#it’s so tragic because he got out but he came back for his family!!

[bellysoupset]

Oooh maybe some house moving planning with Bella and Luke where she thinks she's nervous about the move but actually she's sick from something she ate?

this was supposed to be a mini fic 😭

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"Come here," Lucas grabbed Bella's wrist, pulling her close and throwing his trench coat around her shoulders, forcing her arms into the arm holes, "there you go..."

"Happy?" Bella pouted, as he tied the belt by her waist, synching it in, "have you sufficiently babied me for the day?"

"Just barely," Luke opened a smile at her frustrated question, grabbing the belt loops of his trench-coat and pulling her closer, pressing a kiss to his wife's curls, "this is me being measured."

The ginger let out a scoff, rolling her eyes, but wrapped an arm around Lucas' waist and waddled with him on the side walk of Welton street. After yesterday... They had barely talked about it, it was too fresh and Bella wasn't any good with the big emotions. All they had done after coming back from the hospital was cuddle in bed, Luke petting her hair as she intermittently cried, shedding a couple tears himself, then they had pushed the matters aside and focused on the house.

Their offer had gone through, the news came during lunch, much to their chagrin. Such weird timing. By dinner Lucas had hoovered uneasily at the bathroom doorway, clearly filled with questions, until Bella had angrily waved him off.

There wasn't much to be talked about, she had decided. They were on the same page, about starting a family, about not wanting a pregnancy now, but one in the future. It was tragic and she was sad and that was it, end of story.

"Hey," Luke nibbled at her ear, "we should shop for our dining room," he gestured to the furniture store and Bella let out a huff, hiding a smile against his shoulder.

"Because we throw so many dinner parties," she said sardonically, "and I cook so well."

"Can you think of a better place to learn than in our ugly yellow kitchen?" Lucas grinned back at her, taking her hand and pulling her inside, "we'll do cooking classes together, baby."

Bella let out an offended noise, "the kitchen isn't ugly!"

"It's hideous," he pulled her further in, "a relic from the fifities."

"It's charming," she smiled as Luke wrapped her up in his arms and they continued to walk around the store. About halfway through of them walking, an attendant stepped forward to ask if they needed help.

She was in her mid thirties and all bright smiles, spine all straight as she looked over Bella's head at Lucas, since he called so much attention with his height.

Bell rolled her eyes as Luke mentioned them looking at dinner tables and got them roped into a full tour of the store. As they passed by the kitchen, though, she spotted cookies and her stomach growled loud enough that both Luke and the attendant heard.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me... Would you like some cookies?" The lady held up her tray and Bella took two for herself, then pushed two in Luke's hand, checking the woman's name tag. Sheila.

Sheila kept dragging them around for twenty more minutes and Bell was amazed on the woman's relentless attitude. Bravo for spotting the most gullible of all her clients, because if it was up to Lucas alone, they'd have taken half the store by now.

"No, I don't like that," Bella took Luke's cookie from his hand, before he could bring it up to his mouth and took a bite herself, "it's too... modern."

"She likes antiques, Victorian stuff," Lucas explained, passing Bella his last cookie and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "think vampire."

Bella rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, more busy devouring her snack than paying any attention to the employee trying to extort her husband. Luke had enough money to burn, if he wanted to buy those dumb armchairs, then so be it.

It was their house, after all, right?

"You didn't like a single thing?" Luke whined as they stepped out of the store, him now holding several papers that made him the proud owner of an ugly as hell armchair, a king sized bed that apparently was non-negotiable no matter what Bella thought about the size and a vintage inspired fridge that she had to admit was quite adorable.

"i liked the fridge," Bell shrugged, intertwining their fingers and guiding him away from the store, "and not that she was flirting with you, Mr. Atwood."

Lucas' opened a huge, smug smile, "she was not!"

"Uh-hum, whatever you say, Mr. Atwood," Bella mocked Sheila's drawl once again, giggling and leaning against his arm, "we gotta buy bubble wrap and boxes before going home. Tape too."

"Whatever you want, Mrs. Atwood," Luke mocked her right back, moving his arm so it was wrapped around her shoulders.

Three hours later they were sitting in the living room of their cramped little rental, boxes all around and trying to sort through the mess. For such a small place, it was surprising how much stuff they could fit in it.

"Here," Luke took the glasses from her hands, "let me bubble wrap it before you break it."

"I'm not an ogre, you know?" Bella pouted, but she didn't really fight him. There was a weird ache in the middle of her stomach and she wasn't sure if it was nerves, now that it all felt real, or something else.

Lucas seemed unbothered and that bothered her.

"Didn't you like this place at all?" Bella asked, fiddling with her pants. She hadn't changed out of her destroyed jeans and was now regretting it, wishing she was in sweatpants, "you seem so happy about moving out."

"I liked this place alright," he shrugged, confused, "I'm just excited about the new house, aren't you?"

Luke one, Bella zero, she thought bitterly. She squinted at him, undoing the buttons of her jeans and kicking them off with a frustrated groan. When he raised a quizzical eyebrow, Bell simply shrugged, "it was squeezing me... Of course I'm excited about the new place, I picked it, you're the one who hurled all over it."

He let out a chuckle at that, rolling his eyes, "just marking the territory, Bells," Lucas placed the glasses inside the box between his legs, "why are you pouting, baby?"

"I don't know," Bella winced, getting up from the ground and pacing the small space, crossing her arms, "I guess I- I'm just worried...?" her stomach squeezed at that and Bell took it as a sign. Yeah, worried was the right word.

"About the house deed?" Lucas frowned now, "if you don't want it to be in both our names, we can put it in just yours... Would it help...?" he sounded wounded and Bella flinched at the idea she was hurting him mere twenty hours after they had just gone through hell together.

"No, it's not that-" she felt clammy and claustrophobic, "it's not that, Luke, I just- I guess it's packing everything and moving and then there's- There's this whole situation-" she gestured at herself, causing Lucas to glare at her.

"Bella-"

"No, stop, before you go on with the it's not your fault speech, I'm not saying that, I just-" Bella fanned herself, feeling nauseous, "I think it's just so much and I don't feel prepared for this at all..."

"Hey," Luke got on his knees, crawling closer and grabbing her hands, "Bell, I know it's a lot, but we've been through worse before, right? We might not be the best adults out there, the smartest and most prepared, but we do alright."

Bella let out a watery chuckle, wrapping an arm around her stomach as a whole new wave of nausea caused her to get covered with cold sweat, "we do alright..." she agreed, planting her hands on her knees and breathing out slowly, until her heart calmed down and her racing thoughts stopped.

Luke was still watching her and he opened a bright smile as she raised her thumbs up and kissed the top of his head, "we're good enough at this, right?"

"Yep," he tilted his head back so she could kiss him upside down, "sit down, you look ready to topple over, Bell."

Instead of helping, at all, with the wrapping of the glasses, Bella sat on the couch for another ten minutes, before deciding she what she really needed was a shower.

immediately Luke's head snapped up and she couldn't help but think of those puppies who cried when separated by a door, "I'm fine," she stressed, although that wasn't exactly true. Her panic had lessened considerably, but the clammy sensation had fully morphed into nausea, "I'm going to take a shower and head to bed, I'm tired."

"I'm just gonna finish up here," he reached up without moving from the ground, squeezing her hand, "don't lock the bathroom door."

"Aye, captain," she rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand back and walking the short distance to the bathroom. Once inside, Bella braced against the sink, pointedly avoiding looking at the toilet.

At least one good thing about everything happening at once, they'd be out of this place soon and she would have no bad memories to avoid in the new house.

Her stomach gurgled, unhappily, and Bella splashed some cold water on her face and her nape, grabbing her long hair and wrapping it around itself on a knot on the base of her neck. A soft burp rolled up, followed by another and another... She spat some acid in the sink and let out a groan, tasting the cookies all over again.

Bella lowered her forehead to the granite of the sink, wrapping an arm around her stomach and taking slow, measured breaths. There was no way she had gotten food poisoning from four measly cookies...

"We need wine glass- Bell!?" Luke had entered the bathroom without knocking and she could hear his panic loud and clear at finding her folded in the middle like that, "baby, baby, baby, what is it?!"

"Shhhh-" Bella groaned, wincing as he touched her face and forced her to straighten up, "I'm fine-"

"You're pale as hell. What's wrong?" Luke was the one to talk, considered he had gone from his normal creamy color straight into bunny-white, "sit down, baby-" he pushed her on the closed toilet and Bella rolled her eyes, pushing his hands off her arm.

"I think the cookies didn't sit well, that's all," she groaned, glaring at him as Luke crouched down between her legs, extremely worried, "stop looking at me like that, Lucas."

"Sorry, I- Cookies? What cookies-"

"From the store?" she grimaced and pressed a fist to her mouth, muffling another wet belch, "they're not sitting well..."

"Jesus Christ, Isabella," he let out a relieved sigh, lowering his head all the way to her lap, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Her stomach churned, sending up a splash of acidic sludge and Bella swallowed it, shuddering, "and I'm gonna puke on your hair if you don't move," she warned, her words sticking together and tugging lightly on Luke's hair.

He let out a little hysterical chuckle, pulling back and then jumping as he realized how serious she was when Bella gagged and squeezed her hand over her lips, whole body convulsing.

"Oh shit, okay-" he moved out of the way so Bell could kneel before the toilet and threw the lid up, grabbing her hair just in time as she heaved again and a sludge of chunky brown vomit hit the water.

"Eww..." Bell whined, sniffling and clumsily reaching for the flush, the movement pushing up another wet burp and causing her to freeze, panting over the water. Luke cringed, planting a hand on her forehead to support her head and the next minute her whole body went forward with yet another productive gag.

Bella coughed several times, spitting in the water, "flush..."

He obeyed with an amused huff at the demanding tone, "all out?"

"noOURp-" a sick burp came from the depth of her stomach, but didn't bring anything with it. Bella white knuckled the porcelain, mouth open and drooling over the water.

Lucas bit down on his lip, "Bell?"

She removed a clammy hand from the toilet, pressing it on her stomach and massaging up another heave, this one productive and much more watery, "I-I-...." Bella panted, before she projectile vomited another watery stream and then collapsed to the side, against Luke's chest.

"All done?" he reached in blindly, grabbing a wide of toilet paper and wiping her mouth and chin, "baby?"

"So gross," Bella's voice was several notes too deep, "your little flirt poisoned me."

Luke let out a startled chuckle, pressing a kiss to her clammy forehead and rubbing her arm, throwing the dirty toilet paper inside the bowl and pressing the flush, "don't be silly, with the cookies she offered both of us?"

Bella groaned at the movement, wrapping an arm around her stomach and curling up against Luke, "yeah, an elaborate plan to get rid of me..." she slid down on the bathroom floor in order to press her face to his thigh and Luke let out a groan.

"Bellaaaa, the tiles are cold- C'mon, baby, the bed is not even that far-"

"Do you have no love for your wife?" She groaned, pinching his thigh, "you want me to get up? When I just got sick? When my belly hurts? Lucas?!"

He let out a snort at her tone, "you're such a huge baby," he rolled his eyes, grabbing her arms and forcing her up, picking her up like a toddler, "there we go-"

"No romance. At. All," Bella scoffed, hiding a smile against his shoulder and locking her legs behind his back as he tried to lie her down on the bed, "cuddle me."

"Don't you want me to get you a bin?" Luke asked, falling on top of her and chuckling when the bed jostle caused her to gag and groan, "yeah, that's what I thought, babe."

"Alright, fine..." she unlocked her legs, letting him go, "but hurry back!"

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

"What kind of trauma, pain and violence is so great that even death cannot stop it?": Reincarnation in "Nosferatu" (2024)

I already talked about this extensively in another post (and even did some brainstorming on Eggers' Orlok possible backstory) but I want to come back to this topic, because this is probably my favorite theme in this film, mostly because it’s left so ambiguous, and I’ve come across more interviews and got more evidence.

A little introduction: Robert Eggers doesn’t want us to know the backstory on his Count Orlok, but he wrote a novella on it and gave it to Bill Skarsgård, for preparation. We know he’s a 16th century Transylvanian nobleman, from the 1580s (“lord” and “lordship”), he’s not Vlad the Impaler (15th century), he was a voivode (warlord), a enchanter/sorcerer (Şolomanari) and he was married, and had a family. "That will never be shared because the mystery of the enigma is better for an audience, but it was important for Bill to have that history." Eggers needs to release his novella on Orlok backstory, because I want to know!

And this backstory actually influenced Bill’s entire performance, as Robert Eggers reveals in one interview: “And while Bill was also doing what I was asking for, he brought more to the table too, particularly with binding moments where Orlok was vulnerable. I was so sick of the tropes of the sad vampire that I didn't want to go there. But Bill knew that it was important to still have the vulnerability in some places. And I think it makes the performance.”

Including the ending: “I sent [Bill] a backstory of Orlok that I wrote. So we came to it together to achieve what I was after. Because I’m so tired of the heroic and sad vampires, I was just like, ‘He’s a demon. He’s so evil.’ Bill was like, ‘Yeah, but there needs to be some times where he has some kind of vulnerability.’ It’s very subtle, and it’s not there often, but it is enough. I think the ending of the movie is much more effective than it would have been without Bill’s acute sensitivity to that – while still delivering on this big, scary, masculine the vampire”.

We have Bill to thank for Orlok’s more nuance performance, because Eggers’ initial idea was cardboard demon, due to his aspiration of making vampires scary again. But this tell us something else (I already suspected): Orlok’s backstory is definitely tragic and sad. Hence Eggers saying he didn’t want the “sad vampire” but Bill said vulnerability was necessary to add depth to the character. And thank Bill for that, because, personally, I can’t stand one-dimensional characters, even “demonic” ones.

The prologue of the film (between Ellen and Orlok) is based on this material: “Most importantly, I was thinking, ‘Who are these characters, and how can I build out their backstories and make them real people?’ I also wanted our version to be Ellen’s story. The previous Nosferatu films start out as Thomas Hutter’s story, or Jonathan Harker’s, and then become Ellen’s story, but I wanted it to always be her story. Our film’s prologue comes from the work I did with the novella.”

When discussing the use of Dacian and the reconstruction process, Robert Eggers revealed Orlok is a very ancient being: "Orlok is an ancient noble, predating even the foundations of the Romanian Empire."

This tells us we are, indeed, dealing with reincarnation in this story, because the "Count Orlok" in the film is a late 16th century corpse, with a whole boyar and vovoide backstory, the sovereign of a Transylvanian county (count). But he’s also a priest-shaman follower of Zalmoxis, the Dacian God of life and death, and owner of the secrets of immortality. Reincarnation being true immortality actually makes perfect sense; and it’s also a theme in one of the most iconic “Dracula” films of all time, “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” by Francis Ford Coppola.

"Ellen’s most prominent evening dress is indigo with lilacs embroidered and beaded on the front and on the sleeves. This lavender hue subliminally underscores the connection between Ellen and Orlok, who remembers lilacs from when he was alive." Nosferatu costumes link Ellen and Count Orlok Interview

Ellen is the lead character, and Robert Eggers says he wanted to tell his version of this story "through the eyes of the female protagonist", and "it is a tale of love and obsession and a Gothic romance” and he even said Ellen and Orlok are "beyond love". What's intriguing to me is why is his Orlok so obsessed with Ellen, specifically. Why does he want her soul forever at his side? Why is he dragging her to her grave? Because this is his motivation in this story. He’s not after world domination nor anything. Ellen’s soul by his side for all eternity is what he wants (and gets, at the end).

I think the answer can be in his interviews about Balkan and Slavic folklore, because there is one idea that seems to be on his mind:

The most important thing was going back to the folklore and the early Balkan and Slavic folklore [...] Most surprisingly, many of these early folk vampires do not even drink blood; rather, they might suffocate their victims to death or spread plague and disease. Some early folk vampires when disinterred from their grave were noted for having erections. Some of them came back to fornicate with their widows until the women died of an excess of intercourse. If they did drink blood, it was generally not from the throat, but the chest – the victim’s “heart blood.” You can still find reports of vampirism from the Balkan regions, where the folklore is thoroughly enmeshed with local culture. What are we to make of stories like this? What kind of trauma, pain and violence is so great that even death cannot stop it? It’s a heartbreaking notion. The folk vampire embodies disease, death, and sex in a base, brutal and unforgiving way. ‘I had to make the vampire as scary as possible’: Nosferatu’s Robert Eggers on how folklore fuelled his film

Which is something he will mention again:

“You wonder what is the dark trauma that doesn't die when someone dies. […] [So you suspect something terrible happened between them in real life and that this story was a way of grappling with that?] That's my hypothesis.” Robert Eggers Reveals the Ghastly True Tales Behind His New Nosferatu

In Romanian folklore, when strigoi (which is what Orlok is and this is his lore) raise from their grave the first time, they return to those they have loved the most, because they wish to relive their life together. The strigoi usually torment them until they are dead, too. Which is exactly what we see in “Nosferatu” (2024) with Orlok and Ellen.

From the film itself we know he was dead and rotting since the late 16th century until Ellen brought him back from the dead and cursed him to be a strigoi. At the prologue. And, in true strigoi myth, he appears at her window, asking for entrance.

The evidence that Ellen is the reincarnation of Orlok’s wife or lover or bride is palpable in this story, not only in the entire folklore that inspired it, but in the dialogue itself. In another post, I already analyzed Ellen and Orlok’s backstory (after the prologue and before Ellen marriage to Thomas), and Orlok never actually took her as his lover, in the sense there was no “astral sex” going on between them, and what she was doing was masturbation and him as a haunting (still creepy, but he didn’t actually touch her).

But still she’s absolutely convinced he did, and then we have all the connection with the lilacs, from both of them; yes, it’s meant to be a visual storytelling device to represent their relationship, but these flowers are also connected to rebirth, and, according to Linda Muir, recall Orlok from his human life. Ellen is also deeply attracted to Orlok, and only him can understand and fulfill her, but she doesn’t know why. It’s unconscious.

“Yet I cannot be sated without you. Remember how once we were? A moment. Remember?”

In other post, I already discussed the use of the term "sated". Because Orlok (being from the late 16th century) speaks Old English; where this word is connected to the verb “sit”, as in “rest” or “lie”. What Orlok is actually saying is “I cannot rest without you”. Which makes sense with their covenant of being together ever-eternally. He can’t find peace in death without her.

Even the way Bill delivers this line “remember how once we were?” sounds haunted, and a profound yearning and desperation, almost, for her to remember something very old. To me, this is most likely one of those “vulnerable moments” inspired by Orlok’s backstory Robert Eggers was talking about in interviews.

“Remember?”

The option that makes more sense with Ellen and Orlok in “Nosferatu” (2024) is the myth of strigoi coming back to have sex with their widows until they died of excess of intercourse; which is exactly what happens at the end. And the sound design even made sure we, the audience, heard the penetration. Is this the reason why?

But then we have the idea that Eggers mentions twice: what kind of trauma, pain and violence is so great that even death cannot stop it? What is the dark trauma that doesn't die when someone dies?

In “Nosferatu”, it’s Ellen who resurrects Orlok. It’s her sadness, loneliness and sexual awakening which brings him back from the dead. So, can this “trauma” be related to Ellen’s soul, herself? She’s the protagonist, and this is her story. The emotions we are dealing with at the prologue (inspired by Orlok’s backstory, according to Robert Eggers) are; deep loneliness, without a companion to give her comfort and tenderness. And even sexual desire. As a result she resurrects Orlok with her black magic prayer (necromancy).

He also calls her enchantress; and he was a enchanter in life. And indeed, Ellen displays insane spiritual power in this film; Herr Knock needs to assemble a whole ritual room to communicate with Orlok, and she doesn’t need any of that. Which might indicate, she was an actual enchantress in her past life; probably a Şolomonari like Orlok himself. Von Franz does say she could have been a “great priestess” in Pagan times.

We have a lot of Sex Magick in this film (pretty much every Şolomonari ritual is a Sex Magick ritual here). Which, again, can imply it was their “thing” in a past life, too, because their relationship is very sexual and passionate, which is probably how they were, previously, since they both have high sex drives (and this is what Orlok asks her to remember). Orlok the high priest, and Ellen the high priestess. Two freaks in the sheets (and probably in the streets too, Ellen appears to enjoy the outdoors). We are told she has a deep knowledge of the shadow side of life, after all, and she’s an outsider and completely misunderstood (except by Orlok and Von Franz).

Him being a demonic creature, means he cannot love her now (even though Eggers is also making a difference between Thomas (love) and Orlok (passion)), it doesn’t mean he didn’t love her in the past. Especially since this is a direct reference to the “Dracula” novel where one of the bride accuses Dracula of not being able to love, to which he answers; “Yes, I too can love. You yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?” This can indicate that Orlok did love her in their human past life (or lives, even), and fiercely, deeply so.

Searching for clues in Orlok’s castle scenes with Thomas (I already talked about the multiple sarcophagus in the crypt in the other post), Orlok attacks him in a bedroom, and in a double bed, meant for a couple, and it has two pillows (unlike the Victorian couples here, who have separate single beds). Even at the end, Ellen and Orlok are joined in one bed, Ellen’s bed.

Since this was also a Sex Magick ritual to divorce him from Ellen in the spiritual realm, doing it in this specific bedroom (that Orlok selected for him in advance), doesn’t seem random. Maybe this was Orlok’s and Ellen’s bedroom? And she even makes an appearance here.

But Orlok’s soul did not “ascend” (sort of speak), because he says he was in the “darkest pit” as a “loathsome beast”. And, again, in Old English, “loathsome” has another meaning, connected to “grievous”, as in “grief”. He was in some sort of limbo, and when Ellen called out, he returned to his former body, and became a strigoi. So, their emotions match, at the prologue. And if Ellen is a reincarnation of Orlok’s wife or lover, this means her soul moved on to the next life, and his didn’t; causing their further separation. Which can be the explanation on why Orlok is so obsessed in getting her soul this time around; for them not to be apart, again.

And, if we follow this logic, he probably died before she did, in their past life. And that trauma endured on her soul. She probably tried to resurrect him in past, as well? Or was it the other way around? Either way, someone died first, probably in a tragic and violent way and it caused a huge trauma on their souls, for both of them. Since “sex and death” are the core themes here, it’s not unlikely to find them in these characters backstories, too, I would say.

And can this separation of souls create such pain and a trauma so dark it created an actual monster to bring plague and death upon civilization because of their yearning of being united, once again?

Ellen is also said to be “promised” and “fated” to Orlok. Even Von Franz says to Thomas “in vain, you ran in vain. You cannot out-run her destiny!” Is Ellen’s fate to break the curse (she put on him, herself) or for her soul to be united with Orlok’s for all eternity?

In my original post I talked about the hypothesis of human Orlok being among the boyar rebels supporters of Balthasar Báthory for the throne of Transylvania, and was arrested for treason and strangled in prison (he obviously wasn’t beheaded), in 1593. We also have a woman and accusations of witchcraft as retaliation for the death of these noblemen. This in the midst of religious turmoil between Protestants and Catholics (with Balthasar Báthory being on the Protestant side).

This hypothesis checks a lot of boxes; the dates we have for Orlok (1580-1590s; late 16th century); the age Robert Eggers says he is, at the time of his death (55-years-old); offers an explanation for his “asmatic” speech, Eggers was very particular about (his vocal chords are damaged); and fits the prologue (where Orlok “strangles” Ellen, when he reveals himself).

This would also fit the "revenge on Christian civilization" subtext of Orlok as a plague carrier, bringing death and destruction to the Christian West. Them being separated because of a Christian conflict, and Orlok executed at the orders of a Catholic prince, would add layers of “dark trauma” to this.

Count Orlok bust by Prosthetics and Make-up designer, David White; his neck does appear damaged.

At the prologue, we also have a sexual encounter (masturbation), in a garden of lilacs. And at the end, lilacs are placed by Von Franz around their bodies, symboling their return to their garden. Which is another connection to Orlok’s human backstory, further strengthening the reincarnation theme.

The last shot of the film (while being “Death and the maiden” motif) is also reminiscent of the ending of “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” by Francis Ford Coppola, where Vlad soul ascends to join Elisabeta’s. In "Nosferatu" (2024) it's both, Orlok and Ellen's souls ascending, together, finally united, which makes way more sense with the reincarnation theme.

[curioushabitforarivergod]

Responding to the ask request ‼️

What if.. tragic seer!harry au... He keeps making prophecies about an incoming but no one listens because they want to stay in their little bubble where there's no conflict and all is peaceful .. I got inspired by the song "Cassandra" by Taylor swift if you've ever heard it <3 the timeline and the characters around harry are up to you if you are interested in this prompt !! Hope you have a great day <3

(Ive not heard the song, but Im familiar with Greek mythology! This, though, is set shortly before 1348 and the bubonic plague that killed 1/3 of England's population)

-

Harry fingers the fine embroidery on his robes — a gift from his parents for turning 16 — and tries to banish the images of destruction from his mind.

"Are you concentrating, Harry?" His tutor. An old friend of his parents who he's known forever.

Harry shakes his head. "Sorry, I was. Something about Hastings?"

Lupin hums but a smile twitches across his face. "If I'm boring you, we could take a break? Your father was suggesting you spend some time practising for the jousting competition at the end of the month."

Harry shakes his head, again. There is a sour taste in his mouth, something rancid — not as rancid as the bodies, he tells himself, piled on carts, covered in red sores, and then, out, out, out. He doesn't want to think about the plague he knows is coming, the death.

"What would..." Harry hesitates. He's pleaded with his family over the last year, to close the borders, to ask the alchemists and the cunning folk to find a cure, but they laughed him off easily the first few times, and talked about sending him away after that. "If the population..."

Lupin sighs. He kneels beside Harry's desk, his knees creaking slightly. "We've talked about this Harry," he says softly, like he's being kind. "God won't deliver penance when we haven't sinned."

It's not about sin, Harry wants to say. He shuts his mouth instead.

They won't listen. They never do. They'll suffer for it, Harry knows, and there is nothing that can be done, but he prays every night that this time will be the one they take him seriously.

"Never mind," he says instead, frowning a little. "Keep talking about 1066. It doesn't matter."

The gift — it's not really a gift, it's a curse — came from Riddle. An older boy in the castle, Harry had liked him, liked him a lot, actually. Too much so, that was the problem.

Riddle was manipulative, he'd persuaded Harry into things Harry wasn't sure were allowed, and things Harry was certain weren't allowed.

"I'll give you a gift," he said, smile sharp as they'd leaned in the shade of a tree. "It'll be our secret, yeah? And then you can come away with me."

Harry grinned back and nodded. Seconds later, he was aware of every moment of being, twisting from him in a map of coloured threads. And when he'd looked at Tom, looked at the possibilities, the futures, the everythings, he realised couldn't be with the older boy anymore.

"No," he'd said. "No. You should leave and never come back."

Tom had shrugged, sneering slightly. "You know what you're doing. You'll come crawling back to me soon enough, begging me to love you."

Harry had laughed. "I really won't." He was the seer nobody believed, he was a myth, he knew exactly what the future held and it didn't hold Tom. "Goodbye."

His dreams came true, his thoughts. Things happened around Harry, and they kept happening and they wouldn't stop. Harry knew everything and it hurt in the base of his heart.

(And when the bodies had piled up, no one missed a local lord's son, and no one cared to remember he had warned them.)

[ladyl1tberty]

Every time I think about Nicky from AFTG I wanna cry a little.

This kid, who knows he’s gay but has been sent to conversion therapy for so many years. Who’s so happy and excited but grew up in a house full of cold furniture and colder people.

Who applied to a study abroad program as a last ditch effort to get away, to get out, only to meet the Klose family who is so excited and happy for him, who love him and support him, who have an openly gay son that they love unapologetically.

Nicky, who found a new family to love him and support him. Nicky, who got away from all the horror in the states. Nicky, who finally could accept who he was and love himself.

And he immediately dropped all of it to save Andrew and Aaron from his father. He couldn’t save his younger self, but he could save his cousins.

His cousins, one who’s apathetic and suicidal and violent, and the other who spits anger and hatred at him the same way his father did all those years. Nicky leaves Germany, his home and family, to save Andrew and Aaron.

Nicky, who works two jobs and begs his boyfriend to help him buy a house in America, where he has no intention of staying.

Nicky, who uses his happiness and bubbly personality as a shield from the vitriol his cousin spits at him, so reminiscent of his father.

Nicky, who gets cornered by 3 men after work, terrified in the alleyway, till Andrew beats the shit out of them. He watches, horror and relief in his throat, as Andrew just keeps going, until the police are there and the men aren’t getting up and Andrew’s in handcuffs.

Nicky, who watches as the only family that seems to care about him gets put on medication that sends him higher than a kite, forces him to become someone else.

Nicky, who never gives up hope that his parents will love him again, that they’ll welcome him back again.

Nicky, whose hopes for forgiveness from his parents irreparably hurt his cousin, the only one in America that really cares about him.

[fellhellion]

touga is NOT the same level of shitheel as akio i am throwing myself into space

[kashverse]

it is a rite of passage for every child to have a pet, and when it is finally babykuna’s turn, sukuna—being the extra man that he is—does not just take her to a normal pet shop. no, no, no. he takes her to an exotic pet shop. because why settle for a goldfish when she could have a tarantula named missy? or maybe a snake called george? wouldn’t a scorpion be so much cooler? apparently not. because out of all the fascinating, unique, and terrifying creatures in the shop, babykuna walks past them all—ignores the lizards, dismisses the sugar gliders, doesn’t even look at the parrot that screeches a greeting at her—

and stops dead in front of a massive maine coon that is currently squished into a cage far too small for its body. the cat—fluffy, fat, and looking seconds away from sighing like a disappointed victorian orphan—locks eyes with babykuna. babykuna gasps, pressing her tiny hands against the cage. "mama! papa! it’s him!"

sukuna furrows his brows. "what?"

"him! my pet! my baby! my everything!"

you squint at the cat. it looks back at you like it’s seen some shit. "baby, are you sure?" you ask gently, glancing at the other animals. "there are so many cool options, what about—"

"NO!"

babykuna throws herself onto the ground, wailing like she’s in a period drama. sukuna jumps in alarm. "oi, oi, what the fuck, don’t start—"

before he can finish, the cat in the cage suddenly lets out a long, tragic, soul-crushing howl—as if mourning a life it never got to live.

the entire store falls silent.

"…what the fuck was that," sukuna hisses, visibly unsettled. babykuna gasps again, sitting up. "mr pickles! papa said a bad word!"

"mr…pickles?" sukuna repeats, looking at the cat like it personally offended him. "why is its name mr pickles?"

"because he is my son," babykuna says matter-of-factly, wiping away her fake tears. “and my heart knows his true name.” you press your lips together to keep from laughing. "mr pickles is a cute name, love."

"no, it’s not," sukuna grumbles, rubbing his temples. "baby, listen, papa will get you anything else, okay? you want a wolfdog? a komodo dragon? a fucking capybara?"

babykuna sobs.

"I WANT MR PICKLESSSSSSSSSS—!"

mr pickles, from inside his cage, lets out a sorrowful “AAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOHHH—”

and that is how the fourth member of the family—a fat, depressed maine coon named mr pickles—came to be. turns out, despite his tragic victorian orphan appearance, mr pickles is actually a sweetheart. not only does he fulfill his feline duties—lounging around, occasionally chasing invisible ghosts, and knocking over things just for fun—he also doubles as babykuna’s personal weighted blanket. and let’s be honest, nothing has ever knocked babykuna out quite like mr pickles’ fluffy, oversized body. 

she sleeps like a brick, snoring so loudly that you once thought a grown man had somehow broken into the house and passed out in her room. but there she was—wrapped around mr pickles like a koala, drool dripping onto his fur, dead to the world. and mr pickles? he doesn’t complain even once. in fact, he doesn’t even move. just lies there, accepting his fate, staring blankly into the void while babykuna uses him as her personal mattress. what a versatile king. in fact, mr pickles has so many roles in this household.

a cat? yes.

a weighted blanket? absolutely.

a luxury aesthetic background for your new nail set photos? oh, you better believe it.

you take a picture of your freshly done nails—perfectly manicured, sitting against the soft, plush fur of mr pickles, the perfect neutral background. you send it to sukuna. he normally loves seeing your nails, but this time—his eyebrow twitches as he recognizes the background.

sukuna: are you using that fucking cat as a backdrop again you: mr pickles is an aesthetic marvel. sukuna: i will throw that thing in the washing machine

you report him to babykuna, who screeches in betrayal and slaps his arm like she’s defending her child from a monster. but let’s be real—the best thing about mr pickles? his impeccable manners.

the moment he finishes eating from his bowl, he delicately pushes it towards the sink—like some kind of distinguished gentleman disposing of his fine china. it is so polite that you almost want to give him a little bowtie. sukuna watches this with a blank face. “i feel like i should be impressed, but i also feel like i’m being manipulated.” and maybe, just maybe, he would grow to respect this cat.

except.

mr pickles is a hater. specifically, a sukuna hater. because whenever it comes to sukuna’s belongings? suddenly, mr pickles is the menace of the household.

one night, sukuna walks into the laundry room to grab his freshly washed, neatly pressed shirts, only to find mr pickles sprawled on top of them, looking at him with such deep, sorrowful eyes that sukuna physically cannot yell at him. he stares. mr pickles blinks slowly.

"…get the fuck off."

mr pickles closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

"GET OFF."

the very next day, sukuna screams when he finds all of his socks shredded into oblivion—like someone went berserk with a pair of scissors. babykuna gasps, pointing at mr pickles. “papa! it was mr pickles!”

sukuna whirls to glare at the culprit. "you little shit—!"

mr pickles blinks at him, looking once again like a victorian boy with consumption.

sukuna’s rage stutters.

"…you think you’re funny, huh?"

mr pickles does not reply.

(but he does later eat an entire stack of sukuna’s important business papers™ and then vomits them out on the living room carpet.)

[goddamnitmahtin]

A Smooth Criminal

(A dc x dp prompt)

Danny moved to Gotham after high school. Went to college. Got a degree. Found out the thing he got a degree for wasn’t able to hire him because his vitals looked half dead and he couldn’t just tell them he was in-fact half dead. Danny was never going to be an astronaut. Not only that, he had massive college debt. Well fuck.

So Danny started doing odd jobs until he found a more stable income at a psychic reading service of all places. Obviously Danny couldn’t see the future. So he only took clients that wanted to talk to dead people. Which was something he could do, given he had an object that might have had some ectoplasm on it or one of the ghosts that typically hung out in the shop knew where to find the person the client was looking for. Being that this is Gotham, not many people that die here actually cross over into the Ghost Zone. Danny was going to have to look into that at some point. But for now, it meant he had only ever once had to tell a client he couldn’t help.

Now Danny before coming to Gotham, hated psychics on principle. Most were lying and telling their clients utter bullshit. But his current boss seemed to be different. Her name was Lilith and she was very much legit when it came to precognition. She often would tell him ahead of time if a client was going to be difficult and who to watch out for on certain days. On more than one occasion, one of her warnings saved him from a mugging or kidnapping.

So, Danny learned to like his life as a medium and used the money from his job to pay his rent and pay off his college debt. Lilith paid him well and the shop had enough customers to back it up. His hours were based on appointment most of the time so he had more free time to do other things if he didn’t have many appointments for the day.

The only time that the hours went to an 8 hour shift were when one of them left to go on vacation or visit family. Thats where Lilith was this week. Out of town visiting family. Because of this, the shop’s services were limited to Danny’s medium appointments. The shop almost never had walk ins since it was so busy. The only time it ever really happened was when Lilith was gone. And most of the time it was someone wanting to buy a crystal from the window display. Nothing Danny couldn’t handle.

Except that was until Red Hood walked in, oozing with toxic ecto and a shattered mess of a core, tossed a set of pearls at him and told him to get reading.

Danny tried to help, he did. The pearls were covered in ecto and seemed to be from a tragic event but there was no ghost attached to them. Whoever they belonged to had passed on to the Ghost Zone or wasn’t dead. Danny said as much and asked Red Hood if he knew his core shattered. Danny then offered to help repair it. Red Hood did not like that. Danny got punched in the face. And he did not get paid.

*that night on call with Sam and Tucker*

Danny: And then he punched me in the face! Can you believe that?!

Sam: Given that he is a crime lord? Yeah I can.

Tucker: ….

Danny: Tucker I don’t like your suspicious silence.

Tucker: *starts giggling mischievously*

Sam: Tucker what are you doing?

Danny: Tuck-

Tucker: So what you’re saying is that- you’ve been hit by, you’ve been STRUCK by- a smooth criminal. *starts playing Smooth Criminal by Micheal Jackson except the name Annie has been edited to the name Danny*

Danny: I hate you so much

Sam: *laughing hysterically*

Tucker: *singing* Danny are you okay? Are you okay Danny?

Danny: *looks into the metaphorical camera like Jim from the office*

…

Red Hood: *nearly falls off the fire escape he was using to spy when the guy from the psychic shop looks right at him*

[hoshifighting]

𖧷 crybaby

— synopsis: seungcheol can’t help but be a crybaby every time you break his heart, yet he always comes running back to you, desperate for your attention. even when you leave him cold for days or push him away, he can’t seem to stay away. his friends and family don’t get it—they hate how you treat him.

— WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: agnst, smut, emotionallly detached!reader, emotionally attached!seungcheol, crying, he kind of pisses his friends and family out because of his whiny ass, explicit language, blowjob, cock riding, clit stimulation, face slapping, choking. — inspired by: cry baby by megan thee stallion — ''his friends and his dad hate me, I broke his lil' heart, he's a crybaby"

seungcheol was such a fucking crybaby. like, how does a man that big, that beefy, built like he could crush a watermelon between his thighs, have the emotional resilience of a damp tissue? 5′10 of pure gym dedication and somehow, here he was, sulking like a kicked puppy in the corner of his own damn birthday party. honestly, you broke his heart so many times you’d lost count, but the man was like a boomerang—always came back. didn’t matter how hard you threw him.

his friends absolutely hated you. well, maybe hate was strong—more like they hated how he acted because of you. jeonghan said you lived rent-free in his head, which you knew was true. but the real kicker was his family. they couldn’t stand hearing your name. apparently, he cried into his whiskey glass over you at his last family dinner. like, straight-up sniffles and shaky voice in front of his dad. the boys’ nights weren’t any better; they’d barely crack open a soju bottle before seungcheol was teary-eyed, rambling about you like you were the love of his life and not the emotional hurricane you were.

but that’s the thing, though. seungcheol was built for family. the whole package—white picket fence, Sunday brunches, PTA meetings. meanwhile, you were emotionally unavailable as fuck. couldn’t even commit to a favorite boba flavor, let alone a relationship. and now, you’d ghosted him for a week. a whole-ass week. no texts, no calls, not even the stupid memes you usually sent him at 3 a.m.

today was his birthday. his fucking birthday.

the party at his place was in full swing—laughter, good food, good drinks, jeonghan and mingyu lowkey roasting him about his “girlfriend” (air quotes and all). his parents were there too, of course. his brother had even flown in. but cheol barely moved from the couch all night. just sat there, one arm slung over the backrest, looking at his phone like a guy waiting for a miracle.

because in his head, if you were his girlfriend—like, properly his—you’d be here. with him. celebrating, holding his hand, maybe sitting in his lap. but instead, he got radio silence.

“bro, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” jeonghan hissed, leaning over the couch to snatch the beer from cheol’s hand. “your mom’s asking why you look like you’re about to cry into the birthday cake.”

“i’m fine,” cheol muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“no, you’re not. you’ve checked your phone like a hundred times, and it’s giving ‘sad loser.’ cut it out before mingyu makes a meme out of you.”

but cheol didn’t cut it out. he just stared at the screen, lips pulled into a pout so tragic it could’ve been a fucking Greek play. the hours dragged. one by one, people started leaving, and eventually, it wasn’t even his birthday anymore.

august 9th. 9:54 p.m.

cheol sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking like he was about to combust.

and then, his phone buzzed.

one message.

from: future girlfriend ❤️ - “come over.”

that’s it. two words, no explanation. cheol shot up from the couch so fast he nearly knocked over the coffee table.

jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “where the hell are you going?”

cheol didn’t answer. he was already grabbing his keys, muttering something about how he’d “she texted me.”

he hard his friend groan out in defeat, disappointment, some even surprised that seungcheol would leave his own party like that.

while you were still just chilling at your place, sitting there like nothing had happened, waiting to see if this man who you’d left on read for a week would actually show up.

spoiler alert—he would.

the door wasn’t even locked—like you’d left it wide open for him, knowing he’d come running the second you told him to. seungcheol stepped inside your apartment, and it was so you in a way that made his chest tighten. that familiar scent? god, it was everywhere. in the air, clinging to the couch, the walls, probably gonna soak into his clothes and stay there for days, torturing him. like you’d marked your territory without even trying.

he moved on autopilot, his feet carrying him down the hallway to your bedroom like he didn’t even need directions. the door was cracked open, and he froze for a second when he saw you.

you were standing there, slipping a sheer robe over your shoulders—transparent. and it wasn’t doing a damn thing to hide you. the way the fabric barely skimmed over your hips, nipples peeking through, leading his eyes all the way down to the hem that just teased your thighs… it was insane.

you turned your head slightly, catching him in the doorway like some kind of lost puppy. your expression was unreadable, but he looked at you like you were magic or something—eyes wide, lips slightly parted. pathetic.

you stepped toward him, and before he could even process it, his hands moved to your waist like they belonged there. your arms looped lazily around his neck, and the warmth of your skin had his breath hitching. you glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall—10:01 p.m.—then met his gaze, your lips curling.

“happy birthday… birthday boy,” you said, your voice smooth as velvet.

he exhaled shakily, his eyes fluttering shut like the sound of your voice was too much. his brows knit together in that pitiful little frown you’d missed more than you cared to admit.

“why’d you leave me like that?” he muttered, voice cracking slightly. “did… did i do something? i’m sorry, i—”

you didn’t answer, didn’t even flinch, because honestly? you didn’t have a reason. there was no deep, dark explanation, no hidden agenda. you just did.

instead, you pushed him backward toward the bed, your hands firm on his chest. he stumbled slightly but kept talking, his voice climbing higher in pitch.

“please, just—just tell me. what did i do? i can fix it, i swear, just—”

you pushed him harder this time, and he landed on the bed with a bounce. he stared up at you, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “answer me,” he whined, his voice soft and desperate.

“shhh,” you hushed, pressing a finger to his lips.

he whimpered at the touch, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “why—why won’t you just—”

your hand came down on his cheek in a sharp slap. not too hard, but enough to make him moan, his mouth falling open in a perfect little “o.”

“quiet,” you said firmly, watching as his expression shifted. the sting seemed to zap the fight out of him, his mouth closing into a pout as his tears spilled over.

“aww,” you cooed, leaning down to brush your thumb under his eye. “don’t cry, birthday boy. let me give you a gift.”

his gaze flickered immesiately. a gift? he nodded eagerly.

“you gonna be good for me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice so small it made you smile.

your hands moving to his belt. the way he watched you, like you were about to destroy his dignity, was almost comical.

you tugged his pants and underwear down in with a graceful sweep, leaving him bare and exposed. his cock was already rock hard, flushed red and leaking precum that smeared against his stomach.

“look at you,” you teased, wrapping a hand around the base. his breath hitched at the contact, his hips jerking slightly. “crying all over yourself, huh?”

he let out a choked whimper, his hands fisting the sheets beside him. “i—i can’t help it,” he whispered.

“poor baby,” you mocked, your thumb swiping over the tip to collect the sticky wetness. his whole body twitched at the motion, his eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped down his cheeks.

you leaned down, letting your lips hover just above him. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? never let you have it before, but tonight… you’re special.”

he nodded frantically, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “please,” he begged, his voice breaking.

you smiled, finally taking him into your mouth. the heat and wetness made him sob outright, his hands flying to your hair but stopping short—like he was scared to touch you without permission.

“oh—fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled, his thighs trembling as you worked him over. your tongue dragged along the veins as your hand played with his balls, and he keened, his head falling back against the pillows.

“so good,” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. “m-missed you.”

you hummed around him, and the vibrations nearly sent him over the edge. his whole body tensed, his hips bucking slightly as he moaned your name.

“gonna be good for me?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“y-yes,” he stammered, his eyes glassy and desperate. “so good, i’ll be so good, please—”

“then take it,” you said, and he did.

your tongue swirled around the swollen tip of his cock, drawing a shuddering breath out of him that turned into a whimper when you pulled back slightly, letting a string of spit connect your lips to his flushed skin. his chest heaved, his abs clenching under the weight of your stare.

you fold your tongue up and slid along the underside of his length, like you had all the time in the world. his thighs trembled as you worked your way down, your nails scratching lightly along the sides of his hips, keeping him still. by the time you reached his base, his whole body was taut, his hands fisted so tightly into the sheets you thought he might rip them.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured, letting your breath ghost over his skin.

“i can’t—” he choked, cutting himself off with a high-pitched moan when your tongue flicked over the soft skin of his balls.

you smiled against him, pressing a kiss to one of the heavy globes before taking it into your mouth, sucking gently. his hips jerked off the bed, but your hand pressed firmly against his stomach, pinning him down.

“stay still,” you ordered.

“i’m trying—fuck, i’m trying,” he babbled, his voice cracking. his head lolled to the side, his lips parted in a silent cry as you continued to suck and lick at him, your tongue tracing slow, wet circles.

your free hand moved back to his cock, wrapping around the shaft and stroking it slowly, your thumb smearing the precum that was steadily leaking from the tip.

“look at me,” you said, your voice softer this time.

his eyes fluttered open, glassy and red-rimmed, his gaze locking onto yours. the sight of you, lips wrapped around him, your hand working him in tandem, had him letting out a desperate, broken sound that went straight to your core.

“you like this?” you asked, pulling back slightly, your hand still stroking him as you kissed along his inner thigh.

“yes,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “fuck, yes. feels so good.”

“yeah?” you teased, your lips quirking into a smirk as you nipped at his skin. “you’ve been waiting for this? waiting for me to touch you like this?”

he nodded frantically, “always,” he admitted. “always wanted you like this. please don’t stop.”

you purred, letting your tongue glide back up to his base before taking him into your mouth again, this time deeper, letting him feel the heat of your throat. “fuck—oh my god,” he sobbed, his hands twitching at his sides, like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare.

“go on,” you encouraged, pulling off just enough to speak. “touch me. you’re being good, aren’t you?”

his hands immediately flew to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he let out another choked moan. “yes,” he breathed, “yes, so good, i’ll be so good for you.”

you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head slowly, your hand working in time with your movements. his thighs shook beneath you, his breath hitching every time your tongue pressed against the sensitive vein running along the underside of his cock.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this,” you said, pulling back just enough to let your spit-coated hand continue stroking him. “all flushed and crying for me. does it feel that good?”

“so good!” he gasped, tears spilling over again as he bucked his hips involuntarily.

you hummed in approval, your tongue flicking over the tip before dipping lower again, taking one of his balls into your mouth once more. the way his entire body shook beneath you, his voice breaking into desperate little cries—it was everything.

“you’re mine,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin. “aren’t you?”

“yours!” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “all yours...”

you pulled back, your lips slick with spit and precum, watching as seungcheol’s chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon. his head was tilted back against the pillows, mouth slightly open, a trail of drool glistening at the corner of his lips. his cock twitched in your hand, still throbbing and leaking like it couldn’t survive a second without you.

“cheol,” you said, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze.

he didn’t answer. his eyes were half-lidded, rolling back as another pathetic whimper slipped past his lips.

“yah,” you hissed, your free hand moving down to cup his balls, squeezing them just enough to snap him out of it.

he jerked, his hips twitching as a choked cry tore from his throat. his wide, glassy eyes met yours, full of confusion, like he wasn’t sure whether to apologize or beg for more.

“you listening now?” you asked, your tone playful but firm.

“y-yeah,” he stammered.

you smirked, leaning forward just enough to let your breath fan over his cock. “good. now, tell me—do you want me to make you cum like this?” your hand gave his length a slow, deliberate stroke, watching as his eyes fluttered shut again. “or do you want me to ride you?”

his eyes snapped open at the second option, but he still didn’t answer. his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak but couldn’t get the words out, and you swore he looked like a little kid trying to pick between candy flavors.

“cheol,” you said again, your grip on his balls tightening just enough to make him yelp. “i’m not giving you both, so choose. now.”

he whimpered, his lower lip trembling as he looked at you like you were some kind of goddess and he didn’t want to disappoint.

“i—i want…” he trailed off, his voice cracking as his cock twitched in your hand again.

“come on,” you urged. “use your words, birthday boy.”

his cheeks flushed deeper, and he swallowed hard before finally stammering out, “i want you to ride me.”

“do you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as your hand gave him one last teasing stroke.

“mhmm,” he breathed, his voice shaky but certain. “please. want to feel you. need to—need to be close to you.”

you smiled, your chest swelling. “good boy,” you murmured, releasing him completely and watching as he whimpered at the cut-off.

you climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips as his hands immediately flew to your thighs, gripping them like he was scared you’d disappear—again. the way his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin through the transparency of the robe, and the big slit that have been created as the robe opened up, made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

you reached between your legs, guiding his cock to your entrance, letting the tip tease your folds just enough to have him squirming beneath you.

“mm..fuck” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “you’re so wet. is that—fuck, is that for me?”

“all for you,” you lied, he knew you were mocking him as you slowly sank down onto him.

the stretch was so good, never fails to make you arch your back, his cock filled you so perfectly had your breath hitching. but the sound he made was way down pathetic. it was half moan, half sob, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“oh my god,” he choked, his hands flying to your waist as his hips jerked involuntarily. “you’re so—so tight. best birthday gift ever.”

you rolled your hips slowly, letting him feel every inch of your gummy walls, and his grip tightened, you can feel his strong fingers marking your meat.

“you like being used like this?”

“yes!” he gasped, his voice high and broken. “love it. love you.”

you froze for half a second, the words catching you off guard, but you quickly recovered, your lips curling into a smirk. “that so?”

“yeah,” he breathed, his eyes squeezing shut as you started to move again. “fuck, i love you. love everything about you.”

every roll of your hips, pulled more sounds from him than you thought possible—moans, gasps, sobs, all spilling from his lips like a declaration.

your hips moved in a steady rhythm, dragging his cock in and out of you in a way that made your thighs burn, but the way seungcheol looked at you—like you were the fucking universe—made it impossible to stop. you clenched around him, squeezing tightly, and his mouth fell open, a strained whimper spilling out as his fingers dug into your hips as you rocked your pussy back and forth.

you pushed his shirt up higher, your eyes falling on his chest, where his nipples were flushed a deep red against his tan skin. his brows furrowed in confusion when he noticed your gaze.

“what?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breathless.

“you don’t even know, do you?” you teased, your nails trailing up his chest. “how red they get when you’re about to cum?”

“what?” he repeated, his tone higher this time, all embarassed.

“oh, baby,” you cooed, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “you’re so fucking cute.”

his face flushed even deeper, and you felt his cock twitch inside you as your hands wrapped around his neck. his eyes widened immediately, his breath hitching as he stared up at you, his lips parted in surprise.

“you like this?” you asked, your grip tightening just enough to make his pulse race beneath your fingers.

he let out a strangled moan, his hands flying up to your thighs like he didn’t know whether to stop you or hold on tighter. “y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “fuck, yeah.”

“then be good for me, cum for me, cheol. now.”

his entire body tensed, his hips jerking up. you clenched around him again, your grip on his neck firm as you ground down harder as the first waves of your orgasm hit you.

you raised your hips just in time, letting his cock slip out of you as he spilled all over his stomach, ropes of cum painting his skin. his head fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he let out a broken sob, his hands trembling against your thighs.

you collapsed onto his chest, your hand moving between your legs to circle your clit frantically, your moans muffled against his ear as you chased the last remnants of your own orgasm.

“oh my fucking god...” you panted, your fingers working faster as your hips ground against his thigh.

he turned his head slightly, his eyes hazy as he watched you, his lips parted in awe. “you’re…so beautiful...”

you moaned loudly as your orgasm hit you, your body shaking against his as you buried your face in his neck, your hand slowing to a stop.

as the high ebbed away, your body melted into his, your limbs heavy and your breath evening out. you let your full weight settle on him, and he groaned softly, the sound less of discomfort and more of deep, satisfied contentment. his arms came around you instinctively, holding you close, his hands splayed wide against your back like he never wanted to let go.

you lay there, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. you tried to ignore how your own heart raced, guilt creeping in as you replayed the last week in your head.

sometimes, you really felt like shit about the way you treated him. seungcheol was too good for you, with that big heart of his—always giving, always forgiving. the problem wasn’t him. it was you.

you hoped he couldn’t feel the way your heart thudded against his chest, the weight of your remorse making it beat faster.

you lifted your head slightly, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair as you gently scratched at his scalp. he sighed, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“cheol,” you murmured, your voice softer than you planned. “can i give you one more gift tonight?”

he didn’t answer right away. his eyes drifted to the ceiling, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“only one?” he asked after a moment.

you hummed, matching his teasing tone. “yeah. just one. better make it count, birthday boy.”

he chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your back.

“i don’t think you can give me what i really want...” he said finally.

you tilted your head, your brows furrowing. “what do you mean?”

he hesitated before he turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“i want to be here with you... but knowing that you… that you actually like me back.”

he held your gaze, his eyes raw and vulnerable, waiting for a response that you didn’t know how to give.

“cheol, you know that right now i—” you started, your voice cracking.

but he shook his head, his lips curving into a small, sad smile. “it’s okay,” he said quickly, though the way his arms tightened around you betrayed his words. “i didn’t mean to ruin the moment. i just… i had to say it.”

you didn’t know what to say. guilt churned in your stomach, your heart pounding against his chest as his words echoed in your head.

he deserved so much more than you could give, and yet here he was, holding you like you were his whole world.

seungcheol let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the curve of your spine. “but since that won’t happen…” he trailed off, his voice wistful.

your chest tightened, the words striking a nerve you weren’t ready to deal with. you stayed silent, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t see the way your brows knitted together.

“can you…” he hesitated, his fingers twitching against your skin. “can you come to my birthday party tonight? i know it’s late, but it’s probably still going. i’d love to see you there.”

you froze. you knew what he was asking—he wanted you to show up for him, to step into his world, even if it made you uncomfortable.

“cheol,” you said slowly, lifting your head to look at him. his expression was expectant.

“please,” he added, whispering in an almost pityful way. “just for a little while. it’s my birthday.”

you bit your lip, glancing away. the idea of walking into a room full of people who probably hated you wasn’t exactly appealing, but the way he looked at you, made it hard to say no.

“fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“really?” he asked, his face lighting up instantly.

“yeah, really,” you said, rolling your eyes.

he sat up, pulling you with him.

you groaned, pushing against his chest. “ugh, fine. let me get ready, then.”

he followed you into the bathroom like a puppy, leaning against the doorway as you washed your face and fixed your hair. his gaze was soft, trailing over you like he was memorizing every detail.

“stop staring,” you said, your tone sharp but lacking any real bite.

“can’t help it,” he replied, his voice warm. “you’re gorgeous.”

you rolled your eyes again, but your cheeks flushed anyway, and you hated how easily he got to you.

“you should get ready too,” you said, pointing at him with a toothbrush in hand.

“i’m fine like this,” he said with a shrug, gesturing to his wrinkled shirt and jeans.

“you’re not showing up to your own party looking like you just got laid,” you shot back, smirking when his ears turned red.

“fine,” he grumbled, shuffling off.

by the time you were both dressed and ready, the nerves in your stomach were in full swing. seungcheol, however, looked ridiculously pleased with himself, his hand finding yours as he led you toward the door.

seungcheol practically vibrated with happiness as he led you up to the front door of his house. he tried so damn hard to play it cool, to keep his steps measured and his grin from stretching too wide. but his chest felt like it might burst at any moment, the thought of walking in with you by his side enough to make him wanna jump like some kind of elf in a fairytale.

this was it. you were here. about to meet his family, his friends. his whole world.

he took a deep breath and opened the door, immediately met with a chorus of voices.

“finally!” jeonghan shouted, throwing his arms up like he’d been waiting for years.

“where the hell have you been?” his brother added exasperatedly.

seungcheol pressed his lips together, holding back a smile as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “i, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down for a second before looking back up, his voice soft but proud. “i needed to bring someone special before the ‘happy birthday.’”

the room fell silent as you stepped out from behind him, your hands clutching the straps of your bag like a lifeline. your small, tentative smile was enough to stop everyone in their tracks.

you shifted awkwardly under the weight of their stares, the sound of the music thumping softly in the background the only thing filling the silence.

and that’s when it hit them.

oh.

this was the reason seungcheol had been acting so out of character, the reason he’d been spiraling for months. you weren’t just some girl he was into. no, you were a fucking vision. gorgeous in a way that made the room seem brighter. mesmerizing without even trying.

now they understood. now it all made sense.

of course he was crazy over you. of course he’d been spiraling. who wouldn’t be?

but the realization also came with a quieter, more awkward truth: this was the girl they’d all cursed out in private. the girl they’d ranted about after every drunken night where seungcheol had cried into his beer or disappeared to avoid them.

they exchanged quick glances. yeah, they got it now, but it didn’t erase the fact that they’d judged you before even meeting you.

a nagging question none of them dared to voice but couldn’t shake.

were you really worth it?

jeonghan, the one who never held his tongue, raised a brow and smirked. “well, shit. now i get it.”

seungcheol’s face flushed a deep red, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back as if to shield you from the inevitable onslaught of teasing.

but instead of cracking a joke, jeonghan just smiled and nodded, his eyes softening. “welcome,” he said, his voice genuine.

the others slowly followed suit, their smiles tentative but warm as they tried to mask their lingering curiosity.

and as seungcheol led you further into the house, his hand never leaving your back, he felt like he’d just won the lottery. because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t walking into this house feeling defeated or embarrassed.

this time, he was walking in with you.

© 2024 Hoshi Fighting | All Rights Reserved

[viagracex]

okay here me out on this - you’re a youtuber and tiktoker who’s friends with the boys and always had a little crush on george, and he you, but you’re both cowards. it’s valentine’s day coming up and all the other boys have dates/are away and so are your girl friends so you say to george hey let’s do a friend v day like valentine’s day or smthn because he’s sad he doesn’t have a gf, he comes to your flat, you cook, watch rom coms, drink a lot of wine and you play games but you accidentally play a couples game 😉😉😉😉 and you end up doing the deed and in the end both agree to go on an ACTUAL valentines date the next day hehehehehe

A Valentine's Between Friends

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: a friendly valentine's evening leads to anything but…

warnings: sexual content, smut (MDNI)

3.4k words (may have got a bit carried away)

note: Anon, thank you so much for the request. It's my first time writing smut so I hope you like it, sorry if it's awkward and cringy. If it sucks let me know and would love to get more requests.

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

It was the sort of cold February evening that made you want to curl up with a blanket, a glass of wine, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. The sort of evening that made you consider just not getting out of bed at all. Except for the fact that your phone was pinging with messages from the boys.

You groaned into your pillow, staring at the screen.

Chris had a date with someone he met on one of his spontaneous trips. Arthur was spending Valentine’s Day with a new girlfriend who he met through TikTok. Even your best friend was off on a family holiday. leaving you all alone.

You could already feel that aching hole in your chest. Valentine’s Day, of all days, was particularly terrible when you were single. The entire world seemed to be a constant reminder of the relationships you didn’t have. Of the fact that your phone was always empty, save for messages from your mates.

But then, there was George.

You had always had a soft spot for him. It started back when you all met, years ago, the banter, the cheeky comments, the laughs, the way he made you feel like you were always in on some secret joke. And now, well... now, it was just confusing. It had become a game of will-they-won’t-they. Neither of you ever crossed the line—too much fear of what might happen if you did. But god, how you both danced around it.

You hated the idea of spending Valentine’s Day alone, and so did he. So why not just make it a thing? A friend Valentine’s Day—no expectations, no awkwardness. You’d keep it chill.

You shot him a quick text.

“Wanna have an anti-Valentine's Day? I'll cook, we can drink wine, watch rom-coms and maybe play some games. Neither of us have plans, so why not? Let me know xx"

It didn’t take long before his reply came through.

"That sounds like exactly what I need. I’ll be over in an hour."

It was almost comically easy. But as the hour passed, you found yourself slightly nervous, unsure of what to expect. Was this just a chill night? Or was there something more lurking under the surface? You tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on getting everything ready.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, the sizzle of garlic in the pan mingling with the rich aroma of tomatoes—a simple, hearty meal to pair perfectly with the wine you’d bought. As you laid the table, each placement was a silent testament to the years of friendship that had intricately laced your lives together.

The sound of the doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. George stood there, hands buried deep in his pockets, his smile shy but genuine.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping into the warmth of your flat, the cold nipping at his heels. "This is a surprise. Smells like you've outdone yourself."

You chuckled, "Microwave meals are tragic on Valentine’s, even for friends."

He let out a laugh, sitting down at the table. "Fair enough. This looks pretty decent, actually. I’m impressed."

The evening unfolded with an ease that only true friendship could afford. Dinner was a merry affair, filled with laughter and nostalgic exchanges about past escapades with the boys. As the wine flowed, the barriers of mere friendship seemed to melt away, replaced by a tender connection that neither of you had dared to explore.

He grinned, taking off his jacket and hanging it up, glancing around your flat. "I’ve got to admit, this is a bit of a shocker. You’re actually being… domestic?"

"Well, thank you," you replied, smiling. "I even put some effort into it, just for you." You pulled the wine out of the fridge, uncorking it and pouring another glass for both of you.

The conversation flowed easily after that—easy banter, jokes about past video shoots, hilarious stories about the boys. But beneath the jokes, there was something soft lingering in the air. It was the unsaid, the little sparks you both danced around every time you spent time together.

As the evening wore on, the wine started to loosen your inhibitions. You moved to the couch, both of you nestled into the cushions, a blanket draped across your legs. The rom-com marathon began, and you both laughed at the ridiculous plot twists, snickered at the corny lines, but neither of you could ignore the growing tension between you.

"Should we play a game?" you asked, glancing at the coffee table where you had set out a box of games, most of them silly. "Something to pass the time? No pressure, I promise."

George gave you smile. "Yeah, I’m game. As long as it’s not too weird."

You grinned. "Oh, it’s not that weird. It’s just a couples game."

He raised an eyebrow. "Couples game? What, like Truth or Dare, but for couples?"

"Exactly," you replied with a laugh, though your heart was now beating in your throat. "But it’s mostly silly stuff. You know, harmless. Just a fun thing to do on Valentines."

You could see his hesitation, the subtle shift in his posture. "Alright. But I’m not kissing you, just so we’re clear."  He finished his sentence with a cheeky wink.

You snorted. "Who said anything about kissing?"

With a shake of his head, George grabbed the card deck, and you both started drawing cards one after another, each more ridiculous than the last. The questions were harmless, at first: "What's your partner's worst habit?" and "What's their favourite food?" The game seemed lighthearted enough. Until it wasn't.

George drew the next card, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped it over. The room suddenly felt too warm, the air thick with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he read the card aloud: "Describe your most vivid fantasy involving the person sitting across from you."

Your eyes widened, and you felt a jolt of electricity course through your body. The playful atmosphere evaporated in an instant, replaced by a crackling intensity that made your skin tingle. George's gaze met yours, his pupils dilating ever so slightly.

"We don't have to-" you started to say, but George cut you off with a subtle shake of his head. His voice low and husky. "No, it's okay. I want to answer."

"It's always the same dream," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "We're alone on a deserted beach at sunset. The sky is painted in shades of orange and pink, and the waves are gently lapping at our feet."

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

He continued, his voice growing more confident. "You're wearing that white sundress I love, the one that shows off your shoulders. Your hair is loose, blowing in the sea breeze. I reach out to brush a strand from your face, and suddenly we're so close I can feel your breath on my lips."

The room was dead silent now, and you’re hanging onto George's every word.

Your heart raced as George's words painted a vivid picture, one that mirrored your own secret fantasies. The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity.

"And then?" you whispered, barely trusting your voice.

George's eyes darkened. "Then I kiss you. Softly at first, but it quickly becomes more. My hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You taste like salt and cherries."

You felt a flush creep up your neck, your skin tingling with each word.

"We fall back onto the sand," he continued, his voice low and intense. "The waves crash around us, but we don't care. All that matters is the feel of your skin against mine, the sound of your breath catching as I-"

George's voice trailed off, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air between you. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that seemed to pulse with each rapid beat of your heart. You realized you were holding your breath, your body leaning towards George unconsciously.

"As you what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thundering of your pulse in your ears.

George swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. He looked almost pained, as if continuing would shatter some invisible barrier between fantasy and reality. But his eyes, dark and intense, never left yours.

"As I trace every curve of your body," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. "As I worship you with my hands, my lips, my entire being. In that moment, you're my entire world."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, your skin erupting in goose bumps.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the heat radiating from your flushed skin. George's confession hung in the air between you, electric and charged with possibility.

"I..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you possibly respond to such a raw, intimate revelation?

George's eyes searched yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire swirling in their depths. "Your turn," he said softly, pushing the deck of cards towards you with trembling fingers.

Your hand hovered over the stack, suddenly aware of how this next card could change everything. With a deep breath, you flipped it over.

"If you could do anything right now, without consequences, what would it be?"

The question seemed to mock you, daring you to voice the thoughts that had been building since George began speaking. You looked up, meeting his gaze once more. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

"I..." you started again, your voice barely above a whisper. "I would make your fantasy a reality."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. George's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly rose from your seat. Your heart pounded as you crossed the short distance between you, each step feeling like an eternity. George's gaze followed your movement, a mix of anticipation and disbelief etched across his features.

As you reached him, you gently took the card from his hands, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Then, with a courage you didn't know you possessed, you lowered yourself onto his lap, your legs straddling his.

George's hands instinctively moved to your waist, steading you.

"We may not have a sunset, but..." Your voice trailed off as you brought your face closer to his, your lips mere inches apart. "We can make our own paradise right here."

George's breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you hovered on the precipice of something monumental. Then, with a soft groan, George closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

It was everything you had imagined and more. His lips were soft yet insistent, moving against yours with a passion that made your head spin. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

George's hands roamed your back, tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together.

"I've wanted this for so long," George murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His hands cupped your face gently, thumbs stroking your cheeks as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You leaned into his touch, your heart racing. "Me too," you whispered back, surprised by the intensity of your own feelings.

George's eyes searched yours, a mix of desire and vulnerability swirling in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, this time placing a soft, reverent kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each touch of his lips sent sparks through your body.

When he finally reclaimed your lips, the kiss was slower, deeper, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You melted into him, your bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper, as if the question was as much for him as it was for you.

You leaned in slightly, your breath mingling with his. "I’m sure," you murmured, before closing the distance between you with a kiss.

It started soft—tentative. But as the seconds stretched, it deepened, becoming more urgent. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the rise and fall of his breath matching your own.

The world outside seemed to vanish. The only thing that mattered was the press of his lips against yours, the way his fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending sparks of electricity through your body. His touch was gentle at first, but as you shifted against him, something shifted in the air between you—a quiet hunger that neither of you could deny any longer.

"George," you whispered against his lips, a soft plea, and it was all it took. His hands moved to your face, cupping it as he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if he was losing himself to the moment.

You felt the intensity rise in him, in the way his hands wandered to the back of your neck, tugging gently, pulling you even closer. The taste of the wine mixed with the warmth of his mouth, and you could no longer tell where you ended and he began.

"Are you really sure?" he asked again, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes. I want this."

With that, the dam broke. His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, leaving a fiery path behind. You shivered at the feeling, the electricity between you both undeniable. Each kiss, each touch, built the tension higher, and soon, it felt like the only thing you needed was him.

The wine seemed to fuel your courage as much as it fueled your desire, and soon you were both lost in the moment, not thinking about anything but the way your bodies responded to each other. His hands roamed freely, each touch sending your pulse racing, while you met him with equal eagerness, your fingers tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

As things heated up, you both moved to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. George's eyes roamed over you appreciatively as you lay back on the bed. He joined you, his warm body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in another passionate kiss. His hands explored your curves, teasing and caressing. You arched into his touch, wanting more.

George trailed kisses down your neck and chest, taking his time to savor every inch of you. When his mouth found your breast, you gasped in pleasure. His tongue swirled around your nipple as his hand kneaded your other breast. The dual sensations sent waves of arousal through you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, urging him lower. He obliged, kissing down your stomach until he settled between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue against your sensitive flesh had you moaning. He explored you thoroughly

George's lips trailed lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your inner thighs. His warm breath against your sensitive skin made you shiver with anticipation. When his tongue finally made contact with your center, you gasped at the sensation. He started with slow, teasing licks before focusing his attention on your most sensitive spots.

As George's ministrations intensified, you felt waves of pleasure building inside you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on as your hips rocked against his mouth. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them in a come hither motion that had you seeing stars. Thel stimulation quickly pushed you over the edge into a powerful climax that left you breathless.

Before you could fully recover, George was kissing his way back up your body. You pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands roamed over George's muscular back as he settled between your thighs. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, igniting a fresh wave of desire. George gazed into your eyes, seeking silent permission. You nodded, pulling him closer.

He entered you slowly, both of you gasping at the exquisite sensation of finally being joined. George stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. Then he began to move, setting a slow pace that had you arching beneath him.

Your bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity, finding a rhythm that built the pleasure higher and higher. George's lips found yours in a searing kiss as he quickened his thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist, changing the angle and causing you both to cry out.

The room filled with the sounds of your shared passion - soft moans, gasps of pleasure, skin sliding against skin. The walls seemed to disappear, as if they were the only two people in the world. George's hips moved faster, his thrusts deep and primal, as if he couldn't get enough of her. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping at her collarbone, urging her on.

You met his gaze, your breath ragged and your chest heaving. "George... I... I'm..."

He kissed you again, hard and desperate, silencing your words as he drove himself deeper inside you. "I've got you," he murmured against your lips. "Let go."

That was all the encouragement you needed. With a sharp cry, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. The intensity of your climax sent shockwaves through your body, your inner muscles clenching around George rhythmically. He groaned at the sensation, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. With a few final deep thrusts, George let out a guttural moan as he found his peak, trembling above you.

You both lay there panting, bodies intertwined and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. George's weight on top of you felt comforting rather than stifling. Sliding out, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft with emotion. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead tenderly before capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

"That was..." he trailed off, seeming at a loss for words.

"Yeah," you agreed breathlessly. "It really was."

George rolled to the side, pulling you close against him. You nestled into the crook of his arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. A comfortable silence fell between you as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

George's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, sending pleasant tingles through your body. You tilted your head up to look at him, taking in his tousled hair and flushed cheeks. His eyes met yours, filled with warmth and contentment.

You both lay there for a moment, just breathing, both aware of the shift that had happened—of the line you had just crossed, and the new, thrilling tension that hung in the air. Neither of you spoke for a long time, simply enjoying the quiet intimacy.

"Well," he said, voice thick, "that… wasn’t how I expected the night to go."

You chuckled softly, catching your breath. "Yeah, me neither. But…"

"But?" he prompted, his eyes locking with yours, intense and filled with something new.

"But, maybe we should just go with it?"

He smiled at you, his lips curving mischievously. But when George finally broke the brief silence, it was with a soft chuckle.

"So… tomorrow," he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. "I guess we're going on that Valentine's date after all."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. "I guess we are," you replied with a smile, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft and full of a warmth that made your heart flutter. As his eyes met yours, you knew that everything had changed.

Outside, the night continued on, unaware of the transformation happening within the walls of your flat. But inside, on this unexpected Valentine's Day, you found yourself celebrating not just the day itself, but the beginning of something new and exciting. As you snuggled closer to him, your head finding its now familiar spot on his shoulder, you both agreed to take a leap into the unknown together. This was more than just a date on the calendar - it was a promise for the future.

Valentine's Day was no longer a dreaded reminder of what you lacked, but a joyous celebration of what could be.

[wastemanjohn]

i'm not at all bothered about people disliking john because entirely valid tbh and someone else's opinion changes nothing for me. i just think the militant anti john brigade - that is, those that make up textually unsupported and entirely leftfield reasons to dislike him - are really missing out.

the thing is, we've got an absolute buffet of an interesting and irreparably fucked up character here. we could debate the absolute Horrors of john winchester and his a+ parenting for days on end literally from the two seconds of screentime he had. because he does suck! it's totally fair to say that canon john is selfish, neglectful and at best emotionally abusive. now i'm defo no apologist (see username) - but he's also the furthest thing from a cardboard shitty abusive dad. there is serious context for the things he does and the way he thinks.

john's life was hell man. his own dad, for all he knew, abandoned him. he went to war young and almost certainly came back with ptsd. these things alone don't exactly make life easy but then your wife burns to death on a ceiling and you're left a widower and a single dad to a baby and a pre schooler before you're even thirty? then discover that it couldn't even be a plain old housefire but no - there is actual Evil out there and you and your children are not safe and never will be?

the desire for revenge is understandable. the desire to do stupid and paradoxically dangerous things to protect your children are understandable. right, good or healthy? no. but understandable. and that's what makes a good sympathetic character.

basically i think a lot of negative readings of john exaggerate the badness of his intentions and ignore his humanity. it's also understandable that john is not a beacon of emotional regulation. it's also understandable that he cant always balance being emotionally and physically there for his kids with Fighting The Horrors. pour alcohol misuse onto this dumpster fire and you're not getting a perfect person, or a perfect parent. you're getting a broken human who was focused only on keeping his kids safe, alive, protected, and able to protect themselves. sure, he had tunnel vision about it. he did it very badly. he controlled sam as the youngest and parentified dean as the oldest. he made sam feel misunderstood and smothered. he made dean feel completely responsible for the welfare of his brother and dependent on john's praise and approval as his second in command.

john fucked his kids up IMMEASURABLY. he thought he was doing the right thing.

also - remember young john? remember how he's softly spoken and loves his cars and adores his girlfriend and respects his fucking elders and, to quote mary, "believes in happy endings"? remember the doting dad we see for like a minute in the pilot? is that not meant to show us that, had his life not taken the turn it did - he would likely have been an entirely different person? how is the tragedy of that not also completely DELICIOUS??

so why homophobic john? why john who beat dean senseless regularly? why john who gave no shits and wanted his boys to be miserable? why these embellishments that make him someone else, someone with nothing good inside of him, when what canon gives us is so much better?

come on guys. the tragic messy sad angry selfish HUMAN john we got in the show is an absolute treat. why are we making him an irredeemable, unfeeling and uncomplicated asshole who doesn't give a shit about his boys. ya'll saw him spending a good 50% of his screen time crying about how much he loved them right? and sam and dean KNEW he loved them. they also knew, or in dean's case came to realise, that he was a terrible father in many ways. real life is messy and nuanced. families are messy and nuanced. and imo spn got this so right.

[34to42]

Okay. So.

It’s no secret that I’ve been eagerly anticipating season 2 of The Night Agent so I made the very adult decision to take a vacation day from work and binge watch the whole thing in one day. And I have some thoughts.

Obviously spoilers lay ahead so please be aware of that before you continue reading if that’s something you care about. There might also be some swearing.

It’s not often we see a Netflix show get to season 2 and more importantly, have a season 2 that either lives up to or exceeds season 1 but I think The Night Agent is one of them. Season 2 is SUCH an experience, one that I was desperately worried about before it aired, and one that I am so happy I got to participate in now that it’s done. I was worried that the show would forget the events of season 1, that Rose would play a less integral role, that the show’s bigger and better storylines would be overdone, that they would play America as the hero when dealing with plot lines regarding international relations - none of those fears came true.

Though the showrunners were in uncharted territory having no other Matthew Quirk novels to adapt, they did a fantastic job in creating a new situation that felt similarly dire and equally as convoluted as the events of season 1. And the events of the previous season are directly referenced, and Rose continued to be integral, and the bigger and better storylines were handled well, in my opinion at least.

The overarching result of the events of season 2 however, has to be… tragedy. So many different characters have their lives upended, affected, or changed and it’s all just tragic. The character of Noor, an outstanding addition to the show, risking everything to get her family into a better situation only to lose her brother, traumatize her mother, and receive a cheque from a smiling bureaucrat for her efforts. Warren’s son Ethan, having to go through the betrayal of a friend (David), meeting his estranged father, getting so much conflicting information about his dad, only to lose him and be traumatized forever. Rose, desperately wanting a normal life but unable to fully process her grief and trauma because the only person she fully trusts left her and isn’t coming back. Even Alice’s family and the way they had to deal with their broken hearts when she took the Night Action job and stopped keeping in contact with them.

And finally… Peter.

Peter, who is a good man and wants to do the right thing but keeps getting into situations where the right choice has consequences. Who desperately wanted to clear his father’s name only to learn that it was all true and then have to make the same choices to save the one person he loves. The soul crushing tragedy of the scene with Peter and the broker in the rail car as he taunts Peter with the knowledge that by making the choices he did, he will become his father and follow in his footsteps. The absolute fucking agony on Peter’s face.

And then the tragedy of Peter telling Rose to forget him, because he knows that he cannot keep her safe and she will be used against him even though she means “everything” to him. 😭😭😭😭

My poor shipper heart.

Although I, and I suspect a lot of people, would have loved to see a happier ending for Peter and Rose, I will say that this one felt true to the story they were trying to tell. I can think of other ways this could have gone to get them that ending which I will definitely be exploring in fanfic but I can see why this choice was made. That scene in the hotel broke my fucking heart. Again, the absolute agony on Peter’s face.

So… yeah. Just, tragedy all around with this season.

I do want to mention a few things that I really appreciated about the new episodes. First, that Rose continued to not be a damsel in distress but rather continuously came to Peter’s aid and helped him out, much as she did in the first season. Second, the character of Javad was INCREDIBLY acted by Keon Alexander and made for an excellent villain, even if not the ultimate one. Holy shit, watching the shifts from romantic interest to quiet, seething menace on his face and in his demeanour throughout the show were so compelling. Third, all the scenes between characters at the Iranian mission. I was really worried this storyline would feel rushed but instead we got so many sweet moments between characters such as Haleh and Noor and an insight into their relationships.

Some specific moments I loved:

- Noor wearing her friend’s headscarf to the event at the mission

- Haleh warning Noor that Javad knew she was at the UN even though it could have cost her her job

- The ambassador’s handling of how to get Javad out of the mission, such a stroke of brilliance

- Rose’s conversation with Catherine where she told her off for talking about her aunt and uncle because she didn’t know them

- Peter holding doors open for Rose even when they were trying to get away from gunmen

- Peter immediately crawling into bed with Rose when she was having a nightmare

- Basically ever scene with Peter and Rose

- the fight scenes, they felt incredibly realistic and used a lot of elements from around the scene

- Peter and Rose’s silent communication regarding shooting Markus, it was so awesome to see them in sync like that

- Rose’s speech to Tomăs regarding the chemical weapons, she was able to get through to him even without any type of training because she is awesome

- Peter’s immediate confidence in Rose when Catherine asked “who knew she could do that?” Fuck, that was an awesome moment

- Peter and Noor’s conversation on the steps of the UN where she understood why he did what he did and accepted his apology by holding out her hand. The number of times Peter did and tried to apologize to Noor for her brother because he wants to do the right thing

Despite how much I loved the new season, I do have a few lingering questions and complaints that I also wanted to write out in case anyone else is struggling with them:

- How did the broker know to contact Rose at the beginning of the season if Peter’s name and involvement in Camp David were scrubbed?

- that President Travers wasn’t in more episodes. I really, really appreciated the way she stood up for Peter in front of Catherine at the beginning and wish there could have been some follow through later on in the season

- it feels like Rose and the doctor could have maybe thought of knockout gas a little earlier? I understand why the show did what they did for the plot but it didn’t ring quite true that they would both make so many cannisters of KX without trying something to get out of there

- Soloman’s speech to Peter as he was taking him to meet the broker regarding the one agent of theirs Peter killed in Bangkok. How they all attended his funeral and he had 40-some people who loved him. Dude, YOU killed Peter’s partner!! That whole speech just felt off.

- the character of Catherine. Things improved towards the end of the season but I really didn’t like the character at the beginning and especially didn’t like the way she spoke about Peter. It isn’t his fault that they sent him in without a lot of training and it was her job to make sure he was ready

- Peter’s tattoos being gone. I understand why it makes sense that a spy cannot have very identifiable tattoos but come on. I think we can all agree that Gabe’s tattoos are incredibly hot and we should be able to see them

So, those are my thoughts. I’m sure I’ll have more once the dust settles from watching all the episodes in one day but for now, I hope you enjoy the new season as much as I did.

[keepingitformyself]

and my waves meet your shore

A/N: this one has been in the drafts for two years.... synopsis: natasha seems to have found silence in all the noise.

MASTERLIST

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: angst, fluff.

warnings: sad natasha :(

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha romanoff has lived a very lonely ife.

however, as sad as it may seem natasha never once payed any heed to it. relationships and rapport had rarely been acknowledged by her superiors during her time in the red room. but if it ever was it was only to display the inconvenience it would bring to her life.

so as a stead natasha had only ever put her mind to the things she was instructed to, unfortunately companionship had never been in that spectrum for her.

her lack of agency had always made that easier for her. she was always taught to deflect at any first sign of fragility and she never needed anyone else because— well she was simply better off on her own.

still, thoughts of having any sense of togetherness or intimacy would sometimes cross her mind, but as soon as they came she was always quick to brush them off.

it took her some time to discard the habit of having that mentality.

natasha’s upbringing was one made up of unspeakable catastrophe, things one simply could not ever bear to speak about. she had taken too many falls, and she had shed too much blood and tears for a life she never intended.

but when she did manage to set herself free, plagued with nothing but the haunts of the past she left behind, with the very small amount of hope she had left in humanity, she rose slowly from the depths of a narrative she’d never spare a glance back at again.

and she had clint barton to thank for that. he would never understand the amount of gratitude she had towards the archer. he had given her a sense of family, a sense of home. he let her in and introduced her to his own life outside of what it meant to be on the light side of the fight.

he was her first shot at a real human relationship. her shot at a second chance.

it had flicked a switch inside of her whenever she saw clint hug his kids and kiss their cheeks. natasha had only ever known cruelty, she had never seen something so benevolent before.

she liked it whenever she got to see that side of him, the side that wasn’t so stoic and on high alert all the time, the side that wasn’t agent barton.

it changed her perspective when it came to the world. she had only ever seen the ugly in people. her experience with some of the most horrendous things had allowed for her to see the humanity in others.

but unfortunately, never in herself.

even after switching her allegiance to the avengers she still couldn’t bear the thought of the person she used to be, the one that was the exact opposite of who she is now.

she devoted herself to the fight and had made her own separate code to live by. it became a need for her to do only the great or good, so much so that she was willing to put her own life on the line if it ever came to it. her entire life became one of redemption.

natasha romanoff had lived a tragic life. no one would ever understand her and her troubled past, and no one had ever made the time to try.

that is until she met you.

she had met you in a weird time in her life. taking down what was left of shield also meant exposing who she was before her years as an agent at shield.

many people were out of a job after that. some moved on, others promoted into whatever secret agency would come next. you however, had been offered a spot next to the world’s mightiest heroes.

she was wary of you, of course. she had the right to be. it wasn’t everyday someone would show up out of the blue and offer her a piece of themselves.

you were like that a lot. natasha quickly learned you had no problem in sharing parts about you to make others feel better. sure, you weren’t someone who carried a large amount of baggage like the rest of them, but that felt refreshing to most of the team.

natasha never got to pick her battles before, until now. she’d always deny saying that she hated the fight more than she showed.

the truth is, natasha wasn’t ready for a fight much like this one, but nonetheless, it was still one she wouldn’t surrender to.

—

natasha has nightmares. bad ones too.

it’s the same thing every time they happen. she wakes up in the night and paces her room, it feels like a fire inside. the smoke that isn’t there manages to make her feel like it consumes her into its flames.

she feels helpless in its flames, she convinced herself that the lifetimes worth of nightmares is what she deserves. she cries and hopes that it ends soon, all she can do is hold her own until it passes.

suddenly, you barge in. you find natasha on the floor, looking frail and disrupted. you don’t waste a moment in rushing towards her.

you don’t even think about how you’ve never been in such close proximity to her. then you hug her. you tell her that she’s okay, that it’s okay.

she never pushes you off and it surprises you, natasha quickly figures that she likes to be held and you feel warm against her, so she lets you.

you kiss her dampened forehead and keep coaxing her, telling her anything and everything that you think might help her. you never push her into opening up, you understand the intimacy of it, natasha is thankful for that.

when you feel her breath steady and her cries have grown quieter you walk her back to her bed. you both look at each other for a moment and she breathes out before saying.

“thank you.” her voice comes out in a rasp.

you only nod, a small smile on your face. you make your way to leave until you feel her hand graze your own. you meet her eyes again with a furrow in your brows.

the look she gives you tells you that she doesn’t want this to be brought up again and that she trusts that it will remain between you both. your hand touches her own,

“you can trust me.” is all you say before leaving back towards where you came from.

when natasha wakes up that morning she finds that she hates her reflection in the mirror. she notices pieces of her old self when staring into her eyes.

she clenches the counter under her hands and squeezes her eyes until she musters up enough courage to walk out of her bedroom door.

when she makes her way into the busy kitchen she’s greeted instantly by everyone. she smiles and greets back, acting as if nothing had happened the night prior. that is until she feels a warm cup being pushed into her hands.

“morning, i made your coffee. i’ll serve you a plate in just a moment.” you greet the redhead with a smile. she raises her eyebrows in surprise and takes the coffee in her hands.

she sits besides clint and hums in contentment once she figures out that you made her cup just the way she liked it. black and one sugar.

you make breakfast easy for her to feel comfortable in. you act as if nothing had happened and continue to pass around jokes with the boys. natasha even passes you the ketchup bottle with a small smile when you ask for it. your mind cheers at the small progress you think you’ve made.

now, natasha knows that she can somewhat trust you and in the enlightenment of that she starts to loosen herself when it comes to you.

since then you’ve seen more of natasha around the building and you notice how she’s open to your company even more.

you now find the redhead sitting next to you during meals if she finds a space empty and she acknowledges you with a smile if you see her passing in hallways throughout the day.

one particular moment that really catches you by surprise is when you finally let yourself make the time to sharpen your knife collection. you hadn’t had the chance to since work piled up and it wasn’t until today that you were now allowed a free day.

and when you make it to your armory you find that all your blades and knives had been sharpened and cleaned. a note left by the redhead in your locker.

‘i know you haven’t had the time. -N’ you’re left shocked but don’t even question how she knew this despite never mentioning it to her.

two weeks later, she walks up to you in the middle of your workout. she taps your shoulder and you remove your earbud to turn towards her.

“hi!” you say too enthusiasticly, surprised she had walked up to you to start a conversation.

you’ve learned by now to never push for her attention, you let her come to you when she wants to. everything had to happen at her own pace if you want to be her friend.

she invites you for movies in her room later that night. a shy smile invades her face as she releases the sentence, you could tell she seemed a bit nervous at the idea of being in a room alone with you.

you agree as cooly as you can, careful to not overexcite your response in case she suddenly sees it as weird.

later that night you find yourself in bed with natasha, she shares her bag of skittles with you whilst she chooses a movie. you smile when you notice the stash of snacks she had hidden, a variety of skittles and reece’s. you make a mental note to gift her some more of her favorite snacks.

she makes you watch her favorite bond films, you never point it out but you know for most of the movies she had watched you instead.

the gears turn in natasha’s head. she watches you laugh and sees the fascination swirl in your eyes as you become invested in the action sequences.

she searches and searches for any sign of bad intention in you. part of her has not fully comprehended how someone like you had wanted to be involved with someone like her. she knows how patient you’ve been…but why?

she absolutely cannot help it that she feels this way, not when it’s been programmed into her to never be this vulnerable.

but every bone within her knows you’re anything but ill-intended. her mind just simply can’t wrap around the idea that someone seems to want to stay.

once the movie had finished you stayed back for a while to talk. you had no problem in taking charge of most of the conversation, you knew natasha was still adjusting to you.

she asks you questions, you answer.

you tell her about your family. you grew up in brooklyn, a cute brownstone in the park slope neighborhood. you had two older siblings, each four years older. a brother, a stockbroker and your sister who was an interior designer.

you notice the small quirk in natasha’s face when you mention your siblings, you decide not to question it.

until two weeks later. you’re in her room again and she brings it up during a harry potter marathon.

“i have a sister.” is all she has to say before you pause the movie.

“pardon?” you look at her, but she’s still staring at the screen.

“i have a sister, or had, i don’t really know where she is now.”

you tread carefully with your next question.

“do you think about her a lot?” the question finally makes her look at you.

“all the time.” she whispers.

you think of how devastating it may be for her to know someone out there was once a part of her.

“thank you for telling me.”

—————

after a solo mission to johannesburg you come back in very bad shape. you’d barely made it out by the time an airlift came to retrieve you.

and once you’re lifted into the jet by a combat med you don’t notice the worried redhead that’s in the jet waiting for you as well.

she grabs your face in her two hands, worried expression on her face.

you’re breathing heavy, and you’re clutching your stomach with the same arm that’s throbbing.

all you can really do is give her a bloodied smile.

you take a sharp breath in, “hey…” then your eyelids go heavy and you don’t really remember much of anything after that.

by the time you’ve landed it’s all a mess. everyone hears about your state, and the whole team is there to meet you at the landing dock when you’re being carried in a stretcher into the compound.

natasha only talks to three people until you wake up. steve to report everything to, and bruce and doctor cho for any inquiry on your state of health.

despite everyone’s efforts to convince natasha you’re fine, she’s stays put and keeps her eye on you through surgery. clint tries to get her to eat but his attempts fail, only met with complete silence. and wanda tries to tell her to at least freshen up for you, but she’s met with silence yet again.

it’s all honestly a bit off putting how eerily quiet she got. the team decides then, that when it comes to you it’s best to just let her be.

but she’s there again when you wake up in the med bay. she instantly hears your shift in breathing and wakes up only seconds after you do.

“you’re awake.” is the first thing she says.

and you in your disoriented state say,

“good. i’m really loopy still, so i can’t really tell if i’m dreaming or not.”

natasha lets out what sounds like a relieved sigh or a laugh, but it makes you smile, and you both stare at eachother for a few seconds.

you look at her, a grateful smile on your face.

the gears in natasha’s head turn. something about the way she found you almost twenty four hours ago had shifted something in her.

she was with steve when you reported you may need extraction as soon as possible. your breathing was ragged and you let out at strangled whimper before the line cut off.

“i’m going.” was all natasha said before she headed off to pack a bag. she was there before the extraction team fifteen minutes later.

it was hard to think of anything else besides you, on her way to you. and it was hard to think of anything else besides being with you when she finally got to you.

it was something she couldn’t quite place, or maybe she could, maybe she wasn’t ready to face it yet.

you squint your eyes at the redhead next to you, noticing her deep in thought state. you almost think you see a twinge of something else besides relief in her eyes. but before you could question it almost robotically a mask is put back up.

“i’ll go get, cho.” is all she says before she clears her throat and leaves.

after that, you catch natasha around you alot. more than usual.

suddenly every partner mission you’re assigned to, natasha is there with you ready to go.

and you never find out, but she made steve promise to assign you both together. she never really tells him why, even when he asks she’s quite good at deflecting those questions.

and quite honestly, he didn’t have it in himself to question her, knowing she always had everyone’s best interests in mind.

it’s a little past midnight when you find natasha sitting on the compound’s balcony. the distant hum of the city mixes with the soft chirping of crickets, creating a quiet melody that feels oddly serene. she doesn’t startle when you join her, doesn’t even glance up, but you notice the slight tension in her shoulders ease as you settle into the chair beside her.

the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. she’s never been much for small talk—her world operates on subtleties and actions rather than open confessions. you’ve learned to understand her language, the way she communicates through fleeting gestures and careful glances.

“i didn’t expect you to be awake,” she finally says, voice low and steady. her gaze is fixed on the horizon, as if the view holds answers she’s not ready to share.

“couldn’t sleep,” you reply, mirroring her tone. “too quiet.”

she huffs a quiet laugh. “you don’t strike me as someone who likes noise.”

“i don’t. but sometimes, silence is its own kind of noise, don’t you think?”

her eyes flicker toward you, studying your profile like she’s trying to decipher a code. you don’t push; you’ve never needed to. natasha unfolds on her terms, like a flower reluctant to bloom under artificial light.

“i used to hate silence,” she admits after a moment. “it felt… heavy. like it was waiting to crush me.”

you nod, not saying anything but giving her the space to continue.

“then, i realized it wasn’t the silence i hated. it was being alone in it.”

the admission hangs in the air, raw and unguarded in a way natasha rarely allows herself to be. you shift in your seat, careful to keep your movements unassuming.

“you’re not alone anymore,” you say gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

her head tilts, and for a brief moment, you see the war behind her eyes—the battle between wanting to believe you and the deep-seated scars of her past telling her otherwise.

“it doesn’t feel like it when you’re around,” she finally says, her voice soft but carrying the weight of her sincerity.

it’s a small victory, but one that fills your chest with warmth. you glance at her, and this time, she meets your eyes. there’s a vulnerability in her gaze, a quiet plea for something she doesn’t know how to ask for.

“you don’t have to carry it all by yourself,” you say. “not anymore.”

her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, and she looks back out at the skyline.

“i know.”

it’s not an overt declaration or a grand epiphany, but it’s enough. natasha romanoff doesn’t find solace in words. she finds it in actions, in the quiet moments shared with someone who sees her for who she is and stays anyway.

natasha hesitates, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of her chair. she’s rarely still for long—always poised, always prepared to move, to act. but tonight, she’s caught between the present and the thousand questions swirling in her mind.

her voice comes unexpectedly, low and careful. “when you were hurt on that mission…” she pauses, her jaw tightening as she fights the urge to retreat into herself. “…i realized something.”

you turn toward her fully, watching as she wrestles with whatever it is she’s trying to say. her hands rest on her lap now, and her gaze is focused on them as though the answers are carved into her palms.

“nat…” you prompt softly, giving her space to continue.

she exhales, a sound heavy with reluctance and resolve. “i’ve lost people before. more than i can count. and i always told myself it was… just part of the job. you can’t stop to feel when you’re in the middle of everything. you can’t afford to.”

you stay quiet, knowing this isn’t the moment for interruptions.

“but when i saw you…” her voice falters, her fingers curling into fists before relaxing again. “it wasn’t the same. i didn’t—” she stops, looks up at you with a rare vulnerability that makes your chest ache. “i didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t come back.”

the admission is small, almost swallowed by the quiet around you, but it lands with the force of something much larger. you feel the words settle in your chest, warm and grounding.

you lean forward slightly, letting the closeness fill the space between you. “you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for,” you offer, keeping your tone as gentle as you can. “but just so you know… i’m not going anywhere.”

natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze searching yours as though she’s testing the truth of your words. slowly, her hand moves, and she brushes her fingers against yours. it’s tentative, a question wrapped in the smallest of gestures.

you respond by turning your hand over, letting her fingers slip into yours. it’s not much—a barely-there connection—but to natasha, it feels monumental.

“i don’t know what this is,” she admits, her voice trembling just slightly, “or if i even deserve it. but... you make me feel something i didn’t think i could anymore.”

your breath catches at her confession, the subtle weight of it more than you expected but exactly what you’ve been hoping for.

“i think you deserve a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” you reply, your thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. “and whatever this is, i’m okay with figuring it out… with you.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the way her grip tightens around your hand is all the answer you need. the silence that follows is comfortable, filled not with the weight of unspoken fears but with the quiet promise of something new.

natasha glances at you once more, her green eyes soft in the moonlight. “thank you,” she murmurs. it’s the second time she’s said it to you, but tonight it carries more meaning, more intention.

for the first time in a long time, natasha feels the silence settle.

[luvrodite]

ok wait i need to say something about the dick grayson thought i've been turning over in my head for a bit.

i unfortunately do like readers that are a bit tragic and don't get a happy ending. it's like poking at a bruise idk it's cathartic in its own way. anyway. i know the age difference between dick and jason isn't really that big but i think it's big enough for this to work?

anyway i'm thinking about the relationship you have with dick when he moves out of the manor. you guys fuck, sure, and sometimes you go out, but you're not his girlfriend. not really. it's casual, except it isn't at the same time because dick comes with a plethora of his own issues and for some reason you can't quite fathom, he's decided you're the only one that gets to see that side of him.

you see him like nobody else does. you get the good, the bad and the ugly. you hold him through his nightmares. you brush his hair back from his forehead when he stares at his phone a little too long. you come by when it's been a few weeks and you haven't heard from him.

somehow you kind of end up playing intermediary between him and the kid brother his dad/guardian/mentor/older brother picked up along the way. jason is sweet. and you can tell he longs for a relationship with dick but he's got so much going on. it doesn't matter. jason takes what he can get.

you wonder when you started getting involved in your hookups' lives. but then it feels reductive to call it that. what the two of you have spans beyond that. it's so much more than that. dick touches the lives of all that he meets and you aren't special for it, but you feel it. maybe to the others he knows, in their weird, dysfunctional world, it's normal.

but you're a regular citizen. you go to work. you come home and do the dishes. you cook, you clean, you curse out your landlord when he puts off fixing the heating for the nth time. dysfunctional relationships are alien to you – the weight of all dick gives you, it has to mean something. fuck the forehead kisses, it stopped being casual when he held your hand through a doctor's visit and the fibers in your pillowcase swallowed his tears after a run in with bruce.

you play intermediary. jason sees more and more of you than you think he should, but he doesn't complain. you even grow used to the little bugger. you don't have much in the way of your own family, and he becomes something like the kid brother you never had. you grow used to the inappropriate humour that shocked you the first time it came out of his mouth, blue eyes shining up at you mischievously.

his height gives off the impression he's more youthful than he is and sometimes you end up babying him a little more for it. sometimes, he lets you. you brush a hand over his curls like you do his brother and keep a hand on his shoulder when you go to the corner store. you tell him to pick out whatever he wants, and that it's on you. he looks up at you like you got him the moon when you toss him a copy of his favourite book after a while of not seeing him – yours is all beat up, kid, pretty soon you won't be able to read it anymore.

you don't know how to deal with it when he dies, not long after you and dick break things off.

15. only a baby.

it's violent. you get the news from the papers and the picture of the blast zone makes you stop breathing. dick doesn't pick up the phone – why would he? and you're not even sure if you're allowed to reach out.

the last you'd heard, he'd been pretty cosied up with a new co-worker of some sort. red hair, pretty eyes. more than you'd ever gotten from him. sure, you'd known dick – you knew him. you were the closest he'd ever been to anyone, but it had simply been because there was nothing to lose with you.

you hold his grief, hold his heart in your hands, but you are nobody and you will not ask for more because he sleeps in your bed and sometimes, he holds your hand in public when you're walking through a crowded street. you guys have good days and it's something.

but he’ll is not yours – will never be yours, not fully, not like he belongs to bruce and gotham and the titans and his team. you’re a girl who he comes to because you’re safe.

but his brother dies and he's gone and you're left with not only the heartbreak of losing something never named, but the grief of a real tangible friendship, the death of a brother.

you are nobody and nothing – you're not the one that gets the guy and you are not the one that gets to mourn. you see him at his lowest and love him at his worst but he is not yours, and neither is the little boy that dies much too young, alone and scared.

you fall between the cracks. nobody stops to think about the girl who'd sometimes been mentioned in passing at the dinner table, on the rare occasion dick ventured back home to the manor. how can they? not when bruce is driven near mad with grief, not when dick is god knows where and it's all that alfred pennyworth can do to keep his charge and himself together.

i don't know. i just think about how it takes you months to muster up the energy and courage to visit your friend's grave – because jason was your friend, too. the baby brother you'd never had, a kid you'd felt responsible for, like he was your own. the visit leaves you exhausted and it's of course then, that on your way out, you bump into the second half of your troubles.

dick stares at you like he's seen a ghost and all that happened between you lingers in the air, the weight of it oppressive in the cold winter air. frost in the air, frost clinging to your lashes, heartbreak colouring you blue.

you look at him and think of it – how much you had put up with from him. how dearly you'd loved him. stupid, to catch feelings, but you'd gone ahead and done it. worst of all, he'd known it, too.

there'd been a time, not so long ago, when you would have let him do anything he pleased. lay me down, strike me, hurt me, i will bear it because it is at your hand. and he'd known.

he'd known it was wrong but he was hurting and it’d been easy with you because you didn't ask for more than he’d give but you did hope. and he could see it in your eyes that you hoped he’d give himself wholly over to you but he just wasn't there. perhaps he never would be. and you deserved better but he couldn't let you go. his regret, one amongst many, is that he had not done it sooner. shielded you from more pain at his hand.

once, dick had something of a god to you. now he stands before you and you see him as he is, a mere man. a tired, grief-stricken, man.

the only mercy he grants you now, is to let you walk away.

blank blogs dni. minors dni. have your age in your bio otherwise you will be blocked!

[jjscrybaby]

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (bad parents, mentions of weed, sad!reader, not written overly well bc i was sad)

this is depressing as hell i’m sorry… also very self indulgent. i’m an oversharer idc, the main reason i haven’t been posting a lot recently is because my home life isn’t going too well with my step dad, but at half 2 in the morning this is what my brain came up with to make myself feel better so enjoy

One thing the Pogues understood more than most was dysfunctional families. There was Kie, who’s parents cared more about their reputation than their daughter, John B, who’s mother had left when he was three and his dad was so invested in finding treasure it got him killed. Sarah’s family life made everyone’s heads spin, at this point it was a taboo subject that only came up once she’d had one too many cocktails, Pope was lucky to have parents that cared for him but there were still times he wasn’t happy at home.

JJ’s dad was the worst man you’d ever met, you may be biased because anyone treating your boyfriend like that would put them in your most hated book but everyone on the island could agree that Luke Maybank should never have become a father. Your family life was the same. Tragic, hurtful and heartbreaking. You and your mom used to be close, but after she met your step father things changed. She fell in love, you couldn’t blame her for that, what you could blame was the fact she’d allow a man to treat her child like a speck of dirt on his shoe. It was never physical, maybe that was why you were yet to tell JJ and the others just how badly it was effecting you; it didn’t seem necessary.

Everyday your closest friends would have to deal with the reminders of the parents they’d been stuck with. You didn’t want to be that person. The one that made it about themselves, the one that bummed everyone out.

You were trying to keep a brave face on, after the fifth argument of the week with the devil himself you’d stormed out of your house and made your way over to the Chateau. Tears brimmed your eyeline, and you knew even one joke-gone-wrong could send you into a ball on the floor. But you couldn’t stay in that house any longer, not with him and not with your spineless mother.

“There she is!” Sarah beamed as you rounded the corner of the Chateau, a strained smile on your face. You’d texted them to let them know you were coming, you felt you owed that at least.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice unnatural from the way you were holding in your tears.

JJ patted his knee, indicating for you to take a seat around the fire with the rest of them. You sat, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi,” you murmured back, playing with a piece of his hair to try and distract yourself.

You didn’t speak much as the others carried on with their conversation, catching you up on the topic as they passed a joint around the circle. JJ offered it to you but you shook your head, you needed to have control over your body; over your mouth more like. The last thing you wanted to do was blurt out how miserable you were and ruin the atmosphere.

Slowly but surely, everyone but you and JJ retreated inside. Sarah could never handle her weed, she was already half asleep when John B picked her up to take her to bed. Kie was in one of her mellow moods, wanting to be away from everyone to think. Pope wasn’t quite as in a state as Sarah, but he’d decided he was ready for his own bed so he headed back home. That left just you and JJ, that was what you’d been dreading. If he had even an inkling something was going on, he’d be able to get it out of you. He had a way with words, especially when it came to the people he cared about.

“What made you change your mind ‘bout coming?” JJ asked, leaning back on the couch that you now sat beside him on.

“Can’t a girl miss her boyfriend?” You teased, making him smirk back at you.

“Always, baby. Just thought you and your mama were havin’ a movie night,” he explained. The topic made your jaw clench and your stomach drop. The reason for the argument tonight: you and your mom had planned to watch a movie together, something you hadn’t done in a weirdly long time, but of course your step dad had wanted to watch the tv. You’d tried to calmly explain that it was just a couple hours, all that had lead to was screaming and accusing.

“Yeah, uh, change of plans,” you croaked out, blinking rapidly to try and force the tears away.

His smirk faded as he looked at you, instantly noticing the water in your eyes and the way your smile looked like it was physically hurting your face. “Yeah? What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. You want to go inside? I could do with a shower,” you sniffled, trying your hardest to change the subject.

“What’s going on?” JJ asked softly, hand coming up to cup your cheek. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly as you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeated.

“Clearly it does. C’mon, talk to me, please. You’re upset,” he murmured, moving closer. His other hand moved to your waist, stroking your skin softly.

You opened your eyes, the dam broke and tears began to roll down your cheeks. The worry in his eyes doubled as he saw you crying, hold on you tightening as he tried to wipe them away. “I hate it there,” you sobbed.

“Hey, hey, hate it where? Hate it where, baby?” He worried as you began to cry manically. He’d seen you cry countless times, but never like this. Never like you were in pain.

“My house. I feel like— like a stranger, like I don’t even belong there. It’s all his fault,” you admitted through your tears.

“Your step dad?” He asked quietly, connecting the dots in his head.

He’d been at your house before, he’d met your step dad, and he’d always been pleasant. But he was polite in a way that you knew it was fake, it was a show and JJ had worked that out from the first time they’d shook hands. His grip was too tight, his eyes bored even whilst he smiled. He’d always figured that it wasn’t like that for you, though. He just assumed it was an issue with him.

“He’s so mean to me,” you choked out. “I try my best, I do, I just want to get along but it’s like he’d rather die than see me as his kid.”

“Okay, alright, c’mere,” JJ coaxed, holding his arms out for you to crawl into. You didn’t need any convincing, already in his lap before his arms were fully extended. “I got you, okay? Take a breath, calm down. You’re safe, you’re alright.”

You sniffled into his shoulder, slowly but surely beginning to calm down and realise what you’d done. You’d shared. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel like the world was ending. It actually felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you could finally breathe for the first time in years.

“Should we go to bed? Hm?” He murmured, running his fingers soothingly through your hair.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly.

He stood up, lifting you with him into his arms as he kicked open the porch door and walked through the house to the spare bedroom that he called his own. He dropped you onto the bed, flicking on the lamp and closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he stripped down into his boxers and put his shirt over your head, climbing into bed beside you.

“You want to talk about it?” He asked, kissing the back of your neck.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you mumbled back, exhausted from the confession.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Is there a reason you ain’t brought this up before?”

“It’s— compared to what you and the others have been dealt in the parent region, it’s nothing. It’s stupid, really, I don’t even know why I’m so upset,” you explained. Both of you knew it wasn’t stupid, it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. No one deserves to feel unwanted in their own family.

“Don’t compare,” he murmured, rolling you over so you were facing him. “Just because someone’s broken their leg don’t mean your paper cut doesn’t hurt.”

You let out a tearful giggle, shaking your head at him. “That’s a stupid analogy.”

“Maybe,” he smiled back softly, happy he’d been able to see you smile even if just for a moment. “Doesn’t make it a lie. I don’t want you feelin’ like that at all, but I hate the fact you’ve been feeling it alone. And me, the Pogues, we’re your family. You’re always wanted here.”

“Thanks, JJ,” you whispered, eyes welling up once again. This time it wasn’t from the pain, it was from the fact you knew he was telling the truth.

“Go to sleep, baby. We’ll talk in the mornin’, over Kie’s blueberry pancakes,” he said, stroking your cheek. He leant forward and pressed a soft but firm kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It would always hurt that you weren’t ever going to feel whole in your own home, but at least you were lucky enough to have a second one. One that truly wanted you, no matter the circumstances.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Undead! Knight! x Princess! Reader Headcanons

Ko-fi link: ☕️

It was horrible enough to always be in your room in your family’s castle as a normal princess.

It was even worse when you were a cursed princess and had to be drugged so your curse didn’t spread.

In reality the curse wasn’t really a curse. Just a consequence of genetics.

Simply put, it was your parent’s fault. You see your mother had never told your father that her parents were some of the most evil sorcerers in the land.

It was easy for your mother to cover up the horns and bat like wings with her magic. She thought your father’s human genetics and royal divine blessings from the castle’s magicians would rid any child of hers of her shameful lineage.

But unfortunately, life likes to play the games, and the truth always come out one way or another.

So imagine your father’s surprise when his divinely blessed baby girl came out with black and purple hair, dark purple eyes with vertical slit pupils and black nails. Looking exactly like her maternal grandmother.

It was then your mother was forced to tell her beloved husband the truth.

Your parents still loved you, but you were to be kept inside the castle at all times.

Very few were trusted to be around you. You never had a true childhood celebrating festivals like the other nobles and village children.

Then, puberty hit and your magic started to develop. It started off small like levitation, purple auras, and energy balls. Then it increased to your presence killing flowers and plant life, and a more bat-like shadow.

Finally, the royal sorcerers developed pills for you to take to reverse your progress. It came at the price of your emotions and very sanity.

And so one day, when you were 13, you skipped taking a couple of them and ran away from your personal knight, and into the village . It didn’t last long, but it felt good to touch grass and have wind brushing your skin.

This cycle of running away from the different personal knights your parents got you continued until you were 20. That’s when the royal sorcerers divulged in a dark magic, and revived your kingdom’s greatest knight who had tragically died as a young man defending your kingdom to be your personal knight.

Sure, he’s been dead for over 100 years and missing an arm, but that can easily be fixed with a regeneration spell.

That night, Benedict Solomon, arose from the grave with orders to protect you.

Still in the armor he was buried in, he barged into your room and got on one knee.

“Here..to serve…you…”

You were surprised your family would go so far as to make an undead knight for you, but at least he looked tolerable.

The long dirty finger nails and extremely cracked lips were unnerving, but at least his body and skin seemed to be doing ok.

Besides, you’d run away from him again just like you did all the others so it doesn’t matter what he looks like.

That night, you sneak away into the night and head towards the village.

You cross the bridge, and you feel a strong hand on your shoulder.

“No…bad! Stay..in castle.”

You push his hands off you and continue onward.

Your back hits the ground as Benedict pins your body.

“I said no!”

His feral golden eyes dilate, focusing on you like prey.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll go back to my room!” You exclaim, pushing him off you.

His hand is tight around your wrist as you walk back to the castle. You look back at the village and see the dancing people in the tavern.

Benedict throws you into your room, locking the door behind him. He opens the drawer and pulls out all the pills you threw away.

He puts four in his hand and shoves them down your throat.

You scream as the pills go down your throat, almost choking you. You cough and Benedict strokes your face.

“Good..girl..beautiful.”

For the rest of the night, you face the window because Benedict has been staring at you like a statue making sure you don’t make a run for the door.

You hear the floors creak, and Benedict closes the window and curtains. He then sits on the bed, and starts spooning you. His arms tight like a corpse’s grip.

His cracked lips kiss your cheek.

You try to move away, but he wraps his legs around yours.

“No escape.”

For once, you realize that you can’t get rid of him like the others.

And so you spend the night with his split and cracked lips on your skin. Wary of his mouth opening up and sinking his teeth into your neck.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - blurb - the perfect day

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

Rafe tapped his fingers against the edge of his jeans, placing one foot in front of the other, the grass crunched under his sneaker clad feet and the smell of white roses drifted from the bouquet that laid dangling from his hand up to his nose. White roses were her favorite and he knew that each time he laid them on top of the grass she was laid to rest under that she smiled that breathtakingly beautiful Molly Cameron smile. He was sure that would happen today, too. He made it to the Cameron family plot that he had purchased under the guidance of his father as soon as he and Molly got engaged. Though he and Ward had never gotten along, Ward loved Molly like his own daughter and she made his son a good man, so he provided every bit of guidance that he could to his son about adulthood. That included purchasing the plot his young wife now laid in. Though Rafe didn’t understand the gesture of his father then, he did now and he wondered if he had ever thanked him for it. In fact, he was sure he hadn’t and maybe thankfulness was due. He moved, pondering the wedge between him and his father, a wedge so deep that he denied her of moving home to the outer banks and starting a family. The wedge that he let fester coming between them only hours before she died. It was his fault and he knew that. His feet planted parallel to the headstone he had picked out in the days following her departure from his universe as he pushed the guilt away into the deepest closet in his mind that he could find. It still hurts – the pain of her passing was ever present, even amidst the years that had been placed between the trauma that it induced within him. He hadn’t come to harp on what was lost, though. He came to share the beauty of his world with her, the beauty of you, the beauty of the ring that was burning a hole in his pocket and the question that lingered in his heart. He had done this before, he had asked the question and planned the event and yet, he felt like his throat was closing. He felt the guilt rise within him. If he asked you the same question, would it mean that she was forgotten? He couldn’t stomach the thought. Because quite frankly, without Molly there would be no Rafe. There wouldn’t be this version of him, the version that you held so close to your heart and he knew that and as much as he loved you, he wasn’t sure that he’d be okay if he had to forget her. So, here he was, staring at the face of the headstone that read her name about to beg for her advice, like only he could, longing for her sweet disposition and gentle smile as she would tuck his long locks behind his ears and tell him that it was okay.

“Hey, pretty girl.” 

He spoke softly, laying the bouquet on the edge of her headstone and stepping back, placing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

“I brought your favorite. I’m sorry it’s been so long, Moll. The hours at the hospital got a little crazy and the girl I told you about, she got hurt pretty bad so I took care of her for a while.” 

He smiled softly as he sat in front of her headstone, stretching out his legs at a one hundred and twenty degree angle before dangling his arms across them and holding his wrist in the opposite hand. He began thinking of how far you’d come. Your leg still hurt sometimes, but you were healthy and that’s all he could ask for after the trauma you’d endured. You were lucky to be alive – he was lucky that you were alive. He was no stranger to that truth. 

“That’s actually why I’m here, baby. I still am taking care of her. Well, she’s all better now, but I want to keep taking care of her, you know? Like – for forever; I wanna ask her to marry me.” 

He swallowed thickly, the words had come out. They had finally been spoken in the air that sat between him and Molly. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to feel at that moment, he just needed to tell her, he just needed to share this news with his very best friend in the entire world. Tears leaked down his chiseled cheeks as he imagined her embrace and her warmth. He could picture her still when he closed his eyes and even now, as his eyelashes met the skin of his cheeks, he could see her sitting criss-cross applesauce in that olive green dress that she loved smiling back at him. It was like she was there with him and that’s all he had wanted. That smile – it was enough to ease his nerves and convince him that she wanted him to be happy and to move on and that this was an inherently good thing. All of those things he knew she meant from beyond the grave in true Molly fashion and the thought made everything okay. He moved, wiping the tears from his face and retrieving his phone and a black velvet box from his pocket. He flicked through some photos for only a moment, before pulling up the latest one he had taken of you. You were smiling ear to ear while you ate a sandwich from your favorite breakfast cafe, mayo littered your upper lip and you held out your sandwich for Rafe to take a bite of, which he did as soon as he snapped the picture. 

“Moll, this is her. Isn’t she beautiful?” 

He questioned and he could picture Molly smiling in return and agreeing with him. He showed her a few more pictures from anniversaries and dates and even ones from your accident, telling her all about your quirks and your job and the wonderful person you were. He knew that you were sent directly from Molly’s grasp and he knew that she would’ve loved you – that she did from wherever she was. He was simply thankful for her divine intervention and for how his life was about to change again. 

-

The cement was heavy against your bare feet as you fully sprinted from your car, not even bothering to lock it. The sensation of dirt and grime entering the pores of your toes and heels was present, but remained ignored as you ran. You had rushed through traffic after leaving work early, a phone call from Jenni placing you into a panic. The words ‘Rafe’s been hurt’ echoing through your ears as your body went into the same amount of shock you’d felt only years prior as you were wheeled through the very same doors you were running toward. You came to a stop and looked up, the red letters on the outside of the hospital that read ‘emergency’ made your heart jump to your throat. As many times as you’d seen them, you had never really understood what they meant. They meant that your person was in trouble. You rushed through the doors of the emergency room, frantically searching for your sweet boy. Jenni met you where you stood at the receptionists’ desk and gave you a quick hug, you clung to her for dear life, like if you didn’t hold on you were going to fall and if you fell, you’d never stop. 

“Jenni, where is he?!” 

You asked frantically as you pulled away, searching the room for any sign of Rafe 

— any sign that he was okay, any sign that his heart was still beating.  

“Sweetheart calm down, okay? He’s okay.” 

“Jenni, what the f-fuck?” 

Your lips tremble in sync with the words coming out of your mouth. “Can I see him?” You muttered.

“Of course baby girl, follow me.” 

She instructed and you did as she said, following her down corridor after corridor and into the elevator as she stopped on the ICU floor. Your stomach dropped as she led you to the very same room you laid in for months. Only now, his name was on the outside of the door. You entered slowly behind Jenni, scared of what he was going to look like and just what had gone so wrong while he had been tucked away in the safety of the hospital. How had his work day led to this? You were confused as you entered, Jenni stepping away to reveal the room closed off and two curtains separating the two of you from seeing what remained inside. 

“Jenni, what is this?” 

You asked confusedly, wondering why she was prolonging the inevitable. 

“How bad is he hurt? Please, tell me right now!” 

You yelped, your voice betraying you as it went weak. 

“Open the curtains, sweetheart. He’s okay, just like I said. I promise.” 

She smiled as she left the room, closing the door behind her and placing a do not disturb sign around the handle before returning to work. You did as she said, approaching the curtains, swallowing thickly as you pulled them apart. There he stood, arm in black sling and that stupid Rafe Cameron smirk plastered across his lips. He was hurt, but he was indeed fine, just like Jenni had said. 

“Hey, beautiful. It took ya long enough. What if I had been dying, huh?” 

He asked, cheekily and you took in the room around him, candles floating in water inside of hurricane glass scattered all over the floor. Amidst them were white roses and pink tulip petals, Rafe’s way of letting both of his girls share this moment together. 

“Sweet boy, what are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?!”

You whisper yelled, as you completed the journey between where he stood and the door. He stood up straight, the white dress shirt his chest was adorned with crinkling at his small movements. The sling his arm was nestled tightly inside of sat at an angle, elevating his limb. 

“Hey pretty girl. Glad you’re here.” 

He said, grabbing your face as you got close enough to touch. He broke the space between you as he leaned his forehead against yours. You breathed him in for a moment, just happy he was still here, that he was alive after all. 

“Rafferty, baby, what did you do to yourself?” 

You questioned, empathy and care lacing your irises. 

“Fell down some stairs. Can you believe that? Rafe Cameron and stairs?” 

He joked and you frowned at his misfortune and clumsy nature. 

“What’s the verdict?” 

You questioned, cautiously. 

“Broke my shoulder and my collarbone. Dr. Jacobs put it back together. Don’t worry, sweet girl. I'll be good as new soon.” 

He replied, gently rubbing the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. 

“You better be. You fixed all my bones just to break yours, what’s that about, huh?” 

You joked, punching his good shoulder, but he could see you were upset at his predicament and it made his chest hurt. 

“The Universe must’ve known I needed to slow down. I’ve been scared out of my mind all day.” 

You were taken aback by his confession. 

“Are you in pain, baby? Can I touch you?” 

You questioned and his eyes softened, pulling you into a tight embrace nuzzling his chin into the top of your head. 

“It’s sore, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” 

You nodded pulling back from him, noting the candles again. 

“What is all this, Rafferty?” 

You questioned him confusedly again, knowing that as sweet as Rafe was, he definitely didn’t set all this up with one arm simply to ease the blow of telling you he got hurt at work. 

“This is why I made Jenni call you, sweet girl.” 

He said, smiling ear to ear like he knew something that you didn’t. 

“I thought she called me because you got hurt?” 

You questioned, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Well – that’s one reason.” 

He smiled smugly. 

“Spit it out, Rafferty!” 

You said, annoyance and laughter dancing together. 

“Okay, okay. Well, I’ve wanted to ask you this really important question for a while, baby and I had finally gotten things in line to do it today in central park. But, then I fell down the stairs trying to get to the ER for a consult and so I had to change plans and I guess that’s how we ended up here.” 

You nodded in understanding, though you were still unsure what question he meant to ask and why he had to line anything up for it to happen. 

“You see – the day of your accident changed my perspective on a lot of things; love, friendship, the complexities of happiness and joy, and the most important thing it changed for me was the idea of marriage.” 

Your eyes almost popped out of your head at his revelation and suddenly, it all made sense. 

“Rafferty –” 

You interjected, but he stopped you. 

“No, let me finish, baby.” 

You placed your lips together in a tight line, wanting to soak up every word. 

“It changed things for me. When I lost Molly, I was in a hole of despair so deep that I didn’t think I’d ever get out of a-and then you show up and you ask me if you’re gonna die and I looked in your eyes and I just knew. I just knew that you were going to change my life, I just knew that I had to save you.” 

The emotion could be heard with every syllable he spoke. 

“You did – you did save me, Rafe. Thank you.” 

You whispered and he removed his hand from your grasp, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the same black velvet box that he had shown to Molly days prior. You audibly gasped as he struggled to get down to one knee and you followed him, kneeling in the same way he had. 

“You’re kinda ruining the whole me being on one knee thing, baby.” 

You laughed through watery eyes. 

“This feels more intimate – more us.” 

You replied and he nodded his head in agreement as he struggled to open the box with one hand. You aided him and looked down, the size of the diamond flooring you. It was beautiful in the same way that he was and you shouldn’t have expected anything less as you took in the cathedral setting the pear shaped diamond sat on. 

“I want you to be Mrs. Cameron, are you okay with that? W-will you be my wife, baby?” 

Your eyes profusely leaked tears as you nodded your head yes ferociously and pulled him close to you, kissing his lips gently and placing your forehead against his. 

“It would be the honor of my life.” 

You whispered before kissing him once more. 

“Rafe?” 

You questioned. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

He replied. 

“I just want you to know that this gesture means everything to me and I don’t ever want to take Molly’s place or make you feel like this is a requirement to be with me. I’d be happy even if we never got married. I didn’t even think you wanted to.” 

You said meekly and he felt his heart almost leap out of his chest. The feelings he had wrestled with prior to visiting Molly became ever present in his brain again. Why had he doubted you? When he knew you were good in the same way she was and you’d never ask more of him than what he was willing to give. You’d never want to step on her memory. 

“Baby, can I tell you something?” 

He asked and you nodded. 

“I bought this ring the week after you moved in. I knew you were going to be my wife, it just took me a while to get to a place where I was okay with the idea of loving you to the degree I loved her. Because if I lost you too – I just wouldn’t survive. I was scared that if I went there with you, I would forget her.” 

He spoke honestly. 

“Rafe, baby, as long as I’m around, I’ll never let you forget her.” 

You whispered, trailing your fingertip over his trembling lips as you leaned in to kiss him. 

-

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