when she looks at the clock it’s not even 9. Eight hours until closing. Mr and Mrs Gregory live above the shop, so at least she gets a steady supply of tea, toast and bits of carrot cake.

By the afternoon she feels her eyes start to close. The morning rush is over now and business will dwindle for the rest of the day. She tries to stay awake, fanning herself with her blouse and nibbling on little mouthfuls of cake.

The bell above the door rings. She straightens her spine and smooths down her apron, ready to put on her best customer service voice, only for Tom Bennett to swagger in through the door.

He’s changed his clothes and donned a blue jacket instead of the earthy green she had seen him in earlier.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Kitty asks at the heavy look under his eyes.

He grins it off. “Packet of Marlboros please, Miss Wheelan.”

She fetches them from the cabinet behind the counter and places the packet in front of him. His aftershave smells a little stronger now. “Anything else?”

He drums his fingers against the counter, looking around innocently at the array of chocolate bars and the jars of sweets behind her.

“I’ll have a bag of Yorkshire mix,” he says.

She takes the jar down from the shelf. She can hear him breathing steadily through his nose as she scoops the sweets into a paper bag. When she turns back around he’s watching her.

“Nine pence,” she says, swallowing down a nervous feeling in her throat.

Tom counts through some change from his pocket and drops the coins into her hands, a sixpence and a thruppence. His fingertips brush over her palms and his knuckles are scabbed over. She dreads to think why.

“Nice one,” he says once she puts the payment through the till. “What do you make of this stuff going on in Poland then?” he says, popping a pear drop into his mouth.

She’s only been reading the headlines of the papers when she stocks them in the shop every morning, or hearing snippets from dad’s radio. 

“Since when did you start taking an interest in foreign affairs?” she asks.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a raspberry. “Been reading the news, haven’t I?” he says, holding it out for her. 

She hesitates for a moment before she takes it. She lets the sugar melt over her tongue. It tastes like summer afternoons after school and weekends in the park, tearing at the grass and watching the boys play football because they’d never let her join in.

“That’s where Harry is, isn’t it?” she says, “Lois must be worried.

Tom tuts and tucks the bag into his pocket. “Posh boys can talk their way out of anything,” he says. “Speaking of, I met Madge’s new man last night.”

“At the pub?”

“Yeah. Right ponce in’t he?”

She purses her lips in irritation. She hates it when he does this, poking fun at others until he feels better about himself. “He’s training to be a barrister.”

“Like I said.”

She shrugs. “I suppose there are worse jobs to have.”

“Is that what you’ll do then? Find some rich boy with a big house and stick up his arse?”

It’s not quite the future she has planned out for herself. Her friend Madge is a secretary in Manchester. There are all sorts of exams she had to pass, but it could be doable. Mam’s always tried to put her off it though. “Parents need their girls,” she says.

“I don't think I’m likely to find any of those in Longsight. Maybe I should ask Lois for advice?” she says, trying not to smile.

“Steady there, Kitty, I didn’t mean to get you all excited,” he says, leaning into the counter. His voice is lower all of a sudden, it sends an odd, jittery feeling though her chest and stomach.

He winks at her before he turns and leaves. The bell rings and the shop is quiet again.

Her feet feel heavy when she walks through the front door. Her bed calls her name but she’s unbearably thirsty. Saturdays are half days and the boys are already home from the factory. Mam’s started on dinner and the others are around the kitchen table. 

Dad waves a blue leaflet at her. “One of Douglas Bennett’s pacifist… things,” he says.

“Do you really think there’ll be a war, dad?” Kitty says, shrugging off her coat.

“If there is, it won’t be long,” he says with a determined nod, “no one wants another war.”

Eddie and Art hum in agreement. The oldest of the four Wheelan siblings, they were born before dad went away to war. Their faces are older and more stern, like they can still remember a time when they didn’t have their father around. They still call Stevie and Kitty “the babies,” which she thinks must make them feel more important.

Stevie’s in good spirits though. “Ran into Lois and Connie on the bus, and Connie personally invited me to their gig tonight!” he says brightly.

“Come off it,” Art grumbles, “she was just being friendly.”

“Kitty!” Stevie sings, waltzing over to her. He takes her coat from her hands and twirls her around the kitchen, to mam’s despair. “Come to the Fiddler’s Bow with me tonight, please.”

“So you can ditch me for Connie once their set’s done?”

“There’ll be other people there,” Stevie says, turning her around to face their brothers, “or ask one of these grumpy bastards to join us.”

“Stephen Wheelan!” their mother chides.

Eddie and Art share a pointed look and shake their heads, already backing away towards the front room.

In the end she decides she’ll just have to brave it. After eating, she changes into a flowy, white blouse and an emerald green skirt, pinning her hair up so it won’t go everywhere as she moves. She hides a tube of lipstick inside her purse. Mam and dad would rather die than let her leave the house with makeup. She only owns a lipstick because Lois Bennett had given her one.

Stevie brushes up well, in a white shirt and freshly shined leather shoes, his hair slicked back with wax. They run into each other on the landing and race downstairs.

Mam gives them the usual instructions. Home by 11 o'clock and not a minute later. One drink each. No smoking. No noise when they get in. 

Stevie’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket when they’re halfway through the front door.

And Kitty’s breath hitches when, for the third time that day, she sees Tom Bennett. He’s hovering in the doorway, putting empty milk bottles out. When he notices them, he smiles. “Off somewhere nice?” he says.

“Fiddler’s Bow,” Stevie calls back, “to see Lois and Connie play.”

“She’s down there already,” Tom says, his eyes flickering to Kitty for only a moment, “left half an hour ago.”

He’s in a white t-shirt now, that’s just a little too tight against his torso.

“Why don’t you join us?” Kitty says without thinking it through. “Stevie’s going for Connie, I’ll need a partner once he ditches me.”

Tom looks down at the pavement. His lips are thin and his hands fidget by his side. “I’ve um… got something else on tonight, ‘m sorry.”

Her heart sinks. Any lighthearted hope she had about enjoying the evening dissolves right in front of her. Right, of course, because why would he actually want to spend more than a few moments with her?

“Movin’ on,” Stevie says, steering Kitty down the road with a brief farewell to Tom. “He’s no good, you know that?” he whispers in her ear. “Eddie says he nicks scrap metal from the yard, sells it to all sorts dodgy fuckers.”

“Yeah, I know,” she breathes. Her chest feels tight and suddenly she feels like she wants to cry.

Stevie has a good time at the gig. Lois and Connie are first in the lineup and once their set is over, Stevie makes a point of cheering the loudest. The four of them spend the rest of the night dancing.

When Stevie and Connie disappear outside for a smoke, Kitty drags Lois to the bar, to catch their breath and down glasses of tonic water. Lois drones on about her Harry issue, but having three older brothers who presume every word they say is profound and worthy of note, Kitty knows where to hum and nod without really listening.

They walk Connie home first before the three of them make their way to Slade Grove. The houses are quiet now, save for a few lights in the windows, creeping through drawn curtains. Two policemen are standing outside number 27.

“Have you seen your brother?” one of them calls to Lois when she reaches the door.

“No,” Lois says, “but if you see him before I do, will you tell him he’s in trouble?”

Kitty meets Stevie’s eyes and he raises his brows.

“Piss off,” she grumbles.

Mam and dad have gone to bed, but Eddie and Art are playing cards in the front room— or they should be. Eddie is standing by the window, peering through the curtains. 

“Who are they after?” Eddie asks.

“Who do you think?” Kitty mutters, but she doesn’t stay to hear another rant about ‘troublesome Tom Bennett’, and slips her shoes off before she makes her way upstairs.

It can’t be said Tom doesn’t make an impression on the people he meets. Mam and dad still have a soft spot for him, though less so since he’s started getting into trouble with the police, and the lads seem to outright despise him.

She’d be lying if she said he didn’t find him irritating, to a certain degree. Maybe it’s because he’s cocky, maybe it’s because he used to be surprisingly sweet, or maybe it’s because nothing seems to phase him, but something about Tom Bennett makes her restless.

She wipes off her lipstick, takes out the pins in her hair and changes into her nightgown. Her eyes feel heavy, but tomorrow is Sunday, which means the shop will be closed and she can have a whole day of ‘freedom’, so long as that includes helping with the laundry and the dinner.

Dad’s snores are evident and the boys are still distracted downstairs, they’ve even put the radio on by the sound of it.

She’s about to turn off the light when she hears three taps on the window.

He knows it’s unlocked. The window slides up and Tom squeezes through it, slipping his boots off so he doesn’t make too much noise when he plants his feet on the floor. He goes straight to the bed, making himself comfortable over the throw with his hands under his head.

“Lois says the police have been round,” he says quietly.

She looks down at her hands, nervously playing with the fabric of her nightgown. “I saw.”

He turns his head to where she stands. The lamp hits his face like sunlight, catching the sharp features of his face, the point of his nose and the curve of his lips. 

She nudges him closer to the wall, making some space for herself beside him. Her body rests against his. He smells like smoke and fresh air.

“What did you do this time?” she asks.

He doesn’t give her an answer. In a way she thinks she’d rather not know.

His arm falls around her and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Nights with him are often like this, quiet, just two people existing in the same space.

He turns on his side to face her. “Can I stay the night?”

“Tom,” she whispers, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please, or I’ll have to sleep on a couch in the pub.”

“Are you mad? can you imagine what Eddie’ll do if he sees you walking out my bedroom in the morning?”

“Kitty,” he hums. He brings his hand to her face, gently stroking his thumb over her cheek. His eyes are wide and pleading. “Please.”

It’s in moments like this when she hates Tom the most, when her heart thrums in her chest and she wants nothing more than to lose herself in the feeling of his skin against hers. When their heads are so close together, all she sees are two blue eyes.

Each time she thinks she wants to close the distance between them, something stops her.

Neither of them ever dare to move closer than this.

She reaches to turn off the light and turns back to Tom. Her head falls into his chest and her arm settles around his waist. She falls asleep to the pulse of his heartbeat, the sound of his breath and the warmth of his body.

And by the time the sun shines in through the window, he’s gone.

Sunday 3rd September, 1939

She appears in the kitchen just after 11 o’clock. Her body feels heavy and her eyes are still tired. She shouldn’t have gone back to sleep after she woke up the first time.

Dad’s fiddling with the radio, Art’s pouring tea into six cups, and Eddie and mam are listening to Steive’s retelling of the previous night. He seems incredibly proud of himself, despite the fact the closest he came to kissing Connie was lighting her cigarette.

She helps Art with the tea. They all like it the same way. Strong, with one sugar and a little dash of milk. 

It might almost be a perfect morning, if dad were listening to something more uplifting than the news.

“How about some music?” she says as she hands him his cup, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes are fixed on the radio, and his hands are shaking.

“Dad…”

Art appears over her shoulder and turns up the volume. “Quiet,” he says, and the others fall silent.

A voice speaks through the crackles in the transmission, “consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

Kitty looks at the faces around her, Eddie and Art glaring furiously, Stevie’s wide eyes and his lips fallen like a child’s, mam and dad’s haunted sorrow.

The transmission ends and she wishes it didn’t, it would save her from the grave silence in the house.

She decides to make herself busy. She washes out an empty milk bottle and goes to leave it by the door.

When she opens the door the two policemen are back, only now they’re walking out of the Bennetts’ house.

Her heart sinks. They have Tom in handcuffs.

His eyes meet hers across the road. He doesn’t make a fuss, or try to protest. He hangs his head as they walk him down the street.

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince (comment to be added)

Series taglist: (comment to be added)

[cinnamon-piastri]

Ok another request this time Daniel with (it’s okay to cry)

Also I loved the Alex Albon fic ❤️

Hello! Sorry this has taken a little while lovely but I'm so glad you liked the last one! ❤️ I've decided to incorporate this one with the F1 Christmas theme I'm going for so if you want it again but normal just let me know ☺️

You'll never be alone | Daniel Ricciardo

Danny ric x reader

Warnings: None ❤️

Summary: For the first time you're not going to make it home for the holidays but thankfully you have Daniel by your side

Daniel entered the living room of your apartment with a huge grin upon his face. He gazed at the winter wonderland you had both been working on all day for your first Christmas together, as he saw your figure sat under the soft glow of the tree lights he noticed a quiet sadness in your eyes.

"Baby? What's wrong?" Danny asked you concerned as he noticed you looking down at your phone. He approached you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and a soft reassuring smile.

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes as you shared the weight in your heart. "I'm so sorry babe I just miss my family most during the holidays, it's the first year I won't be able to make it home and it brings back all the memories"

Daniel understood the depth of your emotions more than anyone, thinking back to the year he wasn't allowed to fly back home to his family. You were his saviour through that dark period and he was there to return the favour.

Daniel pulled you into his comforting embrace. "It's okay to cry. But I'm here for you, Christmas is about being with the ones you love and we can create our own memories"

You hugged him tightly as he soothed you, before carrying you into your shared bedroom. "Now you need a nice long bath while I go get you a surprise, don't come out until I get you okay?" He asked before putting you down and placing a kiss on your nose.

"okay baby I love you" you said giving him a quick peck before heading off to your ensuite to run yourself a bath, you slowly climbed in feeling the warmth of the water relax your muscles.

Some time later you had gotten out and was now sat down drying your hair as you saw Daniel enter the room with a huge grin on his face. "Okay it's ready!" He said with an excited chuckle.

You couldn't help but giggle. "Danny what have you been doing for the past hour?" You asked him curiously, wondering what the heck he's been up to.

"Oh you're about to find out" he said as he helped you stand up. "but you've got to close your eyes i want it to be a surprise" he instructed as he held his hands over your eyes and guided you to the living room"

"okay babe" you said with a chuckle as he walked you to the center of the room before lifting his hands away. "Okay open em!" He said really excited as he watched you slowly open your eyes and gaze around the room. Which was now adorned with lots of decorations, the table full of familiar snacks and your favourite Christmas song on the radio.

"Oh Danny, this is amazing" you said with tears in your eyes as you turned to face him. He still had a huge grin on his face "I changed the lights on the tree to those warm white ones you always talked about, but I left the star off cause that was always your job at home, although I'll have to lift you up so you can put it on" he teased with a laugh as he pulled you in for a tight hug.

"I got all your favourite snacks too so we can have them while we watch a Christmas film and bake cookies. I was going to surprise you with all this on Christmas eve but I figured you needed it now. I hope you like it" he said as he planted a soft kiss to your forehead before smiling hopefully at you.

"I love it baby thank you so much, this is the best Christmas present I've ever had" you said with a big smile as you peppered kisses all over his face, hugging him tightly.

He hugged you tighter bringing your head to rest on his chest as he whispered in your ear "you're not alone love you'll never be. old traditions or new ones, we can do them both together and I'm grateful to make new memories with you"

And that's just what you both did, having the best Christmas you've ever had.

[thislovintime]

Remembering David Jones, and sending thoughts to his family and friends.

(Footage in this edit from the Blu-ray set, Getty Images, Australian TV, Extra, the 1990s documentary; audio 1 from Peter's 1999 interview with GOLD 104.5.)

“Genuine, reliable and huggable, Peter is a natural person — really gets off on talent — loves other musicians and can jam along with the best of ‘em. I saw him holding his own with Hendrix, Stills, Young. He encouraged me no end. Bought me my first guitar and my first drum kit. […] He used to walk with a swagger, shining his arms with a confident air. He calmed hysteria, and lifted depression. ‘Dried banana, anybody? Piece of orange?’ — smiling, waving, running his hands through his hair. He knew all the crew by their first names. Kids crying at his feet he lifted and hugged like a father calming a child. […] He’s the most musically talented of us all by a mile. His songs are real. ‘For Pete’s Sake’ — which replaced the Monkees Theme at the end of some of the shows of the second season — is one of my all-time favorite songs by anybody. I’ve joked a lot about Peter giving everything away. But it was true. He was always giving his spare room to someone who needed it for the night — anyone. And he always seemed far away somewhere — in a different space. But I’m glad I know him. Of all the things he gave me, he gave me lots of laughs — and food for thought.” - Davy Jones, They Made A Monkee Out Of Me (1988) “I enjoyed [Micky] the most, respected Mike the most, and loved Davy the most.” - Peter Tork, Hartford Courant, February 26, 1982 “Davy adored performing, and adored meeting and greeting his fans. He was tireless in making himself available to sing a song, do a dance, shake a hand; whatever was asked. I had heart-to-heart moments with him that were among the best in my life. I was blessed to know and work closely with him. He was one in about 6 billion, give or take. We won’t see his like again. He left much too soon. I share your sadness. Thank you again for this chance to contribute. God bless and keep you all.” - Peter Tork in a note for a Pennsylvania memorial event for Davy, also shared via Peter’s official Facebook page, 2012 Peter Tork: “He was a master of many aspects of this kind of thing [entertaining], and, you know, and we had some very wonderful personal connections, and I’m really sad to see all that gone.” Q: “He just seemed to be a fun guy. I know he loved horses.” PT: “Sure did.” Q: “And obviously loved Peter.” PT: “Sure did. Loved him.” - 94.5 FM (Phoenix), 2013 “[Micky] and Mike and I have a very cordial relationship and share a lot of common topics. We go to lunch together when we’re all in town and have a good time. I love and respect each of these guys in their own way, although the real joys that I shared with Davy were special. At one point we had some good hard connections but as the years rolled on, those things faded away. But I am sorry to see Davy go. He was the one member in the group that I had the strongest human connection with. I still have two guys that I love and respect left from the band, but we share a different dynamic.” - Peter Tork, Review Mag, May 27, 2016

[intothegenshinworld]

Me: has all archons

Also me: uses their children and Kazuha (+Barbara as healer)

Man, listening to Xiao and Scara talking is funny, meanwhile Kazuha and Barbara just chillin'

Idk why I'm sending this, just why not :>

Plus it light be a sagau idea? I'm not sure

Hello btw! How was your day? Has something new/good happened? Stay hydrated and don't forget to rest <3

When you first sent this I had a really bad day. Reading the end part made me smile again, so, thank you! Also, I decided to keep it a bit more general otherwise I was stuck with the teamcomp requests XD

"Not using the Archons"

Venti is one with the wind. Wherever the wind blows, he follows.

From Mondstadt all the way to Inazuma and beyond, he watches the traveler save multiple nations.

He's a bit sad you can't take him with you on these adventures, but then again, he would never chain you down with guilt for not taking him.

But that doesn't mean he can't force his way through the code when you pull a single wish on his banner!

"Even one adventure is enough for me! Now, dear Creator, won't you sing me a song from your world?"

Zhongli is content. Content with watching you from afar, and content with the time he has spent with you in the past.

He has lived a long life and he's happy to see more and more vision users get blessed with your presence, even when he himself isn't included.

He'd probably invite the traveler to Liyue and ask them to do more quests for him instead.

That way he can still greet you once every while.

Has tried to send you osmanthus wine as his birthday offering multiple times but each time it seems to get rejected. Do you really prefer flowers nowadays?

"Everything changes, time spares no one, but you still look as radiant as ever, dear Creator."

Ei has been alone for what seems forever now. She wasn't the original electro Archon, so she understands. But still.

She wishes she could talk to you just once.

You could be the only person who understands her pain, the only person she could talk with about the past, the only person she can be weak around.

But that's not how people are blessed.

Only the strongest of the vision users catch your gaze, and thus she'll have to become stronger until one day she can hear your laughter wash away her sorrows.

"It's taken me everything I had to get here. But I won't have to be alone by your side, dear Creator."

Nahida is a dreamer. She has all the knowledge of the world but she still wants to learn how to 'walk' amongst the people as you do.

Whenever she sees a "blessed one" run by, she smiles.

She wonders how you're doing and hopes she can one day ask you herself.

You're registered in Irminsul, but not in the same way as everyone else. A lot of information is missing and the tree of knowledge really makes you seem like a deity that's out of reach for anyone.

Still, Nahida is a dreamer.

And each night she dreams that she'll be blessed.

"Oh? It's you dear Creator! I've been waiting for you for a while now. Please sit, I know a few good stories about Teyvat."

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.

[sunoorintarou]

Catharsis: Polaroids.

Phos!Reader × (Platonic) Gojo Satoru

Warnings: Gojo being himself, Gojo being concerned about the reader, probably the fluffiest part so far, still pretty sad, mentions Phos' defection at the end, brief mentions of Haibara, Riko and Geto.

Notes: The urge to post like 5 parts of this a day😔 I'm tryna pace myself and like post once a day but I already have like 5 more parts done, perhaps I like this idea more than I thought😭 maybe I'll post mini snippets about phos, like a Playlist or smthn to listen to while y'all read, idk, might add songs to certain parts? Expect me to post about Catharsis and Catharsis only for a while tho💀

"Gojo - sensei?"

Gojo turned to face you, seeing your silhouette in his doorway. He almost wondered if this was a dream, pulling up his blindfold to look at you. It had been a good few weeks since you'd approached him, approached anyone for that matter.

"Y/n! My beloved student, it's been so long." He grinned, standing up and running to you comically. You didn't move, letting Gojo wrap his arms around you, forehead against his chest. You didn't hug back either, however.

"Ah, I know this is sudden, but could you do me a favour?" You asked, bashfully.

"Of course! Now, what does my lovely, precious, adorable student need?" Gojo used his animatedness to hide his concern and relief.

"Can- can you go out with me?"

Gojo paused, eyes widening as he pretended to blush, fiddling with his hands and swaying like a school girl.

"B- but, you're my student, that- that isn't allowed." He said shyly, batting his eyelashes at you.

"Not like that! I just want to go to a store." You huffed in annoyance.

This was how you found yourself walking through the crowded streets with Gojo, in search of what you were looking for.

"What are we looking for anyways?" He asked. Although you hadn't noticed, Gojo had been using his cursed technique nonstop since you left Jujutsu Tech. He refused to take any chances.

"You'll see." You sighed. It was winter. The air was cold, and your face was practically buried in your scarf, hands stuffed into your pockets. You hadn't worn your uniform in a long time, settling on sweatshirts or one specific hoodie Yukio had leant you that you never got to return.

Gojo watched you, noticing the little changes in your appearance. You had gained confidence and strength, back straight and head high, the jacket you were wearing looking ever so slightly less oversized than it had before. You were always covered from head to toe, your body composition something you often found embarrassing, not to mention hard to explain to normal people.

Watching your back as you walked in front of him, Gojo really noticed how things had changed. You had never previously walked in front, always settling for standing back and walking in silence next to Megumi.

You were an awkward but energetic kid. Always smiling, always happy, watching out for the group, making sure no one was left behind. You had reminded him of a girl he once knew, one he had failed to protect. And a cheerful boy who used to hang out around Nanami.

Now, however, you reminded him of someone else. Someone who had meant the world to him. His one and only best friend. And he refused to let you walk down the same path as him.

Your eyes lit up when you noticed the shop you were looking for, stopping in front of it. You looked at Gojo for a second, handing him your bag.

"Please wait outside with this, sensei." You said. And with how bright your teal eyes were in that moment, Gojo couldn't say no.

When you left the store, you had a plastic bag, the contents still concealed. You led Gojo across the street, to the park, letting him watch you in curiosity as you began opening the box inside the packet, assembling whatever was inside.

You had your back facing him, feeling embarrassed as you rushed to put what you had bought together. It was going to snow soon, and you had to be quick.

"Sensei! Y/n!" Gojo turned at the voices, eyes widening when he saw his other students returning from a mission.

You finished just in time, holding up your brand new camera and taking a picture of the moment Gojo noticed them. Capturing their smiles and excitement in the first snow.

Although Gojo and the others hadn't realised it, you had built up your resolve. Your fear of forgetting everyone had built up, and now you had found your solution. Even if you did forget their faces, you would never forget the way they made you feel.

Not even a year later, however, Gojo could only question what was going through your mind. Your room was empty and clean. Bed made neatly. And in the centre, was the only part of you they had left, your camera. The memory card was still in it, full of photos of everyone and everything from your team to Shoko and Nanami. Photos of everyone's birthdays, of a cat you had seen that reminded you of Gojo, of Nobara's favorite crepes, Megumi's demon dog, Yuji's disgusted face after he had eaten one of Sukuna's fingers. And a note on a piece of white paper was on top of it, with only the words: Thank you.

[lunarmango]

Playing Back on Radio

Hello hello!

I have had some cool headcanons for Alastor's and his radio! (The one that Vaggie uses to bash Lute's head in, yeah, that one.) I'm not usually that good at putting together a script for drawing comics or anything, though I did attempt it in one of my earlier posts.

This fic will be x Reader but... think of this like a Pilot episode to see if I should continue it!

No warnings for now folks!

Enjoy the ride <3

Word count: 1k

“My name? My name is...” 

Sat down on a plush red velvet sofa next to the fireplace in his room, his ruby eyes flash to the Mahogany Radio sat on his desk, the sunlight reflecting on the glossy surface of it. His brows furrow in thought. That voice... Why was it playing?  

Who was it playing?  

What was their name? 

Where did he know them from? 

Did he know them? 

He sighs, shutting the book he was reading and swiftly standing up to place it next to the radio on his desk. Their voice... it was sweet, in a way almost soothing. He looks over the radio, running his claws on the dial to turn it up, careful not to scratch the finish on it. After all, he doubted any other radios like his existed, even in the fantastical world that is hell. 

“Alastor was it?” 

He sighs, hands on either side of the radio on the mahogany desk, specifically customised to match the radio. Where... He shakes his head.  

Probably nobody important.

He turns on his heels, ready to face the day, his striped wine-red tailcoat dramatically flourishing with his twirl, confident, ready and better than- 

. . .

“I’ve never met anyone like you-

You’re different” 

He looks over his shoulder, his glare shooting daggers at the radio as he scoffs to himself.  

What in the world were they talking about- he always kept a good public image, always kept his work... tidy. No one knew he was-

“I- in a good way that is!” 

Oh, right, how silly to think he might’ve slipped up. He was always far too thorough with his killings. 

Static fills the room as the speech that filled the room came to a stop. Alastor never recalled this person or this memory. What was some random acquaintance doing in his radio? He rolled his eyes and faced back to the door, walking out to continue his day and help at the hotel.  

They’re nobody important. Yeah. Nobody important.

His thoughts wandered. His radio manifested when he developed his powers to an extent. It always played fond memories of his past, it was like a warm hug. Just without the touching, how nice.  

Until now. Not that he considered the memory he heard to be unpleasant. No, no. It just wasn’t as... personal as the rest. Why would some random person interest him of all people after all? It usually emitted memories of his mother, or his favorite songs or radio broadcasts he made. These playthroughs from his little radio were always calming, and one of his only forms of comfort. His best friend, in a way.

Alastor frowns to himself, walking outside to clear his head and think things over, so with a twirl of his cane, and a smug grin to the hotel guests supported by a small nod, he was off.

A radio, an inanimate object, his best friend.

How sad. Is this the cause of loneliness, or just lack of interest in social norms? Hell if I know.

He wondered as he walked through the entrance, internally rolling his eyes at the thought. 

I was thinking of something else. A person... a... Oh yes! 

Alastor walks through the streets with a more tense smile. If people were just going to start randomly intruding in his memories, it was going to be an issue. This could really take a toll on his mental state, more than already. GOD he hates admitting that though. 

He is fine. 

With his radio. 

. . .

The day passes seamlessly nonetheless, running errands for Charlie, as physically taxing as they may be, killing a sinner or two on the way, there’s no way she’d find out, its just letting off a little steam.  

Nothing new. They’ll respawn. They earned damnation and I'll be more than happy to offer their fair share.

Other than that, the day was a little dull, but hey, normal is good. It's safe. It's predictable.

Walking with a huff, he fumbles with the lock of his door, walking inside and closing the door behind him. That injury was taxing. Why was he so tired? But he’s fine, he’s the Radio Demon, one of the most powerful overlords! Always fine, always ready to take on anything- 

“You’re back! I’d recognize that dazzling smile from a mile away!” 

Dazzling smile? Him? His wide grin, his mask, the very thing he works so hard to keep together daily, working overtime as of recent, relaxes as he listens. What convenient timing, he was definitely in need of a pick me up after today.

He walks over to the cabinet to the right of his desk, a small selection of whiskey on the middle glass shelf in lovely crystal bottles that glisten ever so slightly with the dim lighting of his room as he sets a glass on the table, pouring enough for him to warm up, to settle.  

“These flowers? Oh they’re Dhalias! We do have some in red in the back, I’ll return in a moment!” 

It was you?

You.

YOU!

Still stood in front of the shelf, Alastor suddenly rushes to the radio, almost hoping he could remember your face again, crouching so his head is to the level of the radio, staring it down, as if he could see you like this. Your hair... was it long? Short? What eyes... what image to pair with that sweet personality of yours? 

Your name. 

Your name? What was your name? 

Alastor paces around the carpet in the middle of his room, waiting for answers from his radio. As if it could read his mind or something. 

“They make your features stand out...” 

He cringed. Not at you, not at your voice, but the way it made his stomach flutter.

Ugh.

What ridiculous notions. He could never entertain it, he wouldn’t allow himself. He has never had any need for affection, ever, even if it was just verbal.

Was it his wound..? No, that couldn’t affect him mentally.

The liquor..? He didn’t have that much!

He sighs, gathering his thoughts and taking another sip of his whiskey to help make sense of things.

Who are you?

[bellasmumblingsandmusings]

What Could Have Been

Chapter 5: Neither seen nor heard

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 37K total

Status: Ongoing Note: Brief Smutt!

Song for this Chapter: Cloak and Dagger - Eternal Eclipse: Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

After the Jump!

Chapter 5: Neither seen nor heard

"Sima, don’t."

Astarion’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and unwavering, a current of desperate defiance running beneath. He couldn’t allow her to cross this line, not after all they had endured. Guilt churned within him like a storm, but he couldn’t let it overshadow the lengths he’d go for her love.

She needs to understand how much she means to me, he thought. I keep failing her, stumbling over my own wretched instincts. If I can't prove my worth, she’ll never choose me... never choose vampirism. Fool.

"Do not make it seem like I only care about the strength of my domain,” he said. “I would tear this entire city down to get to you. My life is meaningless without you."

Sima's heart ached at his words, love and bitterness swirling within her like a tempest. She wanted to believe him, to let his words soothe her wounds, but the shadows of their past cast long and dark over her trust. Could she trust him again? Could she let him in after all this?

"So you stopped me because you didn’t want me to die? Is that it?” she asked. “Did you think I wasn’t strong enough to do the spell?" Her voice trembled with disbelief, an echo of the pain that lingered between them.

Astarion grasped her chin firmly, pulling her closer until their faces were mere inches apart. His tone was sharp, edged with a restrained fury that vibrated through his words, barely containing the tempest within. How could she not see how much he cared?

"How dare you. How. Dare. You. Your courage and cleverness have carried us through every trial. You are determined, dedicated, resilient—I never once thought you weren’t strong enough. What I feared was that you would sacrifice yourself for me, and I was right. I would never let someone I care about throw their life away."

Sima lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes. The truth in his words was undeniable, but the weight of their shared pain was too great. Was it really worth the pain?

"I have nothing to live for, Astarion. I’ve lost myself. You want this... world-ending love... and I can’t even bear to be touched by anyone."

Her words cleaved through the remnants of his resolve, laying bare the depths of her despair, and Astarion’s heart ached as he witnessed her suffering. The fury that had fueled him slowly ebbed away, replaced by a sorrow that mirrored her own.

"You’ve endured such terrible things. It’s no surprise that you can’t bear to be touched," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress in the silent room.

"I can’t bear to be touched by you... It makes me feel things, awful things," Sima whispered, wincing. The weight of her trauma pressed down on her, a relentless reminder of all she had endured. Every burning touch of his was a cruel reminder of who he’d become.

Shock and sadness flitted across Astarion's face, a canvas of dawning realization. No wonder she recoiled from my touch, he realized. I am part of her trauma.

"What awful things?" he finally asked, his voice low. He feared the answer, but had to know.

"Shame. Regret. Hatred... for you and for me, because you keep saying things that sound like you want to force me into something I’m not physically ready for. Because I feel... tainted? Used? When you talk to me like that?" Her words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, painting a vivid portrait of her inner turmoil.

Gods, Astarion thought, blinking. This is why she pushed me away. I’ve made her feel objectified and diminished. How could I have been so blind? Yet, before he could reply, she went on.

"You think it feels... good to be told that you will be taken? By force? Do you think that makes me feel safe?"

It was then, with her question hanging between them, a chilling reminder of the distance his desires had created, that Astarion finally felt the true impact of her words. His efforts to seduce, to claim her, had only instilled more fear, more isolation. And all this time, he had misconstrued her withdrawal as reluctance, not as the protective shield it was meant to be.

A sour taste settled in his mouth. I’ve been such a fool.

Sima was watching him, he knew. Watching desperately for a sign that he’d finally realized the extent of his actions.

"Why do you think I didn’t want you to tend to my wounds—the wounds you inflicted on me?” she asked softly, hollowly. “Why I flinched. Why I was scared to have you see me naked?"

With every word, Astarion felt the sting of his missteps, his misjudgments echoing back at him. He’d cast blame where he should have offered understanding. He’d seen her strength, her resilience, not as the protective armor it was, but as a challenge to his authority.

He observed her now, her motions deliberate and weary as she turned the faucet again. The sound of rushing water was a temporary respite from their painful discourse.

"It’s gotten cold," she murmured, more to herself than to him, her voice catching on a sniffle. "It’s the only thing that helps sometimes... with the soreness of what happened to me. I don’t even know if it’s my mind or my body that remembers."

Astarion remained silent, his presence a quiet sentinel as he watched her navigate her pain alone, not daring to break the fragile peace that the sound of water offered. The silence between them was a chasm, filled with unspoken words and unhealed wounds. He had to find a way to heal this rift.

"Sometimes I just have to take a bath a day. The... men in Calimport, they really hurt me, and the healer says it’ll be some time before I’m completely alright. So I had to figure out how to take care of myself. Honestly, I would have gone to Shadowheart, but I didn’t want her to know..." Sima’s voice trailed off, and her expression tightened with a quiet, internal pain as she drifted back into the water of the tub.

The tension in Astarion’s jaw was palpable as he processed her words, his fury building at the thought of those who had wronged her. His own role in her continued suffering was becoming painfully clear. He was both her tormentor and her protector. How could he claim to love her when he’d caused so much pain?

"I’m so tired. I didn’t sleep very much in the dungeon last night. I might get some rest after my bath. What will you do?" Her query was almost mechanical, the numbness in her tone painting a stark picture of her exhaustion. I’m so tired of fighting, she thought. Tired of feeling alone.

Astarion’s heart tightened at her weary words. "I will... stay with you. Just in case you need me. I cannot leave you alone," he responded, his voice steady. Every word was laden with an unspoken vow of protection which she could not hear, but that he was desperate to fulfill—a commitment to amend his past wrongs.

As Sima turned to her shampoo, slowly massaging her dark ringlets, the length of her hair flowed down her back like a river of night. Astarion watched, a silent observer to her quiet strength. Each movement, each hum, was a reminder of the enduring spirit he’d fallen in love with. Her resilience was a beacon in their shared turmoil.

"Could you pass me the jasmine oil, please?” she asked. “I assume you have it, because you remember I like it. Do you have some in this bathroom?"

It was a simple request, yet it spoke volumes. He was almost bewildered by it. Simplicity. Trust. Just as it had been, once.

"Yes... I have some." He handed her the bottle, his gaze lingering. Truth be told, he was captivated by the mundane yet profound act of her self-care, a moment of normalcy in their twisted reality. She popped open the cap, and the scent of jasmine enveloped them—a delicate reminder of the sweetness they once shared.

As she hummed softly to herself, working the oil through her curls, a small smile graced her features, and something about it sent a pang through Astarion’s chest. It was different from any expression he had seen on her before. Not the flirtatious, manipulative grins she was accustomed to donning, but one that seemed genuine, untouched by her usual facades. This smile was a glimpse of her true self, a beacon of hope amid the darkness.

He observed her quietly, the steam from the bath casting a soft halo around her. The moment felt delicate, almost sacred, as he watched her cleanse herself, each movement graceful and intentional. I want to memorize this, he thought. I want to hold onto the purity of her smile, but the allure of her presence—her scent, her curves—draws me closer.

Finally, as she rinsed off, Sima turned to him. "Could you turn around? I’m getting out now."

Her request broke the spell. Without hesitation, Astarion turned, closing his eyes to respect her privacy. He stood still, battling the impulse to glance back. More than anything, he wanted to respect her wishes, to prove that he could be trusted. His own restraint surprised him; the desire to look was strong, but his will was stronger. It felt like a test, one he was determined not to fail.

Sima stepped out from the bath, water droplets cascading down her skin like tiny diamonds as she reached for a towel. She wrapped her hair, then dried herself off before slipping into a new silk robe that fell just past her knees.

"I’m decent now," she called out softly, her voice carrying a hint of relief.

Turning to face her, Astarion caught his breath. Even in the modesty of her robe, her presence overwhelmed him. The contours of her body, veiled yet hinted at by the fabric, stirred a deep desire within him. He yearned to close the distance—to envelop her in an embrace. Still, after knowing how much he’d hurt her, he decided to hold back. It wasn’t his place to breach the space she’d guarded so carefully.

Sima, meanwhile, perused the assortment of lotions and perfumes arranged meticulously on the shelf. The array was a testament to luxury—glass jars that caught the light, ceramic containers that promised exotic contents, and bottles of every shape filled with colorful elixirs. Each piece was more than just a vessel; it was a promise of scent and sensation, a collection that turned the air rich with fragrant possibilities. These small indulgences were her way of reclaiming some control, some sense of normalcy.

Reaching for a large glass jar just beyond her grasp, Sima stepped up onto the counter. The action defined the muscles in her legs, a glimpse of strength under the silk. Astarion's gaze was drawn irresistibly to the play of muscles, the subtle reveal of her form beneath the robe that ignited a fire of desire within him.

"Godsdamnit," Sima muttered, her fingertips brushing against the elusive jar.

A quiet chuckle escaped Astarion as he stepped forward, deciding to intervene before her frustration grew. He reached over her, his presence close and warm, and gently placed the jar within her reach. As his fingers lightly brushed against hers, a spark of electricity shot through him.

Sima shot him a look as she tightened her robe. "I almost had it… but thank you," she said, her voice mixed with annoyance and gratitude.

"I saw that. Your efforts were most valiant, darling," Astarion replied, his tone light and teasing.

Rolling her eyes, Sima retreated to the bedroom, the jar of jasmine cream in hand. "You know, you were going to leave me be, remember? Let me have a bit of privacy?"

Astarion followed her into the bedroom without a word. He leaned against the doorframe, not crossing the threshold, watching her sit down. The robe was even more revealing from this angle, and he could see the shape of her thighs beneath it when she sat. His eyes were drawn as if by magnetic force to her curves, and his breath sharpened. Then he looked at her face—it seemed she was not willing to allow things to move forward without protest.

"Honestly… I really would like the privacy of grooming and taking care of myself at the least,” she said. “Don’t you have anything better to do? I don’t know… terrorize a nunnery? Frighten some patriars into signing laws?" Sima hissed at him, her brows pinching together.

"What am I supposed to do? Allow you to sit in there by yourself—to plot some scheme to escape? I hardly think so," he countered.

"I’m literally just… putting cream onto my skin. Not a damn thing more."

Astarion felt his breath quicken with anticipation. His eyes roamed her body, her curves, the way the robe clung to her skin. The robe was so short, just slightly past her knees. He knew that under its confines, she was fully visible from neck to thighs. "Can’t I watch you put it on, at least?"

Frustrated, Sima pulled a dressing visor and wooden privacy screen in front of her, effectively obscuring herself from view. "Astarion, you cannot."

Astarion's breath hitched, his fingers curled into tight fists. The constraint imposed by the semi-opaque curtain between them was maddening—a barrier both physical and metaphorical that challenged his restraint. He inhaled sharply, struggling against the raw impulse to shred the delicate fabric and wood separating them. For now, he abided by her rules, respecting the boundary she had drawn, yet it felt like a silent rebuke. With a deep exhale, he tamed the tempest of his desires, his resolve steeling once more.

Behind the veil, Sima let out a relieved sigh and loosened the front of her robe. She gracefully lifted a leg onto the sofa, the action revealing the smooth, deep caramel canvas of her skin. With deliberate motions, she began to massage the jasmine-scented cream into her flesh and soothed the sore muscles beneath. The ritual was both intimate and healing; her fingers danced over her skin with practiced care. The feeling of peace would have pervaded, if it had not been for the flickers of shadow she saw from below the divider. Astarion’s form cast a shadow across the divide; she could feel his gaze piercing the tenuous protection she had, and every movement she made felt like a covetous caress.

Meanwhile, Astarion's imagination raced, fueled by the shadows and sounds. The barrier did nothing to quell the vivid images that flashed through his mind. He envisioned her movements, the graceful arch of her back, the gentle curve of her hips. Her ass as she worked the cream into her thighs. Her lips as she lifted that cream to her face.

Each imagined detail sharpened his lust and brought vivid recollections of her taste and touch. His heart thundered in his chest as if ready to burst. It also frayed the little control he had gained with the realities she had shared of her own pain. He reprimanded and repulsed himself, and yet the dulcet tones of her peaceful sighs brought him back to moments of their shared pleasure. He closed his eyes, wrestling with the desire to see her, to touch her—to claim her as his own. His body burned with the desire to dip into the velvet of her folds and the wetness he once inspired. His cock hardened and the ache made manifest by the weeping he felt at the tip. Yet, he remained still, a statue of patience, allowing her the privacy she insisted upon.

As she continued, Sima spread the cream across her neck and shoulders, then down to her breasts and even across her perked nipples, her movements fluid and unhurried. The cream disappeared into her skin, leaving a subtle sheen and a fragrance that hinted at hidden depths. She extended the treatment to her legs, her hands caressing her thighs, tracing lines of relaxation and care that she had long denied herself.

The soft sounds of her self-care sent Astarion's senses into overdrive. He imagined the curve of her hips as her hands reached around to soothe her back, the silhouette of her form bending and stretching in quiet grace. He was utterly captivated, entranced not by grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but by the simple act of her caring for herself. This mundane intimacy, so private and personal, stirred a deep longing within him—a yearning not just for her body, but for the quiet moments of solitude she guarded so fiercely.

Finally, as Sima finished her ritual, she covered herself once more, the silk robe sliding over her skin with a whisper. The mere thought that she had just anointed her body, particularly her breasts—the thought alone set his blood aflame. Sima's breasts were one of his favorite parts of her. They were perfect to him, round and full, and the thought that he could simply watch them covered in cream, with the mere shadow of them visible for him to gaze upon, drove him mad. The notion of her, veiled yet vivid in his mind’s eye, was both exquisite agony and exquisite bliss.

Finally, she spoke, her tone weary yet firm. "It can't be like this every day! Astarion, you haven't given me a moment's rest!"

“Sima…” Astarion murmured gently, stark against the tempest swirling inside him. The silhouette of her curves, the fluid grace of her movements, and the fleeting glimpses of her skin he'd caught—each detail conspired to dizzy him with desire. His heart ached with a longing that was almost painful in its intensity. Gods, she was so tempting... and all his.

"I'm serious. If you actually want me to take this... week-long trial period seriously, we need to discuss some boundaries," Sima retorted, her voice echoing a firm resolve. The leering from earlier from his eyes even though she was obscured, left nothing but a feeling of exposed raw skin to her circumstances; the loss of control over her surroundings felt like yet another shackle in the beautiful space.

As her words filtered through the haze of his desire, Astarion felt a sobering chill. He had overstepped, pushed too far—more than once. It was crucial now, more than ever, that she trusted him, that she chose to come to him willingly. He exhaled slowly, his breath a soft sigh in the quiet room.

"You have no idea how tempting you are. But I suppose you are right, we should discuss boundaries."

"Privacy. Privacy for god's sake. How would you feel if someone was following your every move, hmm?" Sima’s voice carried a sharp edge, a clear signal of her distress.

Astarion paused, carefully considering her words. He knew he would be furious in her place. But their circumstances were unique, and she required a different approach.

"I would be annoyed—angry, even. But you are no ordinary woman, my dear," he replied.

"Equals my arse! I'm still a person! Don't you care how uncomfortable I am at this very moment?!" Sima snapped, her frustration radiating from every word. Anger and desperation seemed to burn through her veins, and her breaths felt sharp and shallow in her lungs. She wanted to scream, to throw the cream at him. Anything to take his suffocating gaze off of her body.

But then… his face. It held something possessive, but something else, too. Confusion. The realization hit her like a wave, cold and sudden—he genuinely didn't understand the depth of her discomfort. He had no idea what he was doing to her.

"Of course I care..." Astarion responded softly. For a moment, he wondered if this might be a ploy to unsettle him, or to test his resolve. Then, as he studied her, the voice of reason in his head took over. There was genuine discomfort, both in the tenseness of her posture and the defensive edge of her voice. He was going too far, yet again.

Sima wanted to believe him. The gentleness of his voice was enough to stir some hesitation within her; it had been so very long since he’d really seen her. More than anything, she wanted to trust. But then, deep down, she knew she could not. Getting him to give her even just a touch of basic privacy had been like pulling a tooth. He saw all of this as a game, some twisted form of foreplay. She had to remember that.

"You are a woman of exceptional beauty and grace," he murmured, his tone almost reverent. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. From now on, I promise I shall not watch you as you dress or bathe."

"Thank the gods," Sima exhaled, a measure of relief washing over her features. Again, a flicker of hope stirred within her, only to be quickly snuffed out. It wasn’t enough. All of this time, he hadn’t truly seen her, so why should she trust that he would now? His twisted sense of affection, his inability to see her pain, made her feel more isolated than ever. She needed to find a way out, to escape this suffocating love before it consumed her entirely.

Astarion mustered a smile, trying to infuse it with reassurance. "Anything else, my dear?"

"Could I please be left in peace for today? I'm just going to wander the Palace. You've changed much in a year. Maybe I’ll visit the library... I need time to think. The end of this week, everything. I need to be alone," Sima pressed, her voice laced with a pleading undertone. She needed to find herself again, without his constant presence.

"I..." He began to protest, then halted, considering her request. Perhaps it was indeed for the best that she had some time alone, away from his persistent attempts to sway her. "Of course, my sweet. You have the whole Palace to yourself. Do enjoy yourself," he conceded graciously.

She visibly relaxed, the relentless pressure of his attention easing. "Wonderful. I'm going to get dressed. Alone. Here, in the bedroom. I shall see you at dinner... it is only... 3 PM now, so that's in a few hours," Sima announced.

"That should be perfect. I will be thinking of you, my love. Rest well," Astarion responded before he left the room to retreat to his study. The day had been unexpectedly draining; he was exhausted and struggled to calm his restless thoughts. It took every ounce of his willpower to grant her the space she requested, but now, he needed time to reflect.

Once assured of his departure, Sima leapt into action with a sense of urgency.

First, she enveloped herself in a protective aura, casting Protection from Good and Evil to shield her from any compulsion or charm that might sway her resolve. Her heart pounded, a rhythmic reminder of what was at stake. She would not let him control her, not again.

Next, she swallowed a draught of Mind Fortress, fortifying her mind against any domination spells that could be cast to control her. The liquid burned down her throat, a fierce symbol of her defiance. Her mind was her own, a fortress he would not breach.

Then, she cautiously took out the Sending Stone for Shadowheart. Clutching it tightly, she wrestled with disbelief over her friends' lack of confrontation with Astarion. Could they really perceive this as merely a lovers’ dispute? They seemed utterly oblivious to the grim reality that in just a week, she would face a profound loss of choice in her transformation. She decided it was too premature to act—more time was needed to devise a foolproof plan. The weight of impending doom pressed down on her, every second ticking down like a bomb.

Meanwhile, Astarion was besieged by a tumult of emotions—frustration, desire, doubt, and concern gnawing at him. His study, once a sanctuary of arcane knowledge, now felt like a lavish iron maiden. Her words haunted him. Had he been too forceful? He clenched his fists, knuckles white with the effort to maintain control. He was determined to win her heart, and he set his mind on crafting a grand romantic gesture: a feat to capture her affection once and for all. He had to show her his love, to make her understand how much she meant to him.

In the guest room, Sima found a gown that seemed crafted for espionage—a deep violet silk, embroidered with golden filigree that whispered of royal secrets and shadows. The dress clung to her form, emphasizing her silhouette while allowing room to move, a perfect blend of elegance and utility. If she was to escape, she must do so with grace and cunning.

Adorned thus, she ventured forth, her stride a silent dance through the palace corridors. The air itself seemed electrified as she moved, Astarion's omnipresent aura pressing against her like a heavy velvet drape. Despite her defenses, a warmth tinged her cheeks, his unseen gaze almost tangible against her skin. Every step felt like walking a tightrope, the weight of his presence a constant reminder of the danger she was in.

Her path wound through the palace—a chessboard of light and shadow. She first entered the opulent dining room, its white marble walls stark against deep purple drapes and golden sconces. The plush velvet chairs stood like sentinels around the pale mahogany table, and through arched windows draped in white, the expansive grounds beckoned. An oil painting of a stern-eyed man watched over the room, his gaze seeming to pierce through time and space, adding a chill to the air. Every corner of this place felt like a prison, and each step, a gamble with fate.

She glided past, her movements fluid, barely disturbing the air as she entered the expansive solarium. Here, stone paths led to an arching marble gateway, framed by lush greenery in ornate pots and a symphony of frogs and goldfish providing a deceptive serenade of peace. The thick black carpet underfoot guided her steps towards the looming arch. She needed to find a way out, a safe path that would lead her to freedom.

Finally, Sima explored a lavish study, its walls lined with bookcases and a large dark mahogany desk at its heart. Comfortable seating was arranged for quiet contemplation, and a long wall of glass doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked the extensive Palace grounds and beyond to the sprawling city of Baldur's Gate. Here, in the quiet solitude of the study, Sima paused, allowing the weight of her impending decisions to settle as she considered her next move. Failure was not an option. This was her only chance.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Sima's gaze swept across the landscape with the precision of a hawk. Every detail mattered; this was no innocent tour.

The outer courtyard below offered no quarter, its walls formidable and the guards' eyes sharp. Turning away, her gaze caught another possibility—a nearby balcony with a trellis dressed in vines and flowers, a potential secret passage veiled in nature's own disguise. There it was—her way out.

She noted the large stone stairs arching down to the courtyard where the trellis awaited her possible descent. Though direct, the path was exposed—a gambit that required timing and shadow to succeed. Timing was everything; she couldn't afford a single mistake.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of fire and night, Sima calculated her window of opportunity. With nightfall imminent and the palace soon to be swallowed by shadows, the conditions were aligning for her escape. Two hours. That was all she had.

Dinner awaited in four hours; dusk would cloak her movements in two. Deciding against the library, she returned to her quarters. Beneath her regal attire, she donned leathers, sleek and close-fitting—a second skin that whispered of stealth and speed. Her boots, understated yet functional, complemented her attire without drawing attention. She secreted a bag of holding into her bodice, preparing for any eventuality. She had to be ready for anything.

As twilight embraced the palace, Sima traversed its halls once more, every sense attuned to the pulse of the place—each footfall, each shadow cast by the dying light. And when the world outside had dimmed to just whispers of what it once was, she returned to the balcony. This was it. Her only chance.

As the veil of night deepened, Sima felt the pulsing silence of the palace settle around her like a thick cloak. The stillness was palpable, interrupted only by the methodical steps of an elderly elven footman securing each door until dawn. His rounds echoed through the corridors, a reminder of the tightening noose of security. In the shrouded dimness, only the moon offered a faint luminescence, casting ghostly shadows that danced along the palace walls. She couldn't hesitate now. One wrong move and it would be over.

Seizing the moment, she whispered an incantation, cloaking herself in the veil of Greater Invisibility. With her form unseen, she descended the stone steps gracefully, navigating towards a secluded balcony overlooking an inner courtyard, where a lush trellis draped heavily with vines and flowers beckoned to her from across a wooden archway. This botanical ladder could be her escape or her end—it all hinged on her next moves. One step at a time. Just breathe, she instructed herself.

As she reached the base of the trellis, Sima paused, her breath misting in the cool air. Her invisibility shielded her from prying eyes, and the world around her seemed to hold its breath. The courtyard was a canvas of shadows and silhouettes, each one concealing potential dangers and promises. This was her moment. She could do this.

Meanwhile, Astarion was ensconced in the sanctuary of his study, the flickering candlelight casting deep shadows across his brooding features. The pages of an ancient tome lay open before him, whispering arcane secrets into the heavy air. A goblet of wine sat untouched, its contents dark as blood. The silence that once comforted him now gnawed at his nerves, an oppressive force that grew with each passing moment. Something was wrong. His intuition flared—a silent alarm that something was amiss.

Sensing the void where Sima usually resided, Astarion's foreboding tightened his chest. Rising swiftly, he commanded the ambient light to brighten, chasing away some of the shadows that clung to the corners of the room. He strode from his study, his steps a silent echo on the plush carpet as he began a systematic search of the palace. She wouldn't dare try to escape... would she?

He moved like a shadow through the hallways, his presence barely a whisper. The common areas offered no sign of her; the guest rooms, when checked, revealed nothing but the lingering scent of absence. With each empty room, his frustration mounted, a storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Where are you, Sima? he thought.

His search grew frantic as he swept through the kitchens, the storerooms, even the sacred quiet of the library—each space as devoid of her presence as the last. A simmering anger began to seethe within him, the sharp reality of her disappearance slicing through him like a blade. She can't escape me. She is mine.

In a fit of rage, he grabbed a decorative vase and hurled it across the room, the shattering of porcelain echoing his internal turmoil. A nearby mirror caught his reflection, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and desperation. With a swift motion, he shattered the mirror with his fist, the glass splintering into a thousand shards. He would not let her slip through his fingers.

High above the ground, Sima began her precarious ascent. The trellis creaked softly under her weight, the vines sturdy yet reminding her of the danger with every slight movement. Her hands gripped the wooden frame, her body pressed close to the foliage as she climbed towards freedom. Just a little more. Almost there.

As Sima straddled the ancient wall, ready to descend into the embrace of the city, the cold stone beneath her contrasted sharply with the potential warmth of freedom that beckoned just beyond. Below, the silhouette of Astarion’s dark figure emerged. He stood stark against the courtyard, a predator on the brink of action, facing the unwelcome dawn of her absence with a menacing resolve. She's trying to leave me, he thought, half-crazed with rage. She will regret this.

Reaching the pinnacle of the wall, Sima's eyes swept over Baldur’s Gate. Below her, the Temple District loomed, its clustered spires and sacred edifices etched starkly against the night sky, a sanctified haven set amidst the bustling expanse of the city. From this height, the entire Upper City unfolded like a map under the stars, the silent buildings calling to her with secrets of freedom and peril. So close. She could almost taste it.

As the night air stirred her hair, the distant murmur of voices rose from below, blending with the sound of the sea lapping at the city's edges. It was a quiet, peaceful view, deceptively serene, belying the tension of her precarious situation. This was it. Now or never.

Surveying her escape route, Sima scanned the landscape for a viable descent. Though hard to discern in the dim light, several shadow-drenched spots promised a safe landing. It seemed straightforward enough—if she could just reach a darkened corner, the city's labyrinthine streets would offer shelter and anonymity. She had to make it. She couldn't stay here.

Glancing back, Sima's heart pounded as she spotted Astarion at the base of the trellis. His attention was riveted on the discarded dress, and his expression darkened—a mixture of confusion and dawning clarity playing across his features. His gaze then lifted, scanning the trellis with a sharp intensity. The moonlight cast his face in stark relief, highlighting the grim set of his jaw and the fierce determination in his eyes as he tried to pierce the veil of her invisibility. He was looking for her. She had to move now.

At that moment, Sima leapt. Mid-air, she cast Feather Fall, her spell shattering the cloak of invisibility in a cascade of ethereal sparks. The magic softened her descent, allowing her to drift towards the cobbled freedom of the streets below. Please, let this work, she thought.

Astarion's head whipped around at the sound of the spell, his sharp eyes catching the briefest glimpse of Sima's form before she vanished into the night. A surge of urgency propelled him forward. He was not just a jilted lover or a watchful guardian now; he was a hunter in his own right, his every sense sharpened by the chase. She wouldn’t get away. Not this time.

With predatory swiftness, he surged forward, his silhouette a menacing blur against the moonlit stones of the courtyard. Sima hit the ground running, her leathers melding with the darkness as she dashed through the Upper City. The cobblestones echoed beneath her frantic steps, each sound a drumbeat in her nocturnal symphony of escape. The city unfolded around her in a whirl of shadows and starlight, every alley and avenue a potential refuge or trap. Keep going, she thought dizzily. Don't stop.

In her wake, Astarion burst from the palace grounds, driven by a potent mix of determination and looming dread. He knew the streets she might take, the paths she could choose, but catching her was no longer merely a matter of tracking—it had become a desperate race through the night and against the haunting specter of losing her forever. I can't lose her, he thought. Not again.

As Sima dissolved into the winding maze of Baldur’s Gate, the horizon remained cloaked in the deep embrace of night—a forewarning of a fate she might have eluded had she remained captive. Above, the stars held their vigil, casting a faint glow on her path. This was no mere escape; it was a defiance against a lover transformed into a tormentor, a stand against a destiny that sought to erase her very soul.

Racing through the shadow-strewn streets, her heart thrummed with a mix of terror and exhilaration. Every fleeting shadow might be her undoing. Yet, Sima pressed forward, tearing herself from the oppressive clutches of the palace, fueled by a fierce determination to wrest back her life from the dark fates conspiring to chain it.

She was free. She wouldn't let him take her again.