#it’s just impossible it can’t be done

[won4kiss]

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────FOREVER SOUNDS PERFECT.

(🐚) ── 𝓛EE HEESEUNG﹙희승﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ established relationship ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ kissing ៸ petnames ៸ ❞ fiance! 𝓁ee heeseung x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 0.6K ꒱ SYPNOSiS 𐙚 in the late hours of the night, you and heeseung indulge in a late night talk about your soon to be married future together .ᐟ ── LiBRARY

THE APARTMENT WAS SILENT WITH YOUR THOUGHTS.

the world outside could be heard slightly from the open windows, but now, wrapped in lee heeseung’s arms, everything feels still and perfect.

he’s lying on his back, and you’re curled against his chest, your legs tangled like it’s second nature. his fingers play gently with yours, occasionally spinning the engagement ring on your finger like he still can’t believe it’s there.

“you’re thinking about something, aren’t you?” you say, tilting your head up to catch his gaze.

his lips twitch into a small grin, warm and familiar. “maybe.”

you raise an eyebrow, shifting slightly to lift yourself on your elbow. “okay mr. nonchalant, spill.” ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

heeseung sighed dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow with a thud. “i was just thinking about our wedding.”

your feel your heart skip a beat, but you play it cool. “oh? what about it?”

he taps his chin as if he’s deep in thought. “i’m still debating if i should cry when i see you walking down the aisle or just faint on the spot. both feel very in character for me.”

you giggle at his words, hitting his chest lightly. “be serious, hee!”

“i am serious,” he insists, catching your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your palm. “you’re going to look so beautiful. i’m probably gonna cry a little… just so you know.”

you roll your eyes affectionately, your cheeks pink and insides warm. “good. then i’ll cry too, and we’ll be a mess together.”

heeseung grins and tugs you down so you’re lying on his chest again—his arms wrap securely around you, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

“i was also thinking about our first dance.”

“really?”

“yeah.” his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. “i don’t know what song we’ll pick, but i know i’m not letting you go, even when the song’s over. we’ll probably have to be dragged off the dance floor.”

you can’t help but smile at the image forming in your imagination. “god—you’re such a sap.”

“for you? always.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingering on your skin.

“and then after the wedding… we’ll go somewhere far away for our honeymoon. somewhere with a beach, maybe. just us, no schedules, just sleeping in, exploring, eating too much good food.”

“sold,” you mumble, snuggling closer into his embrace if possible. “but you know the best part?”

“what?”

“coming home.” you trace small circles on his chest, where his heartbeat is steady and comforting.

“starting our life together. making breakfast on the weekends, falling asleep on the couch watching dumb movies, annoying you until you can’t take it anymore.”

heeseung chuckles, tilting your chin up so you’re nose to nose. “i love the sound of that.”

you grin. “even the annoying you part?”

“especially that part.” his voice softens, feeling the seriousness despite the teasing. “i want all of it. every boring, silly, annoying little moment.”

you lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips. he smiles into it, chasing after you when you pull back like he’s not done yet.

“we’re gonna have the best life,” he says so surely, eyes sparkling. “even if we burn dinner or lose our keys or—i don’t know, accidentally adopt five dogs someday.”

“accidentally?” you laugh.

he laughs too, tipping his head back against the pillow. “intentionally. whatever you desire, baby. as long as it’s with you.”

you smile, settling back into his arms, feeling so impossibly safe and loved. “forever sounds pretty nice.”

heeseung hums contentedly, his lips brushing your temple. “forever sounds perfect.”

© WON4KISS 2024 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. i love heeseung so much:( i think this will be my second to last fic of 2024!! my birthdays on tuesday that’s the only thing keeping me going rn ☹️ BUT HAIR APPOINTMENT ON THE 30TH GUESS WHOS GOING BLONDE🔥🔥🔥

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy @dazzlingjaeyun : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[greengoblinswifey]

A Christmas Reconnection—Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

summary— After breaking up with Rafe due to his treatment of Sarah and her friends, you’ve tried to move on, spending the holiday season without him. But as Christmas approaches, Sarah encourages you to follow your heart, knowing you still love him. A surprise reconciliation reignites your love, and together, you celebrate a magical Christmas.

warnings— slight angst, exes to lovers, oral(m&f receiving), fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, lots of fluff, L bombs.

Christmas was just a few days away, and the chill in the Kildare air matched the coldness that had settled between you and Rafe over the last few months. Ever since the breakup, you hadn’t had much contact with him. You couldn’t ignore how he’d treated Sarah, and it made being with him feel impossible.

Sitting on the couch in JJ’s living room, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate, you tried to enjoy the peaceful night, but your mind kept wandering back to him. Sarah sat next to you, watching you with a thoughtful gaze.

“I know you still love him,” she said quietly, breaking the silence.

“What?” you asked, looking over at her.

“I know you still have feelings for Rafe. You wouldn’t have been with him all that time if you didn’t care. But I also know you can’t stand what he’s done to me or John B.”

Your heart squeezed. “I do love him, Sarah,” you admitted softly, “But yeah, I don’t fuck with the way he’s treated you, and how he’s been with your friends, or John B. It’s just not the same.”

Sarah smiled softly, her eyes filled with affection. “I know, and I get it,” she said, her voice sincere. “But I love you both. And I love that you care about me, but I can't keep you away from someone you still love. I want you to be happy, and I know that could mean making up with Rafe.”

You felt a tightness in your chest as she spoke, torn between your loyalty to her and the love you still had for her brother, even after everything. “You want me to go back to him?” you asked.

“I want you to do what feels right for you,” Sarah said gently, “but if you love him, you should give him a chance. It’s gonna be Christmas, after all. A time for second chances, right?”

Her words lingered in the air. You hugged her tightly, feeling the warmth of her support and love, but still unsure of how to handle everything. “Okay,” you whispered, pulling back to look at her. “I’ll try.”

Later that night, you sat alone in your room, your phone buzzing with notifications. You glanced down at your screen to see multiple texts from Rafe as per usual.

Rafe: I’m sorry. I never should’ve treated you like that. Please talk to me. I miss you so much.

Rafe: I love you, and I’m sorry for everything. I’ve been a mess without you.

Each message made your heart ache, but you couldn’t ignore the pain of his past actions. You took a deep breath and typed a response.

We should talk.

Seconds later, his reply came.

Rafe: Yes, please, come over. I’ve missed you so much.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you weren’t sure what to expect. But your heart still cared about him, despite the hurt. After a long moment of hesitation, you grabbed your keys, deciding to drive to his house.

When you arrived at Rafe’s house, you knocked on the door, and when he opened it, his face lit up, but there was a sadness in his eyes too.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m glad you came.”

You gave him a small, uncertain smile. “I’m not sure what to expect from this conversation, Rafe.”

“I know,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “I just want to apologize, for everything. I was an idiot. I hurt you and Sarah and I’m so sorry. But I’ve been miserable without you.”

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in a while. He looked different, tired, like he hadn’t slept much. He was still the same Rafe, the one you loved in so many ways, but there was something in his eyes that told you he regretted his actions.

“Why’d you do it?”’you asked softly, feeling the weight of the words. “Why did you treat Sarah that way? Why did you hurt me?”

His gaze softened. “I was selfish. I didn’t think about anyone else. But I promise you, I never meant to hurt you. I’ve just been a mess, and I don’t want to lose you. I’ve been thinking about you every day since we broke up. I fucking love you.”

Your heart clenched in your chest, and despite everything, you wanted to believe him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to jump back into a relationship with him, but there was a part of you that missed him, that longed to hear him say these words.

“You still love me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“More than anything,” Rafe replied, stepping closer to you. “I’m sorry for everything. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll do anything to make things right.”

You paused, unsure of what to say. You’d been hurt, but maybe, just maybe, there was room for forgiveness. After a long moment of silence, you finally spoke.

“Maybe we can start over. Just—take it slow.”

Rafe’s face lit up with a relieved smile, and he pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly. “I’ll take it slow. Whatever it takes to show you I’m serious. I love you.”

You held him back, not fully certain what the future would bring, but for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of hope. And maybe, just maybe, this Christmas could be the start of something new.

Rafe led you upstairs to his room, where everything looked just as you remembered, his neatly made bed, the faint scent of his cologne in the air, and the soft glow of the lamp on his nightstand. He grabbed a blanket from the edge of the bed and draped it over your shoulders as you both sank into the mattress.

He pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as you leaned into his chest. “I missed this,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of longing.

“Me too,” you admitted, your fingers toying with the edge of the blanket.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary. “You don’t know how many nights I sat here, just wishing you were with me,” he said, his voice heavy.

You turned slightly, looking up at him. His blue eyes searched yours, a vulnerability there that made your chest tighten. “I didn’t know if we could get back to this.”

“Losing you made me realize how much I was screwing up—not just with you, but with everyone. I’ll prove it to you, every day if I have to,” he replied.

You sighed, leaning your head back against his shoulder. The warmth of his body against yours was a comfort you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much. As you shifted slightly, you felt the hardness of his cock press against you.

He cleared his throat, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “Sorry. Can you blame me? Having you this close again, it’s everything I’ve been dreaming about.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you glanced down, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help you.” You weren’t sure what came over you and you hoped that you wouldn’t regret it afterwards.

He tried to hide the excitement on his face but you could see it clearly. Slowly, you moved down onto the bed, pulling off his pajama pants to reveal his thick, hard cock. It had been months since you’d seen him like this, he almost looked bigger.

“Are you sure baby? You don’t have to do this if you truly don’t want to,” he said.

You shut him up by taking him into your mouth, stroking him as you did.

“Fuck baby, I missed that mouth,” he moaned.

You glided your tongue along his shaft, trailing it along the vein then licking the tip that oozed his salty pre cum. You took him back in again, this time allowing him to hit the back of your throat. Your hands went to massage his balls as you deep throated his cock and stared into his blue hues. He stared down at you with half lidded eyes and wrapped your braids in his hand, pressing you down gently onto his cock.

“Oh God, you’ve always been so good at this, shit,” he gasped.

You bobbed your head faster, each movement allowing his cock to brush against your tonsil. Rafe’s moans got louder as you spat on his cock before taking him back down your throat then sucking on his balls.

“Get it sloppy just like that baby, you’re sucking my cock so well,” he praised.

He used his hand to guide you down on him and before long, you felt him throb inside your mouth.

“Oh shit baby, I’m gonna cum, take my cum down your throat,” he gasped.

He came inside your mouth and you swallowed every drop, humming around his cock as you did. “That’s a good girl, you did so well for me,” he said.

Rafe began kissing you, trailing down your neck, his lips warm and deliberate, leaving a tingling path that made your breath hitch. He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes locking with yours, filled with a mixture of longing and devotion.

“Let me take care of you too,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, laced with a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen before.

You hesitated, your heart pounding, but the gentle way he cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb over your thighs reassured you. His gaze never left yours, waiting patiently for your response. When you gave a small, shy nod, his lips curved into a soft, relieved smile.

“Just relax,” he whispered, his hands slowly trailing down your sides as he gently took off your sweats. “You deserve to feel good. I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

Your breath quickened as his kisses moved to your thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, the words sending a shiver through you. “Every inch of you drives me crazy.”

His hands rested firmly on your inner thighs, and he pressed a kiss there, his lips lingering as if worshiping the very idea of you. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?“

“Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

He paused, looking up at you with a look that stole the air from your lungs. “I mean it,” he said softly. “You’re perfect. I’ll never get tired of reminding you of that.”

When his lips continued their journey to your clit, your head fell back against the pillows, your body responding instinctively to the warmth of his touch. The soft, praising words he murmured between kisses sent your pulse racing.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, his voice husky but soothing. “Let me hear you. I want to know how good I’m making you feel.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, and a soft moan escaped your lips. His name tumbled from you in a whisper, almost like a prayer, and he answered with a quiet, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

His movements were deliberate yet unhurried, and the warmth building in you was overwhelming. Pleasure jolted through your entire body as his skilled tongue sucked and nipped on your clit then you felt his finger slip inside you. He curled his finger, meeting the sweet spot inside you as his tongue flicked your clit and made you squirm. You had forgotten how good he was at giving head.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

When your breath hitched and your body tensed, he slowed his movements, giving you time to let the sensations wash over you. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, his tone dripping with affection. “You’re amazing. Cum for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

He tongue sped up and his fingers thrusted into you faster and as the tension built and finally released, you gasped his name, your voice filled with raw emotion. Rafe’s lips pressed against your clit one last time, his hands holding you steady as he whispered, “I’ve got you, always.”

Rafe wasn’t finished with you. He pressed tender kisses all over your face as he lined the tip of his cock with your quivering entrance.

“Do you want this? We can stop if you want to,” he said but you just wrapped your legs around him in response.

His blue eyes were locked on yours, filled with love and lust as his cock slowly slipped inside you. The air from your lungs was taken away as you felt him start to slowly thrust into you.

“I know baby, it’s okay, just breathe, I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

You felt every inch, every vein, every throb of his cock as he moved inside you, stretching you out like he used to all those months ago. He reached between your bodies and rubbed your swollen clit, increasing the pleasure that took ahold of you.

“You’re so tight baby, I missed this pussy, missed you,” he said, voice strained.

“M-missed your cock so much daddy,” you gasped, feeling him brush against your cervix.

“There’s my girl, that’s it,” he cooed, increasing his pace.

He pounded into you harder, his cock reaching places only he could. You ground against him, meeting his harsh thrusts as the pleasure built and the coil in your abdomen threatened to snap.

“Clenching around me so tight baby, cum for daddy, cum on daddy’s cock,” Rafe murmured.

Moaning daddy like it was the only word you knew, you clamped down on his cock and allowed your orgasm to wash over you. It was powerful and intimate, making you see stars as he held you close and soon, his orgasm took ahold of him too. Rafe’s cum spurted inside your pussy, filling you up as he rutted into you slowly and whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

“You did so well for me baby. Thank you so much, you mean the fucking world to me.”

Rafe kissed your forehead gently, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as you lay against his chest. His breathing was calm, steady, and he held you like he never wanted to let go.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and tender.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He tilted your chin up so your eyes met his. “You sure?” he asked softly. “I need to know you’re good, that you’re not regretting this.”

“I’m not,” you whispered, and to your surprise, you meant it.

He kissed you again, this time slower, as if savoring every second. “Good,” he said against your lips. “I’ve missed you so much. I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping you in the blanket as he held you. His hand brushed through your braids and his lips pressed against your temple. “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have you in my arms like this again,” he admitted. “I’m never letting you go this time. You’re mine, okay?”

You nodded, burying your face in his chest. His scent, familiar and comforting, surrounded you, and you felt safe.

After a while, he murmured, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He carried you to the bathroom, running a warm washcloth over your skin with the utmost care. His hands were gentle, his touch filled with unspoken affection. When he was done, he wrapped you in one of his hoodies and carried you back to bed, tucking you in beside him.

As you drifted off to sleep, his arms securely around you, he whispered, “I love you. Don’t forget that.”

The next morning, as you drove home, you couldn’t stop replaying the night in your mind. It was as if a wall between you and Rafe had crumbled, allowing you to see the vulnerable, loving side of him that you’d always known was there despite him acting like an asshole sometimes.

When you told Sarah what happened, her reaction was a mix of surprise and amusement.

“I knew it,” she said, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. “I mean, I didn’t think it would happen this fast, but I could tell you two weren’t over.”

You looked down, feeling a little embarrassed. “I didn’t plan for this, Sarah. But it felt right.”

She hugged you tightly. “Good. I just want you to be happy. And if that means being with Rafe, then so be it. Just make sure he treats you the way you deserve.”

On Christmas Eve, Rafe invited you over. When you arrived, he greeted you at the door with a warm smile and immediately pulled you into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said softly.

Inside, the living room was cozy and festive, the glow of the Christmas tree lights reflecting off the ornaments. Rafe handed you a pair of red Christmas themed pajamas.

“Matching PJs?” you asked, raising an eyebrow with a small laugh.

“Of course,” he said with a smirk. “You’re my girl, and I wanted this to be perfect.”

You changed into the pajamas, and the two of you spent the evening cuddled on the couch, watching Home Alone and sharing a bowl of popcorn. His arm stayed firmly around you, and he would occasionally press a kiss to your temple or forehead, murmuring how much he loved having you there.

Christmas morning was nothing short of magical. You woke up in Rafe’s arms, his face peaceful as he slept. When he stirred, his eyes opened, and he smiled at you, pulling you closer.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he whispered, kissing you softly.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling against his lips.

The two of you went downstairs, still in your matching pajamas, and sat by the tree. Rafe handed you a beautifully wrapped box, his eyes full of anticipation.

“Open it,” he urged.

Inside was an elegant promise ring, the diamond sparkling in the morning light. Your breath caught as you looked at him.

“Rafe.”

“I know it’s soon,” he said, taking your hand. “But I want you to know I’m serious about us. This isn’t just some fling. I’m in this for the long haul. You mean everything to me.”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He grinned and handed you another gift, a scrapbook he’d made filled with photos of you two, and little notes he’d written about his favorite memories with you.

You felt a pang of guilt as you handed him the sweater you’d gotten him, you hadn’t planned to even get back together much less spend Christmas together and exchange gifts, but he just smiled. “I love it. And honestly, having you here is the best gift I could’ve asked for.”

The rest of the day was spent baking cookies, cooking Christmas dinner together, and cuddling on the couch. Rafe kept finding little excuses to pull you into his arms, kissing you softly and whispering “I love you” every chance he got.

As the evening wound down, you realized that this was exactly where you were meant to be. Wrapped in Rafe’s arms, the past forgotten, and the future full of possibilities.

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ lacy, oh, lacy, matt sturniolo

ex!matt sturniolo x ex!fem reader

synopsis. in which your ex boyfriend matt gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.

warnings. angst, self comparison, ex!matt, jealousy.

word count. 700 words.

authors note. this is my fav song on guts :(

you were scrolling mindlessly through instagram, half-distracted by the show playing in the background, when it hits you like a punch in the gut.

matt’s name.

you almost swipe past it, the little blue checkmark drawing your attention before your brain has time to catch up. the first photo in the carousel is enough to make your chest tighten; matt’s unmistakable smile, wild and carefree, his arm slung casually around the waist of a girl who is undeniably beautiful.

she’s perfect in a way that feels cruel. her hair is shiny and soft, her skin glowing like she exists in some perpetually golden hour. she’s wearing a baby pink skirt and a white tank top, that made you second-guess every piece of clothing you ever owned. and matt—he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters, his gaze full of that rare blend of comfort and adoration that used to be reserved for you.

your fingers hovered over the screen, but the curiosity wins. you click on her profile—never a good idea.

her name is lacy, a name as delicate and ethereal as she looks. her bio is full of cute emojis, and her feed is an endless stream of photos that make her seem both unreachable heartbreakingly real. there are candids of her laughing with friends, aesthetic shots of iced-lattes and sunsets, flawless photos of her, and of course, more pictures of her with matt.

each photo was a dagger.

you scroll further, unable to stop yourself. there’s a photo of her in a bikini that hugged her perfect body in all the right ways, standing on the beach, her arms wrapped around matt as he leans down to kiss her forehead. the stunning sunset in the background really setting the scene.

you hate her. you hate how easily she seems to slot into the life that used to be yours. you hate the way she seems so effortlessly happy, like she’s never had to sit in her room crying after seeing someone else post photos like this. most of all, you hate how much she reminds you of everything you’re not.

lacy was kind. you could tell by the way people commented under her posts, by the stories where she’s tagged with the captions like “the sweetest person alive” and “my literal angel.” she’s funny, too, with captions that actually made you laugh even though you resented her for it. and then there’s the way she looks at matt in every picture. it’s the kind of look you recognised because it used to be yours.

and matt—he’s happy. he looks like he’s found the thing he’s been searching for.

it feels like a slap in the face.

you tell yourself to stop. to close the app, put your phone down, and do literally anything else. but instead, you go back to his post, lingering on the comment section. the flood of heart emojis and “you two are perfect” messages like tiny arrows, each one reminding you that this is his life now.

he doesn’t think about you anymore.

the realisation hits harder than you expect. it’s not like you thought he was still pining for you, but seeing it laid out in front of you—proof that he’s moved on, that he’s happy—makes your stomach churn.

you close instagram and toss your phone onto your bed next to you, but the damage is done. lacy is burned into your mind now, an image you can’t shake. you think about her at random moments, comparing yourself to her in ways that feel pathetic but impossible to stop.

would matt have loved you more if you’d been more like her? if you’d laughed more or dressed better or been softer around the edges?

you hate how much you care.

it’s not just jealousy—it’s grief. for what you had with matt, for the person you were when you were with him. for the version of you that thought she was enough.

you try to tell yourself it’s just a passing feeling, that in a few days this ache will dull into something manageable. but tonight, it’s sharp and all-consuming, and it’s hard not to feel like lacy has taken more than matt from you.

she’s taken the version of yourself that felt loved.

and you can’t stop wondering if you’ll ever get her back.

[circeyoru]

Loyalty of The Shadow _ Part 3 *END*

[Sung Jinwoo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2  — Part 3 (here)

“Arise!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE TWO CHANCES REMAINING.]

“Arise!!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE ONE CHANCE REMAINING.]

“No… I can’t lose you…” Jinwoo hugged your cold body close, ignoring all the blood that dirtied his clothing or the scene he was making in front of his Shadows who watched with bated undead breath. “I shouldn’t have been with Hunter Cha… I shouldn’t have let you leave…”

It all happened within less than an hour. Jinwoo heard from Igris—with the help of Beru, who was the only Shadow to speak—that you left for some time alone and wanted to be completely alone. He thought it was fine as long as you were near him and he could go to you the moment he was done with Hae-In. But it took longer than expected and look what that led to.

You were the target of some people that saw Jinwoo through a negative lens. Since it was impossible to harm the S-Rank, it was simpler to put their anger and envy on people close to him. You happened to be unguarded at the worst time possible. When he got the news from his patrolling Shadows, it was already too late. Your body was cold and you had lost too much blood for his potions to do anything.

Jinwoo pleaded, he wished, he begged, he hoped. This was his last chance.

“Arise.”

From your body, misty tendrils formed and flickered around until it started to create a figure he was all too familiar with. There was you, standing before him with purple eyes and a body of shadow and darkness, dressed in what appeared to be robes like a mage—just like Min Byung-Gyu—but also some form of armour at the joints, everything outlined by neon purple like his Shadows. 

[SHADOWS HIGHER THAN RANK KNIGHT CAN BE NAMED.]

It was weird that you could be named, and even more bizarre that you were ranked as high as Igris was when he was first extracted. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was what to name you. It felt wrong to give you your original name because this was just a Shadow version of you, but then he can’t just give you another name. 

Just then, he had the answer. He stared at you in the eye and brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Blank. You’ll answer to that from now on.”

His heart ached when you bowed to him with a hand over your heart area. Your gaze fixated on him when you straightened up, and there was wonder and eagerness in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be reminded of your memories. 

Well, he might as well say it now. Still, with all his perceptive point investment, he somehow failed to notice his Shadows giving you a particular look. Particularly Beru and Igris, who appeared most fidgety, as if they had something to tell but couldn’t. 

“I have loved you for so long… Will always love you. I am so sorry for letting that happen to you. I should have protected you. I should have been with you.” Jinwoo leaned down where his forehead lightly touched yours and his eyes closed. “I love you.”

Hm!

??

Jinwoo’s eyes opened with confusion. The sound was way too close to be from the outside source. Not to mention… He raised his head and stared at the Shadow newly added to his army. He definitely felt a flinch from this Shadow. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the Shadow that stiffened for no reason. “Hey…”

Your eyes blinked and somehow avoided his gaze. Which was weird already since his Shadows never does something like this. They never act this human, nor were they affected by what he says on an emotional level. This was very suspicious. 

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Jinwoo’s eyes stayed glued to your facial expressions.

You shook your head and made a cross with your arms in front of your face, anything to shield you from Jinwoo’s intense gaze.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Jinwoo sighed your original name. “Stop acting.”

You tried maintaining your Shadow act as much as possible. It was too much and you ended up nodding in defeat with a droopy attitude. 

“How is this possible?” Jinwoo questioned aloud as his eyes widened, bewildered by the relaxed posture you suddenly took after your admission. You were acting the same as before, like nothing has changed and he didn’t just extract your shadow from your dead body. Wasn’t there an urge of loyalty placed on you that directed your attention to him? A force that compelled you to act inhuman?

You shrugged and pointed at your neck, no, throat to be more specific. Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. 

“Are you saying ‘you can’t speak’?” Jinwoo guessed your meaning.

You nodded enthusiastically and clapped your hands with a smile. Your lips moved, but once more, Jinwoo couldn’t hear anything from you. 

“My Queen is calling you smart and quick on the uptake, My Liege.” Beru spoke up suddenly, his wings fluttered with pride as he was now more important, being a bridge between his master and his master’s love. 

“You can understand?!”

“I can understand you now!?” 

Both Jinwoo and you exclaimed. The two of you looked back at each other and giggled. Soon, some changes were made. Instead of Beru watching over his mother and younger sister, Jinwoo had a legion of knights, mages, orcs, ice bears, and ants to guard them. Since Beru was the only one who could deliver your words to him, Beru had to be close by. 

Then he wondered how you could have your voice back. His only answer was to raise your rank. However, sending you into battles was something he swore he’d never do to you. He wanted to protect you, but not have you serve him. Now that you weren’t any ordinary Shadow but something akin to a reincarnation of yourself, he can’t do this to you. 

“My Liege.” Beru’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “My Queen wants to fight as well.”

“Nonsense. I won’t allow it.” Jinwoo spoke without missing a beat. “Never.”

Beru continued to relay your words, “My Queen wants to fight your battles with you, to be next to you. Rather than listening to your hardships.”

Jinwoo looked over to you, who was busy mingling with his Shadows, seemingly trying out a sword or a mage’s staff. Needless to say, the Shadows were ecstatic to finally communicate with you, even though it was your death and their master’s powers that allowed it. Still, they all made the best of things and kept you busy. 

“We will ensure The Queen is never in danger, My Liege.” Beru promised. 

It wasn’t like he and the other Shadows wanted their master’s beloved to fight alongside them. Yes, it’s an honour. But they shared their master’s worry when it came to your safety and health. When you told the Shadows this, they were against it until they heard your reasoning behind it. You wanted to be able to talk to Jinwoo again, to accept his confession by your own voice. For you, too, saw this as your second chance in life or the afterlife.

Jinwoo sighed, though a small smile was on his lips. “I could never say no when it comes to that, huh? Fine.”

As if you heard the resolve, your head turned over to Jinwoo while you waved with a beaming smile, not caring that you were swinging a sword in the air. 

“Let’s do some levelling up.”

Note: Welp, first one of the Christmas update is out~ And this is the end of this series. Thanks for following this series! (even though I never planned for it to last this long)

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @lunavixia @o-qi-shisme @skylar896 @marydragneell @bri602 @posionapple24 @akemityan @shaq-27 @the-dumber-scaramouche @mydearestbeloved @icefox8155 @loudlylovingcreator-blog @kaeyasoccs @rozuburedo @shineinouzen15

[m4rv3l-girl]

bucky Barnes and y/n just got to where they're staying for their honey moon and without a second thought bucky is all over you.

but there was one problem that you have tried to ignore until now, you are still a virgin, not only that but you don't even know how to touch your self, let alone please your new husband, y/n is scared and starts having a panic attack as soon as she is put on the bed, not realizing her fear until this moment bucky helps her but also assuring her that she doesn't have to have sex with him just to prove her love.

Honeymoon

Warnings: Mentions of sex.

The moment the door to the cabin closed behind them, Bucky Barnes had you pressed up against it, his lips seeking yours with a fervor that took your breath away.

The rustic charm of the honeymoon retreat - the roaring fireplace, the faint smell of pinewood, the soft lamplight painting golden hues on the wooden walls - all melted into the background as his strong hands framed your face. His kiss was demanding yet tender. It was a combination that only Bucky could master, and your heart raced in response, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in your chest.

“You’re everything, doll,” he murmured against your lips, his deep voice vibrating through you, sending warmth flooding your veins. His blue eyes searched yours and you couldn’t help but smile shyly.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers over the slight scruff of his jaw, marveling at how lucky you were to call this man your husband.

He grinned, leaning into your touch before kissing the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he said, his tone reverent. Then, he scooped you up effortlessly, making you squeal in surprise. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry my bride over the threshold?”

Your laughter filled the room as he carried you to the bed, the large, plush comforter looking as inviting as ever. But as he laid you down gently and hovered over you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck, that bubbling laughter faded into something else.

The nervousness you’d pushed aside since the wedding ceremony came rushing back with a vengeance.

You felt your body stiffen beneath him, and he paused immediately, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone laced with concern. His metal hand, cool to the touch, rested lightly on your hip, while his flesh one cupped your cheek.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. The realization of what tonight might entail—what it likely would entail—hit you like a freight train. You hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it, but now, with Bucky so close, his touch so intoxicating, it was impossible to ignore. Your chest tightened, and your breaths came quicker, shallower. A wave of panic began to rise, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if it could keep your heart from hammering out of control.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me,” Bucky’s voice broke through the haze, firm but gentle. His hands moved away from you, giving you space, as his worried gaze locked onto yours. “What’s wrong, doll? Talk to me.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you turned your head away, feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed. “I…I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I just… I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he asked softly, his hand finding yours and squeezing it reassuringly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow.”

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling deeply and exhaling shakily. His presence, his steady encouragement, helped calm the storm inside you just enough for you to find your voice. “I… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted in a whisper, your cheeks burning with shame. “I don’t even… I don’t even know how to…”

Realization dawned on his face, and his expression softened even further, if that was possible. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a tear away from your cheek with his thumb. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t ready. Or that I don’t love you.”

He shook his head firmly. “Doll, listen to me. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know you love me. I see it in everything you do. Every look, every touch, every word. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. Do you hear me?”

His words washed over you like a balm, soothing your frayed nerves. You nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear or shame. They were from relief.

Bucky sat back slightly, giving you space to sit up. He held both your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he spoke. “This isn’t about some expectation or obligation. This is about us, Y/N. About what makes you feel safe and loved. And if you’re not ready, then we’re not doing anything, plain and simple.”

“But… what if I never…” You hesitated, your voice faltering.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we ever get to it,” he said, his tone steady. “But for now, we’ll go as slow as you need. There’s no rush, doll. We’ve got forever, remember?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Bucky pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady, soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace ground you.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a while, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“You never have to thank me for loving you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s the easiest thing in the world.”

For the rest of the evening, Bucky didn’t push.

Instead, he suggested you explore the cabin together, and the two of you ended up curled on the couch by the fire, wrapped in a blanket as you shared stories and laughter. It was intimate in its own way, and by the time you both retired to bed, the weight of your earlier panic had lessened considerably.

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized that love wasn’t about grand gestures or fulfilling expectations.

It was about moments like these.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you wanted, My Dear 🫶

[meichenxi]

12 hyper-specific actionable neurodivergent-friendly goal suggestions for the New Year!

If you are considering writing goals / intentions / focus points that are more ADHD and/or autism friendly and not overly focused on career or relationships but rather on feeling at home in your body, here are 12 very specific, very actionable tiny steps that have made my life actively better in the last year. Feel free to reblog with similarly actionable points!

(Obligatory disclaimer: these are what have helped me – hence why ‘hyperspecific’! They might be completely the opposite of what you need, or irrelevant to your situation. And all of them, of course, are funds-dependent. But I hope you can find something to inspire you to think about more actionable goals for the coming year.)

1) Get a recipe box

This is number one for a reason. In the past, I have lived for three years on sandwiches (!). I cannot cook or reliably feed myself, and have been beating myself up about it for years. At its best it is humiliating, and at its worst I have gotten various illnesses from malnutrition. I find cooking a sensory hell, as well as triggering past ED thoughts, and shopping and deciding every day what to eat is an executive dysfunction nightmare.

‘You should be able to cook’ – okay, but you can’t. If you can afford it, what’s more important – that you eat well, or that you fail again and again at doing what you ‘should’ be able to do? I think of it as part of my autism accommodations, and just one of the ways that existing as a disabled person is more expensive. Please take the shame away from it, and use it if you need.

I pay for Gousto – it’s the best for vegans, and costs about £35 a week. This is a huge part of my budget for the month, but I find it worth it a million times over. It delivers the recipes and packaged foods in correct amounts to my house every week, and I always choose the quickest recipes to cook. They are done in about fifteen minutes. This forces me to be in the kitchen every day, which has the added benefit of making it very clean, because I can’t stand to cook when the kitchen is very dirty.

2) Go to the gym for ten minutes a day

- (If you don’t want to go to the gym but do other exercise instead, swap the location out for your preferred place!)

- Most traditional advice around exercise revolves around not doing too much – so for most beginners that means 3-4 times a week, at the maximum. The problem is that for AuDHD and other neurodivergent people that habits may be much harder, if not impossible, to form. This means that the executive function required to remember to go to the gym if it’s only 3 times a week, conversely, is actually significantly higher than if you do it every day.

- The ‘ten minutes a day’ thing, for me, means that my goal is not to do X amount of exercise or overwhelm myself. My goal is only to get there. Once I’m there, I can do whatever I want. This formulation of the goal in my mind removes the demand-avoidance and executive dysfunction barriers because if I really don’t want to exercise, I can just walk on the treadmill for a bit and then leave. Knowing this means that I almost always do more exercise than I otherwise would if I were forced to follow a difficult and tiring exercise regime.

- The key to this is that you actually have to mean it. Don’t beat yourself up if after ten minutes, you go home. That’s okay. Your goal was ten minutes – your goal is to make going to the gym a habit, not necessarily the actual exercise you do. That comes next.

3) Use a weighted neck-wrap, cushion or plushie

- For a disorganised sensory system, as many autistic people in particular have, proprioceptive input (that tells your body where it is in space – so weight, pressure, compression etc) can be hugely regulating and calming. A weighted neck wrap is small enough to go under your clothes or can go over your chest as you sleep. I already use a weighted blanket, but this means I can have a little bit of calming proprioceptive input as I work at my desk as well.

4) Get a smoothie box

- This is a similar point to the recipe box. I frequently have health problems because I absolutely hate the texture of fruit and vegetables, and just don’t ever eat them. Rather than forcing myself, as I have done for the past several years, to just try – I’ve leant into my difficulties and worked around them. Smoothies work for me. A smoothie box that comes every month averages out to about £2 per smoothie, which is less than the cost of a bottle in a supermarket. You don’t have to chop anything, just put it in the blender with water or oat or coconut milk.

- Most smoothies have 3 of your 5 a day at least, and some even have 5! If you are struggling nutritionally, it might be something to think about. It’s helped me hugely, and I now consider it an essential part of my budget.

- If it’s too expensive, consider buying frozen fruit by yourself if you have the spoons for that.

5) How can you look the most ‘put together’ without doing anything at all?

- I don’t mean showering. I mean infrequent practices like haircuts! I hate wearing makeup for sensory reasons, but I have a good haircut, one that makes me feel like myself and sharp and confident – I feel so much better, and it’s something I only have to do once. I now make it a deliberate choice to put a haircut in my calendar for every two months.

- Consider a ‘no style’ haircut that will look smart whatever you do! My haircut is a short French bob. You need essentially no styling, it works curly or wavy or straight (though if you have curly or coily hair, you should go to someone who can work with your texture – if you don’t thin it out properly, it’ll give you a horrible triangle shape!). I feel SO put-together with this haircut – it elevates even pyjamas, and I have to do absolutely nothing.

- I bite my nails to the point of bleeding – getting professional gel paint on my nails (no extensions) is the only thing that works to stop me, because the smooth round tips meant I could stim with those instead of biting. For ages, I didn’t because it was a ‘waste of money’. This year I realised: if I’m not going to stop stimming, I need to give myself something to stim with that doesn’t hurt me. Accept your neurodivergence and work around it. I now book a nails appointment every 6 weeks or so, for £20-£25. I find it again more than worth it.

- Similarly, I have just got a nose piercing, and I am considering tattoos for next year. For me piercings and tattoos do the same thing as the above two: they make me look more put together without actually ever having to think about wearing temporary jewellery or makeup (which I can’t for sensory reasons). What might work for you?

6) Dress for Sensory Good

- I have found a noticeable difference in my self-confidence with my appearance once I a) accepted that I have sensory differences, and b) bought clothes that accommodated those differences without making me look like a slob. For example, I hate feeling constricted around my thighs as I like to jump and stim and dance, but I don’t want to live in tracksuit bottoms because that leads to Depression Soup – so I have started buying formal, ‘monk-style’ trousers with a wrap-around belt and flowy legs. I like the feeling of pressure around my waist that a tight top provides, but I hate it around my shoulders (don’t ask me why…), so I have started wearing tops with huge baggy sleeves and a wrap-belt around the waist. So many of these tiny adjustments, and for the first time in my life I feel both comfortable and beautiful in my wardrobe.

- Do you like heavy things? Soft textures? Scratchy wool? Lots of badges to play with? Tight compression? Flowing fabrics? And how does this work with your lifestyle? When I am overwhelmed, I often want to cover the lower half of my face and neck – it feels comforting to me. So I have started wearing light scarves that I can wrap around my face like an old lady (!) which both block out the world, provide that comfort, and also look...normal? It lets me stim without visibly outing myself as autistic, which I don’t always feel safe doing.

- Other things to consider that might help: compression clothing, weighted jackets, heavy boots, ankle and wrist weights (there are some that are very minimalist and look like bracelets), wrap trousers, tight belts, cloaks with hoods, cowl necklines, activewear, Merino wool (if you sweat a lot or can’t shower / do laundry often), complete light-blocking sunglasses (you can buy these from a ski shop), stretchy fabric, etc. Whatever works for you – find it!

7) Use a sippy bottle with a straw

- I can’t stay hydrated. If it’s left up to me, I drink less than a glass of water every single day. I have constantly bleeding cracked lips and skin from lack of hydration. The only thing that has worked so far – and it has been a game-changer! – is to buy a huge 1.2 litre / 40 oz water-bottle with a built-in straw that I can take around everywhere. I can stim with it, the straw feels nice, I much prefer drinking from a straw because I hate accidentally wetting my chin / sleeves - and all I have to do is remember to fill it up twice a day. That’s way less mental effort than remembering eight glasses!

8) Get noise-cancelling headphones and Loops

- I assume everyone who is autistic has these. If you don’t – they will change your life. I only got them last year and suddenly so many places have become accessible to me that I would have just avoided before. I also tell people very honestly that I often wear them, so please don’t be alarmed if I do – if you want to start this, I’ve found it less intimidating to do it with strangers first, and then moving up to friends / family. Now everyone is used to it, and I get way less overwhelmed.

9) Use an audiobook service

- For a long time I thought that I had lost the ability to read. I now know that’s directly correlated to my levels of overwhelm (which makes my ADHD traits worse), but even so, my short-term memory is so poor that I have basically never been able to read non-fiction – it goes in one ear and out the other. Now that I use an audiobook service, however – I am listening to lecture series about so many things I’m passionate about and actually remembering things for the first time in my life!

- Knowing that I can listen to things I love whilst I clean or tidy my room or pack or whatever helps me so much. I also enjoy lying down in the dark under my weighted blanket listening to audiobooks as I wake up and go to sleep – it has completely replaced scrolling on my phone as the first / last thing to do in a day. When I’m overwhelmed I often can’t look at a physical book as it hurts my eyes, so an audiobook is far better.

10) Get Huel / Pleny / other meal-replacement drinks

- Because sometimes even with a recipe box, you won’t be able to cook. You’ll have forgotten to go shopping. You’ll be so sensory-weird that the thought of eating food is awful and makes you want to vomit. This doesn’t work for my partner, who hates the texture of Huel, but for me I can bear it and often enjoy the same-ness of knowing exactly what to expect. On days when I can’t cook or go out or sort out a meal, Huel is a life-saver.

11) Add active rest time to your calendar

- I don’t mean necessarily an actual calendar, but about how you think about time and your day. I make it a habit now to automatically add the same amount of time as the activity took as recovery time afterwards. So if I schedule a date for 2pm to 4pm, then I know that after I get home I will need two hours to recover before I can do something else.

- This has helped me be both more deliberate about my rest time (I don’t scroll or watch anything – I deliberately ‘go in’, as I call it, using my weighted blanket, other weighted things on my chest, a blindfold, brown noise, pitch black room etc), and also be realistic about how much I can do in my life. I know that if I have to rest for two hours after a two-hour event, it’s very unlikely that I can do more than one social engagement in a day. This expands to longer periods: if I go and visit my family for four days, I will likely need four days doing not much afterwards, and certainly no cognitively demanding tasks or socialising. This is a reality check which helps me say no to certain things that are not crucial.

12) Try compression clothes

- These provide a subtle and constant proprioceptive input which can calm the nervous system – as I have said above, proprioceptive input (knowing where your body is in space, pressure etc) is hugely regulating to AuDHD nervous systems. It also massively affects the other sensory systems if it is dysregulated – so if you aren’t meeting your sensory needs for proprioception, it’s likely that visual or auditory will be even harder. You don’t need to buy ones specifically for autism – UnderArmour or shapewear or activewear works just as well.

---

I hope these help! I have many more suggestions, but will leave that to another post :)

[psychoticfemmm]

flashpoint

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: Rafe and the reader argue over a reckless stunt the reader pulled with the Pogues, escalating into a heated confrontation. The reader diffuses the tension in an unexpected way

The argument had escalated far more than you’d intended. Rafe stood in front of you, his jaw tight, eyes blazing with frustration.

“You’re unbelievable!” he snapped, pacing back and forth, his voice sharp with anger. “Do you even realize how reckless that was? Running around with them, pulling some stupid stunt like that? You could’ve gotten hurt—or worse!”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “They’re my friends, Rafe. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do with them.”

“They’re Pogues!” he shot back, his tone dripping with disdain. “And they’re going to get you killed! You’re not—”

“I am a Pogue!” you interrupted, your voice rising. “And I’m not going to stop being one just because you don’t like it!”

“That’s not the point!” Rafe barked, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “The point is you’re putting yourself in danger for no reason!”

You rolled your eyes, even though deep down, you knew he was right. The stunt you’d pulled with the Pogues earlier—a daring boat jump into rocky waters—had been reckless. But admitting that to Rafe? Not happening.

“You’re overreacting,” you muttered, avoiding his glare.

“Overreacting?” He stepped closer, his blue eyes narrowing. “You were one wrong move away from cracking your head open, and you think I’m overreacting?”

You bit your lip, guilt settling in your chest. He wasn’t wrong, but you hated how smug he’d look if you admitted it. Instead, you crossed your arms tighter and met his glare with your own.

“Okay, fine! I get it!” you snapped. “You’ve made your point. Can you stop yelling now?”

But Rafe wasn’t done. “No, I’m not stopping, because clearly, you don’t get it. You can’t keep pulling this crap and expecting me to just—”

“Rafe,” you interrupted, your voice unusually sweet, but he was too wound up to notice.

“And another thing, you’re so—”

Before he could finish, you grabbed the hem of your top and yanked it up, exposing your bare chest.

The silence was immediate.

Rafe’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes darted from your face to your chest and back again, his expression shifting from anger to shock, then to something far darker.

“You didn’t just—” he started, his voice lower now, almost husky.

“You were yelling,” you said simply, biting back a smirk.

For a moment, he stood there, clearly torn between finishing the argument and giving in to the temptation in front of him. Then, with a soft curse under his breath, he crossed the room in two long strides.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you close.

“And yet, here you are,” you teased, your voice barely a whisper.

He smirked, his lips brushing against yours. “You think you can just flash me and win every argument?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” you shot back, grinning.

Rafe didn’t answer, not with words, anyway. His mouth claimed yours in a heated kiss, the frustration from before melting into something much more electric. His hands roamed your sides, his grip firm, his movements deliberate.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured against your lips, his tone laced with amusement and desire.

“And you’re lucky I know how to shut you up,” you replied, your breath hitching as he trailed kisses down your neck.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

sorry I went missing for a while but im backkkk 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

[cuubism]

Can I pressure you to work on the 'having a job sucks ass' math AU fic?

yeah 😂 i started working on it when i was annoyed with my job. which is always

here's a snippet from earlier in the fic, because i think the later part i'm working on won't make a ton of sense out of context

[ make me work on one of my fics if you want ]

-

Dream shuts his laptop as Hob approaches. Oh, yeah. He was definitely waiting for Hob, specifically. Hob is getting the sense that he’s in trouble. And he’s not stupid. It’s not hard to guess what has Dream upset.

“Look,” he starts, “don’t even—”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream interrupts. Yep, that’s the trouble tone, the one Hob used to get when he did shit like giving himself a concussion playing pick up football on the quad. “It is ten p.m.”

“I own a watch too, Dream,” Hob says tiredly. Does Dream think he wants to be working this late? He’s just trying to stay employed.

Dream’s lips press into a thin line. And Hob knows him well enough, can read him well enough to recognize that what’s underneath the annoyance is concern. But what exactly does Dream expect him to do about it?

Hob sits down—more like collapses—into the armchair diagonal to where Dream is on the couch. God, what he really wants is to just fucking face plant into bed, not deal with this.

Christ. When did he start thinking about talking to Dream as dealing with?

Then again, this is less talking to Dream and more arguing with Dream, and he fucking hates doing that.

He scrubs his hands over his face. “It’s far away, alright?” he argues, though it sounds more like a whine. “It’s not like I can teleport.”

“It is not acceptable that they keep you so late,” Dream says. Then his tone softens. “I worry over your level of exhaustion. That is not even mentioning the commute.”

“Honestly, the commute’s not the worst part,” Hob says. “Gives me more time to get stuff done. Or fall asleep.”

Dream gives him a flat look. “Precisely.”

“I don’t want to hear judgment about work ethic from you of all people,” Hob snaps. God, he hates arguing with Dream, he hates it. It’s not like when they bicker. And it’s not like arguing with anyone else. The thought that Dream is upset with him is genuinely distressing.

“I think I of all people am uniquely qualified to give it,” Dream says.

He’s not wrong. Dream is a workaholic if ever there was one. It’s something Hob’s had to talk to him about in the past. Frequently, in the past, Hob was the one who was better about it.

It’s just that having this job is a level of relentless he couldn’t possibly have anticipated.

Hob can’t just quit though, even if he is overworked. It’s a good job, career-wise, and it pays really well, and he wants Dream to be able to keep his post-doc position without worrying about the salary because Dream is just quite frankly not cut out for anything where he isn’t able to work independently at least ninety percent of the time and Hob doesn’t want to see him suffer, and he wants them to be able to buy a house someday—

“Look,” he says, before Dream can suggest that he actually quit or something, “Dream, we’re making fucking bank, okay?”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “We are?”

“Yeah, we’re married, or did you forget?”

“It’s your money.”

“The joint bank account says otherwise. Half of it is yours.”

Dream frowns, then gets a wicked look in his eye. Oh no. “Does that entitle me to half of your suffering as well? Do I get half a say in whether it continues?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Are you going to watch me suffer half your exhaustion and do nothing about it?” Dream challenges, steamrolling right over him. He’s impossible to argue with when he really gets going. And great, now he’s employing that look. That pleading look that he knows Hob can’t say no to, eyes wide and helpless. “Will you leave me to my agonies?”

“Alright,” Hob says, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Enough. Stop joking around.”

“I’m quite serious. I don’t wish to see you suffer.” He crosses the room, kneels in front of Hob’s chair, and takes Hob’s hands, bringing them down from his face. “Your unintended comparison was more apt than you realize. When you prosper, I prosper. When you suffer, so equally do I.”

“Should have been a fucking poet instead of a mathematician, Dream,” Hob says. It shouldn’t come out as bitter as it does.

Except— “Maths is poetry,” he says, echoing it just as Dream says it, too. Hob had known he would.

It makes him smile, that he can predict Dream like that.

[pokichusramblings]

It is impossible to know AND stressful to research EVERY SINGLE ANTI LGBTQ+ COMPANY. On top of that, one person buying Chick-Fil-A isn’t going to inflate their donations to anti LGBTQ+ things. ON TOP OF THAT, in many cases people just don’t have very many options. At my college there is a shitty overpriced dining hall, a Subway, and a Chick-Fil-A. If you can’t eat at the Subway, say for allergy contamination reasons, you’re not homophobic for eating a fucking chicken sandwich.

And another thing, from my Dad. If you’re going to boycott every company that has done bad things, or has bad politics, you are going to be able to buy from very few companies, IF ANY.

If you want to boycott, go ahead. I’m not saying DON’T BOYCOTT, what I am saying is stop making people feel bad for not boycotting. That’s just gonna cause infighting, which is only gonna benefit those who hate us.

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[httpsdana]

Can you do promo 14 and 21 with kenan on how he never thought about actually dating until he met her and how she changed his opinion on dating

When It’s You~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

14-“I never planned to fall in love, but here we are.”

21-“I can’t believe you remember all those little things I say.”

Kenan Yildiz had always been a bit of a skeptic when it came to love. His focus had always been on his career, his goals, and his dreams.

Relationships, with all their messy emotions and potential distractions, didn’t fit into the plan. He was the type to scoff when his teammates talked about love, rolling his eyes at their lovesick grins and romantic anecdotes.

But then he met her.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment or an immediate spark of realization. It was more like the quiet breaking of dawn—slow, steady, and impossible to ignore.

He noticed the way she laughed, genuine and hearty, as if she weren’t afraid to fill the room with joy. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions. How she always managed to bring out the best in him, even on his worst days.

Kenan found himself seeking out her company, making excuses to talk to her, and eventually, he couldn’t ignore the growing warmth in his chest every time she was around.

One evening, the two were sat in his living room , the movie playing on the TV flickered in the background, its plot long forgotten. Kenan sat beside her on the couch, unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the floor as if lost in thought.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked, nudging his leg lightly with her foot.

He looked at her, startled, as if he hadn’t realized she was paying attention. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just thinking,” he said simply.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Thinking about what?”

Kenan hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “You probably don’t remember, but the first time I ever talked to you, I told you I hated pineapple on pizza.”

She laughed, the memory instantly coming back. “Of course, I remember. You ranted about it for ten minutes. I thought, ‘Wow, this guy really has strong opinions about fruit.’”

His lips quirked up into a small grin. “It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

“Well, I thought it was cute,” she said with a shrug.

He looked at her, his expression softening. “I can’t believe you remember all those little things I say. I didn’t think anyone listened that much.”

“Of course, I listen,” she replied, reaching over to rest her hand on his. “Everything you say matters to me.”

Kenan turned his hand over, threading his fingers through hers. He stared at their intertwined hands for a moment, his thumb gently brushing against her skin.

“you know...I never planned to fall in love,” he admitted, his voice low. “But here we are.”

The sincerity in his tone made her chest tighten. “Kenan…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “I thought love was something other people did. Something that would just get in the way of my plans. I didn’t think it was for me.” He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “But then you came along, and now I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

Her heart swelled, and she squeezed his hand. “Well, I’m glad I changed your mind.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “You didn’t just change my mind. You changed everything.”

And in that moment, with his hand in hers and his words still lingering in the air, she knew that she had done the same for him.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[cgogs]

all i wanted | c!dnf oneshot | 4k c!George breaks c!Dream out of prison and tries to fashion a normal life.

secret santa for @rglozwriter (happy holidays! i hope you enjoy!!)

George has never once in his whole life thought of himself as a hero. He could count on one hand, maybe two, the number of times he ever came close. 

When he saved a little girl from the wolves. Oh, but he was rather little as well, and just as terribly afraid as her. So maybe it doesn’t count. When he restored clean water to a dirty river village— oh, he’d only broken the dam to help Dream, and that’s far too selfish in nature to be considered heroic. He hadn’t done it on purpose. 

And that’s precisely the problem, George isn’t sure he’s done anyone any tremendous good on purpose, and furthermore out of the pure goodness of his heart. He doesn’t think that makes him a bad person, not everyone is meant to be a hero. Not everyone has the heart for it. 

It was always Dream who was the hero. In all their childhood adventures, Dream was the one who would have them stop in their path to help the needy, the sick, the suffering. George was the one who would try and fail to get some sense through his head. It’s not that he’s a bad person, he just didn’t think they were in the means to be heroes, needy, starving, and sick as they were. 

But Dream had a habit of being a hero, and it’s one that didn’t break until they settled down. Until they invited more people into their lives. George watched that heart of gold dull and hide itself away. The heroism didn’t leave, it just turned itself into something else. And it was unfortunate because no matter how much George protested his selflessness (because it was so often at the cost of his wellbeing and safety), it was something that he truly loved about him. His hero.

It’s half of why George doubts the reality of his situation. It can’t be. Because George would never claw his way through obsidian in the water like a half-drowned rat to save someone. He would never put his own neck on the line for someone else. He would never do something so stereotypically heroic, something straight out of a book. 

He stares at Dream, sitting on the floor weaving a basket from flax and reeds. 

Dream once called him a selfish damsel. It was a joke, but George didn’t think it was untrue. Well, the damsel part was untrue. Mostly. Maybe. Their scoreboard of saving each other is… uneven. Breaking Dream out of Pandora has to count for fifty tallies. George demands it.

George is in his weirdness again. The heavy state between sleeping and waking, where he doubts everything he sees. Dreaming, he dares to think. How many times has he dreamt about saving Dream? Saving Dream and convincing him to run away? Too many times. And he remembers the feeling of waking up after all too well. The heartache and disappointment and hatred for everything and everyone.

The memories of walking the halls of the prison seem so distant, filled with water and oil. They seem impossible. 

Dream pinches himself and hisses, the half-done weave unfurling slightly as his hands recoil. He checks his fingers as if they were cut. George takes too long to react.

“Are you okay?” he says finally. Dream looks up at him, green eyes shining. He looks embarrassed.

“Yeah, no, yeah. I just cut myself a little.” Dream’s voice is soft and a little embarrassed in a way that makes George’s heart stop and start again. It peels one layer of fog off his mind. “Good morning. How long have you been standing there?”

Dream is nervous and awkward like a new roommate. It could be appropriate if they haven’t loved each other all their lives. Well, George never actually got confirmation if that’s wholly true. Dream could have stopped loving him for a little while there. But he’s at least mostly sure that Dream loves him now. Hopefully not just for saving him. 

George blinks, looking around. His feet are deathly cold in the doorway. Dream sits in front of the fire weaving his basket, and the world outside is pure white with snow. George comes to sit with him, vision glossy, like the world was smeared with grease.

“I dunno,” he answers, too late, “I just woke up.”

Dream pulls the pile of flax and reeds and willow to the side to make space for him. George pulls his blanket further around himself, rubbing his eyes. He’s sitting on a couple crumbs of dried plants but he’s decided he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to move to fix it. Luckily for him, Dream notices and pulls the bent reed out from under him. George mumbles a gratitude. 

“Are you okay?” Dream asks. He doesn’t cast his voice like he used to. He’s quiet these days.

“Uh… yeah.” 

“Are you feeling weird? The soup?”

George laughs a little like it’s the first time he’s heard him call it that. All the memories come to him a few moments too late. Yes, right, this is a common occurrence. George’s smile drops in a way that’s too obvious. Dream frowns at him.

George is remembering himself. The heroics he thinks of as so alien aren’t quite so against his nature as he thought. It’s just that they only show their face if it’s for Dream. It doesn’t make him a hero, he’s still a selfish prick, but it means this is all a little more real than before. He’s remembering more and more as he wakes up, feeling more and more grounded. 

“Do I need to, um… do anything for you?” Dream asks. George hates how he asks for things now. Like he isn’t sure how to be a person anymore. This time isn’t as bad as others, but sometimes just the questioning quirk of his voice will make him sad. “I can jog your memory again. Or I can get your journal–”

George replies too fast. “I don’t want you to get up.”

“Okay. Um… this is our house,”

“I know this is our house.” George rolls his eyes.

“Okay. How about you just ask me, then.” Dream picks his basket weave back up, setting to work tightening the braids that went loose while he wasn’t holding it down. George feels bad snapping at him, even if it wasn’t much. He rubs his knuckles on Dream’s wrist as an apology. The little nod he gets back means it was accepted. It’s always nice to know Dream still remembers their old rituals. 

“I’m just, um… it doesn’t feel real.” George leans his head on the edge of the coffee table, the one Dream pushed up against the couch to make room for his weaving. George lets his eyes get lost in the braids and patterns, following the maze of reed. He thinks Dream must be planning to use it as a fish trap– he’s always been partial to pike. “I don’t remember how we got here.”

This must happen more often than George thinks, because all of the concern he was expecting is pushed to the back of Dream’s mind. He watches it happen. 

“You broke me out of prison. We’re waiting out the winter until summer, and then deciding what we want to do.” Dream’s voice is a practiced calm, like reciting a textbook. “You want me to stay. I want to tie up loose ends.”

“Why are you here… if you don’t want to be here?”

“I can’t do anything in the state I’m in right now.” Dream almost-laughs, only letting out a small sardonic snicker. The details of his face and body finally load in George’s mind, suddenly, as if they only just now took form, and he feels so stupid for not noticing before. The skinniness of his body, the scars on his arms, the two prosthetic fingers. Having just woken up is the culprit, it dulls his senses and replaces them with delusions. Or maybe he’s simply gotten used to the way he looks, and his hindbrain took no issue. “And you keep my bedroom door bolted from the outside.”

“What? Is that true?”

Dream smiles at him. “No.” 

“You’re an ass.” 

“I know.”

“So– how? How did I get you out?” George tries to imagine it. Clad in shiny armor with a formidable weapon, a getaway horse and a real plan. It’s just not him, even if it was for Dream’s sake.

“I don’t know.” He says it in a way that suggests he wishes he did. “You were– weird. Like this. And sopping wet, and like… sleepwalking.”

“How long ago?”

“Um… it was when the trees were just starting to turn orange.”

He’s not good with time. George groans, rubbing his eyes still. His memories are slow to appear, but they do. It’s not cause for huge celebration. They fade in and reveal themselves at his prompting like the tide reveals the stones.

He looks around at their house, hidden somewhere deep in the tundra. Nobody for miles. He remembers Dream, in a state, hiding food and weapons in every nook and cranny he could finagle. He thinks of it as safe. Dream feels, to some degree, safe here. That makes George happy.

“I remember.” George nods. 

“It’s not very complicated.”

“Everything with you is complicated.”

Dream rolls his eyes. He’s farther away from the fire than George– and then a memory hits him, one of Dream in that cell. Cowering from the heat, eyes big like dinner plates. He went off his head, if his memory serves. Begged him to leave: he couldn’t be here, he has to leave, he wasn’t real…

He remembers guiding him through the tunnels and corridors by the hand, leading in front and pulling him along. He was so skinny he weighed nearly nothing, and when he protested and tried to yank away, George was able to keep him in his grip. Which meant that there was something very very wrong with him.

Dream has asked him, over and over, how he’d managed to get in and out, and George has never been able to tell him. He still isn’t able. He truly doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s made it a habit to always get what he wants. Maybe something in the universe finally bowed to that will. 

And in true fashion to tradition, when he got what he wanted, Dream was the one who had to figure out the logistics of their situation. What they were going to eat, where they were going to go. If you heard Dream tell it, you’d think George fainted or something as soon as they could look back over their shoulders and not see Pandora’s Vault any longer. But Dream just doesn’t remember the nitty gritty of it. George remembers holding him close to his chest while the sirens went off for hours, felt like days. They hid like foxes in a hole in the ground. 

Dream is paranoid. He’s always been paranoid but it’s worse than ever. It’s not like George can blame him. It’s just different. And ‘different’ is neither bad nor good, but it certainly means ‘not the same.’ 

George knows he’s changed too. He doesn’t know the exact ways how, or if it’s anything like how Dream has changed, but he knows Dream isn’t the only one who’s different. They’ve been making it work, regardless.

Sometimes he catches Dream staring at him when he thinks he can’t see him, or when he thinks George is asleep. He looks at him with something sick– something so grateful and reverent it’s awful. A new cog in his hero– he’s been well trained by someone else. It makes him angry. Possessive in ways he’s too ashamed to let materialize. He can’t let himself feel good about the way Dream looks at him now.

Dream takes his new fish trap and gets them a pike and a rabbit. Presumably not caught with the fish trap. By the time he comes home, George is at his wits again. The journal helps, notes his fully-awake self writes for his sleepy-self so they’re both on the same page. It was Dream’s idea. They both have one– George isn’t proud of it, but he reads through Dream’s every time he leaves the house.

Today, he reads through Dream’s before he even cracks open his own. Dream writes about his week, the things he’s been eating and when. Sometimes George is blessed to read his own name. 

george has been remembering easier lately. i should be waking him up earlier

The guilt from invading Dream’s privacy washes away when he opens his own journal and sees Dream’s annotated his latest entry in green ink. They’re equally in each other’s business, and that makes his day. The entry itself is mortifying, but George would be lying if he said he didn’t secretly wish Dream would read it and answer him.

I don’t know if we’re still together. don’t act like it because if he weirdchamps me again i’ll kill you 

^ when did i weirdchamp you?

They eat fish together with nothing to talk about. Dream’s been doing better, too. With touch and being less… like he’s always in a crisis. They’re sleeping in the same bed again. Dream preferred the floor for a long time. 

In the middle of the night George wakes slightly to the feeling of kisses being planted to the back of his neck, down his spine and over his shoulders. Dream pulls aside his shirt to reach his skin and everything. George smiles where he can’t see.

Since it’s winter, they don’t have a lot of vegetables. Sometimes Dream brings back a pumpkin from god knows where– George suspects Techno, but it’s not like Dream tells him anything. They have some berry bushes in the backyard, good for juice and pie. 

Dream says he finds peace in hunting. George can’t imagine how, but he goes with him sometimes and it seems to be true. Maybe it’s easier for him to focus his thoughts. George isn’t sure. George is just a half-functioning damsel, after all. He’s useful for skill shots and skinning the rabbits, at least. It’s hard sometimes, sitting around and letting Dream do everything. 

It’s how it used to be, but… well, it’s just different now. George frequently finds himself out of character. He wants to be useful– it seems like Dream has grown a love for useful things. He wants to be in that category. He wants to be all the things Dream loves and deems important. If only he’d let him in whatever hell he’s thrown himself into.

“I love you,” Dream says one night, in the hallowed hall they call their bedroom. Where the deepest secrets are confessed. It takes George by surprise, lungs and heart still racing. He’s not quite all-there after fooling around for so long. He blinks, processing the joy, the accomplishment– but also the exhaustion. He turns his head to look at Dream, hair messy, like gold threads on the pillows. “I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry for that?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just think it puts you in a bad spot.”

“Ugh, I don’t care.” George rolls into his chest. It’s all too cold without him. “I want to be there. In the bad spot.”

An arm comes to wrap around his back and hold him close. A soft kiss is planted to his bruised mouth, already sore and bit from kissing all night. George is quickly becoming too sleepy to stay awake. Maybe Dream knows that, maybe he can feel the magic in the air when George starts to slip away. He presses his cold, cold hand to Dream’s heart. He wishes he could pull it out and keep it safe. Keep him.

“I wish you knew what was good for you.”

“I don’t have to. That’s your job.” George mumbles against his lips. Dream doesn’t kiss him again, lowering his head to let him rest. “I know what’s good for you.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I know that.”

As time passes and the worst of winter is over, George can’t help but pray for the frost to stay. In Dream’s journal, he writes about the steps he’ll take when he goes back home. He still calls it home. George’s eyes sting with tears as he closes it and tucks it away. 

At dinner, George doesn’t sit. Dream doesn’t sit either, despite food already plated for him. He knows what it’s about. 

“Are you really going to leave again?”

“...yes. When summer comes.”

George leans back against the counter. “Are you going to come back?”

“I want you to stay here. It’s, safe here.”

“But you won’t come back?”

Dream looks stressed almost instantly. George can’t bring himself to feel bad. His heart is too close to breaking, even though Dream never promised him anything, so it really isn’t fair to him. 

“I won’t promise you anything. For your sake,” Dream runs a hand through his hair, and George scoffs, “But I want to come back. Until this is all over. And– and when it’s over, we can be together all the time!”

“Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

George’s crossed arms fall to his sides. His mind is full of cotton. He pronounces his words emphatically. “I want to be what you want. If you’ll only come see me out of– pity, then don’t bother.”

“That’s not what I said,”

“You’re barely saying anything! Do you not feel like you owe me anything? I don’t– I won’t ask for a lot, I just, I just thought–”

“Okay, okay, George, please, just listen to me.” Dream is in his space now, which is unusual. It makes his spikes lower. Dream is trying. “I’ll– I’ll come see you. I promise.”

And there’s that look again. The one where his eyes train on George, hyper focused on his expression and body language. The one that feels like all the devotion and obedience in his body rise to the surface to prove that they’re still there. It makes his skin crawl. 

“I just– I can’t have you involved. I can’t. I got a taste of it months ago and I can’t ever feel that way again.” Dream lowers himself. For a second George thinks he’s going to drop to his knees and the mere thought makes his stomach invert. But Dream’s posture only bends, eye to eye as he pleads with him. “You understand that, right? Please.”

“Dream, stop, I’m not– you’re not–” 

In trouble, he wants to say. But as it stands, that isn’t true. Dream is very much in trouble with him. Should he change that? How can he reach inside himself to turn his heart off and talk to him like a normal person? Or should he accept the reverence, should he think it appropriate?

No, he shouldn’t. Because it isn’t his. This isn’t what he trained Dream to do. This isn’t anything like their old rituals. Or maybe it holds remnants, he can recognize some of it, but it’s become corrupted now. It’s not an affection he can accept, because it wasn’t written with him in mind. He’s not Dream’s authority. He may want Dream to obey him, bend to his will, but George knows the subtle differences between love and obedience.

“Dream. It’s okay. I just, I don’t…” He looks to the window, then to the floor, desperately avoiding his eyes. “I don’t want you to act like I don’t exist. Okay. That’s all I want.”

“I love you.” Dream says. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A subtle confession. Abandoning him was all in the name of keeping him safe. George almost laughs. It’s so stereotypically heroic, so self sacrificial. George should have ironed out the heroics in him when they were younger, when he still had the chance. 

“We’re not good people.” George looks at him. “I wish you’d stop acting like it. You don’t have to go back. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“I owe everything to everyone.”

“And you want me to stay here. You’ll come by when you need a warm body, right?” He says it like it’s a deal he wouldn’t gladly accept. 

“I will come by when I can. You know. When it’s safe. And we can do anything you want.”

“Don’t make it sound like– like I’m renting you!”

He steps on one of the hair triggers that rule over Dream’s frustration. George thinks it’s a victory. “How do you want it to sound? I’m really trying here!”

“I want it to sound like you actually want to be with me, you ass.”

“I do!” Dream says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, and George just can’t see it from this angle. “I have responsibilities that aren’t– negotiable.”

George doesn’t understand why he’s fighting this. Maybe he’s scared of what will happen if there’s no one around to wake him. Maybe he’s ambitious enough to think he can haggle a better deal. The strength it takes to fight with Dream is quickly leaving him. It’s a great arrangement. More than he could ask for just half a year ago. Something he clawed through obsidian to obtain. 

He’s seen the leash prison put on him. He’s held it, even. Pulled on it, led Dream around with it. George has decided he doesn’t want it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it takes the words out of Dream’s mouth, whatever he was going to say. “You have no idea what it was like to be without you. I can’t do it again.”

“I promise–” 

“I trust you.” George’s eyes are furrowed and serious. “But I can’t wait until it’s all over.”

If he can’t make Dream see how futile this all is, then it’s something he’ll have to discover himself. But George won’t wait another two years for it to happen. 

It’s the spring after their winter together, and George hasn’t seen Dream in two months. He knows because he’s been tallying it in his journal, which has seen an uptick in use without a roommate. 

Techno visited, once. Gave him supplies. They must be closer than they thought, George somewhere on the fringes of the tundra where the four seasons are allowed to exist– watered down as they are. It pissed him off more than it should have– of course Dream would send someone else before he came to do it himself. 

Maybe he’s making a name for himself again. Maybe he’s in hot water and can’t come, or he’ll be followed. It’s not like George gets a lot of news out here. He’s slept through days straight, he’s sure of it.

He’s pouting at the ceiling, in the middle of some pessimistic bratty rant about his life when he hears that stupid knock Dream does on everything. It knocks the gloom straight out of his chest. He races down the stairs, everything in the world leagues and bounds less important than opening the door. 

Dream stands in his mask, a light smattering of snow on his hood and cloak. George reaches to pull him in by the neck before Dream can even get a word out. A promise kept. He’s halfway through pulling his mask off when George jumps up to hug him. The force of it makes them both wobble. 

“Are you real?” George asks in his shoulder. He almost doesn’t believe it. An armored hand rubs his back. 

“Yeah,” Dream’s voice rumbles in his chest, vibrations sending through George’s bones. It’s his new favorite feeling. 

George pulls away. He interrupted the de-masking process, so half his face is still covered. It looks stupid. It’s George’s new favorite thing. 

George couldn’t care less about the gift. It's nice, and he'll use it every day, but all joys are overshadowed by the presence of the man in his home– even if covered in dirt and scorch marks as he is. If he could choose any gift, he’d wanted a burner comm that he would be allowed to message him from, but the quilt is nice. George leaves it folded on the kitchen table, all pleasantries said and done with. Yes, he loves it, it’s beautiful, I love the color green. 

He pushes himself up to kiss him. He tastes like gunpowder and blood. It’s George’s new favorite taste. 

[ddarker-dreams]

omg i love your yandere giorno series!! I was wondering if you could write a little thing where giorno witnesses his darling having a lowkey mental breakdown/epiphany because she realizes she’s in love with him? sorta like expanding on the little moments in the other fics where reader questions her feelings for him. and she just confesses to him that it’s so hard to accept what he’s done but she can’t help but love him

i'd recently been wanting to expand on the scarlet ribbons yandere bad endings and this meshes well with a christmas-y idea i had 👁👁

This time of year packs your schedule to the brim.

Being the wife of Don Giovanna comes with its unique obligations, which you once stumbled through with the naïveté of a newborn doe. Time and difficult lessons sanded away your inexperience. These trials weren't unlike those he'd undergone since ousting Diavolo, reality proving itself a stubborn foe against youthful idealism.

After what felt like ages apart, he reunites with you in the evening, where he notes some unusual behavior.

For starters, you're eerily silent. While he's no stranger to you giving him the cold shoulder, it's never without reason, like when he restricts your travel for citing security concerns. He can't recall doing anything to earn your ire. If anything, you'd been uncharacteristically amicable recently, regarding him as a collaborator rather than your warden.

Natale was almost like an armistice. You get to engage in charitable pursuits, while he oversees their seedy underbelly. Ultimately, everything is about business, image, and prestige. He doesn't insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise.

It's when you (and your conspicuous Stand) sneak a glance his way for the third time that he speaks up.

"Is something troubling you?"

He could whittle away at your defenses over an extensive campaign, but, feeling the day's exhaustion weigh him down, he opts for a direct approach. You consider him, your Stand peering over your shoulder with suspicious eyes.

"... Your meeting went long," you comment.

He nods, sensing that you're getting at something. When you refuse to elaborate, he offers to show his hand.

"There were some mild disagreements," Giorno replies. "They've been put to rest."

"If what I suggested is causing tension—"

You cut yourself off when he sits beside you on the loveseat, leaving little room between your persons. It's an unusual line for him to cross. He rarely infringes upon your physical space, owing to a courteous code of conduct that you struggled to comprehend. He thinks you want him to be terrible; a cartoonish villain that you could pour all your energy into resisting.

"I'll see it through," he reassures, the tenderness in his voice reserved solely for your ears. "I think the scholarship program is an admirable idea. The funds are there, it's simply a matter of ironing out the details."

You shuffle around. "It's not a lucrative venture."

"That's inconsequential."

"I'm sure your Capos feel otherwise."

"They can be shortsighted," Giorno argues. "And they don't have the final say — I do."

"That's..." you trail off, gnawing your bottom lip, "Why are you so...?"

Giorno, realizing that he's approaching the heart of the issue, can't let this chance go. He sees you contemplating retreat, as you cross your arms over your chest and squeeze your lips shut. If he were a fully benevolent man, he'd grant you your reprieve. Maybe he'll come to regret pushing you too far. Nonetheless, you are his vice, and even he can't always suppress his selfish yearning.

"So...?" he encourages, nearly crooning the word.

You shake your head. "I never know how to feel about you. Hating you used to come easy, now it's just... pointless. Impossible. I don't know. Sometimes, I think I might even lo—"

Aghast, you slap your hand over your mouth, cutting yourself off.

For his part, Giorno wasn't expecting such a vulnerable admission to nearly slip out. Not wanting to push his luck, he leans back, allowing you some space. You appear to be in deep thought. Your Stand has since dissipated, leaving you truly alone.

It's then that he recalls one of the final requests Bucciarati made of him:

"Please ensure her safety and happiness in my stead."

In the years that have followed, the latter has proven trickier than the former.

His hand finds yours. You jump, snapping your head in his direction, shock rippling across your countenance. He responds by giving your hand a firm squeeze. You don't reciprocate, nor do you pull away. Instead, you stare at where your bodies are joined, almost in a trance.

Giorno feels the cool band of your wedding ring flush against his skin. You made efforts in the past to be rid of it, though his Stand's ability ensured it'd always find its way back to you. He wonders at what point you decided to abandon that little rebellion.

Perhaps the revelations surfacing tonight have something to do with it.

Eventually, you exhale a shaky breath. "All this planning has me worn out. I'm not thinking straight. So please... forget I said anything."

And because he cares for you above all else, he nods, prolonging the farce you've both been cast the leads in.

[lambsonburn]

TAG Analysis - Ep I (first minute)

To preface, this analysis will be very, VERY long because I simply can’t help myself. It also may very well be in parts.

With the length of it, I’ll put a read more thing (or hope I have, I’ve never used the feature before) so it’s not a massive block of text for people to scroll past :)

For starters, the opening scene of the show is crafted so beautifully. Firstly, we the audience see the danger before we see who in danger. Even though this is such a simple, subtle thing, it’s so effective because this is the perfect way to define what the show is and what it’s about - daring rescues of those in situations which in our world would seem near impossible to aid, which just adds to the heroics of IR.

Furthermore, the way the characters are introduced is incredible. As with before, we hear the man’s voice before we see him - creating a similar effect as to previous. But he is presented in such a way that leads our eyes up his form and to his head because we know that he is the one making the SOS which makes the sudden interruption of the child so much better. It’s an “oh shit he’s not alone” type reaction, even though the child is very visible next to him. Also the way they are positioned in the balloon, how it’s at an angle, makes the father falling out seem almost inevitable. Plus, the idea to give them hats makes the scene even better because the act of them falling off and out of shot just adds to the tension.

As a quick little side piece, the use of music is fab. I would go more in-depth about the music if I could but I’m not very well music versed being an art kid; that and it’s been a few years since I last played clarinet so some things are a little vaguer now. To begin, the music in the first 20 seconds - it’s in a repeating pattern, three times up once down twice in a row. Then it goes to a lower register when the father begins to speak which not only allows us to hear him much clearer but also adds to the danger of the scene. Then after he climbs back in it begins to crescendo upwards before including a motif (that I’m pretty sure is used in other episodes) but sounds more heroic-y (I think it shifts to major key but I’m not sure).

The arrival of TB2 from the clouds is so well done, my god. Not only is how it appears so well handled, but the music that accompanies it too. Its presence in the scene is so well crafted. The balloon is to the side, still swaying out of control as to still elicit the danger, but the camera is zooming out. This makes the balloon seem smaller so that when TB2 appears it looks, frankly, fucking huge. What’s even better is that we hear then see it. We hear its engines so clearly that it cuts through the music. We can’t see it but we know where it will appear because the balloon is kept to one side of the screen. The music when it appears is also handled so well. Instead of the faster, scaling initial notes, they’re now much more drawn out. Yes these notes are still scaling upwards, but instead being fear-inducing it leans towards heroism especially with what I think is a gong 34/35 seconds into the ep which really just adds to the feel (it’s uplifting!!). And after, it goes into one of the main motifs played when on rescues. And then it changes AGAIN!!! Just as he grabs the child, it picks up - it gets faster. Nothing has happened but you know that something will. Also the wide shot at 48s initially doesn’t appear to furthering the story, but what it does do is further dramatise the danger. Simply “look, we’re 10,000 ft in the air. There is nothing around us.” You see this openness and you know that that man will fall and he does. And just before we get the drama… BAM intro sequence. It builds so much suspense because you know what’s happening, you know someone’s life is at stake but you have to wait through an incredible cool intro sequence to find out what happens.

Probably leave here for now, at least for an hour or so before I come back to it.

[tickettride]

It's hard for you, my baby || J.D.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x f!reader

in which your bad relationship with your mother reaches a peak and it’s nearly impossible to hold it in, until Johnny finds a way to calm you down.

word count: 2,4k

warnings: 18+ (mdni), mentions of alcohol, angst ++, slight violence

AN : ah! prepare yourselves to see this gif approximately ten thousand times in your TL from now on

The sun dipped farther, the sky streaked in pink, and the chatter behind you only grew louder.  

You couldn’t count the number of times you’d woken up to one of the guys passed out on the couch, empty bottles of beer gracing the floor. It had become a habit, one that didn’t upset you so much anymore. Except for that one time. 

The urge to yell at everyone to get out and leave you alone in this big house was strong, but you resisted it, just as you’d just miserably resisted your mother’s threats an hour before. You’d been calm about it until then, waltzing around the room to make sure every man had a beer. A poor excuse to make you think of anything but her fingertips on your cheek.

Now that you were standing uselessly by the window, the anxiety was creeping up and making it harder to breathe. So you cleared your throat awkwardly, pretending to be interested in the colors streaking the sky. 

“We were waitin’ for ya, flower,” Corky nudged you playfully, eyeing the daisy necklace you wore, almost identical to your socks. 

It also matched your flowery pants perfectly, both part of the peaceful persona you were famous for. Though you’d never told the Vandals, you wished you were one of the voices of that peace movement that sometimes put up posters on walls. Sexual revolution, it said. Though you’d stayed there standing in shock the first time, you couldn’t suppress the smile that came upon your lips every time you walked past it now. If the world was changing, you were willing to be a part of it. And it started with wearing flowery clothes that always made Johnny smile, shaking his head at you. 

“Can’t let anyone die of thirst, can I?” you joked nonchalantly, though you refused to meet his eyes. 

Your cautiousness morphed into panic when Corky remained silent for a second and asked what was wrong, catching some other men’s attention. Kathy peered up from her seat too, a concerned line etching her forehead. What could you tell them? That your mother blamed you for each of her misery? That she had grabbed your arm so tightly you could still feel her fingertips on your forearm, stiff as brambles? 

Toying with your necklace, you offered Corky a rueful smile and replied that it had been a long day. That wasn’t a lie, though. 

At the same moment, you met Johnny's eyes, standing in a corner. You briefly wondered why he hadn’t taken off his jacket. He might have been planning to go out for a smoke again, or show someone the renovation work he’d done in the garage. 

His gaze flitted down to your shaky fingers around your necklace, and a crease instantly appeared between his brows. He knew something was wrong. 

With your mother’s words in mind, fear ran like ice through your veins. There were too many people everywhere, their voices muffled as though underwater, and your thumb numbed from gripping the pendant so tight, now sizzling against your clammy skin. They were all crushing you, deafening you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled to no one in particular, crossing the room in large steps. 

All you could think about was being alone. In complete silence. So you strode upstairs and burst through the bedroom, gasping for breath and rushing to open the window. The wind whipped your face hard as you leaned over, like another slap. You could still hear your frantic heartbeat thrumming in your ears, but at least no one asked you questions here.

“The fuck you’re doin’?” Johnny’s high voice made you jump backward, a hand resting on the windowsill. 

For better and for worse, they’d said. You trusted Johnny to take care of the worst. 

“What?”

“What the fuck you’re doin’, leanin’ over the window?”

Johnny came closer to shut the window with more strength than necessary and turned back to you. You were already sinking on the bed, bending forward from all the pressure on your back. Though now, your hands couldn’t stop shaking. You stared at them in shock, your breathing echoing in the room. It was mad, the influence she had on you.

“Oh, God,” you creaked out, entranced by the fear that had spread through your veins. 

Johnny said your name a couple of times, but he sounded so far. You tilted your head from side to side, searching for an escape to this despair that clawed at you. I’ll die because of you. The only thing you’ve accomplished is gettin’ married; don’t get used to it. 

“Look at me,” Johnny’s voice cut through the haze, clutching your hands between his big palms, tearing into your thoughts. “C’mon now, look at me. What’s goin’ on?”

Through an avalanche of heavy tears, your chest heaving, all you could do was shake your head. It was too hard to utter the words. It wasn’t fair to share your pain with him when he’d looked so serene just a minute before. 

Leant to your level, Johnny scrutinized your expression. Then, like on the rare occasions you cried, he went to sit beside you and pulled you into his arms. It was never so intense, usually. You were woozy with exhaustion and dread, convinced that it would never get better. Your mother would find you again, and she’d make you feel even worse. Again and again. 

Choking out into a rough cough, you felt yourself shaking even more at the realisation that you couldn’t breathe anymore. She was going to kill you. 

“Hey, hey,” Johnny stroked your hair out of your face. “You’re all right. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to you, you hear me?”

Your grip on his jacket tightened. It was nearly impossible to calm down when you could still hear her voice so clearly, telling you how worthless you were. It was engraved in your brain like the moment you’d first kissed your man, and the moment he’d asked for your hand. On the same level. And it hurt like hell.

You wanted to bang your head against the wall so hard it’d make the words vanish.

“Breathe. Take deep breaths.”

“She slapped me.”

The weight of what you’d just said made Johnny freeze for a long moment. 

“What’d you say?”

“Rita. I bumped into her at the grocery store and—and I couldn’t avoid her.”

“Fucking Christ,” Johnny muttered, holding you a bit tighter and stroking your hair. “What’d she do to you?”

The relief of having him so close to you allowed you to speak more freely. How much longer could you have looked out the window to the raging fire outside and convinced yourself it was a beautiful day?

“I tried to be tough, you see, and I told her we got married. And she—she started yelling. I was so ashamed, Johnny. I told her to lower her voice, and she slapped me. Right there, in the middle of everyone.”

“That fuckin’ hag,” you heard him grumble, tightening his hold on you. 

“She makes me feel so fucking low.”

“You’re tough, yeah? You’re a tough one,” Johnny whispered in your ear, resting the back of his fingers against your cheek. “Don’t know anyone else who’d do half the things you do. She’s mad she didn’t get to live the life you’re livin’. That’s on her.”

Hot tears went on spilling down your face despite his words. You heaved a sigh, forcing some air into your lungs, although it felt stuck somewhere down there. You wished you had some response to that, maybe a word in agreement, but it would have sounded fake.

“I’m so hot,” you choked on another sob, pulling away from that big man who’d doubtlessly confront that monster of a woman on your behalf. 

Johnny swallowed another curse when he got up, crossing the room to get tissues before you could even ask. And he watched you blow your nose, tossing the tissues on the floor. He obviously wasn’t sure what to do, standing there awkwardly. You didn’t either. So you stared up at him, hoping a solution would spring from his eyes somehow, and feeling strangely that she’d taken more with her than you knew how to explain.

After some time, maybe seconds or minutes, Johnny sat beside you and tapped his thigh gently, beckoning you to sit on his lap. 

“Come here.”

You did. 

“Take off your shirt. I’ll take mine off.”

Exhausted from holding back these feelings and letting them all out at the same time, you didn’t ask what he was on about and peeled off your shirt. Your eyes stung, but you folded it neatly before placing it on top of his jacket, on the covers. He wiped your forehead with his white tee, adding it to the pile, crumpling yours in the process.

You had no time to be confused or protest, though. 

“Come here,” he said again. “Give your old man a hug.”

At that, your expression tightened, brimming with the promise of tears. He pulled you in for a hug, the light layer of stubble covering his chin coming down against your temple. Kissing it. 

“There you go,” you heard him mutter, his big palm coming to rub your back in soothing motions despite the clammy sweat clinging to your skin. 

Nothing had ever felt so peaceful—well, except for the awkward sob that escaped you. But you were fine. You were safe. And you had the most loving husband you could have hoped for. Slowly, your sobs softened, and you started rubbing his back too. You hadn’t expected such a sense of calm from simply being close to him, feeling his skin against yours.

Not even the knock on the door made you move. You both remained glued to each other, and Johnny didn’t seem to mind receiving some of the weight of your pain. For better and for worse. 

“Who’s in there?” the man behind the door shouted, and you were certainly grateful that Johnny had thought of locking the door while you weren’t looking. 

“Ignore ‘em,” he mumbled.

And once again, you did as told. 

Johnny squeezed you in a bear hug for so long that you nearly fell asleep right there–which, you thought, he wouldn’t have minded–with your arms around his middle and your legs as numb as your mind. You hung into him while the world underneath celebrated something you realised you still had no idea about, light-headed but definitely better. Or, at least, hopeful. 

A soft kiss brushed the space between your breasts, full of warmth and unconditional love. Another was placed underneath your necklace. 

"I forgot to wear a bra this morning," you squeaked, your words dissolving into an embarrassed chuckle.

“I see that, yeah,” the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.". “Can’t complain about that, can I?”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the tears beneath your wet lashes.

“I wish I’d done more than just stand there, but—I don’t know, I just froze and wished she’d disappear. It was awful.”

“You've done your best. She’d gotten mad no matter what.”

You gave a small nod, not so convinced. Reaching for another tissue next to the pile of clothes, you blew your nose.

“What if she’s there again next time I go?”

“You’ll defend yourself,” Johnny deadpanned, grabbing your arm to see your muscles. “See? You’re stronger than me.”

A chuckle slipped past your lips as you threw the tissue aside. “You’ll teach me the basics.”

“Yeah. I will.”

He looked so sincere that the corners of your mouth turned up on their own, a natural reaction to his face. You were glad he was there, talking to you. Grounding you.

There was no hesitation in his voice when he told you to come closer again, just like there had been no hesitation when he’d decorated the room better after you moved in, just wanting to make it nice and safe for you. Despite telling him a thousand times, Johnny didn’t really get that the thing that made you feel so safe was his presence, not the room itself. 

“I don’t know why shit keeps happening to me,” you sniffled, your lips against his collarbone. “I’m nice to everyone. I’ve never fought. Never misspoke.”

“It’s not you,” Johnny replied, his voice low, reassuring. “The people—don’t let them get at you, yeah? Your kindness is one of the reasons I love you, flower.”

You hummed in response, letting his words linger.

“Show ‘em who’s the boss,” he rubbed a hand up and down your back. “Show her you’re stronger than that.”

Pulling back, you tried to return his smile around the tears stinging the backs of your eyes and kissed him gently. It was hard to explain—as hard as it would be to face your mother the next time she showed up in town—but there was a calmness in your mind he had undoubtedly made happen. The music was loud, and a glass broke downstairs, which should have made you scream, but nothing really mattered anymore.

Resting your hand lightly on his arm, your thumb tracked slowly back and forth over the sensitive crook of his elbow, sending his pulse skittering against your chest. 

The three words left your mouth almost on their own when you met his gaze. 

“I love you too,” he promised, kissing you sweetly. “And I’m proud of you, right? I’m proud of you.”

It was all you needed to hear to smile again, to ease the pain. You carried those words with you when you stepped into the store a week later and, thankfully, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there the next few times either, and each time, it got a little easier. You liked to think it was because of Johnny, but really, you were just a tough one.

[marypickfords]

“As the girl fans repeatedly put it, they “couldn’t help” contacting, following, and adoring the Canadian-born actress. After confessing to have fallen in love with the star, Cecile Holmes pleaded with [Florence] Lawrence to “forgive my madness, and receive my letters kindly, for I just couldn’t help writing you.” Anna Mae Oldham similarly declared, “I am not a girl for flattering anybody, but I can’t help it with you,” while Edith Crutcher admitted, “I just could not help from writing you—for when I love any one, it’s impossible for me to keep it from them.” Inked on perfumed pink stationery, Rose Sachmmellen’s letter asked Lawrence for her “pardon, for I’ve been guilty of the same offense before, Miss Lawrence, when I was bold enough to write and tell you how glad I was that the report of your accidental death proved untrue. But I couldn’t help it and meant every word and I’m not ashamed of having done so.” Such succinct expression of powerlessness, abandonment, and rapture—“I can’t help it”—articulates an unusual investment in Lawrence, so urgent and all-consuming that it took a life of its own. “I can’t help it” further implies that such uncommon same-sex investment threatened a heteronormative sense of female propriety, a breach that could bring embarrassment and disrepute to the fan according to Sachmmellen’s defiant “but I couldn’t help it and meant every word and I am not ashamed.” Hilton similarly professed, “I know you will think I am bold—very bold [for writing] but I just can’t help it.””

— Diana W. Anselmo, from A Queer Way of Feeling: Girl Fans and Personal Archives of Early Hollywood (2023)

[ofdarknesseyes]

It was such a weird fucking feeling, to sleep with someone. Sharing space so close when one is asleep, their most vulnerable state. Toji can’t remember the last time he had shared a bed with someone. Not even just because he’s been dead for how long now? Well, mostly that probably. But still, the only memories he had of sleeping with another person were of Megumi and Megumi’s mother. Perhaps there had been a few times when Tsumiki and Megumi slipped into bed with him. But most of the memories were filled with Megumi. That however was when Megumi was a baby and small. Now his son was grown, almost an adult. It was different now. So different to feel his body solid against his.

Toji was a very light sleeper despite seeming to be dead asleep, he felt it when Megumi would shift when he’d press impossibly closer. When he draped an arm and leg over him. It made his heart feel a certain way he wasn’t quite used to but even more disturbing it made his body feel a way he hadn’t felt in a long long time. Luckily each time he woke mostly from Megumi stirring, once he hugged his son close again, he would drift to sleep just as easily.

That is until Megumi gets up and out of bed. Hearing Megumi enter the bathroom, Toji sprawls out a bit more. His eyes still shut but his ears picked up on every little sound, waiting for Megumi’s return to be able to fall asleep again perhaps. Or was it time to get up? Maybe he’ll get up to wash up too once Megumi is done in the bathroom. He was feeling pretty hungry, which meant it was time to get up soon.

He hears Megumi exit the bathroom but his son does not return to bed. He watches in the dark as Megumi slips his shoes on and heads for the door. Toji wants to laugh, at the fact that he actually feels a little wounded that his son would try and sneak away from him while he is sleeping. Was this payback? Oh well, he deserved it. Plus it wasn’t like he didn’t see this coming. He knew Megumi would come to his senses and realize that Toji was good for nothing, that he was better off without his father. He was probably going to go and attempt to save the man who took care of him and didn’t abandon him. Oh well, this is how things should be. This is what he wanted, for Megumi to run far away from him and forget he exits.

Even if he knows this, somehow a selfish side of him doesn’t seem to want to let go just yet…

“So that’s how it is huh? Not even going to at least say bye to your old man before leaving?”

His smooth voice cut through the silence. Green eyes baring into Megumi as he slowly sits up. Toji knows he should let Megumi and he will if he really wants to but protective instincts won’t let him go easily. What else was he going to do if not protect Megumi? Just roam around waiting to die again? If he is going to die again then he wants it to be in Megumi’s hands or at least protect him.

“You’re not even in any condition to be fighting yet.”

Toji eyes him with almost a critical glare.

“You can do whatever you want kid but if you get yourself killed I’ll be pissed I wasted time nursing you back to health.”

It was as good as it got. Toji’s way of telling his son to be careful.

Truthfully it was warmer than Megumi usually slept at comfortably, but he WAS comfortable. Comfortable and safe in the arms of his fathers. Arms he had not been enveloped by for more than thirteen years yet it felt both familiar and like longing. Something he had been so intimately familiar with that it was almost like breathing yet had it been breath -- he would have died long, long ago. Children never forgot though. Toji's face had become a blur, forced like that because of pain, but children did not forget.

While awake Megumi would not remember how his father held him diligently every day, but the sleeping soul remembered. Megumi snuffled impossibly closer as if he was he was trying to become one with his dad. His knee bent and his leg swung over to get a better hold of his dad. Little beads of sweat doted his forehead, the back of his neck, and even down his back, but he didn't let go... not entirely. More than once Megumi woke up with a little start. Memories of Shibuya, Sukuna, and Mahoraga haunted him... made him feel guilty for having a decent night's rest.

The person who had taken care of him when his father left, Satoru Gojo, had also been bested and trapped. It was Toji's hold he longed for yet it had been Satoru who had been there for Megumi and his sister. It was the guilt, the impending doom, AND it was the strangeness of another person's warmth. He and Tsumiki had shared a futon when they were left alone, and after they moved they occasionally slept in the same bed. It had been a long time since then and even then it was different.

Toji's big arms were around him. His startled heart beat returned to normal and despite his guilt, he nuzzled his face closer. Just one night. Part of Megumi was sure this would never last. He was being too clingy though, wasn't he? He dropped his leg and stopped coiling his arm around his father's torso. He would have moved more but Toji had a firm hold on him and he didn't want to wake the man up. Like a baby, he just curled up against his dad.

It was far too long occupied in his thoughts before he fell asleep. Before he knew it, he had dreams his father was walking out the door. Dreams, rather nightmares, Satoru and Toji were arguing. Satoru was dead. Yuji was missing. He woke up comfortable of body but distraught of mind. It was morning but the light was shielded by the thick curtains. Only the faintest of traces of light hit the hit edges of the wall and ceiling let Megumi know what time it was. He moved his head to look at his father.

It was near pitch black but he thought he could make out his father's sleeping expression. He looked scary yet handsome. A full bladder knocked Megumi into action, and he so very slooowly extricated himself from his father. Part of the boy's face and his arm were numb from being so flush against another body and for such a long amount of time. He moved off the bed as carefully as he could and went to the bathroom where he emptied his bladder, washed his face, and brushed his teeth.

The walls were thick in such a nice hotel that the noise shouldn't have disturbed Toji. Megumi still great care not to disturb the man. He didn't know why. They had to move away from their fucked up family vacation. With no phone and no way to communicate with his classmates and senseis, Megumi really felt guilty and out of the loop; they were probably worried sick. He didn't know what he was doing but Megumi put on his boots and began tip toeing for the door when he heard the mattress creak.