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makeyoumine69 · 2 days ago

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Delirium

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: During the wedding night, you suddenly ask Bruce to try for the baby because you've been thinking about it for a long time.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, smutty fluff, body worship, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, breeding kink, mild size kink, trying for a baby, true love, established relationships, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, marking, possessive behavior, biting, belly bulge, slightly Insecure!Reader, Husband!Bruce Wayne.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 4.3k

𝐀/𝐍: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne, I hope you like it!💕

The night was young in Gotham City, a million stars shone in the sky like tiny shards of glass, the white sleek yacht bobbed peacefully on the waves, anchored in the harbor waiting for its owners. Mr. Wayne and the newly married Mrs. Wayne were on their way to the harbor after the fancy wedding at the most prestigious restaurant in town, but the name of the restaurant had already slipped off your mind—you were too nervous about the upcoming wedding night and the little surprise you had prepared for your husband.

As the black limousine pulled up to the gates of the private section of Gotham Harbor, you tensed a bit—the echoes of the wedding party still vivid in your mind—and hugged yourself, sensing the soft material of your white fur coat, and looked out the car window in a feeble attempt to distract yourself. You'd never been this nervous before, and you couldn't really understand why, since you and Bruce were in love, and this marriage was the most genuine thing possible. At least you hoped it was, and so did he.

"Are you ready?" The man asked you briefly, turning to look at you and placing his hand on your knee, carefully running his fingers over the smooth fabric of your fabulous wedding dress. "Believe me, you're going to love it, honey."

You knew he was right—you would like it, of course, you would. But perhaps you were still unable to believe that the world around you was real, including Bruce as your husband.

Smiling a little shyly, you craned your neck to meet his intense gaze, his warm, big palm still caressing your leg, but not really going too far.

"Yes, I'm ready," you finally replied, putting your hand on top of his, and that little touch caused him to take your small hand in his and press a tender kiss against your soft skin. "It's just," your voice fell lower with a hint of uncertainty. "I've imagined all of this so many times…"

"Hey," your husband cut you off and cupped your face, forcing you to look directly into his mesmerizing eyes. "You don't have to imagine anymore. Everything is real and we're living this moment together," his lips curled into the boyish smile that always left you disarmed, his palm stroking your cheek with unadulterated tenderness. "Just let it go and I'll take care of the rest."

How this man always managed to be so charming, always choosing the right words to make you feel better, more relaxed. In those moments, you really believed that soul mates existed and that the two of you were definitely the most real soulmates ever—that unspoken understanding, that invisible line that connected the two of you, that was the strongest emotional bond— you could just reach out and press your hand against his strong chest and feel his heart beating so fast just for you.

And most importantly, it was all real.

Without saying a word, you leaned in to peck his perfectly shaved cheek before the two of you bent your heads to press your foreheads together in a moment of absolute delirium. Bruce held your hand, fingers intertwined like your souls. Entranced, you cuddled up to his massive frame and brushed your fingertips across his tuxedo, which was as dark as the night sky.

A little later, you reluctantly pulled away from each other as everyone on the yacht waited for you, including the captain and crew, who were probably already worried about the delay. Charming as ever, your husband offered you his hand as you stepped out of the limousine, and without hesitation, the man lifted you up to carry you, bridal style, all the way to the yacht. Even when you stepped on the ladder, Bruce never thought of letting go of you, holding you close to his chest like the most precious treasure he had.

Although it was not your first time on the yacht, you were amazed by its size and the luxury that surrounded you like the ocean around the yacht. It even made you feel a little uncomfortable. At one point you wanted to tell Bruce to slow down a bit and give you a second of respite, but one of the crew members, dressed in a perfect white naval uniform, was steering you somewhere deep inside the exquisite interior of the yacht. The long hallway you were walking through was lit by small chandeliers inscribed with diamonds, the finely made carpet underneath muffled the footsteps, making them almost inaudible. As you paused at the dark wooden door, something heavy dropped into your gut.

God, why couldn't you just stop being so nervous already?

"Your suit, sir," the young Marine replied, gesturing to the door in front of you. "If you need anything, let us know on the intercom."

"Thank you," Bruce nodded and the man turned on his heels before leaving. "Are you cold, sweetheart? You're shivering."

"No, it's okay, I just didn't expect everything to be so…"

"Extravagant? Does it bother you?" He asked, pushing the wooden door aside to carry you into the room.

Hugging his neck, you took in the surroundings, immersed in the opulence of the high-tech design and expensive furniture that screamed luxury. "'It doesn't," you murmured after a pause, still astonished by the unnatural atmosphere. "You just didn't tell me we were staying here."

Smirking, he just chuckled in response and strolled across the room to place you on the king-sized bed, which was covered in red rose petals—a clichéd but romantic choice.

"I hope it's not a problem," the man remarked, helping you to take off your fur coat. "I want some privacy," Bruce tossed your clothes onto the nearest armchair before taking off his own coat and then his wedding tuxedo, casually loosening the black bowtie. "A place where no one can bother us."

Leaning back on the bed, you watched him pull up his sleeves after undoing the gold cuffs and placing them on the small nightstand with a slight thud, and you could tell the man was a little nervous, too, though he tried to hide it.

"You never told me you had a yacht," you chirped teasingly, getting up from the bed to approach him standing next to the small portable bar. Bruce was rummaging through its contents, looking for a particular drink. "What other secrets do you have, Mr. Wayne?"

As soon as you reached him, you wrapped your arms around him and snuggled up against his broad back, the white shirt clinging so tightly to his muscular body, outlining his buff physique in the most delicious way.

Bruce's throaty laugh rumbled from his chest as he caught your hands and cocked his head to the side so he could see your playful eyes. "Why are you such a tease?" The man gave you a provocative grin, his smoldering gaze gliding over your beautiful face, paying special attention to your pretty lips. "I have no secrets, you know that. I'm like an open book to you," he slowly spun around to capture you in his embrace, lifting your chin to kiss it gently at first, but as soon as he heard your muffled gasp, his mouth was already busy leaving a wet hickey on the sensitive skin of your neck. "My love for you couldn't be more transparent."

"Bruce," you whispered his name in a slightly hoarse voice as your throat suddenly felt so dry. "Could you please wait for me here? I have a surprise for you."

Confused, he stopped in his tracks and lifted his dark eyes to you, his breathing already erratic and labored. "A surprise?"

You nodded and carefully removed his clinging arms from your supple figure. "But first you have to help me with this," you smiled mischievously and turned around so that he could see the ropes on the top of your voluminous wedding dress. "Uh, I think I forgot how to breathe normally in this dress."

Your husband frowned but didn't ask any questions, his hands tracing the curve of your back with undisguised admiration before he began to carefully undo the tight ribbons that together formed an intricate ornament. Rope after rope, more of your skin was exposed for his touch to feel, for his lips to caress, for his eyes to indulge, but as soon as the last lace was undone and the tight corset squeezing your chest was about to slip down, you caught it with both hands.

"Wait," you giggled at the tickling sensation as he kissed your shoulder blade, cupping your breasts and pressing you closer to him so you could feel how much he wanted you. "Bruce, please, I just need a few minutes."

With a low groan of frustration, the man finally released you and stepped back, leaning against the wall and catching air with his half-parted lips. "I hope you'll be really quick," Bruce declared, taking the bottle of some top-notch whiskey. "I can't make any promises regarding my patience."

Embarrassed and excited at the same time, you still held the wedding dress close to your almost naked body as you quickly rushed to the bed to pick up your purse, which was made of a fine cloth woven with gold threads. Bruce followed your every move with his attentive gaze until you disappeared behind the door in the small adjoining bathroom.

Once you were alone, you rested against the cold marble wall, breathing fast and feeling uneasy. There wasn't much time, as you didn't want to keep your husband waiting, so you quickly opened the faucet and looked at your reflection in the oval mirror framed in white gold, trying to regain some composure. The gurgling sound of the water seemed to drown out all the whispering voices in your head, which was your fear talking—a fear of being rejected and denied in your suggestions of… trying for a baby.

You let out a shaky sigh and closed your eyes for a second. Maybe tonight was not the best time for such offers, but the symbolism and romantic vibes of the wedding night were too appealing to drop the whole idea. But what if Bruce would not be happy? The mere thought of such a scenario sent cold shivers down your spine and made you claw at the porcelain surface of the sink. Sometimes it could be so hard to deal with your inner insecurities, because your mind could be easily manipulated by fear, making the worst outcomes seem like they had already happened.

Anxiously, you grabbed the purse with your shaky hands to open it, and then carefully took out a small package with something weighty inside—the pearls Bruce had given you the day he proposed, the family heirloom. As soon as you placed the elegant jewelry in your open palm, you couldn't take your eyes off it for a while, regretting that you never really allowed yourself to wear it, thinking that you couldn't accept such an expensive gift. After all, you loved this man not for his money, but for his personality and his big heart full of kindness not only for you, but for all mankind.

Somehow, such thoughts helped you to relax a bit and finally focus on the main goal of why you were here. In one smooth motion, you let the wedding dress slide down your petite frame until it was wrinkled at your feet, and as you stepped out of it, you looked into the mirror to see your naked body, and the only thing left was the pair of white lace panties. Without a second thought, you took them off as well, leaving only the white high-heeled shoes on. Then you carefully put the pearl necklace around your neck, taking a little extra time to fasten it, but in the end, the result was worth it. Running a finger along the smooth surface of the pearls, you smiled at your reflection, feeling good and confident about everything you had planned for tonight—your beloved husband would love it.

By the time you left the small bathroom, which looked as if you were the first person to ever use it, Bruce was lying on the bed, leaning against the headboard with one hand folded under his head. The dark-haired man didn't even hear you coming when you appeared in the doorway—completely naked except for the necklace and the pair of shoes. It was a miracle he didn't spill his drink all over himself and the bed, but you could tell he was having such a hard time keeping his composure because his eyes were now as dark as two black holes.

"Darling," Bruce only managed to say one word under his breath, obviously confused because he definitely hadn't expected anything like this. "I'm at a loss for words," he pushed himself off the headboard and stood up to put the glass on the bedside table without even looking at it, his eyes glued to your naked form. "'Cause there are no words to describe your beauty."

You walked towards him with a mischievous grin and he did the same. Bruce's face became more and more agitated, he even had to tug on his collar as he was literally suffocating, and the second there was no distance left between the two of you, the man knelt before you to hug your hips and bury his face in the warmth of your body.

"Mhmm," you closed your eyes and traced your fingers through his tangled hair, gently massaging his scalp. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

His hot breath scorched your bare skin, making you shiver and if he didn't hold you, you could easily fall. Intoxicated by your sweet scent, Bruce rubbed against your mound, peppering the area around it with little pecks as he began his ascent to your belly, then higher to the hollow between your breasts, and when he finally cupped them, you couldn't hold back your moans.

"A-ahh…Bruce," you leaned on his shoulders, clutching them almost desperately, wrinkling his shirt, smelling his cologne as it wafted around you like a hazy mist; your legs were about to give way from the intoxicating sensation of his tongue toying with one of your hard nipples. "Please…touch me…there…again."

Nuzzling your perfectly shaped breasts, the brown-haired man looked up at your slightly embarrassed face, the way you fluttered your big eyelashes so innocently sent tingles down his lower body and coaxed his dick to throb in his tailor-made pants. But all of that was nothing compared to your sweet little plea to be touched.

Without any hesitation, Bruce crouched down again and planted a lingering kiss on your pubic bone before he spread your legs a bit wider so he could get a taste of your already dripping pussy, and the second his hot tongue ran along your folds, you threw your head back, barely able to balance yourself on your feet with the last strength you had left.

"Like this?" He managed to ask between kisses, licks, little bites along your swollen lower lips. "You taste so good, Princess."

Tipsy from your taste, Bruce easily draped your leg over his shoulder to get better access to your blushing slit as he lapped at it like a starved man, giving everything he had for your pleasure. Whimpering and trembling in his hands, you looked down to see his blissful face bathed in red, his fingers digging into the soft mounds of your hips, holding you open for him.

"Ugh… Aaah…Bruce," you had to bite your lower lip from the tight knot that was swelling in your core, and with every flick of his tongue you were getting closer and closer to exploding like a pack of fireworks. "So good…please…keep going…mmmfffp!"

Your loud scream echoed off the walls of the opulent bedroom suit as Bruce stuffed your oozing cleft with two fingers at once, skyrocketing your pleasure at making you feel so full, stretched and overstimulated as he continued to slurp between your legs, sucking your throbbing clit from time to time in the most tantalizing way possible.

"Shit…oh shit," your voice cracked every time Bruce curled his long digits inside you to rub his finger pads against the spongy spot that was like a moth to the flame. "I'm almost there…ahh…please…"

You were about to gnaw at your hand when a million invisible tingles pierced through your nerve endings, setting them ablaze, and just when you thought you were going to faint and your heart was going to jump out of your chest, Bruce suddenly picked you up and threw you on the bed. In an instant, he was back between your legs, holding them apart and using everything he had on you: his teeth, his lips, his fingers, his tongue. Anything that would help him complete his mission to turn you into nothing but a wet, whimpering mess.

"Let it go, darling," the man husked, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, his digits buried knuckle deep in your soaped pussy once more. "Show me how much you love it."

And how could you refuse this man when he was so determined in every move he made?

Your orgasm washed over you in an awesome wave that forced every little part of your body to contract, your soft inner walls clenching mercilessly around his fingers as the man kept pumping you until the very last aftershock hit your body. As you wrinkled the white sheets, you saw stars dancing in front of your eyes as you looked up at the ceiling above you, your chest rising and falling so quickly that you even found it difficult to breathe—the level of pleasure was so immense that you had to put a hand to your head as a clear sign of how overwhelmed you were. And so was Bruce, but unlike you, he was still locked and loaded, his dick so hard it hurt, but he didn't want to rush things by fucking you right away. Instead, the man reveled in the sight of your post-climax body, your pussy covered in your flavor just like his face and his fingers, and he didn't forbid himself to take a moment and clean every last ounce of your cum.

Breathing heavily, Bruce straightened up to take a proper look at you—still shaking and unable to speak. "If you could see what I see right now," he murmured, hovering over you, taking both of your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head. "So vulnerable," he nipped at your neck, using his other hand to practically sever his bowtie and several of the top buttons on his shirt. "So wet and hot…and completely at my mercy."

"Yes," you almost screamed the word, writhing beneath his heavy muscles, but not really trying to free yourself from his trap. " All of this... is for you."

"Say it again." Bruce demanded, and the next moment you heard him unzip his pants, your wrists still locked together and nailed to the mattress. "Tell me you're mine. Only mine."

Unable to maintain the intense visual contact, you closed your eyes and instinctively bent your legs, spreading them wider as you felt his hot length pressed against your dripping slit while he smeared your wetness around it, teasing your clit with barely perceptible rubs of his swollen tip against it.

Panting, you arched your back into his touch, wanting to feel more of him. "I'm all yours… only yours!"

Hesitant, Bruce wanted to say something more, but then he noticed the shining necklace around your neck—the realization hit him like a freight train. How could he have noticed it only now? The man must have been blinded by your beauty, unable to notice anything else. He outlined the roundness of one of the pearls and took a moment to contemplate, memories of your relationships flashing before his eyes as if he watched a documentary based on your lives.

"You finally wore them," he whispered against your mouth, loosening his grip on your wrists to stroke your warm cheek, the weight of his sturdy body still pressing against you like a heavy blanket. "They fit you more than you can imagine."

You smiled, barely holding back the itching tears that suddenly formed in the corners of your eyes. "Bruce," you hugged his shoulders faster than you could actually think, holding them as if they were the only anchor to reality. “I love you,” you watched him closing his eyes and leaning closer to brush his nose against yours and his hips were moving in their own momentum to keep you reeled up. "I love you so much, please, I want you, I need you!"

Those words, laced with such desperation and longing, were the last straw and Bruce couldn't resist the urge to own you here and now. Not anymore. Briefly licking his lips, the man leaned down to capture your mouth in a sloppy, almost brutal kiss, then placed a hand next to your head to lean on it, shifting his weight as he unceremoniously pulled down his pants, groaning as his dick grinded against your folds, your pelvis, the underside of your delicious hips.

"Fuck, you're literally perfection," he suddenly blurted out, giving himself several quick strokes before aligning his thick cock with your worn-out opening. "My perfection," Bruce thrust into you in one smooth motion, keeping one of your legs stretched to the side for the really deep penetration. "My wife…arghh…my love."

The bed began to crack beneath your bodies, your moans, his grunts, and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh mingled in a bawdy cacophony of pure lust. There were no barriers, just raw passion that you both experienced, you looped your legs around his lower back, sinking your nails into his skin as you sought some semblance of support in his shoulders from how hard he was fucking you. And that could only mean that Bruce had really lost control, that you had managed to push him beyond his limits, but as if that was not enough you rested both of your hands on his firm ass just to grope it with all your might.

Inflamed to the point of no return, he placed himself straight on his knees, lifting you up a bit to change the angle to hit all the hidden spots inside you as he wanted to feel you squeeze his dick in unbridled pleasure; the sight of your bouncing breasts only added to the depravity of the current situation, forcing him to grit his teeth as he felt himself on the brink of falling apart.

"Mmmh-Bruce ," you gripped his toned hips, unable to open your tear-filled eyes. "Put a baby inside me…please!"

Knitting his prominent eyebrows and slightly shocked by your sudden offer, the man did not stop pounding into you, literally impaling your body onto his beefy cock with pure abandon, as if you were going to die tomorrow. But the idea of breeding you, holy shit, could be something even hotter than that? The image of you carrying his child almost pushed him over the edge and he had to slow down a bit, leaning on the fist he was pressing against the bed.

"Do you… do you really want this?" Your husband asked in a gruff voice, wiping the sweat from his tense forehead.

Gulping, you looked up at him through your heavy lidded eyes before you took his large hand into your smaller one to press it against your abdomen. "I want you to fill me with your seed… until I am s-so full of it," you stammered as you felt the outline of his cock poking into your lower body, Bruce pressing his palm harder against your skin, feeling the same. "Until you get me pregnant with your kids."

"How can I say no to my dear wife… when she asks me so nicely?" Bruce replied through clenched teeth, literally doing his best not to cum right here and now. "Uh, pregnancy will suit you so beautifully, my darling."

Having said that, the man quickly pulled out of your pliable body to change positions, so that you were now standing on your knees and elbows, hugging the big pillow to muffle your screams as he began to fuck you from behind, grabbing your hair as he rammed himself into you without restraint. A white veil covered his vision as he was about to lose himself in this debauchery, in the way your ass jiggled, in the way you arched your back, in the way you moaned his name. Not to mention your pussy clinging to him like a vice, ready to milk him to the last drop. For a moment, Bruce didn't even realize that he was also moaning from the overwhelming pleasure, his hips snapping against yours as hard as he could, longing to bury himself as deep as he could. As soon as he felt the burning tension at the base of his spine, he leaned over you to literally bite into the wet mark he had left on your neck moments before, sneaking his hand between your legs to rub your feverish clit, and as your second orgasm crashed over your system, he was finally able to let himself go, shooting thick spurts of his fertile seed into you until it began to flow down your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets.

Bruce was only able to find some peace after he had claimed you in the most primal way. It was such a strange feeling of tranquility, but somehow it turned out to be what he had been looking for all this time—the knowledge that the woman he loved more than anyone in the world would now carry his legacy. One day the world would be saved and he could spend the rest of his life with his family by his side, and that was something he was truly willing to fight for until his last breath.

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xoxojisu · 2 days ago

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thinking abt justfriends!megumi...

justfriends!megumi who carries hair ties on his wrists because you always get pouty when you forget them

justfriends!megumi who has only you pinned on his messages

justfriends!megumi who is always there if you are. you're like a package deal!

justfriends!megumi who knows all of your preferences. he knows your favorite artist, meal, snack, drink, color, flower, movie, show, everything. one time, when someone asked you what songs you'd been listening to lately and you said you didn't know, he answered for you (and you were shocked at the accuracy.) he knows you better than you know yourself. (and himself, to be honest.)

justfriends!megumi who has a movie night with you every week, sometimes more if you ask. its become a routine for you to fall asleep on his shoulder halfway through the movie.

justfriends!megumi who you cuddle with too often to just be friends. its not uncommon for you two to be cuddling during a movie, because you had a bad day, or just because.

justfriends!megumi who could never say no to you. he'll always grumble just a tad, but he would never even dream of saying no to you.

justfriends!megumi who has girls who want him left and right, but never accepts any of their feelings. when you ask why, he just ruffles your hair and tells you that "it's nothing."

justfriends!megumi who has lent you his clothes multiple times. he pretends his heart doesnt skip a beat when he sees you practically drowning in his hoodie or t-shirt.

justfriends!megumi who LOVES the way you smell. whenever he's close enough, (which is too often for just friends) he always inhales your sweet perfume. he sprayed it on his hoodie one time when you were on a really long away mission and missed you (he'd DIE before he confessed to that one)

justfriends!megumi who you're always unnaturally close to. like, there could be plenty of space to spread out, but you two are always hip-to-hip.

justfriends!megumi who has cried in front of you once. it might not sound like much, seeing as you cry on his shoulder all the time, but he has literally never let anyone else see him cry. he feels so safe with you <3

justfriends!megumi who listens to you so intently. he'll always tune out itadori, kugisaki, gojo, maki, panda, anyone, but he never does that to you. he listens and remembers everything you say.

justfriends!megumi who had to bite back a frown when he had to tell a shocked itadori and kugisaki that no, you two were not dating, and yes, you two were just friends.

justfriends!megumi who thinks as you fall asleep on his chest in his hoodie on his bed that he really should ask you not to be "just friends" with him soon.

#justfriends!megumi #i will love you forever #you will always be famous #i love the “just friends” but absolutely not trope #guys #what is this crazy streak im on #ik its not like fic writing but still #can we appreciate this pls #actually the funny thing is that i never wrote for jjk on heartsoji #this is crazy #its the megumi effect #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro fluff #megumi fluff #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #fushiguro megumi x reader

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yandere-daydreams · 11 hours ago

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exhibit #1 - dacryphilia

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!alhaitham x reader (genshin).

length: 2.0k.

warnings: non/con, student + teacher, rough oral sex, wildly unbalanced power dynamics, academic stress, degradation, mild infantalization, and forced helplessness.

The worst part was – it really wasn’t that easy to make you cry.

Before enrolling in Alhaitham’s class, you could only remember it happening twice. Once in adolescence, when hearing that your adoptive guardian had lost his life during an encounter with a group of thieves, and later on, after you failed your first attempt at the Akademiya’s entrance exam with a score so low, it could be expressed in single digits. It wasn’t that you were the stoic type – no, you and Alhaitham had nothing in common, let alone your dispositions. You just preferred to express yourself in more productive ways. Something so irrational, so hysterical, didn’t come naturally to you, and it never had before. You just didn’t cry.

Hence why it was all the more frustrating to be seated in front of Alhaitham’s desk for the fifth time in as many classes, fighting back tears. Your latest paper, an analysis of mythological tropes shared between the ancient folklore of Sumeru’s desert and forest regions, sat in front of you, drowned in red ink and creased from careless handling. You were sure his notes were thoroughly scathing, but so much as thinking about trying to read over them left tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a fresh sob rising into your throat. It was humiliating. It was pathetic. Children cried over bad grades, not adults. Not you.

If Alhaitham noticed your distress, he kept his concerns to himself. His narrowed gaze remained centered loosely on the book in his right hand, the pointer finger of his left tapping idly against the tabletop. “I’m sure you understand why I can’t accept this,” he started, disinterest thick in his tone. You might’ve found some amount of comfort in his boredom, if it hadn’t been so degrading. “The Akademiya holds certain standards of quality for its students, and the work you’ve submitted is—” A measured beat, a shift to his inclination. “—less than. The orthodox course of action would be supervised revisions, but given the severity of the corrections needed, starting from scratch seems more advisable.”

You tried to control your breathing – five seconds in, five seconds out. The tactic was mildly effective until Alhaitham glanced up from his book and, rather jarringly, you processed he expected you to answer. “…I understand,” you managed, keeping the tremors in your voice down to a slight, nearly imperceptible shake. “But—”

Alhaitham cut in. “But?”

Your chest started to ache, and you realized you’d stopped breathing entirely. “It’s just—I do have other courses this semester, and the amount of time I’ve dedicated to your rewrites—It’s starting to affect my other classwork.” And your social life, and your psyche, and your physical health. You couldn’t remember you’d fallen asleep without a quill in your hand. “I’m sorry, but if there’s any way I could get any amount of credit for what I’ve already done, that would—”

“That would be letting personal circumstance circumvent academic merit.” The knot lodged in the base of your throat tightened. You balled your fists in your lap and counted to ten. “To give you any amount of credit, the work you’ve submitted would have to be worth any amount of credit. Unfortunately, it isn’t.” His gaze shifted to you. “Is that clear?”

You opened your mouth, but it was too late. The dam was busted, the pillar split, and despite your best efforts, the totality of your despair came crashing down around you. You tried to set your jaw, to shut your eyes, but the sobs escaped regardless – tiny and whimpered, fractured by unsteady breathing and your own failure to choke them back. The tears were almost worse, more pathetic, more childish – staining your cheeks and dripping down your chin, spotting the collar of your uniform. You pawed at your face with your sleeves, but that only drew more attention to your instability. If you’d had any less pride, you might’ve fled his office entirely, but the only thing worse than breaking down in front of your professor would’ve been breaking down in front of your peers. You couldn’t take their coddling attempts at kindness, their cooed assurances that Alhaitham really wasn’t that demanding, not after you knew what he was expecting. You couldn’t make yourself seem anymore hopeless than you already were.

Alhaitham, at least, had the decency to keep his mouth shut. He watched on in silence before sighing, setting his book down, and pushing himself to his feet.

He rounded the desk with no great sense of urgency. You were sobbing into your hands when he came to a stop next to your seat, and for one brief, horrifying moment, you thought he might actually attempt to comfort you. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, though, his voice remaining painfully neutral as he spoke. “You need to pass my class, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.” It was a required credit, and you’d missed the unenrollment period. Trying to back out now would be nearly, if not flatly, impossible. “I’d do—”

“Anything, I know. Save put the bare minimum amount of thought into your assignments, apparently.” You felt him reach down, raking his fingers through your hair. “And you mean that? Anything I’d ask of you?”

Had you been a little more lucid, a little less sleep deprived, you might’ve noticed the cloying note to his last question, the uncharacteristic warmth to his touch as his hand slipped from your scalp to your check, a thumb idly brushing away your tears. But, you were distraught beyond the point of reason, and the last of your energy had been spent on a paper he hadn’t deemed worth his time, and it was all you could do to nod into his hand.

Alhaitham, practical as always, wasted no time. “Get on your knees.”

…

Where there might’ve been shock, there was only dull dread. You’d heard about things like this before – tutors holding study materials over the heads of desperate lower-classmen, department head leveraging funding against the morals of insecure young scholars. Of course, you’d always assumed you would never fall into something so obviously depraved, and of course, you sniffled pathetically as you lowered yourself to the floor, collapsing onto your knees in front of Alhaitham. He let his hand drift to the back of your head, its weight settling against your scalp. You tried not to think about why he might want to hold onto you.

He took the initiative, mercifully. You were still biting back pitchy little cries as he shrugged his pants low on his hips, taking his cock in his free hand. Horrifyingly, he was already stiff. You couldn’t tell which had gotten him hard – the idea of the act itself, or the opportunity to exploit a student.

Alhaitham pumped his fist over his length, tightening his grip as he reached the flushed head. His eyes never left you. “Do you know what you’re doing, or will you need remedial courses in this subject, too?”

You pursed your lips. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

You weren’t looking forward to this, but having to keep talking to him suddenly seemed like the worse of two evils. You managed to swallow back the last of your tears as you leaned forward, awkwardly replacing his hand with your own. He carded his fingers through your hair as you took his tip past your lips, letting it sit on your tongue. The taste was earthy and bitter, with something more acidic playing just underneath. In another context, it might not have been entirely unpleasant, but right now, it only made you want to wretch.

Shutting your eyes, you soldiered on. Guiding him into the hollow of your cheek would’ve been easier, but Alhaitham was quick to correct you – jerking your head upright as soon as it started to lull to the side. He held you in place as he bucked his hips, the head of his cock bumping against the back of your throat as the girth of his shaft forced your jaw open. You gagged around him, but if Alhaitham cared, it would’ve been impossible to know. There was an airy grunt, then a click of his tongue – a teacher correcting their pupil’s latest mistake. “Breathe through your nose. If you pass out, we’ll only have to start over.”

The bastard. The heartless, sadistic bastard. Your hands shot to his legs as he thrust himself deeper into you; manually nodding your head in time with his languid strokes. You would’ve been better off going limp, letting him do what he needed to and ending this that much sooner, but something primal and contrarian in the darkest depths of your mind spurred you to try and keep up, to bob, to dig your nails into his thighs and stop your throat from seizing around him. The pressure was the worst part – all force, no relief, the gnawing awareness that you were losing air paired with the alien weight of something occupying a part of you that was meant to be vacant. The tears were back in an instant, leaking from the corners of your eyes, joining your spit where it was starting to spill out at the corners of your lips, and Alhaitham groaned, twitching against the inside of your throat.

“This doesn’t mean you won’t need regular tutoring sessions.” His grip tightened, blunt nails biting into your scalp. You whined in pain as he pressed your nose to his stomach, holding you there for a second, then another before jerking your back. “Home visits should prove to be the most effective. You’ll come to me, of course. The student accommodations are too public – it’ll distract you.”

You started to shake your head, but Alhaitham held you still, keeping you concentrated on his cock. By now, his pace was steady, his face flushed, his cock battering its shape into your throat. Tasting him wasn’t an option, anymore. It seemed to coat your tongue, drip down your throat, slather itself over every part of you it could infect. You cried out around his cock, and Alhaitham cursed, his hips stuttering against your mouth. “You’ll come to me, every day, and I’ll—fuck, I’ll—”

Suddenly, violently, he pushed you away and pulled out of your mouth. His hand made it to his cock in time to pump once, twice before your black-rimmed vision was spotted with white, before thick ropes of something hot and terrible were being painted over your face. It was all you could do to blink, to stare, to wonder why he was still looking at you with that awful, frigid intensity. You wished he would look away. You wished you’d never taken his fucking class at all.

You opened your mouth to say as much, but something thick dripped off of your upper lip and onto your tongue. Numbly, you let the bitter, corrosive taste wash over you, and then, you broke down.

What little pride you had left wasn’t worth salvaging, anymore. You sobbed and shook unabashedly, wailing like a child as his cum cooled on your skin. Alhaitham made a passing effort to hush you before kneeling to your height and taking you in his arms. With no strain whatsoever, he carried you back to his seat and fell into it, keeping you bundled against his chest. “You’ll come to me, every day, and I’ll make sure you’re not thinking about anything beyond you and I,” he finished. “That way, you’ll only have to remember what I tell you to.”

Alhaitham paused, sighed. “That is, if the General Mahamatra doesn’t decide to expel you from the Akademiya altogether. Trying to seduce an instructor is a very serious offense. You won’t need to worry about studying after word spreads.”

Rather than draw back, you melted into him, burying your face in his shoulder. For the first time that you could recall, Alhaitham let out a breath of a laugh, holding you that much closer. His lips pressed into your temple – the imitation of a kiss. “But that’s not surprising, is it?”

If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought you felt him smile.

“You were always going to need someone more capable to take of you.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham x reader

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dreamingatnights · 1 day ago

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Absolutely amazing analysis and i believe everything you said is absolutely right. The self hatred couldn't be more in your face here and yet you can see how desperate Bill tries to deny it.

A person's refusal for self growth can turn people into true villainy.

With that said I'd like to add as well it might be possible stanley could also represent all the others of bill's species who outcast him, rejected him, humiliated him and didn't see the third dimension like he did.

Stanley is the "less talented gifted" of the brothers, the more "dumb brute" who isn't exceptional like Bill himself or stanford are, hes the boring normal citizen who can't see beyond, the same who once rejected Bill in his original world. Now this is just from Bill's pov ofc, and i think it wouldn't be too far of a stretch for him to see everyone who aren't outcasts as unworthy (a way of coping against his own rejection and feelings of unworthiness and shame), and Stanley in particular, one of those who were not supposed to be of brilliant minds, was the one who managed to beat him. There cant be any bigger insult to Bill than seeing one like his old bullies (and by extent someone like stanley) beat him and not only that but succeed and be loved by everyone else. Im sure that would hit right in Bill's insecurities, where he had lied to himself in a desperate attempt to console his own rejection, where he had convinced himself bullies and idiots and normal people "like stanley", these same people who never understood him, who hurt him and rejected him, to be right. If his old bullies were right, this means "Bill cipher is forever doomed to remain alone" and is probably one of his deepest insecurities, even though he lies to himself about it. And throughout the show, we are constantly faced with this duality, between people who are different but gifted in unique ways, feeling left out, but completing themselves with someone else who accepts them for who they are and on the surface might seem like your everyday man but are actually just as unique. Bill never had that other person to complete him. Or if he did, he refused to self grow and introspect, like we see both Stanford and Dipper do when confronted against their siblings.

Stanley succeeding and beating Bill, is a direct stab to Bill's old rejection from his peers, basically forcing him to acknowledge that all his lies are well... Lies. And he cant acknowledge that.

I think as a result Bill copes by throwing all of his self hatred against Stanley. The fact that stanley always was a disappointment compared to his brother in his family might have made Bill mix his own feelings into projecting into Stanley as well. Its all very complex i think and pretty mixed up in his head lol. I believe the quote "even his lies are lies" comes from the fact that Bill constantly lies and manipulates others, but also lies to himself all the time, and thus the lies he tells others are built upon lies he tells himself.

Bill Cipher Vs. Self-Hatred

Howdy y'all! Today I just wanted to go over some thoughts I had over everybody's favorite triangle that may or may not have occurred to some of you already. Naturally this will contain Book of Bill Spoilers.

To start off our little essay I thought it would be important to first sum up my thoughts on one of Bill's more complicated relationships: Stanford

Now we've all seen his dynamic with Stanford plenty of times in the show but with recent information coming from both the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com more light has been shed on the subject from both Bill's perspective and Ford's.

There's more than meets the eye when it comes to dissecting Bill's interactions and thoughts on Stanford, with the ever enlightening "EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES" making theorists scratch their heads. Within the Book of Bill are these codes and their meanings: hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg

eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv

The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob

Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly

As well as:

Finding out that both Stanford and Bill have a genetic mutation that made them Black Sheep suggests the possibility that Bill saw a kinship within Stanford. After all, he did make the offer for Stanford to join him. No doubt being able to sympathize with Stanford's situation yet misreading his motivations, causing the rift in their once savable relationship once Bill's lies were uncovered.

Now I'll admit it was others who came up with this theory in particular, especially when drawing comparisons of how Stanford was treated and how Bill allegedly was for having a strange eye. Stanford, in some form of other, might represent how Bill was before he saw the destruction of his world by his hands. A mere outcast looking for his place in the world. To be believed rather than ridiculed or "fixed".

Self-Hatred

And now we get to the Bill we all know today:

The chaos loving and nightmare inducing three-sided maniac, who may be hiding more insecurities than he ever let on in the show, thanks to the Theraprism.

Someone far more traumatized

Who's had to convince himself to fully be the bastard he is today

But if the theory that Bill had a type of kinship with Stanford thanks to their mutations was true, then wouldn't it be possible that his relationship with someone else might represent the inner struggle with himself?

For you see, the original title of this post was...

Bill Cipher Vs. Stanley Pines

As my own theory is that Stanley Pines is what Bill decided to project his self-hatred on. Nobody can doubt that the two have similar qualities, yet as I read the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom I couldn't help but notice the absolute malice that Bill has for Stanley whenever he's mentioned.

There have been many opponents before that have strived to take Bill down. Whether that was the Shaman, the Anti-Cipher Society, or Time Baby, none of his interactions with them have appeared as vitriol as compared to Stanley.

Not even Stanford has this same reaction, who, by really no contest, was the closest to ever defeating Cipher by himself. Both with the gun that he near successfully killed Bill with and the secret of the barrier of Gravity Falls he refused to give up. Bill didn't even have a real interaction with Stanley until the last episode.

Yet it isn't Stanford that causes Bill to break while he's in the Theraprism. It's Stanley.

"-A resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness!"

"Self-pitying"

"Stupid"

"Smug"

"Hack Jokes"

"UNWORTHY"

Now it could be just me, but those are a lot of specific insults to fling somebody's way that you've barely interacted with. Especially if Bill credits the Twin Swap to Stanford entirely as opposed to allowing Stanley the credit.

"STEP RIGHT UP, it's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they’re ALL YOURS for the low low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! ITS SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES!"

“SHAME:TM - IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!”

This out-of-character hatred doesn't come from the fact that Bill thought Stanley wasn't worthy, it comes from the fact that Bill sees himself in Stan. Who by all means is a lying and conniving screw up. Somebody who let his family down.

This could possibly be proven by the poem Bill had wrote about Stanley:

The whole poem suits my point but I decided to highlight the sections that caught my eye specifically. That when you put into consideration Bill's clear trauma and regret about the Euclidian Massacre, his own words can clearly be flipped back on him.

That he sees himself as a curse and a mistake. A self-made monster. Someone who's left the past behind when the loss of his home is still on his mind.

And what truly gets under Bill's skin about Stanley Pines?

"He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame"

Stanley got back what Bill can't.

#Gravity Falls #Book of Bill #Stanley pines #Stanford pines #Bill cipher

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eclipixels · 3 days ago

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Qué Delicia

Character: Sae Itoshi x reader

Content: Dancing at 3 A.M. to a song with Sae in the kitchen

[1,000 words]

You wake up to an empty bed, your heart thudding in your chest. The sheets are cool, and the familiar warmth of Sae's presence is nowhere to be found. Your mind immediately starts to spiral, did you do something wrong? Did he leave? Your thoughts race, fueled by past experiences that left you scarred and afraid to trust. The silence in the room feels suffocating as you sit up, the fear tightening around your chest.

Sae knows you, knows how your past weighs on you, and yet, he never comments on it. He never pushes you. He simply... waits. Patient, understanding, even when you pull away. But right now, the absence of his calming presence is too much. Your mind convinces you that maybe you’ve ruined something beautiful, that maybe you’ve pushed him away without even realizing it.

You throw the blankets off yourself, your body trembling slightly as you make your way to the door. The hallway is quiet. The house feels empty, like the space between the walls is holding its breath. You’re about to call out for him when you hear the soft clinking of dishes from the kitchen.

Relief washes over you, though it’s tinged with embarrassment. You realize how foolish your thoughts were, he hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s just... in the kitchen. Yet, the weight of your emotions still lingers, a mixture of gratitude and guilt. You’re afraid sometimes, afraid of the love you feel for him because of what you've endured before, but Sae never rushes you, never makes you feel like your fears are anything more than a part of you.

You cautiously approach him, your feet dragging slightly as you take slow, measured steps. Sae seems lost in thought, his gaze distant, as if he's somewhere far away. The kitchen feels smaller now, your thoughts racing again, but you quiet them as best you can. Slowly, you sit next to him, the space between you seeming to shrink with each passing second.

You rest your head gently on his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, something earthy and comforting. The tension in your chest starts to loosen, but there’s still a quiet flutter of uncertainty, like a bird unsure if it’s allowed to fly. Sae doesn’t move at first, his hand still hovering over the mug in front of him, but then you feel the soft hum of a tune. It’s slow, simple, almost like a lullaby, and it vibrates in his chest.

his hands reaching out to gently cup your face.

“Why are you up?” He kisses your forehead.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You admit, your voice soft like warm wax.

His arm, without a word, reaches around you. He pulls you closer, lifting you gently up onto the counter, his movements calm, steady, as if he’s done this a thousand times. You almost feel like you're floating in the quiet of the moment, the world outside fading away. Sae’s hands slide to your waist, and his rhythm begins to match the humming. You feel it in the subtle shift of his body, the way he moves without hesitation, as if the two of you have always been in sync.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of you, dancing softly in the kitchen. His movements are deliberate and gentle, guiding you without rushing, never forcing. The music between you is silent, but it speaks louder than anything else in that moment. You sway with him, your body falling into his rhythm, heart beating a little faster with every step you take together.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the knot in your chest loosens completely. The world beyond doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except the warmth of Sae’s hands around you, his steady presence, and the way you two move together, no longer just a space between you, but something tangible and real. Something safe.

As the song in your heart continues to play, you feel the rhythm of your emotions start to align with his, a perfect dance of understanding and connection. Sae doesn’t speak, but the way his hand presses against your back, pulling you closer as you sway, tells you everything. No matter the doubts you hold, no matter the past that lingers, here, in this moment, you are exactly where you’re meant to be. And he is, too.

His lips kissed away any and all doubts you had, cleansing the darkness in your mind. You didn’t even realize the kind of man Sae became for you, or who he allowed himself to be around you. You didn’t know how much you’ve helped him.

During his time in Spain, Sae immersed himself in the language and culture, picking up bits and pieces along the way. Hispanic music was everywhere, creating an atmosphere he couldn't help but absorb. It played constantly, especially in bars, where couples would dance close together whenever the familiar tunes filled the air. One particular song, which he had heard many times, seemed to always set the perfect romantic mood.

He always imagined you with him whenever the song would come on. The way your cute smile lit up his heart, and how your delicate features seemed to soften when he cupped your face in his hands, those little moments made his heart race. He couldn’t get enough of you, of every little detail that made you uniquely, wonderfully you.

“You’re so delightful.” Sae whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from you. How dare you? How dare you look so beautiful? And you’re all his, he didn’t understand how he was given only a lifetime to cherish you because no amount of time could ever be enough.

#sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #bllk sae #sae x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #bllk #blue lock #Itoshi sae #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n

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jsooly · 3 days ago

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death in the family (6) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, you finally get to the bottom of what eywa was trying to show you. she didn't tell you it'd try to kill you.

!! LINKS ARE INCLUDED FOR REFERENCE! i used these to help visualize so i wanted to include them to help you guys too <3

this is a loooooooong chapter enjoy !

(1) / . . . / (10) / (11*) / (12*- ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

when did you move from your bed?

the ground cradled you. your figure imprinted into the pillowy dirt and the blades of grass brushed delicately along your cheek, like the great mother's herself was beside you peppering butterfly kisses on your skin. it figured that she was the only one able to lull your restless soul into slumber.

blinking awake, you felt abnormally light. like gravity had been lowered significantly. like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't muster any worry for the state of your family or the dangers that threatened them.

you smiled, squinting as the sun peeked through the holes in the canopy. this is nice. you breathed the fresh air deeply, your lungs expanding slowly. this is nice.

then you focused on the tree before you. the tree of souls, standing proud in all its glory, was calling to you. whispers unheard yet drawing you in all the same.

you cocked your head to the side, thinking this has never happened before. you've visited the tree of souls on more than one occasion, and every time it stood listless.

you pushed yourself off the ground and walked closer.

with each step, the atmosphere grew darker. the only thing constant was the thrumming neon blue and lavender lighting of the tree's long weeping leaves. you stumbled onto the hill it was rooted in, falling through the curtains of neural links and—

listen.

you squinted towards the apex of the tree, overwhelmed by the glittering lighting beating its way through your pupils. huh? the voice you heard was warped, indescribable in terms of tone or pitch, neither coming from your right or left, it was just... there.

follow me and listen.

when did it become nighttime? your bones were growing heavy. a low groan tapered its way off your lips, your head teetering on the edge of dizziness once again. you curled into yourself as the whispers intensified into a crowd's roar—

your eyes flew open. you didn't dare to move. seeds of eywa covered your body, surrounding you in a halo of cool lighting. you could feel their presence along the fat of your thigh, back, stomach... they were everywhere. the one beside your cheek caressed you with its tentacles.

your body felt tired. you remained completely still, trying to hold on to the bliss you felt moments ago in your vision. but here the walls were painted grey and your mattress was stiff.

your eyes darted back to the closest woodsprite, the message echoing in your mind. follow me.

"what are you trying to tell me?" you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep. "to follow you?"

its movement was almost imperceptible.

"fine." you closed your eyes one last time.

at your confirmation, the sprites lifted into the air, floating out the window. one remained, patiently waiting for you to complete your morning routine and grab your tools. you climbed out the window behind it.

the grass was frigid under the soles of your feet as you strolled behind the sprite. your head was still pounding uncomfortably from your psychedelic vision.

you wandered along a familiar route towards the tree of souls. it was sunken into a crater of its own, the bedrock around it hollowing out to give it space to grow. some sprites fluttered past you, descending to take their place back at the epicenter of the great mother's presence.

"okay, here we are." you said, your tone exasperated. the sprite stood still, like an NPC character stuck at the end of its script. without any further instructions, you elected to climb down the cliff towards the tree.

you landed gracefully on the rocky terrain, despite the morning dew making it a bit slippery. the sprite was following you now, it seemed, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

how do you communicate with something you can't connect with? this question has been part of your life since forever and has extended past just the people. forget the language, there was an unspoken energy around you that you weren't built to harness.

though this situation was making you reconsider that fact.

"you brought me here." you hummed, extending your arm to let the bright rods brush over it. "what do you want to show me?"

you weren't completely serious as you spoke into the crisp morning air. if your thoughts were out there, maybe something other than silence would respond to you.

you stood there expectantly for a few minutes. if you didn't get any answers for eywa's confusing persistence, at least you could soothe yourself before you attempted to switch spider's mask.

you sighed, giving your ethereal companion a sheepish look. "i'm sorry, i just don't understand."

you stepped past it, your mind already plotting how far you were from spider's location.

then a cool wind passed over you. your eyes fell to the ground, watching a large shadow zip along.

weird.

you crouched low to the ground, scurrying to the cliff wall and pressing your back tightly to the surface. when you finally looked up, you felt the blood drain from your face.

ikran don't often hang around rocky terrain, not this low to the ground anyway, much less slotsyal. stormgliders.

your eyes snapped to eywa's sprites. they were all buzzing with life, zipping through the air more excitedly than usual. your companion floated under your hand, lifting it up and up and up until you were pointing at the apex predator.

"are you crazy?" you whispered urgently, pulling your hand back and looking at it incredulously. "no, no. i am turning the other way, thank you." you muttered, turning towards the wall and feeling for a good ledge to start your climb.

the sprite brushed along your face, making you splutter and step back out of the shade of the cliff wall. others surrounded you, drifting off and illuminating a path towards the animal.

you glared at all of them. "this is what you want from me? what am i gonna do, make friends with it?"

they floated there, steadfast in their instructions.

you gave it a look. "i will die if i get close. eaten! that's your big plan for me, great mother? really?"

you knew it was her doing. stormgliders never hunt this low to the ground, and they are never around the forest. similar to toruk, they cruise at super high altitudes and only ever descend when they're hungry.

this guy was descending, and you hated to think you were the food.

but if this was eywa's plan, you were a fool to turn away.

you gripped your bow, stringing it expertly as you gave one last glance at the sprites. "i'm listening as you've asked of me." you grumbled stubbornly, like a child complaining to their parent. "but if i die, that's on you."

"are you some kind of... freak?" aonung smirked down at kiri, his entourage chuckling behind him.

"he asked if you are a freak." one echoed.

"...no." kiri answered dismissively, walking away. they followed behind her, circling her like vultures.

"are you sure? you're not even real na'vi. look at these hands." aonung continued, swiping at her wrist to prove his point. she pulled back, her eyes narrowed. "i mean, look at them!" he laughed, grabbing her hands and turning them over, as if inspecting something grotesque.

kiri yanked her hands away, her glare sharp as her heart pounded with anger. the sounds of aonung's friends' laughter erupting behind her.

"hey!" lo'ak sauntered up, his expression hardened. he was already pissed off. "back off, fish lips."

"oh, another four fingered freak." aonung teased, a low laugh following as his friends began to pull on lo'ak's tail.

"leave us alone!" kiri pleaded, her voice laced with frustration.

she didn't have to say anything further—neteyam stormed into the scene, grabbing aonung's shoulder and ripping him away from his little brother.

"you heard what she said." neteyam threatened, his voice menacingly calm for the irritation he was feeling inside. "leave them alone."

"ah, big brother comin—"

aonung slapped the back of his hand to his friend, shutting him up without breaking eye contact with neteyam. his mind calculated the risks of stepping toe-to-toe with the foreigner, scanning for weakness.

"no, you're wrong," aonung corrected his friend with a smug look. "he is no big brother. he is the little brother to a demon. a human they've left behind because they are ashamed."

lo'ak lurched forward with an angry growl.

"lo'ak." neteyam snapped and the boy froze, pacing behind the older sully.

"you're gonna let them talk about her like that?"

"aww," aonung cooed, condescension dripping from his tongue. "they say birds flock together. i see the same idea extends to half-blooded demon freaks such as yourself."

neteyam gave lo'ak one more warning look before returning his attention to the metkayina kids. "my family is of no concern to you."

"yes, they are." aonung shot back. "we don't want your contamination. i would respect you, sully, if you didn't bow your head to the human you call your elder sibling."

neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. aonung had no idea who he was insulting.

"you speak as if you know her. as if you understand what she is." his voice, when it finally came, was low and precise.

he took a slow step forward. "this demon you speak of is our sister, out protector. she bled for us before she had even grew into her own strength. that alone makes her more of a man than you are." his golden eyes burned with something lethal. "we all know she isn't made for this world. that doesn't mean the planet itself hasn't accepted her as she is. she belongs here just like we do."

it made aonung hesitate for a second.

"you would not be standing if she was here. she would've knocked you into the sand without hesitation." neteyam continued, his fists tightening. " but she is not here. i am. and if you bother my family again, i won't think twice about following her example."

aonung paused. then, he raised his hands, that stupid smirk on his lips as he stepped back in surrender.

"smart choice." neteyam hummed, satisfied as he leaned back. "and from now on, i need you to respect my sister." he jabbed a finger in kiri's direction.

one of aonung's friends hissed. kiri responded by sticking out her tongue.

"let's go." neteyam ordered, patting lo'ak's head as he stormed past him.

"bye bye!" one friend sang mockingly, laughing as they turned away.

lo'ak's eyes rolled as he slowed to a stop.

"lo'ak." neteyam warned.

"i got this." lo'ak sweetly reassured him as he walked back to the group. he smiled as he approached them. "i know this hand is funny. but it can do something really cool. watch."

aonung made the mistake of humoring him.

at this point, your brain was tired screaming DANGER! the warning bells were going off, and you weren't listening.

the wind underneath the stormglider's wings rustled the leaves and vines of the trees below it. you were currently running for your life.

i knew this was a bad idea i knew this was a bad idea

you squeezed your eyes shut, yelling out in exertion. running in a near constant sprint for almost half an hour straight was not on your agenda today. your arms pumped at your sides, carrying you farther with every step.

the only logical conclusion to eywa's... gift was that you needed to bond with the stormglider. or escape it? but then why would she bring you and light the path towards it?

you were hesitant to accept the message she was clearly sending your way. how? you wanted to yell. how am i going to bond with this gigantic creature?

though juvenile, this slotsyal was much larger than a fully mature ikran. their wingspan was massive, and their barbed tail swinging behind them was the nail in the coffin.

the stormglider thrashed its great wings, carrying it higher and higher in the air.

your heart dropped. that only meant it was rearing to dive down and strike. its venomous tail was too much for the armored fauna of pandora to handle. one touch and you were a goner.

exactly as you predicted, you heard the piercing whistle as the stormglider dived.

holy shit. your mind was in overdrive. every thought occupied your attention for less than a second. a primal need to survive filled your veins and in the next moment you were moving on autopilot—

a screech echoed along the tree trunks as if broke through the canopy. you gripped the weighted lasso tighter, racing out of its line of sight. you scrambled up a tree, leaping down onto its head and slinging the lasso around its beak.

it landed on the ground, tumbling onto its side, wailing as it clumsily flailed its wings to regain balance.

that was the good thing about large animals. the bigger they were, the harder they fell. their size didn't leave much room for agility. get the jump on them and you're already halfway there.

you laughed to yourself as it struggled against your hold. "that's right," you grinned, peering into its eyes. it's pupils dilated upon seeing you. "you're mine."

in a burst of energy, it raised its head, catapulting you into the air. you grunted, gripping onto the lasso that was still binding its beak.

oh great mother, this better be what you intended.

it shot back into the air and it was a miracle you were able to hold on. the vertical ascent allowed you to flatten onto its head. you wrapped your legs around it's neck and clung to the long fin in the middle of its skull.

there was nothing much you could do but hold on your life until it burned out again.

it warbled in pain and you perked up. hurt?

now that it wasn't actively trying to kill you, you noticed that it lacked a neural queue. you knew stormgliders were solo agents, but almost all big animals had a queue. was this one defective? perhaps a mutation down the line?

in an instant, it dropped from the sky, crashing onto the top of a mountain. you were thrown off its head, bouncing on the hard ground with an oof as you teetered off the cliff's edge.

a white hot flash of panic flashed through your body as you clung to the lasso. you pulled yourself up, but you were surprised when the stormglider started to tug you back to safety as well.

you panted heavily, the spike of activity finally registering in your body. you winced. it was painful to stand up.

you stumbled over to the fallen stormglider. it was restless, whining as it slumped over on its side.

"you just had to make it hard for me, huh." you groaned, huffing as you assessed its state. "i guess great mother threw us both for a loop."

as the nausea died down, your vision cleared and you saw it. a clean cut through a portion of its underbelly.

you pursed your lips, already rifling through your kit for supplies to mend it. you walked back to its head, stroking your hand down its side and staring into its blue eyes.

"if i take this off, promise you won't try to eat me?" you proposed. it blinked. you sighed wondering if you were unwrapping your killer or new companion.

you got to work on patching him up. a light drizzle rained down on top of you, but it was a welcome sensation after the heat of the moment.

opposed to the tough top exterior of the slotsyal, its belly was soft and easily patched up by your tools. after plastering some gauze over the wound, you gently pat its ribs before returning to its head.

"truce?" you sighed and sat crisscross beside him.

his beady eyes locked onto you before he nudged your thigh with its snout. you accommodated him, petting the curve of its head gently.

truce.

the pieces were falling into place. since you moved to high camp, you realized how important ikran were in forest na'vi culture. only together can they reach the heights the terrain has to offer. you couldn't visit your family via the helicopters, and now you had your own mount to get there.

you've got to hand it to eywa. she may be mysterious in her ways but she does hear her children's cries and dries their tears.

the light rain subsided as the sun poked out through the clouds.

"huh." you hummed as a rainbow bent its way through the sky. "katir." (rainbow.)

lo'ak fucked around and unfortunately, found out.

if it wasn't clear that the metkayina kids were praying on his downfall, it was now.

joke's on them, he thought bitterly. cuz i've got a new friend.

he was having the best time with payakan—the best few hours of his life since moving to awa'atlu.

his laughter echoed across the open waters, tapering off when he saw a large shadow pass over him.

he looked up, covering his eyes with his hands as he tried to make out what was circling above them.

mom? he thought in a panic. oh shit.

then he saw the glint of a tail. he stood there dumbly. wait, ikran don't have pointed tails, do they..?

"lo'ak?!" you screamed above the wind.

"y/n?" his eyes widened.

"katir, no!" you pulled on the your new stormglider friends' ears wrapped around your entire arm, similar to the reins of a horse. "not food!"

with a screech, katir's wings extended. the sharp drop was reduced to a clumsy glide down, the gusts of wind knocking lo'ak off his feet. katir swerved, turning around and landing on a nearby rock. he churred as he shook his wings of the saltwater, bending his head to let you drop onto the ground.

"y/n!" lo'ak's grin was so wide it hurt his cheeks but he couldn't stop. he slid onto payakan's front fin, signing please, over there!

he arrived as you were chewing katir out.

"if this is gonna work, we've gotta set some ground rules." you scolded him. he huffed and turning his head away from you. "hey, i'm talking to you."

"y/n!" lo'ak screamed in delight, jumping onto the rock and promptly slipping. "wha—what are you doing here?! how are you here?"

you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to safety. you didn't stop there and pulled him into your arms. he hugged you back readily.

"this is katir," you grinned, walking over to your new friend and patting his head.

lo'ak blinked in disbelief. "i—how?"

"divine intervention." you shrugged. "i don't exactly know either. i had a vision, and eywa's seeds lured me to the area where this guy was lurking around. long story short, we tried to kill each other then reached an understanding."

"bonded?"

you shook your head. "no. he doesn't have a neural queue."

"just like you." lo'ak scrunched his face. "weird."

you hadn't thought of it that way.

"anyway," he shook his head, his beaming smile returning. "this is so crazy! i can't believe you're really here! wait until i tell—"

"wait." you gripped his arms. "you can't tell anyone else. not yet, anyway. i don't fully understand the implications of showing up here."

"what does it matter?" lo'ak scoffed. "we're fine. dad said you could join us anyways."

"when you're settled."

"we are!"

"are you?" you narrowed your eyes. "why are you out here alone?"

lo'ak's jaw snapped shut, his eyes drifting to the side. a look that told you all that you need to know.

"do you wanna talk about it?" you smiled kindly, sitting on the wet rock. he sighed and dropped down beside you.

"they were... being jerks. making fun of kiri and you."

you blinked. "is kiri okay?"

"yeah, she's fine."

"how do they even know about me? i thought dad would keep that under wraps."

lo'ak rolled his eyes, grumbling. "tuk and her big mouth."

you laughed softly. you missed this. you missed complaining about each other. "i assume you got into a fight?"

he nodded.

you smiled and ruffled his head with a smile. "still looking out for me oceans away, huh? thank you, lo'ak."

he got bashful, dropping his head and letting his free strand of hair poorly cover his face. "it's whatever. neteyam jumped 'em too."

you chuckled softly. "you won, no doubt."

"yeah."

"proud of you." you praised him. in the next second, your comm buzzed.

"y/n, they're moving."

lo'ak's ears popped up. "was that—"

"spider? yeah." you pressed your fingers to your choker. "copy." you responded, rising to your feet.

lo'ak's mind was struggling to keep up with all the new information. he was still shocked that you were really standing in front of him. "y/n, what have you been up to?!"

you smiled and pat his shoulder. "keeping kiri's promise. hopefully. and some sabotage."

katir blew a puff of air directly onto your head. you huffed and brushed your hair back into place. "yeah, yeah, i'm coming."

lo'ak stared at you in awe. in the month and a half they've been gone, you've already ascended to another level. or maybe you were always on this level, and only without the watchful umbrella of your father were you able to realize it.

"you can tell the other kids, not mom and dad." you called to him as you jumped onto katir. "make sure tuk doesn't blab, okay?"

"you got it." lo'ak mumbled. "you're... are you gonna come back?" he asked timidly, out of character for a confident guy like himself.

you gave him a tight lipped smile. "yeah."

his grin was the last thing you saw before you yipped, urging katir into the air. with a boom, he lifted off, unfurling his great wings and zooming back to the forest.

you stationed katir at a safe distance away from high camp. as a natural predator of ikran and na'vi, you didn't want to risk any mishaps.

before you went to spider, you needed to replenish your stockpile. naturally, the research base you were staying in didn't carry things like arrows and knives. everyone didn't think twice when they saw you rifling around. you were a familiar face, after all.

"y/n."

you squeaked as you whirled around, not expecting anyone to approach you, much less speak to you.

tarsem's eyebrows raised at your reaction, tilting his head as his features settled into an unreadable expression. his lips curled slightly as though amused by your surprised.

"hey." you quickly recovered.

"you are uneasy." he said, gaze sweeping over your fresh bruises and scars from the scuffle with katir earlier. his eyes were tender as they lingered on your injuries, concern threading through his words. "that is unlike you."

"first time for everything." you smiled politely, pocketing more arrowheads.

tarsem's lips twitched into a smile. "i do not remember you showing your discomfort so openly." he observed, curiosity in his tone.

"are you always so attentive with your people?" you hummed, your focus back to the trunk of treasures you were fishing through.

tarsem remained quiet studying you for a moment before he spoke again. "scouts spotted a rouge slotsyal above the plains this morning." he informed you. "be careful when you're out there."

"i wouldn't worry about that," you mumbled without thinking, stilling indistinctly before continuing your search.

"hm?"

"nothing. thanks for letting me know."

he nodded curtly, smile returning as he strolled past you. "you should visit more often." he suggested softly.

you eyed him, caught off guard by the shift in tone. "maybe." you answered truthfully.

your confusion of the interaction was overshadowed by the time crunch. you could review tarsem's conversation later. right now, you had a plan to bring to fruition.

you only prayed the great mother will look out for you in this, too.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky @aureolinb @whosbibi2000 @childishname @nen-nyy @moonchildxoxx @hdjfvnd

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justarkive · 3 days ago

Text

TABLE 3 | JJK ch 3

“For good service, and cute waitresses”

pairing: premilitary!jk x secret fuckbuddy! oc

contents: mild language, no smut (yet), fluff, humour, celeb au, very mild angst, slowburn </3

wc: 6k

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: if anyone wants to join pls comment!!

a/n: this fic is going so much better than id thought it would! i love it and cant wait to progress. Nari’s might also come across as mean, but know its in a best friend way and she truly does love oc. ENJOY MY LOVES <3 p.s, all interactions are much appreciated, pls dont be afraid to let me know what you think:)

masterlist | < previous | next >

You find yourself back at Nari’s apartment. These days, it’s the only place you feel like going to. Your own place feeling like a lost cause- clothes piling up, draped over your desk chair you could’ve sworn you cleaned up last week, dishes in the sink that you could’ve sworn you’d washed yesterday. Work has been exhausting, and when you’re not caught up in the bustle of the diner, you’re busy running errands and keeping up with side hobbies, using them as an excuse to avoid everything else.

At least at Nari’s, things feel a little less overwhelming, and it’s easier to forget everything else.

And Nari doesn’t mind, she’d never mind.

She’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of wine, her free hand lazily scrolling through her phone. Her TV hums in the background, playing some trashy reality show neither of you are actually watching. You’re curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the throw pillow in your lap.

You’ve been quiet for way too long, and though you are a quiet person by nature. It’s never been truly quiet with you around Nari.

And Nari notices. Of course she does.

It’s not past a second before she side eyes you over her glass, pausing mid scroll. “Alright” She says, pushing off the counter. “What’s going on with you?”

You blink up at her. “Huh?”

“You look like you just got caught committing a crime,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out.”

You shake your head quickly. “It’s nothing.”

Nari stares at you for a second longer, then sighs, putting her phone down on the counter. She’s walking over, the heels of her socks dragging slightly against the floor, and plops down next to you, pressing her shoulder against yours.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the pillow. The words are there, right at the tip of your tongue, but saying them out loud makes it feel too real.

Nari doesn’t give you the chance to stall any longer. She sets her phone down and walks over, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’ve been sitting there looking like you’re about to have a breakdown for the past twenty minutes,” she says. “Either you tell me what’s going on, or I start guessing, and you know I have no filter.”

You exhale sharply. “It’s not that serious.”

Nari just stares. “Yeah, okay. So why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”

You press your lips together, debating whether you should even bring it up. It’s stupid. It really is. But the anxiety has been eating away at you since he did it, and if anyone’s going to tell you if you’re being ridiculous, it’s Nari.

You reach into the pocket of your hoodie and pull out a small, crumpled piece of paper. For a second, you just hold it between your fingers, staring at it like it as if that would make it disappear. Then, finally, you place it on the coffee table between you and Nari.

She frowns. “What’s that?”

You swallow. “Jungkook left me his number.”

There’s a beat of silence. Nari blinks. Then she blinks again, leaning forward to get a better look at the paper, like she needs to confirm that you’re not messing with her.

“Wait—Jungkook?”

You nod, heart hammering against your ribs.

“As in the Jungkook?” You nod again, looking at her as if to say: yeah Nari, who else?

Nari lets out a sharp breath, eyes darting between you and the paper. “And you’re telling me this now?” She takes the paper from your hand “Saturday?! Seriously? It’s been 2 days and you’re only telling me now?” She whines, smacking your arm lightly.

You shrug, biting your lip, not trusting yourself to say anything.

Nari stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “And what exactly is the problem here? Did you text him? Has he shown up to the diner again?”

You bite your lip. “What if it’s a joke?”

Her expression drops into something unimpressed. “What?”

“What if I actually message him, and he laughs in my face? What if this is just some silly game?” You cross your arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Imagine I actually text him, and it turns out he just left it to mess with me.”

Nari looks at you like you just suggested jumping into oncoming traffic for fun. “Are you stupid?”

You blink. “Yes! What- No. Ugh! I dont know?”

“Why the hell would he give you a fake number? Celebrities don’t just do that.” She picks up the paper, waving it in your face. “And Jungkook? He doesn’t seem like the type to waste his time playing games.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” she cuts you off. “I saw the way he was looking at you. That man is not out here giving his number to random women for fun.” She shakes her head. “And even if it was a joke—which it isn’t—you’d at least know. Right now, you’re just sitting here torturing yourself over something you haven’t even done yet.”

You press your lips together, stomach flipping. “I don’t know, Nari.”

“I do know.” She leans back against the couch, arms crossed. “And at the very least, now you can get a heads-up before he randomly shows up again and you dont have to shit your pants every time he does.”

You let out a laugh, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, but you saw what happened last time…”

Nari rolls her eyes. “Listen I get that- Crazy fans and shit? Not it, but you could be missing out on something big here.” She shrugs, taking a slow sip of her wine, like this isn’t making your entire brain short-circuit. “Worst case scenario? He doesn’t respond. Best case scenario? Well.” She smirks. “I don’t think I need to spell it out for you.”

You stare at the number again, nerves buzzing under your skin.

Fuck it.

Your fingers twitch as you pick up your phone, opening your messages. You hesitate, heart in your throat.

The phone sits between you and Nari on the couch, untouched. You haven’t stopped staring at it since she made you unlock it, since she made you pull up Jungkook’s number and prove to her that it’s really there. His name isn’t saved, obviously—you’re not that delusional—but it’s there. Sitting at the top of your recents, right where you left it.

And you hate that it’s there.

Nari sighs. “Alright, I literally can’t take another second of this. Either you text him, or I’m throwing your phone out the fucking window.”

Your body jerks up immediately. “I can’t text him.”

She looks at you like you’ve personally offended her. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I actually can’t.” You grab a pillow and shove your face into it. “You do it.”

A scoff. “What? No.”

“Nari, please.” Your voice is muffled, desperate. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

“You literally will,” she deadpans. “Probably within the next hour.”

“I’m serious.” You peek at her from over the pillow. “Please, just send the first message.”

“You’re being ridiculous. He wouldn’t have given you his number if he didn’t want you to use it.”

“Or maybe he gave it to me as a joke.”

She groans, standing up and dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my fucking God. What is wrong with you?”

“If I message him, and he laughs at me, I’m never leaving this apartment again.”

She rolls her eyes, dropping back onto the couch beside you. “Yeah, because Jungkook has nothing better to do than sit around and make fun of random girls.”

“Exactly.”

Nari grabs your arm, shaking you. “You’re so stupid.”

You let out a strangled sound as she shakes harder, knocking you against the couch cushions. “Nari, stop—”

“No, because you’re actually so stupid. I saw the way he was looking at you.”

You groan extra loud.

Nari shoves you again, this time hard enough that you almost fall sideways. “You are so dramatic.”

“Okay, then you message him,” you whine, turning back to her with wide, pleading eyes. “Please. Just send one text, and then I’ll take over.”

She groans, leaning her head back against the couch. “Fine. But I’m not doing ‘Hi, this is YN.’ That’s lame.”

You nod immediately. “Yeah, no, that’s boring.”

She thinks for a second, then smirks. “What if we go with, ‘Hey, soldier, miss me?’”

You push her. “Stop.”

Nari just laughs. “Or, ooh!—‘I heard boys like you love discipline, so I waited a respectable amount of time before texting. 😉’”

“Im deleting his number.”

“You love me.”

“I don’t.”

She hums, tapping your phone screen. “Okay, what about this: ‘I promise I’m not a stalker, but I did just spend the past two days debating if this was actually your number.’”

You hesitate. “…Okay- Yeah, that’s actually kinda good.”

“Duh.” She types it out and, before you can stop her, presses send.

Your stomach drops. “Nari, what the fuck.”

She throws the phone onto your lap with a smug grin. “Too late.”

You gape at the screen, heart pounding as the message sits there. And keeps sitting there.

Jungkook doesn’t reply immediately.

Which—of course he doesn’t. He’s busy. He’s literally Jungkook. He’s probably off training or singing or whatever idols do in their free time.

Still.

You groan, throwing your head back. “This was a mistake.”

Beside you, Nari pats your head like a disapproving mother. “No, I made a mistake. I should’ve sent, ‘Hey, kookie~, miss me?’”

You nudge her away. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You kind of do. But now, you’re stuck waiting for a reply.

And it’s already driving you insane.

—

Hours pass.

You and Nari don’t do much of anything—just exist in the same space, like always. The TV plays some random drama you’ve both seen a hundred times before, voices droning on in the background while you scroll through your phone and Nari flips through a magazine she doesn’t actually care about. The comfort of it is familiar, easy. This is why you come here. Why her apartment is the only place you really want to be these days.

But none of it stops your eyes from flicking back to your phone every two minutes.

Still nothing.

Nari notices. Of course, she does.

“Y/n.” She doesn’t even look up from her magazine. “Get it the fuck together.”

You huff. “I am together.”

“No, you’re not.” She turns a page, unimpressed. “You look like you’re waiting for an organ transplant.”

You make a face, shifting to sit on your hands so you physically can’t reach for your phone again. “I just—I don’t get why he hasn’t replied yet.”

“Because he’s Jungkook?” Nari deadpans. “You know, worldwide superstar, busy man, famous guy? Maybe, just maybe, he has other shit to do?”

You grumble, kicking at her leg. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “What if he’s ignoring me?”

Nari groans. “Oh my God. I literally cannot do this with you right now.” She tosses the magazine onto the coffee table and sits up, jabbing a finger at you. “This is what we’re not gonna do, okay? We’re not gonna sit here and spiral. We’re not gonna create insane scenarios in our head. And we’re definitely not gonna act like Jungkook is some high school jock plotting to humiliate you in front of the whole cafeteria.”

You glare at her. “That was a very specific example.”

She shrugs. “I read a lot of Wattpad in my youth.”

“As you should.”

“Anyway.” She leans back, stretching her arms over her head. “Since you clearly can’t function like a normal person right now, I’m declaring a ban on all Jungkook-related thoughts for the next few hours.”

“You can’t ban thoughts.”

“I can in this household.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue. Mostly because she’s right—this whole thing is driving you insane, and if you don’t stop obsessing over it, you’re going to lose your mind before Jungkook even gets a chance to reply.

So, you let it go. Or at least, you try to.

The night continues as it always does. You and Nari switch to watching trashy reality TV, taking turns talking shit about people you don’t know. You fight over the last slice of pizza, which Nari wins, but only because she threatens to lock you out of the apartment. You don’t think she’d actually do it, but you’re not willing to take the risk.

Time slips by unnoticed, and before you know it, the sky outside the window has darkened completely.

“You sleeping over?” Nari asks, stretching her legs across the couch.

You blink at her like she’s just asked something stupid. “Of course, I am. What do you think?”

She smirks. “Good. I was gonna make you stay even if you said no.”

You laugh, throwing a pillow at her. She dodges easily, flipping you off in the process.

And then—your phone buzzes.

Your whole body goes still.

Nari notices immediately, eyes snapping to your phone, and then to you.

“Oh my god,” she says slowly. “Tell me that’s who I think it is.”

You don’t answer. Just stare at the screen like it might disappear if you blink.

Another buzz.

Nari lunges forward, but you snatch the phone before she can grab it. Your hands are shaking.

She bounces impatiently beside you. “Well? Open it!”

Swallowing thickly, you finally unlock the screen.

[ iMessage:]

Unknown Number: Took you long enough.

Unknown Number: Was starting to think you weren’t interested.

You just stare. Your stomach does a weird little flip, your heart picking up speed.

Nari, practically vibrating beside you, grabs your arm. “WHAT DOES IT SAY!?”

You lift your head slowly, meeting her gaze with wide, horrified eyes.

“He’s flirting with me-“

Nari screams.

And just like that, everything is chaos again.

Your brain short-circuits.

Your hands tighten around your phone, fingers pressing into the edges like you’re afraid it might jump out of your grasp. Your breathing is uneven, and you’re pretty sure your heart is going to give out right here, on Nari’s couch, before you even get the chance to respond.

Nari grabs your wrist, shaking you violently. “WHAT THE FUCK?! REPLY.”

“I CAN’T.” You clutch the phone to your chest like it’s some kind of secret government file, eyes blown wide in panic. “OH MY GOD, WHAT DO I EVEN SAY?”

Nari looks at you like you’ve just spoken in an ancient language. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WHAT DO YOU SAY? YOU SAY SOMETHING BACK. LITERALLY ANYTHING.”

“No, no, no, I—” You shake your head frantically, scrambling up onto your knees as if somehow getting higher up will help you think better. “If I reply too fast, it’s gonna look desperate.”

Nari throws her hands up. “Desperate for what? A conversation? Bitch, this is not high school! We are adults. We do not play fucking mind games over text like we’re waiting for our crush to message us back like we’re 15!”

You press your palms over your face, groaning into them. “Oh my God, what if this is a joke? What if he’s messing with me? What if—”

“WHAT IF HE’S NOT?” Nari yells, shoving at your shoulder. “What if he actually fucking likes you, you absolute dumbass?”

You glare at her, shoving her back. “DON’T CALL ME A DUMBASS, I’M HAVING A CRISIS.”

“IT’S A STUPID CRISIS.”

The two of you wrestle on the couch for a second, limbs flying, before she overpowers you and shoves you back into the cushions. You huff, staring up at the ceiling, trying to steady your heartbeat.

A few deep breaths. Then another. Okay. You’re fine. You’re cool.

You roll your head to the side, looking at Nari. “What do I say?”

She stares at you, completely done. “You say, ‘Hey, this is me responding to your text message.’”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious.” She snatches your phone right out of your grip, dodging your grabby hands as she holds it above her head. “Look. You’re overthinking. You don’t have to send an essay, just flirt back.”

You peek at her through your arm. “How?”

“Oh my God.” She sighs dramatically, shifting so she’s sitting on her knees beside you. “Okay, let’s workshop this. He said, ‘Took you long enough. Was starting to think you weren’t interested.’” She pauses. “Ooh, that’s kinda sexy.”

“SHUT UP.”

“I’m just saying.”

You groan again, kicking your legs in frustration. “I hate this. Why am I like this? I should just block him.”

Nari slaps your thigh so hard you yelp.

“YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING.”

You whimper. “Fine. Just—help me.”

She grins, shuffling closer. “Okay. So, we’re going for playful, yeah? Something that keeps the same energy.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Like, oh? You were waiting for me? That’s kinda cute.”

Your entire body recoils. “EW, no, that sounds so corny.”

She cackles. “Okay, okay. What about, ‘Oh, were you hoping I’d text first? That’s adorable.’”

You blink. “Ugh why are you so good at this?”

“I know.” She flips her hair dramatically. “I am the queen of texting.”

You shake your head, snatching your phone back. “Fine. I’ll say something like that.”

“Good.” She pats your knee. “Now send it.”

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Your pulse pounds in your ears. You type the message. Delete it. Type it again. Delete it again. At this point, you’re just spamming letters on your keyboard.

“Nari,” you whisper.

She groans. “What now?”

“…Can you send it for me?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

You flinch at the volume of her voice. “But—”

“No buts.” She glares at you, unimpressed. “Send it. Now.”

You hesitate for one more agonizing second. And then, taking a deep breath, you hit send.

You both freeze, staring at the screen like it might explode.

The message sits there. Marked as delivered. Silent.

You toss your phone across the couch and bury your face in a pillow.

Nari gasps. “Bitch, what are you doing?”

“I CAN’T LOOK.”

“Oh my God.” She lunges for the phone. “What if he replies? What if he—”

Buzz.

Your whole body seizes up.

Nari screams.

You scream.

Neither of you move.

Buzz.

Another message.

You shoot up so fast your vision goes blurry, scrambling for your phone. Nari practically jumps onto your back, gripping your shoulders as she shrieks into your ear.

You unlock the screen, heart pounding, pulse hammering against your ribs. And then—

[ iMessage:]

Unknown number: Adorable? That’s a new one. You trying to flirt with me?

Your soul leaves your body.

Nari shrieks. “OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

You smack her. She smacks you back. You both devolve into incoherent screaming, kicking your legs and shaking each other like wild animals.

And somewhere in the chaos, it finally sinks in.

Jungkook is flirting back.

This is real.

What the fuck do you do now?

You’re still gripping your phone like it’s a lifeline, staring at Jungkook’s message like the words might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

Your brain is malfunctioning. Your hands are clammy. Your heart rate is somewhere near cardiac arrest levels.

“Nari,” you whisper, voice shaky. “What do I say?”

Nari, who has just spent the last five minutes screaming and shaking you like a maraca, suddenly changes tactics. She plops back against the couch, crossing her arms. “Nothing.”

You blink. “What?”

“Nothing,” she repeats, grabbing the remote and flipping through Netflix. “Let him wait.”

Your whole body jolts. “WAIT?”

“Yes.” She leans back smugly. “We’re watching a show. You’ll text him in the morning.”

You gape at her, horrified. “No. No, no, no, please—”

“Yes.”

“Nari, please!” You grab her arm, shaking her dramatically. “I will literally die. My soul will leave my body.”

“Okay, good,” she says, deadpan. “Then I’ll text Jungkook myself and tell him his little admirer died of thirst.”

You let out a strangled noise, throwing yourself back against the couch. “I hate you.”

“You love me.” She pats your knee like you’re a distressed child. “And you asked for my advice, so now you’re gonna take it. No texting until morning. Let him wonder.”

You stare at her, betrayed. “This is evil.”

She shrugs, putting on some random drama. “Welcome to the game, bitch.”

You sulk for a few more minutes, checking your phone every five seconds like a lovesick fool before Nari finally yanks it out of your hands and tosses it across the room.

“BED,” she orders, standing up. “Now.”

You groan but eventually drag yourself to your feet, trudging to her bedroom like a prisoner on death row. When you finally get under the covers, you let out a heavy sigh.

“This is torture.”

Nari snickers, turning off the light. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You highly doubt that.

—

The next morning, you wake up feeling… slightly less insane. Only slightly.

Nari is still dead to the world when you roll out of bed, stretching with a groan. You grab your phone off the nightstand and check your notifications.

No new messages from Jungkook.

You stare at the screen for a moment, heart sinking slightly. Not that you expected him to double-text you or anything, but still.

Shaking off the disappointment, you tiptoe out of Nari’s apartment and head home. It’s a busy day—you’ve got errands to run, places to be, things to do. You get caught up in it all for a while, hopping from one task to the next.

And then—

Buzz.

[ iMessage ]

Unknown number: So, am I getting a response, or did you decide flirting with me was a one-time thing?

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graceface1712 · 2 days ago

Text

The First of Many

SoftRafexSweetPougePrincess First Date!

Summary: Rafe take’s SweetPougePrincess on their first date!

Warnings: None! Just fluff

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y/N impatiently paced back and forth in her tiny living room waiting for Rafe’s arrival. It is 5:58 right now. He should be here in two minutes. Every time she glances up at the clock, time seems to be going slower. But long enough, a knock echoes from her front door.

She rushes to it, gripping the handle, but pausing and taking a deep breath.

You’ll be fine.

Y/N swings the door open and there stands Rafe. He’s wearing a pair of black shorts and a white polo shirt to go with it.

He’s holding a bouquet of flowers, an assortment of lilies, her favorite.

“Hi.” He says, laughing at her look of pure awe.

“Hi Rafe.” Y/N says.

He now takes a moment to drink her in. She’s wearing a patchwork sundress, covered in various colors. She has a denim jacket resting on her shoulders and some beat up light pink converse. He can see a hole in the toe of her left shoe.

“You look amazing.” Rafe says breathlessly.

“Thank you.” Y/N giggles, a blush spreading on her cheeks.

Rafe looks down at the flowers he’s holding. “Oh! These are for you.” He says handing them to Y/N.

“Thank you Rafe. I'll put these in some water and I’ll be right back.” She says before disappearing into the house. She emerges a minute later with a bright smile on her face.

“You ready?” Rafe asks her.

“Yup! Let’s go!” Y/N says while bounding down the steps of her shabby house to the door of his truck.

But Rafe was not having it.

“Hey slow down.” He says taking long strides after her and quickly letting where she was at.

“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks and turns to face him. He has a look of determination in his eyes but she doesn’t know exactly why.

“I have to open your door for you.” He says in a ‘duh’ tone. Brushing past her and reaching his truck door. He opens the door and she climbs in. Once she is situated in her seat, Rafe leans over her to help her buckle her seat belt. The smell of his expensive cologne filling her nostrils.

“I can do…” Y/N starts to argue but immediately closes her mouth after seeing the look on Rafe’s face. No room for argument.

“Thank you.” Y/N says shyly, looking down at her lap. Once again, a rosy tint covering her cheeks.

“Of course.” Rafe says before tapping her hip and then shutting her door. He quickly walks over to his side and gets in. But he doesn’t miss the now red shade of blush on her face. Smiling to himself, he starts to back out of his driveway, throwing one arm around the back of Y/N’s seat and looking through the back mirror.

Y/N dang near folds right then and there in her seat. That was so hot.

While Y/N is lost in her own thoughts, Rafe takes a moment to really look at Y/N’s house. It’s very small, basically the size of a trailer. It’s located in one of the roughest parts of the Cut. Many people are known for having shitty houses in the Cut, but this area is known for the worst ones.

The outside is made out of metal paneling, and it’s light blue in color. It has grass stains going up the side of it, and her porch looks like it could break with one wrong step. The best part about her house is the closeness to the beach. It’s right on the water. But other than than, it’s probably the size of Rafe’s bedroom alone.

Rafe would usually judge someone based on their house, but not Y/N. He doesn’t understand how she can come from such a shithole and still be the kindest human he’s ever met.

Rafe glances over at Y/N. She’s peacefully staring out at the soft waves lapping against the shore. He can tell that she loves the beach.

Rafe decides to break the silence. “So tell me some more things about yourself. Something that not everybody knows about you.”

Her head whips around from its resting spot. Y/N looks like she’s thinking.

“Well umm. My mom passed away when I was eight years old. She’s the kindest and nicest human being ever. I try my best to be like her. To make her proud.” Y/N says and a look of fondness crosses her face. Rafe’s eyes soften. He knows what it’s like not having a good mother figure in his life. Rose is the worst and he cannot stand her.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He tells her sincerely. She just nods.

“It’s okay, I’ve learned to live with it. Your turn.”

Rafe can’t say he’s surprised. He looks out the front window while passing through the streets of OBX.

“Umm. I used to be super addicted to drugs.” Rafe starts and Y/N sucks in a breath. He gets worried that she might not want to continue hanging out with him but her face tells him to go on.

“It was bad. So bad. Like I couldn’t go a day without snorting a line of cocaine and shit. My dad was mad at first but then he was done with my shit. He sent me to a rehab facility. I got into shape real quick.” Y/N reaches over to grab Rafe’s free hand and immediately warmth spreads throughout his body.

“It took me five months to finally be clean. Normal. That was honestly the proudest I’ve ever seen my father of me. And his reaction to me being clean is the reason I still am today. And not to mention, I just feel better. I was a crazy mother fucker back then. I know why people couldn’t stand me. I don’t ever blame them for hating me now.” Rafe finishes.

They come to a red light and Y/N squeezes his hand. “Thank you for being so vulnerable. I know it’s hard.” She says.

“And I’m proud of you too. For changing. For being a better person. If other people can’t be proud too, that’s their fault.”

He looks at her and smiles, his chest full of pride. And a light pink tinges his cheeks.

“Now. Let’s go have fun on our date!” Y/N giggles and squeezes Rafe’s hand again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Rafe pulled into a parking lot. Y/N looked up from their hands to see multiple tents and stands set up.

“You brought me to a farmers market?” She asked him. Rafe looked over at her and smiled.

“Yeah. You said last night how much you love supporting local businesses. So what better way to do it than here?” He tells her.

Y/N’s heart just melts into a puddle. She couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t remember that small thing she mentioned. She loves getting out and supporting the small business in OBX, but it can be hard when she has other priorities for the little money she gets every month.

Before she can say thank you, Rafe is already out the door of his truck and opening hers. She scrambles to unbuckle and grabs his outstretched hand to jump out.

“I’m so excited. I haven’t been to a farmers market in so long!” She exclaims.

“Well pick out whatever you want. I read that there are some things here that I think you’ll like.” Rafe says.

Y/N squints in the sun trying to look at Rafe’s face. He has to be at least a foot taller than her so it’s quite a challenge.

“Rafe. You don’t have to spend a ton of money on me.” She grumbles. She finally catches his eye and he’s giving her that look again.

“I will spend however much I want on you Y/N. It’s no big deal.” Rafe says before taking her hand and leading her through the stands.

They end up stopping at a stand that has cute little journal and book covers. They are hand sewn and have multiple different patterns and designs. Rafe tells Y/N to pick out whatever ones she wants. She hesitantly gets two, one for her current book that she’s reading, and one for her journal.

Then Rafe sees a person selling handmade jewelry. He insists that Y/N picks out a few pieces. She ends up picking up a ring made from sea glass, and a necklace that has a starfish charm on it.

Y/N is trying to refuse the things that Rafe is to buying for her, but all it takes is one reminder from him that it’s for the small business and she crumbles.

He ended up seeing a dress that he thinks she will look amazing in. The sweet old woman who was selling them had a sign up saying she was selling her handmade dresses in order to pay for her chemo therapy treatment. Y/N’s heart shattered while seeing that because her mom passed away from breast cancer.

She quickly agreed to buy not one, but three dresses. While she was searching for two more, Rafe couldn’t help but notice Y/N’s reaction to the sign. It was much more than just sympathy. So while Y/N was browsing, Rafe leaned down and asked for the woman’s name and phone number. He would be in contact with the hospital about paying off all of her treatments, and anything else she might need.

Rafe also paid for the dresses and once again saw the look of absolute despair on Y/N’s face. She eventually cheered up though after seeing a vendor who had crocheted stuffed animals. She picked up two sea turtles. One with a little pink bow crocheted in, and the other one with a little grumpy face.

“Look Rafe! It’s us!” She giggled loudly at her joke. He playfully scowled but handed the vendor the correct amount of money and threw a 50 in the tip jar.

Again, Y/N literally had no idea how he could just spend money like this. But since it was helping small businesses, she was okay with it.

Y/N continued to drag Rafe through every single stand in the farmers market. She made them stop at every one because she claimed that ‘you never know what they might have to offer’. Rafe happily went along with her because he got to see her eyes light up every time she started a conversation with someone. And because her arm was wrapped around his bicep the whole time.

Eventually Y/N had successfully went through every stand with Rafe and they walked back to his truck.

While he drove her home, Rafe kept his hand tightly held in hers, and she wasn’t complaining.

Rafe pulled up into her driveway. He turned to look at her.

“Do you need any help with your bags?” He asks her. Y/N shakes her head while digging through one of the bags.

“No. But here, don’t forget your stuffie!” She says while shoving the turtle into his hands. He takes it and puts it right in his lap.

“Thank you Rafe. For everything you bought me today. And for just spending time with me.” Y/N says sincerely.

“You’re welcome. I’ll try to find you on the island, but if I can’t, I’ll come visit you here. I’ll see you soon.” He tells her.

“Bye Rafey!” She yells. All he can do is scowl because before he knows it, she’s slamming his truck door shut and laughing to herself the whole way up her porch.

Rafe waits until Y/N gets back inside safely, before pulling out of her driveway.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

I’m like so proud of myself for this one! 🫶🏻

Thank you guys for the love!

#⋆˚࿔ rafe 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx #beach #beach babe #old money #money

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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 days ago

Text

In the heat of the afternoon, the hallways of the school remain calm, uncharacteristic one might think for a place of learning, but quite the common occurrence for a place as unique as Jujutsu High.

Kento sits in his chair in his office, deep in reflection as he takes full advantage of the solitude the peace afforded him, fingers tracing over a piece of paper in his hand.

The material is a bit worn, creased from being folded and tucked over many times in its rightful place in his wallet. But, each line of the paper bends in the exact same way, careful and meticulous so as not to compromise its quality, for the sentimental words it contains hold unspeakable value compared to the rest of it.

It's his wedding vows, written carefully on notebook paper that took him exactly three days to write.

On some occasions when he had to be here in the city for work while you stayed behind in the country, he'd pull them out and read them at times when the hollowness in his chest became a bit too much to bear, when the empty space next to him at night grew more noticeable and he longed to be back where the restlessness in his soul would settle under the steady calm of every reassuring breath you released next to him.

As he reads, he twists absentmindedly the silver band on his left hand as the physical manifestation of the sacred words in front of him now. He remembers how it felt to write them, how many times he had to edit, scribble, and start anew when he felt that they did not do you enough justice.

He remembers looking out of those rainy windows, lost in thought, gathering inspiration from the ample gifts of nature surrounding him in the farmhouse he shared with you, trying to conjure up something that possessed even a sliver of the weight behind the meaning of the words he had seen you write so beautifully next to him, your feet in his lap while he slowly conquered page after page of his books in those blissful afternoons.

He remembers reciting them aloud at the empty altar before the ceremony, pacing with an anxiousness he had not felt since his youth, an innocence that carried him all the way back to high school with the butterflies of young love as he muttered each word to himself, cringing and starting at the beginning when he felt himself stumble uncharacteristically over the fluency of his phrases.

And how quickly it all washed away like moss by the tides of the calming sea outside when he locked eyes on you underneath your lacey veil as you entered, beaming, and 10 minutes late.

But, he would not have expected anything different. No, he would not have wanted anything different because the day would not have been shined by your very essence that you so effortlessly shedded on everything you touched, including every beat of his heart in his chest that irrecovably belonged to you, overwhelming adoration resounding with every approaching echo of your footsteps.

He remembers looking you in the eyes as the delivery came straight from his soul, the solemnness of every vow he promised you that day was immortalized in the hallowed halls of the chapel, in the eyes and ears of every person you loved who was present, whose love for you both made it so that the room was overflowing with it, in the unceasing caress of the seafoam over the shoreline, and in the smell from the rain that clung to this beloved corner of the Earth in a way that was nothing short of eternal.

And, as he reads them now for the countless time alone in his office, he relives those special memories and, for a moment, he recalls that time where he used to be a man who never really had a reason for doing anything, who now answers, "Everything." when anyone asks what exactly he's reminded of whenever he thinks of you.

Ever in tune with him as though you could sense him despite being hundreds of miles away, an incoming phone call from you breaks his contemplative silence.

Kento smiles and tucks the vows neatly away in his wallet, then he answers,

"How are you, darling?"

Before he carefully closes the door behind him.

----

pics from pinterest.

#from my trees . ˚ 𖧷 ·𓇥 ° . ♡#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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v6quewrlds · 1 day ago

Note

Need even just a blurb of angst and miscommunication Justin

She stared out the window of the sleek dark sports car as it inched through the congested LA traffic. The neon lights of the city reflected off the gleaming hood, painting the car in a chaotic dance of color that did nothing to improve her mood. She had been looking forward to this night for weeks—a chance to relax and enjoy her boyfriend's company after a particularly grueling work week. Now, it seemed as if the universe had conspired to ruin it with a multi-car pile-up on the freeway.

"I can't believe this," she said, more to herself than to Justin. "We're going to be stuck here for hours."

Justin shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the road. "Red lights everywhere, it's a mess." He glanced over at her, her expression tight with frustration.

"Hate this LA traffic." She huffed, her gaze remained out the window, arms crossed over her chest. "We were having such a great night."

Justin's jaw clenched. He knew she was just letting off steam, but her complaints were beginning to annoy him. He reached out and put a hand on her leg. "Babe, it's not like we can do anything about it. We just gotta sit tight."

Her eyes snapped to his hand, her voice cool as she shifted her thigh away from his touch. "I know we can't do anything about it, but maybe if we'd left earlier, we wouldn't be stuck here now."

"Well, you're not exactly helping, babe." Justin snapped, his discarded hand finding its way to the steering wheel again. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed it tightly. "All you're doing is complaining. It's annoying." The last part was said under his breath, exasperation leaking into his tone.

Her eyes narrowed at the accusation, the tension in the car thickening like the late-night fog outside. "And what would you like me to do, Justin? Sing a song to entertain you?" she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"That's not what I meant, and you know that," Justin replied firmly, his own frustration rising to match hers. "Just chill out. Stop finding something to be miserable about." With that, his right hand moved towards his phone in the cupholder, the blue light illuminating his features as he began to scroll through his music playlist.

The car remained silent, the tension palpable as she continued to glower out the window. The throb of the bass from the car stereo soon filled the space between them, a clear message that Justin was done discussing the issue. She felt her anger spike at his dismissal, her foot tapping angrily against the floorboard.

Justin began to sing under his breath, his head bobbing to the beat of the music. She leaned against the car window, feeling a headache brewing with every pulse of the music. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, exhaling out the irritation that was bubbling within.

After her third exhale, Justin's eyes cut to her reflection in the rearview mirror. He saw the tight set of her jaw, the way she held her shoulders. "You could lose the attitude," he muttered, hoping the music would drown out his words.

But she heard him. And it was as if his words had shattered the last of her composure. She turned to face him and for a moment she didn't speak. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice measured and cold.

Justin's eyes flicked to hers for a brief second before returning to the road. "I said, you could lose the attitude. We're both tired, but that doesn't give you a free pass to be like this."

She felt a flare of anger. "Like what? Tired and upset? Last time I checked, that's a pretty normal human reaction to being stuck in traffic after a long day."

Justin's eyes met hers briefly, the blue of them flashing with annoyance. "Whatever you want, babe. Just don't expect me to sit here and be miserable with you."

Her response was a frigid silence that stretched on until they finally pulled into the driveway of their home. The moment the car stopped, she gathered her purse, phone, and the heels she had discarded hours ago. Without a word, she opened the door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind her. Justin watched her stalk up to the door, forcefully tapping in the code as he locked the car behind him.

Inside, she made a beeline for their bedroom, shedding her dress on the way. She showered first, unwilling to give Justin even the smallest chance to join her as he usually did after a night out. The water was scalding, as if she could wash away the irritation that clung to her like the sticky residue of LA smog.

Her mind was racing with thoughts of their argument, replaying each word like a sports reel in slow motion, looking for a moment she could pinpoint as the exact start of their discord. But all she found was a blur of frustration and misunderstanding. Part of her knew she was being a little dramatic, but she couldn't shake off the way Justin snapped at her. It was unlike him, and it stung.

Justin waited in the bedroom, already having brushed his teeth and stripped down to his underwear, as he busied himself with the tidying of the bathroom counter.

By the time Justin exited the shower, trading his towel for sweats and a t-shirt, she had already changed into her pajamas and was curled up on her side of the bed, her back to him. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the charging lamp, casting long shadows across the plush comforter. He couldn't suppress a roll of his eyes before lifting the comforter to slip in next to her. The mattress shifted slightly as he settled in, and she felt the warmth of his body radiate toward her despite the space she had put between them.

Justin cleared his throat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he offered tentatively. "I know I snapped at you in the car. I had a long day too."

She didn't move, didn't respond. The silence stretched out, growing tighter with every heartbeat. Justin sighed and slid into bed, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Babe," he whispered, his voice soft with apology. "I didn't mean to upset you. Can we just talk about it?"

Her body remained stiff, the only indication she heard him was the slight hitch in her breathing. Justin could feel the anger rolling off her in waves, and he knew he had to tread carefully. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I messed up."

She stiffened under his touch, and for a moment, she didn't move. Then, with a heavy sigh, she rolled over to face the ceiling, her eyes still sharp with lingering irritation. She pursed her lips as she avoided meeting his gaze.

"I'm tired, Justin," she said flatly. "Can we just go to sleep?"

He slid closer to her, his hand finding its way around her waist. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. "We're both tired, but we can't just let this go. We need to talk about it."

She sighed, feeling the warmth of his embrace but not yet ready to give in. "There's nothing to talk about," she replied "You were rude and dismissive. That's all."

Justin's hand paused in its gentle stroking. "Baby," he said, his voice earnest. "I get that you're upset, but I didn't mean it like that."

Her eyes searched the ceiling. "How else am I supposed to take it?" she asked, her voice strained. Justin didn't respond, his hand continuing to move in slow, comforting circles. The silence grew heavier until she felt it pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, she turned her head to face him. "I don't want to fight with you," she said, her voice cracking with weariness. "But I can't just ignore how you spoke to me. Just give me some space tonight, we can talk in the morning."

Justin's eyes searched hers, the regret in them palpable. "Okay," he whispered, his hand lifting away from her waist. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, his arms folding behind his head. The quiet between them was now filled with the distant hum of the city and the occasional sound of a car passing by outside.

They remained like that for a long moment, the quiet stretching out like the vast emptiness of the unseen sky outside their bedroom window. Justin resigned to closing his eyes, hoping that in the morning, they could find their way back to each other.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before she was asleep, her body subconsciously moving closer to his. He waited until her breathing grew even before he dared to pull her into his arms, her head fitting into the crook of his shoulder as if it were made to be there. He could breathe easier now, the tension in his chest loosening slightly.

author's note⠀⁎⠀could've made this way more angsty lol

#&. justin.#justin herbert #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert x black!reader #justin herbert angst

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losers-clvb · 1 day ago

Text

talk too much // soldier boy

pairing: soldier boy x female!reader

summary: sometimes you talk too much.

content: yapper reader, talk of sex because this is ben we're talking about, old man coded ben, age gap kind of mentioned but you could ignore it, slight ooc ben maybe, fluff

word count: 1k

note: this fits into the universe with the reader from "it will come back" but could definitely be read on its own. this is inspired by the song "talk too much" by queen renee rapp and myself because i am a yapper by nature.

masterlist

----

You were making that face again. The one you made when you were having a silent conversation with yourself, or when you were listening to those smut audiobooks you seemed to love so much. Taking in your lack of headphones, Ben went for the former option.

You and Ben had been having a normal -- or as normal as you could possibly get with an over one-hundred year old supe -- morning, complete with fresh-brewed coffee and omelets made by you. When he had swiped up the morning paper you had brought in for him, you knew he wanted to be left alone to read the headlines. Well, left alone with the occasion scoff of “fuckin’ pussies” at a particularly progressive story.

You were happy to sit next to him and read along. You had gotten comfortable being in his presence after the many months together. You were something of a couple, though it had never been said out loud by either of you. You both just eased into it.

Somewhere between a story on the local shelter hosting a bake sale and a murderer at large you had zoned off, eyes floating to the floor. You were thinking too much again.

Ben watched you out of the corner of his eyes, pursing his lips when you made a face of disgust. It was quickly replaced with a pout and your eyes narrowed. Okay, enough of this. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” Ben asked, pulling the newspaper taut to keep it from folding over. You shot your attention to him, looking up at him with wide eyes that told him you knew you had been caught.

“Nothing.” You answered quickly, nestling into his side. You hoped this would distract him, make him think more about your hand brushing against his bicep rather than your ability to overthink.

“You were obviously thinkin’ about something.” He argued, squinting his eyes at a black-and-white picture of a giraffe. You scrunched your nose at him and he was tempted to kiss the pout off your face.

“How do you know I was thinking? Maybe I was just staring at the wall.” You defended. It was a weak argument. Ben had gotten to know you too well, much more than you had gotten to know him, thanks to your near constant flow of words to him. You just liked talking and most times he was happy to listen.

“That mind’s always running, sweetheart.” He smirked and tapped a finger on the side of your head. You tried to duck away, but the action only resulted in your head bumping against his shoulder.

“It is not. I can have an empty brain.” You knew it was a lie. Even when you were sleeping you were still thinking of something.

“Only time it’s empty is when I get you all cockdrunk. Now,” Ben raised his eyebrows, “what were you thinking about?”

You would have argued back, but you knew it was true. He knew all the right buttons to push to get you all but babbling nonsense at him while he fucked you. You dropped your eyes to the table.

“Well,” you started, stalling, “I was trying to figure out if I like you.” You realized exactly what you had said after it came out, your mouth running faster than your brain. You whipped your head back to look at him. He was giving you a confused look and you felt the need to explain yourself.

“Not that I don’t like you. I just don’t know if I like like you. Well, I do like like you, but maybe I could like like like you, you know?” You sputtered out. Ben opened his mouth to talk, but you beat him to it.

“No, you probably don’t. Did people talk like this in the forties? Or wait, the eighties? What time are you from? Oh my gosh, you’re old. What would people think about us together?”

Then you suddenly looked horrified.

“What would my mother think about us?” You quickly moved into contemplation. “I mean, I don’t care too much what she thinks. She can be a bitch sometimes.” Immediate regret.

“Not a bitch!” You blurted out. “She’s not a bitch!” You took in a steadying breath. “I love my mother, she just can just ask too many questions sometimes. But I guess that’s better than her being dead.” Your face morphed into sadness.

“I don’t want my mother to die. I can’t live without her.” You thought about what you said and decided it made you seem co-dependant on her. “Well, I can, but I don’t want to.” That was when you caught Ben’s amused look. You frowned.

“Do I talk too much?” You asked, though the answer was clear. Ben opened his mouth, again, but, again, you cut him off.

“Actually, don't answer that. I don’t know if I could handle the answer.” You cringed at the childish tone of your words. “I mean, I could handle it, because I’m an adult. But you know that. Of course you know that. We do adult things all the time. Not that we only do adult things, but-,”

Ben decided to put you out of your misery. He grabbed at your face, squishing your cheeks together with one hand to prevent you from speaking any more. You looked at him with those wide, baby deer eyes he loved so much.

“You don’t talk too much.” He said calmly and placed a kiss right on your lips. He hoped that would be the end of it and he could get back to his paper. You smiled gratefully when he let go of your face and cuddled back into him.

“Thank you, Ben.”

Unfortunately, that inspired a new spill of words.

“Wait, do you like Ben or Soldier Boy better? I know Ben was your name from before, but most people call you Soldier Boy. Of course, I’m not most people, but what do you like more?”

“Oh God,” you breathed out, “I should have asked months ago. What if I’ve been using the wrong name this whole time? You probably hate me now.”

Ben sighed and let you ramble on. You would tire yourself out eventually.

#x reader #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x female reader #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy fluff

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captainstressed · 2 days ago

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so ive been working on a post-breakup bucktommy fix it for a hot minute and she's almost finished so i wanted to share the first chapter here before i put the entire thing on ao3.

its starts from the 'tommy's bubbling me' scene from 8x07 except its from tommy's pov. its mostly hurt but i swear the comfort is coming!

title: i love you, im sorry. word count: 1341 chapter: 1 of 2/3

Tommy hit backspace, deleting the drafted text he’d written to Evan with a sigh. Dropping his phone beside him on the couch, he reached out to grab the open bottle of beer from the coffee table and took a long swig. It wasn’t far off three in the afternoon but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to particularly care; he’d come off shift within the last hour and wasn’t scheduled back in until the next day, it also wasn’t as though he was planning to have more than one or two. He needed a distraction, something to temporarily cloud his mind that wasn’t Evan. Buck. He’d lost the right to use his given name the day he walked out of his loft.

It had been just over two weeks since the break up; fifteen days if he was counting, which he was. He had ran the conversation over in his mind an infinite number of times since then and each time he hated himself a little bit more.

“Did you just break up with me?”

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

He slammed the bottle back down on the table with more force than necessary. He was a fucking coward. He’d been a coward back when he was at the 118 and he failed to stand up for Hen and Howie against Gerrard; Tommy had been battling his own internal demons but that didn’t excuse his behaviour then and it sure as hell doesn’t now.

He had told Buck that if they ended up moving in together, then the younger man would end up breaking his heart; something that he wasn’t sure he would be able to move on from. The irony of it all was that through his own cowardice actions, Tommy had beat him to it and succeeded in breaking it all by himself.

Bringing his hands up, he pressed the heals of his palms into his eyes. He felt the sting of tears and took a breath, willing them to remain at bay. He had no right to cry, not when this was all his fault. He had broken up with Buck; had panicked at the thought of moving in with him. Not because he didn’t want to, but because when his heart was inevitably broken, the fallout would have been too much for him to fathom.

Tommy wondered if this imaginary scenario would have left him feeling anything like the way he felt right now. His palms were wet, the stars dancing behind his eyes the only outcome of his efforts. Swiping the tears that were only replaced by more a moment later, he wiped his hands across his jean clad thighs and tipped his head back against the back of his couch.

His fingers itched to grab his phone; he wanted to call Buck, apologise for being such a coward, for joining the list of people who had walked away from him and beg him for another chance. It was selfish, he was selfish.

He didn’t deserve Buck; Hadn’t been deserving of being his first relationship since discovering his true identity. Buck had trusted him, had let Tommy in. The two of them shared words and experiences that were completely new to Buck and it made Tommy feel sick that he had taken these things from him, with the promise of protecting them and him only to run when his own insecurities got in the way.

Curling his hand into a fist, he bought it down on the cushion beside him. The movement jostled his phone and lit up his home screen; his background was a picture of an LA sunrise, which to anyone else wouldn’t seem particularly special but to Tommy it held precious memory.

It had been taken a few months prior during one of his early morning runs, by Evan. Tommy had mentioned to him that one of his go to’s for winding down after particularly gruelling shifts was to hit one of the many hiking trails and if he was lucky enough to finish a shift before the day had officially started, then he could sometimes catch the sunrise. It was a way to remind himself that in spite of the often tragic calls he dealt with whilst at work, a new day was just on the horizon and with it the renewal of hope and possibility of brighter times to come.

He’d thought the idea was beautiful and asked if he could accompany Tommy sometime should their shifts lineup. They ended up going one morning after Tommy had finished a forty-eight and Evan was due to start his own a few hours later. They’d found a perfect spot to watch the sunrise and paused their run to drink it in. Evan had taken a picture just as the sun was peaking over the horizon, setting it as his phone background and almost shyly explaining to Tommy that this way whenever he looked at his phone it would remind him of not only the reason behind it but also of Tommy.

It had been one of the many times in which Tommy had wondered how he got so lucky as to find someone as adorable as Evan. He’d even asked him as much, which earned him a blushed smile that Tommy couldn’t help but kiss off his lips. Before asking him to send him a copy of the photo and setting it as his own background too.

Tommy could have changed it in weeks since the break up, probably should have done if he’d had any desire to move on. He wondered if Evan had changed his; selfishly he hoped he hadn’t.

He stared at his phone until the screen went back to black, mulling over his scattered thoughts before picking it up and unlocking it. It reopened back onto his text thread with Evan, they hadn’t spoken to each other via text since Howie’s wedding and the memories of that day and night settled heavily in the pit of his stomach when he compared how he had felt then to how he felt now.

His thumb hovered over the bubble to start a new message; Tommy knew what he wanted to say, what he’d wanted to tell Evan even before they broke up. He had never called his own feelings towards Evan into question, self hatred threatened to bubble to the surface once more when he reminded himself that the only person he had called into question was Evan himself.

Evan who had never been anything but open and honest with Tommy from the start of their relationship. Sure, he’d put his foot in his mouth a few times at the start and sometimes he got a little ahead of himself, but it was one of the many things Tommy loved about him.

Tommy loved him. Loves him.

But he let him go because he’s a coward.

With a sigh, he tapped the bubble to send a new message but paused. After weeks of radio silence Tommy knew it wouldn’t be fair to drops these heavy feelings on Evan straight away. If at all a voice in his head snarked. What if he was too late? What if Tommy ending things had been the wake up call Evan needed to realise that though Tommy had been his first, he didn’t want him to be his last and these last weeks had just helped cement those feelings.

The thought caused him physical pain. His entire reasoning behind breaking up with Evan in the first place had been to shield his heart from inevitable break, but it had quickly become apparent that he was destined for this fate regardless. He couldn’t allow himself to consider that Evan loved him back. He hadn’t deserved it before the break up and he sure as hell didn’t now. The difference now however was that he felt as though he had nothing else to lose, and he owed Evan the truth no matter what the outcome may be.

Fuck it.

“Can we talk?”

Tommy held his breath and hit send.

#my first 911 fic attempt so please be kind #bucktommy #tevan #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #fanfic #tevan fic

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paracosmic-murdock · 2 days ago

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vigilante like me

chapter eight: we could be the way forward, and i know i'll pay for it

pairing: matt murdock x black widow!vigilante!reader

summary: nights and nights of playing the hero as if that could redeem you that easily ended up taking you to new york, where you accidentally met the man who would turn your world upside down. a vigilante like you.

warnings/tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, mentions of murder and themes explored in the past couple chapters, mentions of reader being able to wear matt's clothes but it's not specified whether they're too big/too small/fit perfectly/etc., phd in applied flirting and ma in yearning studies, some smut (minors dni), takes place sometime during the blip, when born again comes out we might find out if my decisions of who were gone were right, spoilers/references of stuff and themes from daredevil (2015); avengers: infinity war (2018); avengers: endgame (2019) black widow (2021); and hawkeye (2021), but y'all must've watched all of those already so idc, yelena belova and the themes and events from the black widow (2021) movie are very relevant in this plot, song: cowboy like me (taylor swift)

word count: 3.6K

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

“You alright?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“You're just acting weird,” you commented. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I am, yes.”

“Okay,” You let it go, not quite convinced but also not wanting to keep him from leaving any longer. “So, you're going out now?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pursed your lips. “Okay.”

“Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine.”

The two of you sat in silence, both clearly hiding something, neither daring to give anything away.

“You went out,” Matt noted.

Your heart jumped in its place, which made him frown. Were you that affected at the thought of him knowing what you were up to?

“How do you know that?” you asked him, almost knowing the answer already.

“I smell a different fabric softener,” he replied. “Mine doesn't have any smell, and yours is coconut. There's also gunpowder. Coffee, the good one. Those weren't here before I left.”

You nodded. “I needed my clothes. And to protect myself in case they come for me… you know I couldn't take a punch if my life depended on it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Matt sat beside you. “I could've gone with you.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I don't want them going after you. I know they couldn't take you, but I'd rather not risk it.”

“Okay,” Matt replied. “Anything else you'd like to talk about?”

“Such as…?”

“Are you going out again?”

“I'm not,” you lied, and, for the first time, Matt heard your heart beat faster. “Are you?”

“Yes, like every night.”

You put your head on his shoulder. “What's wrong with you? You're acting weird.”

“I'm just worried about you.”

“That's not it,” You sighed. “Do you… regret what happened between us?”

He immediately turned to you. “Sweetheart, don't say that. Don't ever believe something like that, alright? I like you, and this between us, whatever this is is what I want. You're what I want.”

“Are you sure? Because-”

“I am sure,” he confirmed. “Now, why don't you go to sleep? I'll be back as soon as possible.”

“I will, yeah.”

Matt kissed your forehead and stood up, ready to get changed.

You watched him attentively. The way he hesitantly searched for his suit as if he didn't know where it was or how he stopped for less than a second to focus on you.

He eventually left his apartment, and once you thought he was far away enough, you searched for the voice messages Svetlana had sent you not too long ago.

“I found the address of the apartment they rented. They've been here for a few weeks now, so I guess they were carefully plotting how to get to you,” she began. “Let me know when you leave your place so we can meet somewhere and get there together. I'm not sure we'll find them just like that, but we'll start from there.” The first audio ended there, and you played the second right away. “Someone I know has access to security cameras all around Hell's Kitchen. I'm pretty sure he hacks them or something. I called him, and he said he'd look for them tomorrow morning so we can see if they left or what. You know he works with the Russians and they're close with the ones here, so I found one of them and mentioned I'm Fyodor's sister and to tell him I'm looking for him; gave him a burner cell number. I'll let you know what I find.”

Matt was listening to the entire conversation from the rooftop, and him suddenly going down the stairs made you flinch. “Shit, Matt! What the hell is wrong with you?! You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Are you going to kill Fyodor and Crosby?” he asked as soon as he reached the floor. Matt took off his helmet and left it on the coffee table in front of you.

You bit your lip, hesitant. “Matt…”

“I'm not gonna stop you, I just want to know.”

“What do you think I should do? Just let them beat me almost to death and get away with it?”

“I'm not saying anything, sweetheart,” He crouched in front of you. “Tell me what you and Svetlana are going to do to them.”

“We want to.”

He sighed. “You don't have to do it.”

“What do you think is gonna happen if I leave this to the justice system like you do?” you questioned. “I give them my ID and all that, they find out I'm not an official citizen yet, they send me back to Russia, and I get killed there. Then, they're taken into custody, they deport Fyodor and there he's not gonna face a single consequence because he has enough influence to be let out. And I don't know about Crosby, but I don't like the idea of him breathing.”

“I understand that,”

“Then what, Matt?” You just looked at him, and something in his eyes was just… different. “What will them in jail do for me and my peace? I need them to know they can't do whatever they want. What stops people like them from doing the crime is the punishment, Matt, and if they are immune to it, they will do whatever the fuck they want without a thought in the world.”

“Hey,” he called for your attention, and you just knew he was conflicted. His eyes on yours felt so heavy and afflicted, and you just wanted to know how to help him. “Tell Svetlana not to look for them.”

“Matt?” You cupped his face, trying to ease him. The idea seemed far too distant, but the look in his eyes, though blind, is one you know more than enough. It's like anguish in disguise pleading from behind the bars of one's pupils to be let out, figured out. Needing a peace you feel like you will never get back because you took something that wasn't yours to end with, and you must pay the price of that emptiness you left. “Did you do it?”

He pursed his lips and stayed silent.

His face spoke more than a billion words, and now you knew what was wrong.

“It's okay,” you mumbled, pressing your forehead against his. “It's alright, I'll tell Svetlana to stop looking for them.”

“Will you tell her I did it?”

You shook your head. “No, I'll make something up, okay? You're safe.”

“You can't take the blame for this.”

“Don't worry about a thing, Matt,” you assured him. “Tell me everything that happened and we'll figure it out. Just tell me everything.”

“I went to Fogwell's and Crosby was still in the alleyway where I left him,” Matt started. You took off his gloves and intertwined his fingers with yours. “I took him to an abandoned building near the dock and made him call Fyodor. When he arrived, I hit him and took him where I left Crosby. I asked them about what happened and I hit them because I had to. I knew I had to hit Crosby and make him regret assaulting you and trying to kill you, but the more he talked about everything, the madder I got. I couldn't stop, and I didn't until my hands hurt. By then, they weren't breathing anymore.”

“What did they say?”

He sighed. “That you had it coming. They insulted you and said they would do it again. Among other things.”

“Okay,” You left his couch and sat on the floor in front of him. “Where are the bodies? We gotta get rid of-”

“I threw them into the river.”

“I am sorry, Matt,” you said, feeling your heart break at the thought that he broke who he is because of you. “This was all my fault. I'm not even worth the bother.”

Matt shook his head. “Don't say that.”

“Matt?” You lifted his chin. “Stay with me tonight? Please?”

“I have to go.”

“I know that,” you murmured. “I know if you don't go out, people get hurt. I get it, but… I want you here.”

You had no idea how you could tell Matt how difficult it is going to be for him once he has to hit somebody else again.

“I can stay a little bit longer.”

“Okay,” You smiled lightly and kissed his lips. Matt smiled in the kiss and felt like everything will be fine someday. “Tell me something.”

Matt hummed, sitting beside you. “I wish I could see your face.”

“Wow, sir,” You smiled lightly. “You're not missing out on much. As for me, I wish I couldn't see your ugly face.”

“You're ruining my self-esteem.”

“Good,” You took his face in your hands and pulled him closer. “I really like you, Matt.”

“I really like you, too,” He smirked and drove his hands to your neck, stroking your skin softly until he kissed you. “Very much.”

Matt left not too long after that, not before promising he wouldn't eavesdrop anymore. So, you made the call.

“I thought you wouldn't call,” she said instead of greeting you.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was out and forgot my phone at home.”

“It's okay. Where are we meeting?”

“We're not. It's done.”

“What? Did you-”

“They knew I was at my place, so they followed me to the dock where I was supposed to meet with a guy I know who was gonna help me find them,” you began, walking around Matt's living room as you tried to relive the conversation with him. “Suddenly, they approached me, but I didn't waste a second. I shot them both. They're now at the bottom of the river.”

“Oh,” Svetlana mumbled. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, just… shaken and sick of this life. Of running and having to do shit like this despite having been out of the Red Room for so long.”

“I get that,” she replied. “I am sorry about all of this. About my brother.”

“This was for you, too, Sveta,” you mentioned. “I hope we can be at peace now.”

“I hope so, too,” You knew she smiled. “Don't be a stranger, okay?”

You chuckled lightly. “The same goes to you.”

She hung up the call and you gave yourself the luxury of sighing in relief.

You wouldn't even think about the moment somebody else comes for you again. You're not alone now, right? There's Matt, and now he is your biggest concern.

Killing someone is that one thing you can never come back from. You know that better than anybody; taking a life, whomever it belongs to, changes you completely. Matt needs you now that he crossed the line you know he swore never to.

Especially because Matt did that in your name.

Now, you were in his bed, taking in everything around you.

Silk bed sheets, the good ones. A neat pile of laundry, ready to be organized. His phone, there in the nightstand. A lamp, new. It wasn't there before. You turned it on; it was dark.

Your heart jumped in its place, and you wondered if that is what they say in the movies that teenagers feel when they fall for the first time… Is it that you are falling or have you already fallen? You don't know that anymore, and maybe will never know.

You stood up, approaching the pile of clothes. They were his work suits and each was already on the hanger, which was labeled in braille and had English on the opposite side. You checked if they were all correct and hung everything in the closet.

Walking around the room wasn't enough to ease you now. You thought, perhaps, that there were sections of the apartment you were left to explore. He made you breakfast and dinner, and you went out for lunch with Svetlana.

Outside, you saw the bag he had brought from work. Curiosity got the better of you, and you went to the dining table and opened it. Grey curtains he doesn't need for himself.

In the fridge, a six pack of Stella Artois beers, quite different from the cheap ones you always saw him drink at Josie's.

A new mug. Blue, shorter and wider than his white one, probably so he could tell the difference between that one and his.

Before you could keep looking around, you heard his steps coming down the stairs.

“You're early.” you noted.

He took off his helmet, revealing a new cut in his left cheekbone. “Yeah.”

“Is everything alright?” You walked to him.

Matt nodded, but you knew better than to believe him.

You helped him unzip his suit in complete silence.

“Are you?” you asked again, putting your hand on his chest.

He chuckled softly. “Don't worry about me, sweetheart.”

“It's too late for that,” you replied.

Matt sighed.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay, we won't,” you said. “We'll sleep now. Or maybe talk about something else.”

Matt gave you a short kiss. “I'd like to sleep now. Let me take my pillows and-”

“Take them, where?” you asked him as if you didn't know what he meant and weren't plotting a way to get him to share the bed.

“What? Do you want to sleep in my bed with me?” He smirked.

“I do,” you confessed. “And I also would like to wake up with you in it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure you want me, darling.”

“Sure I do.” you confirmed with a smile, one wide, at that.

“You're smiling,” he mentioned, mimicking your smile. “God, what a feeling.”

“What feeling?” You laughed.

“When you smile it just… it's a whole other thing,” he began. His hand went to cup your face, as if touching you enhanced that feeling he was talking about. “Your heart beats faster, but it's still calm, and your body temperature rises ever so slightly. It feels comforting when close to you, like when the sun leaks through the windows in the morning.”

“I didn't know you were such a charmer.” you joked.

“I'm sorry for hiding that from you.”

You shook your head and kissed him. “God, keep them coming.”

“You can't possibly understand how much I need you to get well so I can take you out to dinner,” Matt pecked your lips, leading the way to his bed like you wanted. “I hope you kiss on the first date.”

“It usually takes me at least five, but I think I can make an exception for you.”

Matt hummed. “By the way, how are you feeling?”

“Like I was stabbed multiple times, yeah,” you mumbled, soon cuddling in his bed. “And it hurts way more that this is something that was purposely done to me. That he knew I had to be unconscious because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get to me like that, and that… a person I trusted did this to me, not to mention what I learned today that he did to his sister.”

“What did he do?”

“He and his father sold Svetlana to the Red Room,” you answered. “And that is shit, Matt, because… the Red Room was Hell on Earth. It was the kind of thing that makes you turn the TV off when you watch the news, it makes you want to throw up when you hear about it, or cry at the thought of your mother, sister or daughter ending up there. You grow pessimistic about humankind when finding out what the widows have done, and lose hope in this world completely when you realize what they did to us to make us do such things. They purposely gave their daughter and sister away when she was a little kid, and for what? Some pieces of paper with buildings on ‘em.”

You sighed.

“All the atrocities I've seen in this world could make you forget about the people fighting them everyday, or the people in the market selling you vegetables, or the owners of the coffee shop you pass by everyday. Or people like you,” you added. “Now that there's only half of us, you realize that there's more good people than bad people, and that it's not that simple. You know it because there's half as evil and twice as sorrow, and because you see how grief can change the path of any person for better or for worse.”

“But you're out.”

“Some days, it feels like I never left,” you confessed. “Some days, I wake up in such pain and so tired that I feel like this world isn't worth saving, that I've had enough. Those days, I decide for a little while that I won't fight anymore, but then… My neighbor's daughter is with him that weekend and she watches some Grimm Brothers cartoons about fairy tales that remind me of the messed up ones we used to watch there. I go out and step on branches, and it sounds like those bones I've broken… arms, legs, ribs, and necks alike. Fireworks sound like gunshots, history documentaries remind me that us widows took part in many of those. The ballet academy on my way to Fogwell's reminds me of those times we learned it and I was so afraid to mess up that I would have an anxiety no seven year-old should feel. The smell of hospitals reminds me of a wing in which they would take us to experiment on us sometimes, or when we got a hysterectomy done as some twisted initiation ritual. Blood, knives, guns, they go without saying. Little girls the age I was or other fellow widows were when we were taken. Screams. Darkness. Even words like target or just names, you know? In the Red Room, we were controlled by them to the degree that, to this day, we don't know which actions were ours and which, theirs. Some days, I just think that unawareness is bliss, and then… Then, I remember that a Widow is all I've ever been, and that I have no idea who I am outside a mission. I've never had a reason to question myself all that much, I just existed, worked, and tried to shut the voices in my head. Now, I feel like maybe there's hope for me. That I can live instead of survive.”

Matt kissed your forehead. “I admire you. I don't think many people who went through what you did could have the courage to be good after everything, but you do. Maybe you do fight, and it's not ideal for you, but you care. If you didn't, you wouldn't go out to help and take care of this city, you would pick fights and do bad things. As you said, good and bad… narrowing everything down to it is not simple at all. I met someone years ago, and, at the beginning, I thought he was some lunatic that mixed an intention with the worst way of execution. I thought he was insane because he killed so many people in cold blood; people who were bad, but I've always thought that justice is real. I know that punishment and deciding who lives and who doesn't isn't up to us. I think that most times, but when you are surrounded by so much depravity and evil, you question everything. He, uh- he did all of that because of his family. We know that killing the people responsible won't bring them back, but, deep down, you just know that it will bring you some comfort at least, however short it might be. He did all of that out of love and grief, and while I would never do anything like that and I would never justify his actions, I understand where he came from. Our intentions can be good or bad, but what really defines us is what we do with them… And it depends on the way you see stuff: you feel that you must fight, and you do it by saving others. Or, maybe, he saved others from the damage those people did and would keep doing, but he did it by committing mass murder. Some will condemn us or justify us, but the truth is that… it's not that simple, is it?”

“And it never will be,” you agreed. “You think you wanted me safe and that they deserved punishment for what they did, but you killed them. I think that, yes, you killed them, but I know I'm safe and so is Svetlana. You might see yourself as a murderer, Matt, but from the point of view of someone that was a victim of so much, I see you as a hero. There is so much goodness in you, and you can't let this take that from you. No matter what… you are not what you did last night, you are what you've done all these years for this city and its people.”

“I came back because, for a moment, I was there again, the moment their hearts stopped beating. First, I couldn't stop, and I couldn't keep going as soon as I came back to reality,” Matt said, finally letting out the reason that brought him back earlier than usual. “And I'm afraid I crossed a line, and that it will haunt me forever.”

“It'll pass,” You kissed his forehead. “One morning, every trace of this will be gone for good. For both you and me, and if you let me, I'd like to be there that day.”

Matt turned to you and took your hand, placing it where his heart is. “I'd love to be there with you, too. However long it takes, sweetheart, and I am serious.”

His heartbeat was steady and his eyes so telling that you wouldn't think he can't see you at plain sight. “I can tell that.”

He kissed your lips once more before holding you even closer and closing his eyes, ready to sleep. “The only heartbeat I care about now is yours.”

Wow.

taglist: @wh1sp @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil #daredevil x fem!reader #daredevil imagine #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x fem!reader

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soscarlett1twas · 17 hours ago

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Third Time's The Charm

↳ At Vic’s funeral, Asirel reunites with an old “friend.” ↳ 1k words

It had been a closed casket, with little use to Asirel. He had seen the photos: a body in tatters, blackened first by blood, then from infection by wounds left untreated. An eye was missing. So was the hair. Only the shape of a nose, and the left half of the lips, made the body identifiable to him immediately. A countenance he knew far too well.

Asirel knew that body wasn’t beneath the lid. The real one was cremated. He was the one that scattered the ashes. Still, he felt it, as if it clawed at the wood; begging for release – taunting him, as its owner so often had. Asirel, he could hear those lips croon. I didn’t take you for a mourner.

He wasn’t. Death’s miasma, for the first time since Fresno, clouded his mind.

Asirel took a watch from his pocket. It had been a gift from Vic, and something he couldn’t stomach feel weighing on his wrist anymore. The large hand clicked just past ten.

He slipped it away and sat back down in the front row of chairs, closest to the coffin. Only the buzz of a distant city filled the air. He rested his head in his hands, fingers threading through his hair that seemed to bleed gray from the roots. Everyone else was gone.

Or, so he thought.

The smell of smoke was so faint he thought he was imagining it. He often did; whenever he thought back to Fresno, at least. Tara’s habits had frustrated him, but the ash was nostalgic. It reminded him of simpler times, of casinos and Quetza. Of the seven of diamonds she slipped him at his own father’s funeral, not too dissimilar to Vic’s.

Have a nice day, she had said.

Boots smushed the wet grass underfoot as the smoker approached. He dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his heel. “Room for one more,” the man asked as he sat beside him. Asirel said nothing. Through his fingers he spotted the stub in the grass.

A minute passed, the two beside each other. Asirel composed himself, sitting at attention with a stern expression which his red-lined eyes betrayed. It wasn’t until his gaze left the cigarette and faced forward – towards the coffin – that the other opened his mouth.

“It’s been a while, Asirel.”

“Likewise, James.”

The Wraith’s second-hand hadn’t changed a bit in the last decade. His face remained inscrutable, watching the coffin as Asirel did. Lines framed his mouth and brow, and his hand flexed against his knee. A pearlescent scar shone across his knuckles. He adjusted himself, throwing one leg over the other.

“Shit,” he muttered, “who’d think he’d be gone before us?”

Asirel huffed. “No one.”

James offered a box of Marlboros, and Asirel took one. It had been Vic’s preferred brand. He did himself the favor of lighting it.

“How’ve you been?”

Asirel took a drag. “Better. Though I am a bit offended. Where is Warden? Was it the decor?” Vic would’ve laughed.

All James gave him was a huff. “Still not keen on you.”

“Oh, you flatter me.”

Him, James, and Warden. An odd group to be left with, for sure – left in the wake of spectres who loomed larger than them, whether she a colleague or sister or wife. It was easy, for Asirel, to forget the impact of the Rhoades’ deaths. They were collateral. It was Isaac that pulled his heartstrings. But their deaths were written all over James’ face, parallel lines to Tara’s.

As if he could read his mind, James opened his mouth. “I saw you speaking to Isaac,” he said. “How is he?” A beat. “He’s doing well.”

He visibly relaxed. “Good. Good. Is it true he has a partner now?”

Asirel stiffened, unsure of how to speak of him around James.

“Please, Asirel.” He didn’t expect the pleading in his voice. “I was his godfather.”

Any other time he would’ve relished in this, but Vic’s gore appeared in his mind. He could find no pleasure in tormenting the man he cared so much about, not right now. Not when so many other ghosts surrounded him. Surrounded them.

“He does,” Asirel admitted. “I don’t know much. He keeps those spheres separate. But he has company now.”

James smiled.

And they went on. Asirel shared stories of Isaac, of Vic and Isaac – how the older man would return to him with a glimmer in his eye and, in spite of Asirel’s urgency for information, go on and on about how well Isaac was doing. The day Vic discovered the mysterious lover? He barely made it to the car before calling him, shouting into the receiver.

James spoke of earlier moments. Of memories that Isaac was too young at the time to remember. Dinners, botanical gardens, an amusement park, once. Conversation of Isaac shifted to Sawyer and Sahoko. Vic remained the thoroughfare for every story, the shadow on the wall of their lives. James kept turning to face the coffin, as if still speaking to Vic, including him in the joke. They were acting as if he was still with them. It was easier to talk as if he was.

When Asirel laughed, he felt his heart weighing heavy in his chest.

Eventually, the sun fell, casting the scene in a shifting golden hue. Asirel called his driver and began to walk James back to where he parked his motorcycle. For all their talk of Isaac, they hadn’t forgotten the other young boy, but Asirel hadn’t wanted to interrupt with work. Tara loved leaving him with unfinished business. The bitch. He smiled at the thought.

Asirel stopped walking, and James glanced at him as he pulled out his key.

“Do me a favor.” From a hidden pocket, Asirel pulled a playing card out of his suit jacket. He turned and folded it into the other’s hand.

James looked down. A seven of diamonds. He raised an eyebrow.

“A gift I never got to repay her,” he explained, making dead-on eye contact with the Wraith. “Give it to Elias.”

A moment passed as James scrutinized it, trying to decode whatever message it carried. Finally: “why?”

Asirel flicked his long-burned cigarette away, ignoring the question. “Tell him I say ‘have a nice day.’”

This was the Whatever Yama Says Goes epilogue. I'm sorry for never delivering: it was my fault for dragging it out for so long, but my exhaustion from working on the project (in tandem with my waning interest in the Sakuverse as whole) made it miserable to write.

Still, I posted this because I wanted to share even a fraction of that work with you all. If y'all want, I'll post an explanation of my theories and head canons that were to be in the fic. For example, the two most relevant to this chapter was Tara being a part of the Collective and the Mao-based ritual to initiate members into the organization.

(Mao is a card game where the only way to learn how to play is by playing. The only rule you're allowed to tell others is that you can't explain the rules. Thus, I won't elaborate on the references, except that Asirel telling James to give Elias the card and to tell him "have a nice day" was Asirel's way of giving Tara's seat in the Collective to Elias.)

There’s also the strong possibility this will be my last fic. I won’t say for sure, but it’s like… 99% chance. 99.9%, even. I loved this fandom, but unfortunately, it’s simply not for me anymore <3

#zsakuva #sakuverse #zsakuva asirel #asirel cain #divider by cafekitsune #divider by saradika graphics

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vacantgodling · 1 day ago

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hey, it's btaf's first birthday, so i'm releasing part of draft 3 in celebration. for those who are unaware of how i'm writing this wip right now, each stage of the process is broken down into multiple 'drafts', with draft 3 being the first one where i am actually writing the first round of prose. it is a bit messy, inconsistent, and not fully historically sound (that's what drafts 4 & 5 will eventually be for) but my goal for now is to set the mood, tone, and add more dialogue, as well as once again expand on the previous two drafts! this isn't the entirety of act 1 (i still have so much more to write) but i figured i would give out a little sneak peak to gague reaction, vibes, and as a little thank you to everyone who's been on the journey so far with me as i find my way through what will be an eventual behemoth of a novel <3 no tw's apply (yet), just enjoy that sweet sweet long pondered over prose! for those who come across this while scrolling, welcome! you can find a summary of btaf here -> (x). without further ado though:

ACT I: THE HOUSE OF DEAR EDUARD

Casavantes Gaztelura, Basque Countryside — August 14th, 1811

The cruelest and craftiest of all the Devil’s handiwork—darkness—had descended upon and laid waste to the countryside.

Beneath the canopy of towering conifers, thunder cracked; its bull-whip baritone lashing out against the blackened sky. Lightning, its more agile sister, leapt up from her tenuous slumber to dance between the thick cover of clouds that stretched wide across the haloed firmament above.

The air of this region was impossibly stuffy and hot—linen stuck to the breast and strangled the throat if one’s buttons were too tightly closed. It was the common fashion to leave shirts open and hanging about the trousers or down the shoulders, at least, if there was no one about to witness it—so your nakedness could not bear sin and affront God. Yet, the slick stick of sweat was the least of the concerns of the travelers in the small caravan that was making its way north along a long forgotten tread. The former inhabitants of this land had carved this place to their desire and the faded path cut through the remnants of ruins on either side of its muddied walk. It was easy to imagine that many centuries before the present time—the seventh month of the good year of the Lord, 1811—that armies marched through these parts; perhaps to confront a disgruntled warmongering lord, or, perhaps a bishop traveling from a distant, far off land to christen a newborn babe of a powerful house. But none of the power and prestige of this land was left here. What ought to have been forts and bastions were crumbling and abandoned; weathered and withered away to time immemorial; their true purpose and nature lost to Antiquity.

So too did their caravan look out of place in this dreary countryside; no trunks or provisions did they carry in the back of their covered carriage. No food or wine did they gnaw upon, though it could be argued they were not keen to have it moistened by something other than the saliva of their mouths, as a steady rain beat down upon them borne of the battle raging above. No weapons did they carry—never mind the rumors of bandits that crawled through the area like a particular infestation of gnats or fleas—nothing else on their persons except for the clothes on their back. It was hard to imagine what trials they may have faced, from wherever they had been wandering before they ended up in this evil part of the Basque.

Two travelers there were: countenance grim between them, and not a single word spoken. As the thunder and lightning above them danced and cackled amongst itself; they were silent as church-mice, or recently scolded children who had nothing more to say, lest they be popped once again in the mouth.

The person holding the leading mare’s reins—with youthful, elegant fingers, befit of a pianoforte player—was a woman of an olive complexion, which appeared darker by the deepness of the night that entrenched them. Her nose sat proudly and regally at the center of her face, with an elegant slope; a nose fit for royalty, her attire a complement of it: a fitted men’s riding frock of a thick tweed was affixed about her torso, shielding her from the worst of the elements. Glimmering, solid gold buttons shone in the darkened night; a symbol of her class, perhaps, but they hardly shone as brightly as something new, caked with days old mud or debris from the long journey. The shirt beneath her jacket was partially undone and the ties that keep it shut laid brazenly across the planes of her chest; such a display scandalous for a woman of any age, but especially for one at the age where men would turn their gaze down and betray God’s commandments to liken upon the soft curvature of supple skin and imagine how it would feel beneath their palm. Little flecks of moles dotted her bosom, and up to her slender neck; it would be worth the assumption that these little constellations follow her entire physique, but such observation of her lower form was obstructed by a heavy woolen skirt, which was bogged down only just by the rain. It was hard to make out any designs or patterns of it, but what little could be observed was that its hem, the same as the soles of her riding boots, was caked in the same mud that trampled ‘neath the mare that mushed their caravan. Her dark eyes glimmered eerily in the dark with another pass of lightning and she turned them to glance upon the passenger astride her, situated just to her left in their small charge. Close enough they were to touch but there was some invisible barrier there, in the scant space that their shoulders occupied, they dare not brush. Her shoulders were sloped, as her nose; regal and relaxed in her stature in a state of unbotheredness. Her companion’s however; were bunched.

The man beside her was of an even darker complexion than she; rich, black skin that hid him in plain sight among the shrouds of darkened twilight. His nose was wide, his shoulders, wider, and his lips were plush; near feminine as were the dark lashes that framed his eyes, and fluttered in the wayward breeze like an angry shadow shivering in the backdrop of a plain wall. Water clung to the man and his clothes, drenching him to the bone and allowing the chill to settle deep into every seam and stitch he bore. It worked it's unsettling magic on his skin, it gleamed ‘neath the moon as it brushed it with its watchful gaze. These same droplets stood to attention across the kinky waves that fell loosely into his eyes and that gently cupped his face. His hair was long overdue for a haircut and stringy at the ends; rarely any a tempered folk would allow their tresses to see such a manner of unruliness; especially for those of the same hair texture as he, but he wasn’t tempered; couldn’t be. Some invisible tension gripped him taught; the space he could wriggle away from it was as thin as the space between himself and the caravan driver; as thin as the sliver of moon that cut through the night and shone upon his dark eyes; eyes dark as the abyss, and all the emotions that man could comprehend swallowed within them—the ones that lay repressed, deep within the cavity of the soul, and so too the ones that lay unabashedly bare, even if one ought to hide them. It was hard to tell if the wetness of the rain was what created the thin tracks of lighter skin between the mud that stuck to his cheeks, or if it were tears that even now glimmered unshed in the uneven lighting of midnight. Where the woman’s hands cradled the reins limply, only to guide the mare hence; the man’s hands gripped tightly into his dingy white trousers, of a similar kind and make befitted to those who’d serviced the great Napoleon, Emperor of Europe in his many battles of glory and soon, lore. Where his fingers breached the fabric it had begun to hole and fray. The jacket he wore was of a similar kind, with more holes and wear besides. Further unsettling was the dried and caked blood that clung to it, as a child clings to their mother. Both the jacket and the trousers seemed hardly fit to wear on any person, let alone one as large as the man who sat astride the elegant lady at the reins. It hardly contained him, yet also seemed to be the only thing preventing him from fully cascading apart.

As unlikely a pair they were, as thunder was to lightning, they sat amongst their own company; more silent than the unmarked graves they passed, and more weary than the dead who kept them.

After an undetermined passage of time, the caravan’s path was halted by a barrier, wrought with stones and iron, and held up only by what remained strong through passes of erosion and time. It was latched upon its outer side by a great bar; which should seem odd to ordinary folk. A gate’s purpose should be to protect and hold fast sanctuary of the occupants behind its grandeur, for the sake and protection of them thereof; not to keep them in. What horrors should the traveler’s find behind such a gate? This strange sight did not perturb either of them; though it was the woman who exited the carriage first. She hopped down into the deep mud, entrenching the hem of her woolen skirt into it as she sunk down into the moist, softened earth. She paid this no matter, then trudged through its wet, grabbing hands until she reached the iron-wrought gate. It towered over her—and she was a woman of stature herself. Still, she rolled back the sleeves of her coat and grasped hold of the iron bar with one hand. The metal groaned beneath her dexterous fingers; leaving a noticeable indenture and with ease, she swung the bar up and open. It crashed loudly to the other side of the gate from whence it was swung, and with her hand, she gently pushed the iron gate open, as though it were no heavier than a feather. It creaked on its age-old hinges but slowly gave way, and once the woman was satisfied with the opening she’d made, she returned and remounted the caravan seat next to her companion, who seemed just as unmoving as the statues and rubble around them.

She was the first to break the heavy quiet of the night, and the precursor to her voice was a tight lipped gesture with her lips, that in any ordinary situation ought to have been a smile. It was hard to tell if it were; or if it was a barely disguised grimace.

“We’re almost there now, Sjaak.” She said softly. Sjaak did not reply, and when met with his silence, the woman sighed, taking hold of the reins once again. She flicked them gently and the mare pulling the caravan began to walk once more. She did not bother getting out to close the iron gate behind her, leaving them exposed to whatever else lurked in the pitch darkness behind them.

A large, foreboding manor revealed itself to view; only visible perhaps, by the moonlight which finally made its bleak appeal through the stormy night sky; a spotlight on an elegant, if crumbling, time capsule of old. Gothic in style were its high and lofty ramparts, yet the many roofs of the structure were humble slopes of traditional Spanish terracotta, and the façade a distinct pattern of Isabelline plateresque; delicate baubles beaded in intricate patterns framed the balconies of darkened rooms, further obscured by the darkness of the entrenching night, their appearance enunciated by high pointed arches and hand crafted, spiraling rails that sought to bereft the living of an untimely demise. The central-most point of the manor, hidden acutely behind a large fountain of braying horses with one of their heads lobbed clean off and nowhere to be seen amongst the cobbled court, was a large wood and brass door, deep-set into the façade and surrounded on three sides by carved stone. In the usual style, perhaps heralds would be depicted, denoting a particular clan or class, or on cathedrals, scenes of the Bible or the holy works, such as that of Christ. But here there was no such enchantment. The stone winding the door was carved in Arabic, unusual for the time that this structure was hence erected, and a script that neither traveler seemed to heed or recognize. If they had, perhaps they would have read BEWARE, A TOMB OF SORROWS LIES HERE.

She did not bring them directly to the entrance and instead, guided the mare gently around the outside edge of the fountain and onto a beaten off path, trenched in mud, moistened from the rain still cascading around them. It was a temporary stable house, until a valet could come and guide the caravans and their steeds to a well-equipped carriage house and was hidden behind one of the large towers. Vines draped and wound over the archways of the structure. The roof groaned beneath the weight of water that had pooled in its bows, dripping and pooling into several buckets that were scattered around to catch the waves of the worst areas; rusted, but still usable. The woman dismounted from the caravan, then made her way to the other side. She stopped first, to unhook the mare from the caravan, whispering to it a few words of soft praise and rooted around in the large pockets of her frock for a few grains, which she then fed to the sweet beast. The mare accepted them with a whinny of pleasure, then lowered its neck to allow the woman to unhook the bit and bridle from round its great neck.

Once this was done, she continued on her path until she stood just two steps down from where the man, Sjaak, was still sitting in place. Sheltered from the light of the moon, it should’ve been too dark to apprehend his position, but clear as day, the woman reached out to gently jostle his knee. This roused him. He sat up straight with a small start.

“Have… have we arrived?” His voice creaked, common from lack of usage—as surely the two of them were quiet on their journey for quite some time—and in the dark, the woman nodded.

“Do you think you can stand to see her?”

A wind howled through the night just outside of the temporary shelter, rattling the handles of the rusted buckets, ruffling the needles of the conifers surrounding them, and seeped deeply into the countenance of Sjaak who jumped again, grabbing suddenly hold of the carriage with ashen knuckles—so tightly that the wood of the caravan creaked under his fingers, splintering.

“It was only the wind.” The woman soothed. She squeezed Sjaak’s knee. “I do not wish to leave you out in the cold.”

The woman gently took hold of Sjaak’s hand, prying it from its iron grip, as easily as she’d thrown the iron bar on the gateway only moments before. On shaking knees, Sjaak descended from the caravan, landing with an ungraceful thump by the woman’s side. Laws of propriety should have he lead her down from the carriage, but she did not seem to pay this any mind, as her companion still looked as though he’d chanced the sight of a ghost.

“We did not come all this way for my fright to claim the better part of me.” Sjaak said this, mostly to himself. He heaved in a large breath, then exhaled mightily, sending the wind back from whence it came. He turned his head to regard the woman, squeezing her hand for a long moment, then he released it. Aloud, he continued;

“I have longed to see her for many years—to learn what has become of her. Is she still as beautiful as I recall? As mirthful as a newborn fawn and as gentle as a babbling stream? Does her laughter still shame the cathedral bells, is her smile still sublime as a summer evening’s glow? Such were the thoughts I have thus pondered; from the evergreen fields of the Netherlands, that which she and I once called home, to the battlefields that have spirited me far hence. ‘Ere these dark times you detailed came to pass, I should have rushed upon the steps of this grand estate, ran through any foyer or obstacle, and thrown myself at her beautiful, unblemished feet to kiss them and repent my long absence.” He paused, a howl once again piercing the night. His expression darkened.

“... But as such times have… I hardly know if I am prepared to behold her in her current visage—should it truly be as horrible as you say.”

“What troubles you will not be put to rest when I guide you to her.” The woman’s voice was but a flickering candle’s flame. “I fear it could be even worse than either you or I imagine—as it has been near a year since I have laid eyes upon her myself.” Still, she set her path forward, and with little other option, Sjaak tarried for a moment, then slowly followed behind.

They made their way across the worn cobbled path, back to the grand fountain and entrance to the manor, climbing its formidable steps one by one. They stopped before the threshold together, shoulder to shoulder as they were in their caravan and after a long stretch of a moment, the woman squared her shoulders then reached for the handle of the great brass door, grasping it with a only minute tremble of her palm. Then, she heaved; drawing the door back towards her. A baritone roar bellowed, cleaving the sounds of the storm above them in two. Stone squealed and metal groaned joining together as one echoing force to draw the formidable bowels of the deepest abysses of Hell opened before them. An overwhelming aura of dread coated them each in a layer of terror-laced tar; feathering them with the designs and marking them with premonitions of some long forgotten evil that should never have been released.

“Ongi Etorri.” A voice slithers from within. “Casavantes Gaztelura.”

“Come.” The woman utters, and it is forced. “To your Biscella, within.”

#s: btaf #ren writing #IDK IM REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS EEEEEEEEE

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