#its managed to stay so fresh despite not even needing to

[figs-oliomedley]

Shoutouts to all the writers, literally h o w

[deebris]

Weight of Care

Simon Riley x little sister Reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: Simon, your older brother, has been your guardian since you were a baby. Amid the collapse of your family, he made the courageous choice to take you out of the house, raising you as if you were his own. However, despite being happy, your relationship is complicated. While you see Simon as a paternal figure, he struggles with the pain of being mistaken for one. His heart tightens every time you call him "daddy," and he thought you had managed to move past that—until you do it again one night.

Warnings: Just a little angst with a happy ending; reader is 6 years old.

Word count: 1.2k

“Did you brush your teeth?” Simon asked upon hearing your muffled laughter. He opened the bedroom door, its walls now marked by your numerous drawings. Toys scattered across the floor shifted as he entered, and with the first step he took inside, something cracked underfoot, breaking.

“How many times have I told you that you need to put your toys away after playing?” he said firmly, shooting you a stern look. Simon hated messiness, but with you around, it seemed impossible to keep everything in order.

“I was going to put them away,” you murmured, embarrassed by the scolding. But your guilty expression quickly turned into a tearful grimace as your eyes fell your sheep, now shattered on the floor. “You broke it!” Your childish scream echoed through the room, and you hurried to gather the pieces with trembling hands.

“If you had put it away, this wouldn’t have happened,” he accused you, hoping it would serve as a lesson. Maybe then you would finally start to be more responsible with your things. And even knowing he was right, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at seeing your broken sheep.

Watching you wipe your tears with the sleeve of the pajamas and hearing sniffles made his heart soften. It was frustrating how he simply couldn’t stay mad at you. The last thing Simon wanted was for you to become a spoiled child, but in that moment, it was hard to maintain his sternness.

He already felt guilty for not being able to take care of you completely due to work, and knowing that Mrs. Trelawney, your babysitter, was much more lenient than he was only made everything harder. Every time Simon came home, you seemed more stubborn and whiny.  

“Come on, it’s time to sleep.” He lifted you by your armpits and placed you in bed, pulling up the yellow blanket that you loved so much. You had already taken a bath and were wearing clean lilac pajamas covered with stars. “I’ll buy you another one, you don’t need to cry.”  

“But it’s not the same,” you murmured as he collected the toy pieces from your hand, placing them on the dresser to throw away tomorrow. Some parts were sharp, so he checked your delicate hands, worried about possible cuts.  

“It’s the same,” he insisted, sighing tiredly as he tucked your feet under the blanket. Surprisingly, you didn’t argue, remaining strangely silent. “What’s wrong?”  

“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling bad for upsetting him. “I promise I’ll put it away.”

Your promise made him cast a quick glance at the bedroom floor, where pink, blue, and all other colored toys were scattered. Even your dolls were out of place, thrown in various corners. He still felt frustrated because you always said you would tidy up and never did, but this time it seemed different, so he decided to put a bit of faith in your word.  

“Tomorrow. Now you need to sleep.” He stood up to leave, but suddenly remembered something:  

“Teeth.” Simon said, and you blew near his face, letting him feel the freshness of mint on your breath. “Show me your tongue.” He spoke in a suspicious tone, knowing that you sometimes didn’t clean your mouth well. “Good.” He praised, satisfied to see you sticking your tongue out, then making a face, which made him laugh inside.  

He turned off the bedside lamp, watching you settle into the pillow, and began to move toward the door. But hearing your naive voice, he stopped in his tracks, his heart tightening:  

“Daddy, can I go to the museum with my class tomorrow?”  

“What?” Simon asked, stunned, still turned away from you, his hand frozen on the doorknob. Surprise echoed in his voice, mixed with a thread of worry. He slowly turned around, trying to decipher the expectation in your gaze.  

It had been so long since you last called him that. Simon thought he had finally managed to correct you after so many attempts, but he realized that wasn’t working. He had lost count of how many times he repeated that he was just your older brother, but deep down, he knew he was guilty. In trying to erase any trace of your father in your life, he had created a space where that confusion was natural. It was understandable that you saw him this way.  

“Miss Sarah is taking us to the museum tomorrow. Can I go?” You repeated the question, oblivious to the tension in his shoulders.  

“Why didn’t you ask earlier?” Simon swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.  

“I forgot,” you explained, sitting up in bed to grab a piece of paper from your backpack. It was a permission slip for guardians to sign, allowing the trip. “Please?” You pouted, holding the paper in one hand and one of your decorated pencils in the other, as if that could increase your chances.  

“To the museum?” He asked, his voice tinged with melancholy. Simon sat on the edge of the bed, already starting to sign his name on the line, but his mind wandered to a distant place, filled with his conflicting memories and feelings.  

The situation between you two was complicated. You were the only family Simon had left, a little girl. He still remembers when he found out that his mother was pregnant and, even more, the first time he saw you. He had been away from home for several years, and coming back always felt torturous. But the idea of having something so small and innocent waiting for him was what truly saved him. 

Simon took you from home long before your parents died, unable to bear the thought of you growing up in that environment. After his brother died, he projected all the fears and regrets an older brother could carry onto you. It was as if you were his only way to redeem himself for Tommy. You were so young that you barely remembered the rest of the family; for you, the world revolved around Simon.  

He didn’t even realize he was wandering until he felt you gently pull the paper from his hands. Your big eyes locked onto his for a moment, filled with concern, until you broke eye contact, standing to put the paper away and lie back down, pulling the blanket over yourself.  

“Are you okay?” You asked, noticing he was still standing there, lost in thought. The nervousness in your voice snapped Simon back to reality, bringing him to the stillness of the room, where silence hung between you.  

Simon thought of several things to say, like, “You know I’m your brother, right?” or “We’ve talked about this,” but it felt like a never-ending cycle. It was as if nothing could stop you from continuing to call him that. He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. He knew that, in practice, he played the role of a father in your life, something he chose for himself. Even so, every time he heard, a strange sensation coursed through his body.  

“Good night.” He simply said in his deep, familiar voice, but now, something different was in the air. For the first time, he didn’t try to correct or resist, finally allowing himself to accept the way you called him ‘daddy.’  

You hesitated for a moment, sensing something strange about him before responding softly: “Good night, Si.” And a faint smile formed on his lips, something rare, as if, at last, something had clicked into place.

Taglist: @aenishas

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tatted

words: 1k

warnings: established relationship, husband!rafe, tattoos

“mmm, good morning wifey.” rafe pulls you in closer to him, legs tangled together under the blanket.

“i’ll never get sick of hearing you call me that.” you smile, pressing a kiss to rafes chest as you snuggle into him, the morning light illuminating the room.

you’re both still on vacation mode, having just gotten back from your honeymoon two days ago. “i wish i didn’t have to get up, but i’ve got an appointment, baby.” “wait, what?” you whine, picking your head up. “you didn’t say anything about a doctors appointment.” your bottom lip pouts out, making rafe lean forward to kiss the frown off your face. 

“don’t worry, we will spend all day together as soon as i get back.” rafe slides himself out from underneath you, quickly heading to the closet to get dressed. he waited as long as possible to get out of bed, not wanting to part from you, but now having to rush out the door.

“mmm, i’ll probably stay in bed all day.” your body was still on maldives times, not even bothering to readjust to being back in the outer banks.

“perfect.” rafe leans over the bed, giving a kiss goodbye. “no need for my wife to even lift a finger.”

you smile at rafe, cupping his jaw to give him a firm kiss. “come home soon, i miss you already hubby.” 

--

“that was a long doctors appointment.” you frown as rafe reenters the house. you eventually dragged yourself out of bed, taking a shower and eating what you considered breakfast despite it being past noon.

“you know, darling” rafe says as he toes his shoes off, leaving them in the foyer. “i just said appointment, nothing about doctors.”

“what other type of appointments are there?” your brow furrows together as rafe joins you on the couch.

“tattoo.” rafe says with a shrug, making your eyes widen.

“you-you got a tattoo?” 

rafe raises his left hand. you finally realize he has a clear wrap covering his fingers. you take his hand gently in yours, looking through the film at the first letter of your name, complimented by a small heart on his ring finger.

“i’ll put the ring back on once it’s healed, but just in case i ever have to take it off, i need everyone to know that i’m still yours.” rafe says, waiting for your reaction.

“i love you.” you finally manage to get out, melting into rafe, making sure not to press against his hand as the red skin heals.

--

“i’ve got something for you baby!” rafe calls out, smiling as you skip into the kitchen.

“what is it?” you question, tilting your head to the side, expecting rafe to be holding something in his arms, but instead he lifts his loose sleeve, revealing fresh ink on his inner bicep. 

“whats it say?” you quickly move closer to read the script, eyes filling with tears when you realize that rafes newest tattoo is your wedding vows.

“oh.” you cover your mouth. “rafey, this is so sweet. i love it.” you press your lips against his. rafe clearly saw your reaction to the first tattoo, the way your eyes tracked over it whenever he moved his hands, the way you were practically begging to be fingered with just his tattooed finger, watching it disappear inside of you, the cold press of his ring against your cunt.

“love having reminders of the best day of my life on my body.” rafe never viewed himself as a tattoo guy, seeing himself as too indecisive, but his mind quickly changed when he realized they could all be dedicated to you, the one constant, the one steady thing in his life.

--

“i’m thinking about getting another tattoo.” rafe hums. its been a couple months and the script on his forearm is now fully healed. 

“really?” you hum. “what are you thinking, my name on your dick?” you joke, but rafe still cringes thinking about the needle dragging over his sensitive skin.

“definitely not. i was thinking your eyes on the back of my neck.” rafe turns, rubbing his hand over the area he was thinking.

“wouldn’t that hurt a lot?” you ask with a pout, but rafe just shrugs.

he makes an appointment the very same day, looking through all the pictures he has saved of you until he finds the perfect one. you’re smiling at him on the other side of the table on your two year anniversary of dating. 

he shows it off to you a week later, and you’re surprised how much you like it, kissing down his spine when you help him take his shirt off before looking at yourself in the eyes, but in tattoo form.

--

rafe won’t admit it to you, but he’s addicted to getting tattoos, wanting to cover his body in everything and anything relating to you. he does end up getting a few others, mostly to fill up what he feels are blankspots, a smattering of patchwork tattoos covering his body, along with a few more dedicated to you.

“rafey?” you call to him as he comes home, his hand now wrapped in clear plastic. 

“hey baby.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you eye the wrap until rafe turns his hand to reveal that he has the word married across the side, yet another reminder of your union.

“i was actually thinking…” you mumble before trailing off, not restarting your sentence until rafe nods at you to continue, looking at you expectantly. “i was actually thinking of getting a tattoo myself. just the letter r on my ring finger. to match yours.” 

you twist your ring on your hand shyly, not sure if rafe would like the idea of you getting tattoos. you’ve never shown any interest in getting them yourself, but you’ve had to take your ring off enough times to swim or wash dishes and don’t want to be without that reminder of rafe even for a short amount of time.

rafes smile stretches across his cheeks. “i thought you’d never ask, wifey.”

rafe sets an appointment for you with his favorite tattooer before you can second guess yourself.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie

[shalomniscient]

convenience, part 1 || tsukishiro yanagi x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Your heat, rather inconveniently, comes a whole two days early in the middle of your shift at your job. Your boss drops you off at a heat clinic, and you manage to get paired with who you think might just be the most perfect alpha in all of New Eridu.

cw. omegaverse, alpha yanagi, omega reader, all the usual omv stuff like knotting & breeding

notes. wrote this in a haze of horny delirium for tsukishiro yanagi. yes there will be a part 2 at some point because i will most certainly slip and slide back into horny delirium for tsukishiro yanagi one of these days

Heat clinic.

Such a nice, polite word for what’s essentially a fuck-centre.

Yes, you know in reality it’s just another facet of reproductive healthcare services, and there’s nothing really intimate about it—if the dozens of screenings, tests, and legal documents were anything to go by—but the concept itself is still a little funny. The idea that something so inherently primal could just be dressed up in some clinical wording and a facade with the aesthetic of a dentist’s office and suddenly be completely socially acceptable.

A foggy part of your brain is trying to do the same right now and draft up some polite excuse as to why you had to leave work early today, but with the way Yanagi’s cock is literally rearranging your insides, it’s an effort in futility.

You almost melt against the sheets with another low, drawn out moan feeling her all the way in your damn stomach. You barely even remember how you got here; your heat, the damn unpredictable thing it is, had hit early while you were still on your shift. Staying in the store would’ve been a terrible idea, what with it almost being rush hour, and so your poor boss—a beta man, thankfully—had sped you on over to the nearest heat clinic in Lumina Square. And you had writhed and squirmed on the bed that had too many too sterile pillows for God knows how long until they finally managed to send an alpha in to help you. She’d smelled of fresh laundry and warm bread and by that point there really wasn’t much else you wanted to think about besides getting her scent all over you immediately.

“Yanagi,” you whine, wiggling your hips petulantly at her slow, controlled pace. It’s strange, how well her name fits on her tongue despite you only learning it a few—minutes? hours? you don’t even know, honestly—ago. The alpha behind you croons low in her throat, leaning down to brush the bare, sweat-damp skin of your shoulder with her nose. But instead of that skin-to-skin you expect, you get smooth leather instead, and you remember that this is a damn heat clinic, and all heat clinic alphas have to wear a Mask.

It’s a safety precaution, and a sensible one at that; having an omega be accidentally marked during what should just be a transactional encounter would be horrifying for both the alpha and omega, and a world of legal pain for the clinic. Hence the invention of the Mask—a generally non-invasive little leather contraption that covers the alpha’s mouth completely, with well placed openings to still allow for easy breathing and speech. You’re normally more grateful for its existence in keeping omegas such as yourself safe, but right now it may as well have been invented by the devil.

“Breathe,” Yanagi reminds you, her voice ever so soft in a way you’ve never heard an alpha be before. Your previous heat partners, while still somewhat gentle—you’d specified as such in your documentation—still tended to have that typical alpha-ness to them. Demanding and commanding, eager to take and wring as many orgasms from you as they can manage. Which is, of course, exactly what you need, deep in the throes of heat as you are, but it leaves you with a rather heavy mental weight after that takes a while to lift. But Yanagi is calm, measured, and careful, even as she sinks balls deep into you, knot bumping the stubborn ring of your entrance. It makes your basest omega instinct preen with satisfaction at being so tenderly cared for, that you find yourself thinking, quite stupidly, that you could get used to this—to Yanagi.

She coaxes you out of that little reverie with the brush of her thumb against your clit. You jolt, startled but pleased, rocking forward slightly onto the sheets ruined with your slick. Yanagi follows with a roll of her hips, bumping the head of her wonderful cock against that spongy collection of nerves and drawing another warbling cry of her name from your lips. She moves with such patient elegance and finesse that you’d think she wasn’t in rut and had to find refuge in the nearest heat clinic like you. Or, rut clinic, in her case. This particular branch in Lumina Square did both, and what a blessing that turned out to be.

“Yanagi, faster,” you urge, whiny and out of your mind with lust, looking over your shoulder at her. Soft pink eyes meet your own, and her pupils blow just a little wider. You hear her breathe in deep through her mouth, the sound amplified by the Mask, and a primal giddiness runs down your spine. You know what she’s doing; inhaling your scent and letting it coat the inside of her mouth, her throat, and letting it fan the flames of her own lust. She relents with the quietest growl you’ve heard from an alpha, drawing her hands back to rest them on your hips, palms flat against your skin.

And then she’s snapping her hips forward, fucking you, and you’re completely and utterly gone. Your head drops, cheek against the mattress as your arms give out under you, and you melt against the sheets into a delicate arch that has Yanagi twitching inside you. Your brain drips out of your pussy around her cock, not a damn thought in your mind beyond the steady, rhythmic drives of her railing you senseless. You can feel her knot swelling, bumping against the lips of your cunt and it only makes you squeeze tighter around her.

Yanagi pants behind you, nails digging more into the meat of your hips. The scent of her floods your senses, and she almost smells like home were it not for the underlying, extremely faint but still somewhat noticeable scent of ozone and iron. She’s testing the waters with her knot, seeing how much you’re ready to give by pushing it forward ever so slightly then drawing back. It makes your fingers curl in the sheets, more needy whines falling from your lips as you beg her to stuff you full. Yanagi shudders at that, leaning down to—or attempting to—nose the dip of your spine between your shoulder blades.

“I’m going to knot you,” she promises gently, and you mewl in anticipation. “Be sweet for me, okay? Breathe, and relax. You’re doing so well, good girl.”

Holy fuck.

“Likes to be praised” was not an option even given to you on the forms, but somehow, either by luck or intuition, Yanagi had struck absolute gold. You nearly cum then and there at the praise, moaning unashamedly as your cunt clenches like a vise around her cock. Yanagi makes a small, choked noise in the back of her throat, clawing at your hips to steady herself again. It takes her a moment and several calming breaths before she can resume her slow press into you and you bite the sheets to make up for the fact you can’t sink your teeth into her shoulder instead.

Yanagi is already big, deliciously so, but her knot is certainly something else. You’re suddenly grateful for the generous amount of lube that was provided in the room and that Yanagi had the sense to use before she stuffed you full of her cock. It makes the stretch of her controlled slide into you far more bearable—not that you would’ve given up even if it wasn’t. Heat crazed as you are, you’re sure you’d find a way. Thankfully, Yanagi’s foresight made such extremes unnecessary, and she nuzzles soothingly at your neck, by your scent gland as she inches deeper and deeper, stretching you more and more until her knot slips fully inside you with a wet pop.

Your eyes roll back into your head and you cum with a loud cry, inner walls spasming and fluttering around her thick length. You almost feel like you might pass out, utterly light headed, cumming not in spite of the stretch but because of it. Fuck, Yanagi might just have ruined you for any other alpha. You feel your slick spray out and coat your thighs despite the knot buried inside you, and you make a noise between a moan and a sob as your orgasm rips through you viciously. Yanagi rocks and grunts behind you, riding that knife’s edge of stimulation until she’s tipping off of it herself, releasing your hips in favor of bracing herself over you, palms bracketing your head as she spills into you with a stifled, drawn out groan. You feel her throb inside you, pulsing with each jet of cum she deposits into your eager cunt. You can’t help but preen at the sensation of being filled so thoroughly, which Yanagi returns with a low, soothing croon.

She makes sure to lie on her side to recover, deceptively strong yet slim arms holding you close. It’s a welcome reprieve from the many alphas who would simply flop on top of you and crush you into the mattress, and you make a pleased noise, your brain buzzing with happy, satiated chemicals. Her cosy scent just makes you relax further, sweet honey on fresh toast, like home, and you find your eyelids drooping. Yanagi notices, and a lilting, melodic laugh resonates through the Mask.

“Rest,” she says gently, a hand caressing your side, “you did well.”

You have some time to kill anyway, knotted together as you both are. So you take her suggestion, and drift off into a satisfied slumber. What happens next is for your heat-free brain to deal with, but you’re certain of at least one thing: you’re not spending your next heat with anyone other than her.

When you wake, you wake woefully bereft.

Your thighs are parted, and you hiss when something wet and cold touches your skin. You blink open your eyes blearily, and find Yanagi looking down at you from where she kneels by your side, running a washcloth along your inner thigh. Her Mask is off, set on the bedside table now that both of you are somewhat stable enough to head back home and weather the rest of your respective heat and ruts privately. Her lips are curved into a small, glossy smile, and a pair of red-rimmed glasses rest delicately on the bridge of her nose.

“Did you rest well?” she asks, smoothing the washcloth down your other thigh. “I hope you don’t mind that I took some initiative. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or sticky when waking up.”

It takes you a while to find your voice, but when you do find it, it’s utterly wrecked. Yanagi flushes slightly at the sound when you speak, looking ridiculously cute for someone who just gave you the most intense orgasm of your life.

“Yes to the first, no to the second,” you answer, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Yanagi’s smile broadens, and she shakes her head lightly. “I should be thanking you—my rut hit early out of nowhere, and if you weren’t willing…”

“I could say the same for you,” you rasp wryly, watching as she diligently cleans you. She takes care not to give too much stimulation to your sensitive sex, but makes sure to clean up the remaining drops of her cum that still leak from you. “I guess we both got lucky.”

“Quite,” Yanagi agrees, and you see her throat bob as she tries not to focus on the way her seed drips out of your cunt. “In any case, you were… very helpful. Thank you.”

You manage a dry chuckle at that. What a polite alpha. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

The flush on her cheeks deepens ever so slightly, and she ducks her gaze away from yours, almost bashful. She sets the cloth down on a disposal bin on the bedside table, then turns to grab something further down the bed. A surprised noise leaves your lips when you see what it is: your clothing, all neatly folded. And if your nose is telling you the truth—

“I… took the liberty to scent your shirt,” she admits, still not meeting your eyes. “Just to tide you over until you make it home. It should deter any other alphas from trying anything.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. You wonder if you’re dreaming—do alphas this nice really exist? You’ve met your fair share of decent alphas, but they all have that typical alpha arrogance about them. If she hadn’t just knotted you, you might have thought she was an omega with how tender she’s being, and you find yourself thinking for the second time today how you could get so used to this.

“Thank you,” you say eventually. Yanagi nods, relieved, then rises from the bed. She’s already clothed; although, she didn’t take much of her clothes off while fucking you in the first place, just popping a few buttons of her shirt and hiking her skirt up enough to get it out of the way after ditching her corset. She fixes the tassels of her tie, ready to head out the door, and the words blurt out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Do you want to do this again?”

Your jaw clicks shut as soon as Yanagi stills, turning to face you with a puzzled look on her face. She blinks, brows furrowing as she considers your words. “This… again?”

“There’s an option for, uh— scheduled sessions between an alpha and an omega, if they choose,” you explain, trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. “It saves on hoping for another presentation to be available when your heat or rut rolls around.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Yanagi hums, eyes drifting to the side as she takes a moment to consider.

“It’d be convenient,” you continue, unable to help yourself from pressing a little more. If you sound desperate, you can’t be bothered to be ashamed. You’d rather lose your dignity than this damn perfect alpha before you. “And you’re someone who likes convenience and routine, right?”

Yanagi raises a brow. “How did you figure that?”

“Well,” you shrug, attempting nonchalance, “I suppose it was a lucky guess. How did you know I liked being praised?”

Yanagi turns beet red at that, a palm shooting up to cover half her face. Even her ears are a delicate blush colour. “It just… felt right,” she mumbles, her home-like scent thick with embarrassment. You chuckle softly at that.

“See? I think this could be mutually beneficial, Yanagi. What do you say?”

The time it takes her to think feels like it stretches on forever. You can almost see the gears on her head turning, analysing, as if weighing the costs and benefits over every last detail of your proposal. Those pink eyes gleam with an intensity you can’t help but feel drawn to in a way you’ve never felt before with any alpha. Eventually, she turns back to you with a small, polite smile.

“We could give it a shot.”

You grin, feeling relief flood your system so strongly you nearly fall back onto the bed. “Sounds great. I’ll see you next month, then?”

“Next month,” Yanagi returns, and then she slips out the door with the click of heels on cold tile. You flop back onto the pillows when the door closes, unable to stifle a giddy, girlish laugh from spilling from your lips.

God, for once in your life, you can’t wait for your next heat.

[mandalhoerian]

(2) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Eight years ago, during the worst summer festival of your life, you cross paths with a certain seal for the first time.

genre: fluff, comedy | wc: 4K | read on ao3

< previous | next >

note: YES, THIS IS A SERIES! I hope you'll bear with me as I'm not actively editing/proofreading my writing and am going with the flow for the most part. Rafayel will also stay as a seal in the next chapter which centers around how he came to be smitten with the reader, so PLEASE PLEASE HANG TIGHT WE'RE GETTING THERE. I hope you enjoy!!!!

Ah, sweet summer festival. You're fifteen.

The entire archipelago is in motion tonight — a grand spectacle brought to life in the unofficial capital Salverna, which is also where you were born and raised, by throngs of locals with visitors pouring in from the mainland for an evening of festivities. Decorated boats crawl like jeweled beetles across the bay beneath a moonbeam sky, torches flickering like amber blossoms amidst colorful lanterns suspended overhead, painting faces in warm splashes of light. Instruments are tuned to perfect pitch, ready to launch into jigs and reels once revelers spill into dancing rings. Children sprint around bonfires with cheeks flushed by sugar, laughter ringing like silver bells in the breeze. Farther along, games fill the streets — prizes stuffed inside balloons perched precariously atop slender sticks, targets waiting to be pierced by dart tips, bobbing heads eager for coins — competing for attention with the delectable aroma of spiced sausage, roasted meat, skewers, sticky cinnamon treats, and fresh fruit piled high for sampling. Even the night's salty breath tastes like sunshine, and despite everything feeling faintly familiar, somehow still manages to seem entirely fresh.

If only you'd been there from the beginning.

No, you were here. The whole day.

At the docks, which is the farthest away from the main event.

Hauling seafood and chasing down lost tourists like some unpaid festival guide.

The family ferry business consisting of multiple vessels is the only one making direct trips between the mainland and the archipelago. Usually, things run smoothly — your parents know this route like the back of their hands, and during normal weeks, the boats run on a fairly consistent schedule with only the occasional minor detour to accommodate delayed travelers. Renting smaller boats out to tourists helps maintain some steady income for maintenance expenses during quieter months, although the real money comes from transporting passengers year-round.

But big events like this summer festival change everything. The mainland port is overflowing with people packed like sardines in a tin, and everyone scrambles for transport space like sharks smelling blood. It's impossible to accommodate every arrival simultaneously, even though Dad doubled the ferry service to operate nearly nonstop — one boat shuttling incoming guests while its twin carries locals back and forth between islands, and even then it isn't enough. People are forced to wait hours for passage, which inevitably leads to chaos erupting.

And the locals ferry doesn't just transport passengers. It hauls festival supplies — crates of seasonal produce shipped to the islands via mainland distributors, stacks upon stacks of boxes labeled FRAGILE in thick black marker, paper fans for the parade, props for the pageant, a seemingly endless list of necessary items for the vendors, bands, food stands, street performers, the barrels of festival cider rolling onto the deck, stacks of pastries needing careful hands to avoid toppling, baskets of flowers meant for decorating stalls that nearly got crushed in the shuffle — you name it — the list of deliveries keeps growing by the hour. And no one has extra hands to spare to deliver all this cargo to its final destinations.

Well, actually, one person does. Namely, you.

It started small. Mom catching you right as you tried to slip away this morning, asking to help with boarding real quick, and if you could take some packages along the way... It was easy to agree, at first — help a few elderly tourists steady themselves as they stepped from the ferry, answer questions from confused festival-goers trying to navigate between islands, toss a sack or two over your shoulder for the vendor working nearby. But an hour later, you were hauling half a crate uphill when one of the wheels broke loose, scattering fireworks across cobblestones in glittering disarray, leaving you running through town chasing them all down under curious gazes of the locals who saw the explosion...

And the moment the ferry docked, suddenly it was all hands on deck. One trip in, another out. Then, next thing you knew, you were the one handling tickets and guiding stragglers toward their destination, organizing groups, shouting helpful tips about what to avoid and what not to eat so you are not about to have people get sick on board and clean off their vomit, answering questions about local attractions and restaurant specialties, calling out to Dad who drove the ferry like it was child's play, warning the older folks and kids not to fall off because the last thing your family really needs is to be sued by someone stupid falling overboard...

And the entire time, you were in the dress you'd picked out specifically for the occasion. Thinking one more trip, and you could finally join your friends in the festivities...

A whole shift later, there are no celebrations awaiting you. No bonfire parties with the music so loud and joyous you could feel it thrumming through the ground, no crowded bars filled to bursting with cheerful singing and dancing, no raffle stalls offering chances to win souvenirs and free meals for years, no fireworks bursting across the night sky so brilliant they chased away the darkness.

Just you with your dress ruined and ripped because someone couldn't watch where they were going while drunk and collided straight into you and left you soaked in cheap beer, and the hem of it torn apart from you desperately trying to fix your mistake after misplacing the boxes of merch you were supposed to haul, again. Your friends probably already enjoying every aspect of the event, laughing their asses off in pure delight without caring for what you missed or had endured all day, knowing you were supposed to arrive with them to witness the greatest part of the summer celebration together.

With angry tears gathering at the inner corners of your eyes, you let the bags drop onto the dock with a harsh thump, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Maybe you're expecting an argument. Maybe you want to pick a fight because the frustration had been stewing ever since you woke up today and demanded release. Or maybe you hope your father would give you permission to go enjoy your own life, rather than force you to suffer his. But none of those comes to pass. Instead, he merely glances up with a tired look, holding your resentful stare before sighing heavily and scrubbing his face wearily with calloused, wrinkled hands.

“You said it would be quick,” you snap, voice shaking. “You said I could go like hours ago. The day is over!"

You choke back the wobble in your tone, biting harshly into your lower lip, hoping it'll prevent tears from leaking out even though it hardly hurts enough to distract you.

"Look, we're in the middle of peak season..."

"Which means peak profit for our business! Couldn't you have just hired someone extra to fill in?! Why did it have to be me?!"

"No other staff is available on such a short notice, especially during a big event." Dad shrugs weakly in apology, the gesture lacking any defensiveness or remorse. He looks drained, exhausted. And still, his priorities remain firmly fixed elsewhere. "Sorry, honey. Next week I'm hiring additional staff permanently, but for now — just one more hour, okay? You know we don't extend our services after the night falls and that's why—"

“No!” The frustration spills over before you can swallow it down. “It’s never ‘just a little longer.’ It’s always one more trip, one more errand, one more thing! I’m always the one stuck here!”

Dad frowns and straightens his spine slowly like a looming anime villain, wiping sweat from his brow. "Don't raise your tone on me like that, I'm not one of your little friends. This is nothing. When you become captain, you'll have to endure far more work."

"I did everything you ask and suddenly my tone is the issue?!" You gesture wildly at your ruined dress, at the damp stains and torn fabric clinging to your skin. “Look at me! I was supposed to be there with everyone else, and now I can’t even show up like this—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Dad's voice turns sharp, exasperated. “It’s just a dress.”

"And now everyone probably hates me because I've skipped yet another celebration and ghosted them!" you huff and puff like an enraged bull despite his interruption.

"What's going on?" Mom hurries over from the harbor shop, stepping between you and your father before tempers flare even further. She takes in the scene at a glance and sighs deeply — though whether out of disappointment or irritation, you can't tell — carefully setting aside several stacks of receipts. "Are you two seriously bickering about nonsense when you should both be working?"

“I’m not being dramatic! I’m sick of this!” You throw your hands into the cold, humid sea breeze as though casting your complaints upon the tides, unable to keep the tremble from your fingers or the tears from streaking down your face. Hot drops patter against the faded wood planks beneath your feet. "“I work just as hard as you do, I never say no, but the second I want something for myself—"

Mom immediately gets what's going on, and alerts you to lower your voice by pointedly widening her eyes and thinning her lips. The entire dock is witnessing the argument and turning their heads to listen in at this point, but you don't care. Everybody should hear about this injustice.

"Yes, honey, I know," Mom hisses, "And we appreciate how hard you're trying, believe me. But — just one more trip, alright? Your friends will wait a bit longer for you, won’t they? Don't forget this isn't just about you. The archipelago depends on us running our business steadily and reliably."

And there it is. That unspoken expectation, that quiet assumption that you’ll always choose responsibility over what you want. That you’ll always understand.

Your throat tightens, choking back the bitterness burning in the pit of your stomach, and for a long moment, neither you nor your mom break the silence, and her stare remains fixed somewhere above your shoulder. Only Dad says anything, grunting a vague affirmative that tells you nothing more than your mother did; work must come first, whatever personal sacrifice must be made for that to happen.

You step back. “Forget it.”

“Honey—”

“I said forget it!”

You're running hot and cold, the rush of blood in your ears don't let your parents' protests in as you rush into the only place where you can be alone right now, the ticket counter cabin with the "CLOSED" sign on it, slamming the door shut behind you loudly and letting the cool glass barrier isolate you from the rest of reality. It's just you inside. There's a desk, empty paperwork piled neatly at the corner, a cash register. An old computer screen covered by dust. Shelves crammed with stacked-up folders and manuals. A window overlooking the harbor. This is also the place to leave your belongings at before clocking into work, just beside the locker of where the attendant usually leaves theirs.

On a whim, you snatch up your jacket and backpack before fleeing out into the crowd again. It's so easy to lose your parents along the wharf because of the teeming masses.

Your phone is buzzing rapidly in your bag with Dad and Mom both probably threatening to drag you back by your ear, so you take it out and switch to airplane mode before tossing it back in with a grimace. You're not allowed to be out this late without supervision (much less sneaking away from work), but right now, there's not an adult in existence that could compel you to walk willingly back into this mess. Screw it. Being grounded for life isn't any worse than being imprisoned on this stupid island forever anyway, you think, huffing quietly in protest as you stomp down the street. Besides, if worst comes to worst, you can spend some time with Aunt Leen. At least she wouldn't judge.

The festival feels a million miles away. You can’t go there, not in this state, stains everywhere, smelling like fish and sweat and regret, dress ripped apart. So, instead, you end up wandering along the rocky beach near the outer edge of town, in parallel to the protected seal rookery islet offshore and well beyond the boundaries of the town proper. The bright, swirling glow of the firework display across the water glints in the dark, mingling with distant stars and overshadowing the full moon, reflecting off rippling waters like flickering embers dancing across a glossy obsidian surface. The waves roll gently across sand and stone in soothing rhythmic whispers whooshes that pull you onward through the night like invisible ribbons drawing you back into the present.

This was always your favorite place as a child — wild and beautiful. An unclaimed stretch of wilderness stretching beyond the public access point, filled with coves and tide pools that felt like hidden kingdoms tucked away from the rest of the world. Here, among the jagged rocks, washed smooth by centuries of ebbing currents, you sit on one flat boulder, bare feet lapped at by the high tide and shoes by your side, frustrated tears dropping into the sea, staring absently off towards the seal islet floating peacefully in the distance.

You remember trying to swim out there years ago, despite having been strictly forbidden from venturing close to not disturb them. What would it be like, to be out in the open sea instead of tied to this isolated little community? To see something other than the same faces, places, and names repeated ad nauseam for all eternity, as though nothing changed no matter how many seasons passed? What would it take to break free?

"Ugh!" The sound bursts free before you can clamp your jaw shut, a ragged groan against clenched teeth as your palms scrub fiercely across your damp, salty cheeks.

Before you can start ranting into the night like a madman, your turmoil is shattered by a sudden, piercing cry like metal scraping stone ripping through your tangled thoughts. Your head jerks upward, pulse quickening into a painful drum-beat. Something is terribly off. Someone's hurt, panicking—or worse—maybe drowning?

But where?

You blink frantically, scanning the surrounding coastline, but the thick curtain of night refuses to offer clues. So you rely on your ears and follow the keening through the beach, stumbling hastily across damp sand, uneven rocks and slippery seaweed patches alike, nearly slipping on slimy barnacles embedded in the crevices between each massive stone and fighting hard to balance every step, all the while ignoring the scrapes accumulating on your soles from sharp pebbles digging into tender flesh and flaring in protest at every bit of impact.

Then, unmistakably—

A high-pitched, squealing shriek erupts out of the ocean — like the frantic deflating of a balloon twisting violently apart in midair.

Your stomach drops. The sound is frantic, terrified. Unmistakably animal.

And it's coming directly from the water.

At last, you spot the source of the commotion — about fifty feet offshore, just beyond a tangle of blackened driftwood clogging the shallows: Moonlight catches on slick, gray fur, the seal’s body bobbing helplessly, its hysteric movements hampered by the thick snare of a fishing net and heavy with debris, the tangled mess constricts tight, dragging it downward each time it fights to resurface.

Seals can drown. You know that much. You’ve heard Elias muttering to Dad, thick with disgust, after cutting loose yet another pup ensnared by abandoned traps — relics of poachers who refuse to acknowledge sealing was banned around here nearly thirty years ago.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Your mind stutters, paralyzed for a breathless instant. What do I do? What do I do?

There’s no time to think.

You’re moving before reason catches up, scrambling over slick, uneven rocks as brine stings the scrapes blooming across your bare feet. Your pulse slams against your ribs. In one frantic motion, you strip off your windbreaker, fling your bag aside, and plunge into the waves without hesitation. Salt explodes in a cool rush over your skin as you kick off from the seafloor, paddling hard, muscles burning with every stroke.

Next thing you know, your arms are locked tight around the drowning seal, grappling to haul it toward shore as it thrashes wildly, overwrought beyond reason and twisting all it can to land a blow with brutal strength you wouldn't expect from a round and inflexible body like that. Flippers beat against your chest, claws scrape at your arms, and its ragged cries tear through the night like something feral and furious. It doesn’t understand you’re trying to help — it only knows fear.

Somehow, impossibly, you make it.

Every muscle in your body screams in protest as you drag the tangled pup onto the shore, collapsing beside it in a gasping sprawl, limbs weak and trembling. Your lungs gulp down air that tastes like victory, the sweetest breath you've ever taken.

And then—

The seal’s shrieks reach a fevered pitch. It flails vigorously, flinging itself against the unyielding net, snapping, fighting, tearing at the fibers with blind desperation.

That’s when you see it.

The moon-desaturated dark liquid pooling beneath its body, sinking into the wet sand in sluggish tendrils.

Blood.

"No! Stop that, stop!"

You scramble upright, stomach at your throat, hands grabbing frantically at the writhing seal to keep it from thrashing itself into worse injury.

"Hey, hey — settle down! Stop moving — please! You're making it worse!"

It doesn’t listen. It fights harder.

Panic and instinct are what fuels its every move, and the more you hold on, the more fiercely it resists, wails cutting straight to the center of your chest, high and desperate, feeding your own fear in a vicious cycle. Its pulse is hammering beneath your hands, a wild, terrified beating of a bird's wings matching your own as its breaths come fast, erratic, interrupted by harsh snorts and shuddering yelps. The pup is almost one singular muscle beneath your grip, trembling and taut with the primal need to flee.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," you chant, the words spilling out in a frantic loop, cracking under the weight of utter desperation of not knowing what to do even as you're repeating you're there to helo. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just let me help — please — fuck, what do I do — ow!"

Pain explodes up your right forearm before the scream even leaves your throat.

Teeth. Deep. Sinking into muscle like fire.

Your body jolts with the instinct to yank away, but you don’t. You can’t. One wrong move and you’ll scare it even more, maybe make it clamp down harder. Tears blur your vision, breath coming in ragged gasps as you bite your own molars together, forcing yourself to go still.

And then — so does the seal.

The aggressive lashing out ceases, replaced by eerie, frozen silence. Its nostrils flare against your skin, warm breath feathering across the bite, making the hairs on your arm stand on end. Your pulse pounds between your teeth, the sting of the wound dulling under the weight of something more pressing — its eyes.

Two inky pools, round and bottomless, reflecting your fractured likeness like tiny mirrors.

"Please," you whisper, shaky, but soft. "I just want to help. You're safe. I won’t hurt you."

The grip on your arm doesn't tighten. Doesn't loosen. The only thing left between you is the weight of your words and the fragile, fragile stillness.

"Let me go," you murmur, swallowing hard. "And we’ll fix this. Okay?"

There's a pause, a single, terrifying moment suspended in time. Then, the seal's jaws relax, and he releases his painful grip on your throbbing arm, and as quickly as the assault began, it ends. Blood rushes forth in a thin rivulet down your wrist and between your fingers. It doesn't really hurt, not compared to the dull ache in the rest of your exhausted body, and the relief that washes over you is so profound that you're momentarily dizzy from it. And yet... The fact that the seal has calmed down means everything.

"It's okay, it’s okay, don't worry about it," you say hurriedly, intended for yourself more than anything so you wouldn't freak out about it. "You were scared, that's all. It's not your fault."

But the pup isn’t looking at the net.

Its gaze is locked onto your arm, the blood pooling at the wound, round, ink-dark eyes impossibly wider, focused in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.

You stare at him, and for a fleeting, impossible second, it feels like he understands. Like he knows what he did. Awe prickles through you, pushing aside the pain, the exhaustion, everything.

Seals are intelligent — you’ve always known that — but this is so magical to experience how emotionally aware they are.

"Hey. Hey, I’m fine, buddy," you insist. "Look at me, look. I'm good, it’s just a scratch. Let's focus on getting that net off, yeah? Can't have you swimming away in that state. You’ll drown."

As you lean in to inspect, the pup shies away initially, clearly wary and distrustful, but eventually allows you to examine the tangled mess of knots and lines ensnaring his sleek, streamlined figure. The heavy, dense debris he's wrapped in like a blanket is making it impossible to unravel anything, and the more you try to remove it, the tighter the bindings grow. Your injured arm is growing numb, which is probably not a good sign, but there's no time to dwell on that now.

Frustrated and increasingly anxious, you search frantically for something in your backpack to use as scissors or a knife, but the jerky movements make the pup tense up, its tail slapping nervously in the sand, and you have to take several calming breaths to prevent scaring him further.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you. I'll be gentler," you promise in a rush. "Just bear with me, okay?"

All you can find is your nail clippers, but they'll have to suffice. With painstaking care, you snip away at the individual strands binding the pup's limbs together, pausing every few moments to reassure him that everything is alright, that it will survive and go back to the rookery islet. Its fur is wet and matted with blood beneath the ropes, and the sight sends a fresh surge of anger through your veins at the thought of whoever abandoned such a careless trap in the ocean.

"Almost got it, buddy, almost, you're doing great," you sniffle, working steadily to free its front flippers. They're the most delicate and prone to injuries, according to Elias. "One last cut and..."

With a soft pop, the final strand gives way and the net falls loose, the release of pressure causing the seal to scramble sideways and flop awkwardly onto his belly in a clumsy roll. It lies there motionless for a brief second before letting out a piercing, mournful wail that stabs at the pit of your stomach.

You drop your tool and fall to your knees beside him, hands hovering uncertainly over its body. You don't dare touch, afraid of hurting it further. In a burst of energy, the pup pushes itself upright, body wiggling and coiling to propel it forward in a frantic dash towards the safety of the sea. You watch helplessly, unable to move or think or react in any way, until it pauses halfway to the shoreline and glances back at you, a low whine emanating from his throat.

"Go on, get out of here," you urge him, waving it onward. "Stay safe and take care of yourself, alright? You've had enough close calls today." A pang of dread hits you, realizing how much danger the pup was already in and how lucky it had been that you happened to be nearby to save it from a terrible fate. But now, all you can do is let it return to its natural environment. "Be free, cutie," you say quietly. "Live well and happy. You deserve better than this."

The pup hesitates, still watching you with those soulful, inscrutable black eyes. Then, in an act that leaves you speechless, it turns and galumphs back to your side, lowering its head and nudging its muzzle against the bleeding gash on your forearm. When it pulls away, his whiskers are slick with red, and a strange sense of gratitude overwhelms you.

"Oh, you angel," you manage, a lump forming in your throat. The urge to viciously pet his head is strong, but this isn’t a cat or a dog. Your arm really might get bitten off from the elbow socket. "Now scram. I'm sure your mama is worried about you."

This time, the seal does as instructed. It slides gracefully down the sandy slope and slips into the waves, vanishing from view in an instant. Only a small trail of blood remains, mingling with the foam and seawater that wash over the shore, evidence of the ordeal endured by this remarkable creature wiped away in an instant by the protective hands of the sea.

The shock of it all, of the stress and adrenaline, finally catches up to you and you collapse backwards in the sand, the pain in your arm flaring once again and only now feeling the cuts on the bottom of your feet.

Shaken to your bones in a way you can’t quite name, your fingers fumble to switch off airplane mode before you even realize what you’re doing. The moment the call connects, you’re babbling into the phone, voice thick with tears, words tangled and frantic. Mom struggles to make sense of you, but it doesn’t take long for her to find you — half an hour later, sprawled on the ground, your windbreaker haphazardly draped over your shoulders, backpack wedged beneath your head. The gash on your arm is wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, one of your old bandanas knotted tightly around the wound.

If Dad’s ferry hadn’t been stuck in the harbor, he would’ve been here too. No doubt about it.

You get an earful the moment she kneels beside you. Irresponsible. Reckless. Running off without telling anyone. Dad would’ve had a heart attack if things had gone any worse. Yes, yes, yes. You let her words wash over you, nodding at the right moments, too drained to do anything else. Her hugs and kisses make up plenty for it. 

Neither of you bring up the fight. Neither of you need to. Some things are easier left unspoken.

She doesn’t mention the festival, either. But you both know what kind of rumors will be swirling by morning.

For now, you're taken to the local clinic and given a rabies and a tetanus shot, and a lecture from the nurse who treated you, warning you to never approach a wild animal again because the next time, you might not be as lucky.

[paceprompting]

almost there

written for ‘icy roads’ | wc: 991 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no warnings apply | tags: established relationship, alpha steve harrington, beta eddie munson, mention of steve's rut

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Holy shit, he was driving the Beemer.

He was driving Steve’s car.

In the dark, in the snow, on a road were he couldn’t tell what was asphalt and what might be black ice. The headlights were better than ones on his van, but he was also half-distracted by Steve in the passenger seat.

Panting, hands dug into the leather of his seat, and sweat lining his hairline. He’d stripped off his jacket before getting inside, but it did little to ease the rut thrumming its way through his veins.

Steve’s body heat warmed up the inside of the car practically by itself. Eddie could feel it radiating on the side of his face—Steve’s need, his want. He’d had to try very hard not to stare at Steve tenting his jeans as they rushed out of the bar to head home. Or as Eddie tried to keep the car in a straight line.

Wayne wasn’t an alpha, most people in his family weren’t, so Eddie hadn’t seen the signs. Steve scenting Eddie, his clothes, at every opportunity and not just when he wanted to be cute. Wearing less layers even in the middle of winter because his body was working overtime to get itself ready.

For four days where Steve would be half out of his normal mind, following instinct, following want. He knew he wasn’t built for it, not for what Steve needed—even if he had managed to take his knot before. When they could go slow, and Eddie wouldn’t drive Steve mad having to wait and prep and take breaks.

Eddie tapped his fingers on the wheel, trying not to let the sounds of Steve’s soft moaning get to him as much as it was. “Steve, are you sure you don’t want someone else. It’s not a big deal, I swear—shit!”

The car swerved a bit on the road, the smallest patch of ice under the tire. Just enough to lose control for a second, Eddie pumping the breaks slow despite how fast his heart was beating.

“No,” Steve gasped, hardly caring about Eddie’s panic. “Just you.”

Steve hadn’t had a rut since they got together. Given a biological break, alphas only had to deal with it twice a year, and almost like a belated six-month anniversary present, Steve was running headlong into his.

But Eddie was…he was a beta.

And it was all fine and dandy the rest of the time. Eddie was usually neutral to the hormonal nonsense. He could smell Steve when he didn’t wear cologne or when he’d been out of the shower for a while—sage and something like fresh woods in rain.

Steve said he smelled mostly like citrus and cinnamon.

They hit the streetlights of the main road through town, but Eddie didn’t feel relieved. Sure, right now, when Steve was just Steve, and Eddie could be everything he needed. Then, they’d be two days into it and Eddie would need a break because he was just a beta, and Steve’s alpha would suffer.

“Eddie,” Steve panted, his hand scrabbling for Eddie’s arm.

He gave Steve his hand, figuring they were close enough to the house to risk driving one-handed. Just a few turns, otherwise a straight line.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

“God, I hope so,” Steve muttered, his other hand rubbing himself through his jeans.

Eddie was glad, in that moment, that he couldn’t smell Steve’s arousal as well as an alpha or an omega. Otherwise, he’d have pulled the car overlong before he slammed the car into park in Steve’s driveway. He would have let them stay in the car when Steve unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed over the center console to press a hard kiss onto Eddie’s mouth.

“Steve, Steve,” Eddie gasped through frantic kisses. “Let’s get inside. Your own bed. Someone’s going to see us out here.”

Steve growled deep in his chest, hands digging into Eddie’s sides. He must have been holding off until they reached the house, nonverbal as he unbuckled Eddie’s seatbelt for him and then opened the driver’s door. He wasn’t yet to the point of climbing out after Eddie, but as soon as the front door closed behind him, Steve pushed Eddie against it.

He stuck his nose into the hollow of Eddie’s throat, inhaling deeply. Eddie shivered, carding his hand into the thickest part of Steve’s hair and let Steve have his fill.

“Want you, Eddie.”

He thought about being selfish and following Steve upstairs to his bedroom. Where they’d make a nest from Steve’s closet, the drawer Eddie kept at the house, and the comforter they shared every night. And it would be nothing but Eddie and Steve until the rut ended.

He deserved better than that.

“Steve, I’m not enough.” Eddie tried to squirm away, his chest aching at the thought of leaving Steve alone to call someone who could help him. Who wouldn’t be worn out halfway through, no matter how much Eddie would want to keep going.

Steve grumbled, dragging his nose up Eddie’s jaw and pressing it against his cheek. In a low voice, he said, “How many times have you told me that all that designation stuff is bullshit?”

To a point, Eddie wanted to say. All the grandstanding alpha or submissive omega roles were bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot easier to help an alpha through a rut as an omega. It just was.

“I don’t need an omega just because.” Steve held Eddie tight, breathing in his scent as Eddie rubbed gently at his scalp. “Please, I want you to be here.”

Eddie closed his eyes, breathing in time with Steve. Steve was pushing it trying to hold off his rut for much longer, and Eddie couldn’t ignore what they both wanted. Steve had never cared that he was a beta.

He only wanted Eddie.

Eddie eased Steve’s head up, pressing their foreheads together, and said, “I’ll stay, Steve. I’ll stay.”

[honeykaes]

the mashup

punkrocker!wriothesley x reader II 2.7k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, music! au, modern au, punkrocker!wriothesley, r&b!singer!reader, semi-public sex, consensual filming, creamipes, fingering, riding, piercings, unedited

synopsis: your record label insists that the next phase of your career needs to require you to branch out to other genres and collaborate with an artist. After a long time of searching, to your surprise a punk rocker seems interested not only in the music, but yourself too.

Music is an avenue of expression, at least that’s what you always told yourself. You always felt yourself escaping into the vibrations and notes, amplifying your emotions and imagination as easily as putting two earbuds in.

There were many genres to which people escaped, and yours was the slow, sultry tones of R&B. With its elements of pop, gospel, blues, and jazz with a strong backbeat, you found yourself as one of the top performers in the genre. Your name was associated with the top streamers of Spotify and Apple Music. You even had trending songs on TikTok, people would dance or lip-sync too.

As a child, you never imagined the pitchy singing of your idols would bring you here among the hottest stars.

Despite the success, your record label was craving something different from you—eager to break into the “next phase of your career”, or so they say. They insisted you branch out into new genres and collaborate with some trending artists to give you a push towards winning a Grammy.

You were naturally hesitant, wanting to stay true to your craft and tune but their silvery words and promises of popularity caused your position to falter. Still, you wouldn’t just be collaborating with anyone your managers would send your way, you’d make sure of that.

The first one your label brought to your attention was Childe, a popular alternative singer from Russia. He was making waves in the Western market. His music was…alright and his personality was okay. Something about him irked you though, so you ended up passing on that opportunity to your label's dismay.

The second person they introduced you to was a pop singer by the name of Focalars. Furina was her real name though and she was as eccentric as ever. She was a bit vain and her slight condescension tried your patience a little too much, so you ended up passing on that opportunity as well.

Finally to your shock, a punk rocker reached out about a collaboration. No one would imagine R&B and Punk Rock could mess well, yet his label insisted otherwise. You recognized the name before, Wriothesley. He had been away from the spotlight for a while, only having small shows in London after an incident.

You heard he had punched out some hotshot producer for creeping on his subordinates at a party one night. Wriothesley ended up getting blacklisted for a while as a result. You weren’t sure why he was blacklisted, the creep Wriothesley punched out had it coming, but you knew the music industry was the music industry. Perhaps people were fearful that other cockroaches like that producer would get squashed by Wriothelesy as well.

Nevertheless, his label team things with your image and reputation could help mitigate his own in the community. 

When you first met Wriothelsey was interesting as well. Your labels had just finished the contracts, agreeing to a collaboration between your team and his. He would be singing a cover of one of your popular songs; ”everyone loves a rock cover”, your manager said. 

In addition, the two of you will be working on a new song for an upcoming film, your labels salivating at the thought of getting a Grammy and Oscar nomination.

Needing a break from the paperwork and discussing business, you headed out to the balcony to get some fresh air only to see him smoking there instead. His ears were decorated in silver piercings and a hoop loomed on his bottom lip. He took a drag out of his cigarette, letting the smoke blow out and dissipate in the cool air.

His eyes seemed tired, but his icy irises locked onto your own as he began to cough in surprise. He balled his fist up hitting his chest, to try to help him breathe as he tried to sputter apologies.

“Sorry there, I didn’t see you. I try to make it a habit for people not to catch me indulging in my vices,” he chuckled, still coughing from his surprise. You softly chuckled as well, walking up to him to admire the skyline. London was as gloomy as ever, and it seemed you would be remaining here for the time being.

“I didn’t think you were much of a smoker,” you hummed. The man playfully rolled his eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and looking at it. His gaze seemed nostalgic admiring the soft ambers of one end of the rolled nicotine.

” It was a bit of a bad habit when I was younger. I usually just drink a cuppa’ whenever I get a craving but didn’t have an opportunity to so I caved,” he admitted. He threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his large black combat boots tied up in yellow and purple laces. You chuckled and nodded.

“I get it. No judgment here. Had to stop drinking coffee for a while. One day I drank about 4 drinks and could see my hand shaking when I was trying to write lyrics. Told myself to never get that far again,” you recalled. Wriothesley let out a hearty laugh at your story.

“See, we all got our vices,” he replied.

There was a soft pause between you two as you two looked at the towering buildings below you. The smell of rain on asphalt was prevalent. It must’ve been raining earlier when you were in your meeting, finalizing the collaboration. 

“I’m curious, why did you specifically ask to collaborate with me? Your managers at the meeting informed me that it wasn’t just their idea but yours,” you asked. Wriothesley simply shrugged before lifting his arms nonchalantly as he placed his hands on his jet-black hair with gray streaks. 

”I like your music, what can I say,” Wriothesley replied. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion. Why on earth would someone like him enjoy music from you? Wriothesley must’ve sensed your confusion before a lazy smirk made its way onto his pale face.

“What? Do you think I only listen to one specific genre? Should never judge a book by its cover” he murmured, tutting. You bit your lip, gaze darting from him in slight embarrassment. It was true. You didn’t only listen to R&B after all, you enjoyed a plethora of genres regardless of if it was the genre of music you made yourself.

”Besides, I see all the time people taking different genres and finding a way to mesh them together,” he added. Wriothesley moved so his back rested on the balcony as he crossed his arms and a more genuine smile fell.

“It would be an honor to do that with someone’s music I admire,” he finished.

Recording soon began after that. It was always interesting to see his fingers glide along his electric guitar, strumming and musing as if he were on another plane of existence. He would often flash you winks at these sessions. Banter turned to flirting to the point rumors began circulating in the office, but the two of you didn’t care. It was fun having him in your life and hard to fight off the smile whenever his callous hands would brush against yours when he got the chance.

A few months passed and it was finally time for the last recording session. As everyone left the studio for the night, you decided to stay back to fine-tune things on your end until you felt satisfied yourself. When you walked out, you noticed Wriothesley sitting on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone and looked up, hearing the heavy door of the recording studio open and close.

“Seems you finally got out. Took you long enough, love. I did want to celebrate with you,” he mused as he rose from the couch. You couldn’t fight the smile creeping on your lips seeing his presence right in front of you.

“Celebrate what exactly? Done being in this stuffy room together for now,” you retorted. Wriothesley simply smirked and shrugged.

“Perhaps I could take you to a pub and celebrate that way. Get a few drinks, I can show you the sights of London before you jet back to LA tomorrow,” he suggested. You took a sigh. You truly weren’t in the mood to socialize in a dark tavern tonight. 

“I don’t know about that….Why? Are you trying to take me out on a date?” you chimed back. Wriothesley chuckled and walked closer to you. 

”Maybe. Think I can be lucky enough?” he asks, hands reaching up for their chin. Your eyes widened slightly, shocked at his nonchalant confession before your expression softened. Your hands reach up, placing themselves on his firm chest. 

“We can always celebrate here…too…y’know…” you suggested. Wriothesley expressions darkened, a grin forming on his face. His hand left your chin, making its way towards your waist to bring you in closer to him.

”Didn’t think someone with a reputation like yours would be so naughty,” he hummed, deep in your ear.

”Don’t judge a book by its cover, I think you were the one who said that, no?” you retorted. 

Wriothesley leaned down, capturing your lips. His lips were sweet, tasting faintly of chapstick he must’ve applied earlier. His hands wandered up and down the curves of your body as the two of you made wait onto the couch.

As your form plopped down on the expensive leather couch, Wriothesley crawled on top of you. His hand cupped your clothed cunt, watching you grind onto his hand desperate to get any bit of friction you could. He sucked his caine as he smiled at the scene before letting his hand dip between the waistband on your pants and cup your now bare cunt.

“Already drooling for me…” he murmured, fondling your soft cunt. You rolled your hips, whining as his fingers brushed against your clit. Growing impatient, Wriothelesy, took his hand out before tugging on the waistband of your pants, bringing them and your panties down with it. Your bottoms were thrown aside on the rug, shielding itself from falling on the cool tile ground.

His icy eyes finally gazed at your cunt bare to him. He pressed his finger against one of your puffy folds, pushing it to the side to spread you out further and watching your hole convulse at the mere thought of having him inside of you. 

Clicking his tongue is satisfaction, he slowly sinks his finger inside of you. You whined, feeling the cool touch of his silver rings decorating his fingers as he slowly pumped them. His other hand goes beneath your shirt, moving towards the valley of your breasts.

He grabbed a mound—rolling your pebbling nipple with the side of his thumb while his lips pressed against your neck—nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. His fingers curled as he continued to thrust while the calloused pad of his thumb massaged your clit.

You writhe under his touch, soft moans falling from your lips. He shifted, his hips slightly bucking as his own erection pressed in his tight pants satisfied by the music falling from your mouth. His fingers drilled inside of you faster as the sloshes and lewd noises of your cunt echoed in the room. 

“That’s it…that’s it…you’re almost there, love. C’mon and give me a show,” Wriothesley grunted. A loud moan is ripped from you as you throw your head back. Your body twitched trying to come down from your high as Wriothesley whistled in amused, satisfied by the way your cunt squeezed and pulsated on his fingers. He dug his free hand into his jeans pockets, revealing his phone.

“Mind if I memorialize this,” he asked, flashing his phone to your tired gaze. You furrowed your eyebrows but whined feeling him pump his fingers slowly in your overly sensitive hole. 

“...If you show anyone and I mean anyone, Wriothesley—” you threatened albeit agreed. Wriothesley chuckled, moving to click on the camera app.

“And risk losing a person like you? Never. Besides, I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you like this…whining and crying just on my fingers. Y’know if you made a face like that then I wonder how you’ll look with my cock inside of you, hm?”

Wriothesley began recording as he continued to slowly pump his fingers inside of you before slowly dipping them off. He chuckled, admiring his digits coated in your slick before smacking down your clit as you jolted. You scoffed and grabbed his phone, filming the camera in his direction. 

”Well then why don’t you also give me a show,” you suggested, quirking an eyebrow up with an amused expression. Wriothesley chuckled and nodded. He slowly took his shirt off revealing his fit form, tattoos adorned his arms. His nipples were flushed and pierced as well.

”My eyes are up here, love,” he joked. You fought the urge to roll your eyes before you shifted the camera towards his crotch. He played with the waistband of his pants before slowly letting them fall, his cock immediately smacking to his lower stomach, pulsating eagerly.

He pumped his cock a few times, you could see precum budding at the tip along with his Prince Albert piercing. His moans are light and airy, clearly teasing you as you rub your thighs together.

He leaned over and claimed your lips as he grabbed the phone from you. His tongue dragged against your bottom lip as you moaned in the kiss. He shifted you on top of him so that he was lounging in the chair instead. You could feel how hard and thick he was as his cock pressed against your leg

”Well then, I can’t do all the work…Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat” he suggested, patting his upper thigh. You took their shirt off, hovering above their cock. You grabbed onto his member as Wriothesley sucked a breath in before you slowly sank down it.

As you slowly moved down on it, you could feel how much he was stretching you out. The dull burn as you inched closer was getting to you. Wriothesley offered a sympathetic smile reaching out with one hand to rub your clit to encourage you to sink down further. Although it was a tight fit, you eventually bottomed out. Your body shuttered feeling the foreign coolness of his piercing pressed against your gummy walls. 

His hand eventually leaves your clit before trailing towards your thighs and resting on your ass, where he gives it a tender squeeze.

”Don’t keep me waiting, lovely,” he cooed. With a grunt, you slid up before sliding back down continuously, pressing your hands against his chest as you bounced on his cock. Wriothesley bit his lip, zooming in as he reached out to fondle your tits before drifting the camera back down to where his cock was disappearing inside of you.

He could feel how tight you were, etching him to reach deeper inside. He starts to thrust up causing you to moan. You weave your own hand down to play with your sensitive clit to get more friction.

Wriothesley clicked his tongue noticing, before throwing his phone on the ground without a care. His large palms grabbed onto the globes of your ass before his pace grew faster. You could barely think as he pistoned himself inside of you, legs quivering as you didn’t bounce on him anymore.

His cock continuously hit that sweet spot inside of you as you shifted and gyrated your hips— drool dripping from your lips. You rub tight circles on your clit faster.

“There! There! There!!” you yelped out. Your back arched, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head finally reaching your high. Wriothesley grunted nails harpooned in the plush of your ass as his lower half bucks up, spilling cum inside of you. 

He continued to thrust inside of you, pushing it deeper while he groaned. Your voice quivered, feeling his warmth completely coat you as thick globs of cum smeared on your folds and thighs. You let your upper half lean down to rest as Wriothesley patted your ass gently, red from how tight he was clinging onto it.

His lips pressed against your shoulders for a tender kiss, heavy pants echoing in the recording studio.

“This’ll be a night to remember…” Wriothsley chuckled before kissing your sweaty forehead. His gaze softened at your tired panting one.

“I say it’s a good thing we will be working quite closely together for the upcoming year, wouldn’t you say, love?”

[sojuyae]

i need you to PLEASE expand more on the bsd zombie apocalypse au

more so if its yan 👀

bsd apocalypse au

bsd ada various / reader

notes: mild yandere themes, zombie apocalypse thingies, NOT PROOFREAD sad face and teary-eyed emoji

-> your 'first' encounter with dazai is nothing short of terrible. your dull knife was pressed on his bandage-clad neck when he managed to sneak up on you. it's so easy to mistake dazai as a zombie when he looks so dead. dirty bandages adorning his arms and neck, dried blood sticking to his skin and clothes (not like you were better yourself) — had it not been the absence of rotting flesh and flesh (or the loud whine he had let out when your knife barely pressed on his throat,) you could've killed him.

the man took your hand in his with fervor, his eyes twinkling with cheer that does not suit a man like him. meeting him was terrifying enough, but him to ask you to join his group? utterly horrifying.

he didn't even give you a choice to decline.

if he had to be subjected in multiple earsplitting berations by a certain ideal donning co-detective for you to be accepted, there's no need for you to know. actually, he would let you know. he'd use it against you everytime you don't do something for him — you're complaining about having to go on a supply run in his stead because he's lazy? next thing you know he's letting out a scoff and telling you about the 'traumatic' scoldings of kunikida he had to endure just for you to be welcomed in the team.

-> dazai's words of 'persuasion' — if you could even call it that, rarely works. and you learned it the hard way. you watched timidly on the sidelines as dazai dismisses kunikida's reprimands and barrage of insults with a playful laugh, shrugging off any comments of how bringing any more people in the agency will only mean more mouth to feed and how 'kenji's appetite' is already worth 3 mouths.

despite kunikida's prior disapproval of you being an addition to the group, kunikida instantly — a little too instantly, warms up to you. in fact, when you were begrudgingly let into the team, he was the first to hand you a new and fresh set of clothing.

kunikida’s kindness and compassion warms your heart and it is often that you find yourself in his presence when something is troubling you. always able to lend his ear and provide some insight while he assigns the agenda.

kunikida proves himself as a reliable friend, so much so that you don’t know question how almost every supply run and night watch is spent alongside him.

-> if there was someone you were in favor of in the entirety of the agency aside from kunikida’s amazing diligence, you would’ve been sure yosano takes the crown.

she’s a formidable woman — always so quick to treat any wounded teammates. its almost a miracle how every single one that comes out of the infirmary looks better than ever, not a single sight of bandages and scars that would’ve littered their skin.

she is as quick to hound you in her empty infirmary whenever she manages to strike a deal with kunikida something about not being too ruthless when treating him? you don't know. she bemoans off your ears about how you’re always assigned to do some menial tasks with the others when you could be staying with her instead.

whenever you’re alone with her, you feel more of those large bear plushies you'd see displayed in malls more than anything — you're meant to stay still as she treats your lap as some kind of chair, your shoulder as a bed, and your stomach as some kind of pillow. her butterfly hairpin digging in your skin painfully while she rests her head on your shoulder.

-> when you met ranpo who was sat upon his desk, you thought he was very familiar — not because he was the self proclaimed greatest detective of all time that you kept hearing about before, but because you had a feud with him about this one last sweet remaining in of the aisle during the apocalypse. you won with a cheap trick that he surprisingly fell for; pointing at the air with a, 'look, there's more sweets!' and making a break for it.

by the looks of it, he didn't seem to forget about the incident, and it doesn't seem that he'll be forgiving you anytime soon too, with how sharp his glare is from across the room.

dealing with ranpo is tough. sending you in supply runs like the recent run wasn't just a day ago because he apparently ran out of sweets (then what are those in his desks????) always ordering you to bring him this and that as if he couldn't reach it with a stretch of an arm, even going as far as making you feed him because his hands were busy (they're literally just behind his head.) and skillfully ignoring the looks everyone in the agency gives him.

really, you should've let him have that sweet.

-> whenever you enter a room, your gaze automatically meets atsushi's. he would almost immediately stiffen under your stare and as if he was caught, would continue on his task without much of a word. the same routine would repeat over and over, you step inside a room, both of your eyes lock together, he resumes in what he's doing, looks back to see if you're staring, then he's back on wiping the same spot on window again and again.

your brain came up with the explanation that maybe, atsushi doesn't like your new addition to the agency, that he hates you. rations are limited and you're enough of a burden.

so when you're paired up with him to look for supplies (kunikida was bedridden, and you swear you can hear him weakly croaking about how dazai should go in your stead.) you're eager to prove to atsushi that you're not a burden, that you can help the agency.

it doesn't end well. if anything, you became only more of a burden — you didn't think that there would be a zombie creeping up from behind you. atsushi manages to stop it from going near you with his trusty ability, his claws ripping the undead to shreds; he didn't even stop until you forcibly pulled him from the mush of undead flesh.

an apology was ready on your tongue until he tackles you in a tight hug, his face buried on your neck, muttering words of how you're safe now; you would've been glad that your misunderstanding of him hating you is cleared up — you would've been glad. had it not been the claws that are still drawn and wrapped around your back, the mauled and unrecognizable zombie who's still spasming on the dirty floors, the smell of rotten flesh hanging in the air, and the violence he displayed in front of you.

[h5eavenly]

Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU

・❥・Things you might have missed:

the sun and moon analogy:

part one "the sun":

"A strange feeling in your chest. You blamed it on the boy’s smile, it was as bright as the sun." (ch 35).

Y/N sees herself as this dark being that’s unworthy of being loved by Hyunjin because she sees him as the complete opposite of her. When they first meet in high school these thoughts aren’t as strong. She still sees him as someone filled with light and resembles the sun but it’s only when things grow darker in her life she sees herself unworthy of him.

"How could the sun possibly be attached to a dying speck of light?" (ch 35).

Even when Hyunjin looks at her with love she finds it unbelievable and thinks it must mean that he doesn't actually her darkness. which is why for a long time especially when they were younger she feels like she needs to hide this part of her from him. she can't show him how dark she actually is.

"like he doesn’t know the darkness that surrounded you. Was he blind or was he just not scared of you anymore?" (ch 24) .

part two "the moon":

"So, he learns to love you in silence, from a distance. Hyunjin learns to love the moon just for you while you convulsion in loneliness and yearn for him. Constantly missing the sunlight." (ch 50).

Hyunjin sees her as the moon, strong, beautiful and so distant. like something he could only admire from afar never allowed to touch and that's why he always ends up following silently. Just like how the moon is always there and it feels like you're chasing it without meaning to.

"He realizes he never really knew you, a part of you had always managed to stay hidden. Just like the moon. There was no moment in time when he had all of you and so he resents you." (ch 50)

Again resembles how she always hid part of her that she thought was too dark to show him and it resembles how she sees herself, something that doesn't have light in their being it doesn't emit from her.

"How kind of the sun to lend its light to the moon, tinged with warmth. Apprehensively there is room for you to shine. It is thanks to him, you exist." (ch 59)

At the end she realizes she doesn't need to be someone who has light emitting from her and instead there's nothing wrong with having him lending her some of his light. at the end of the day her darkness doesn't scare him away and instead he is there to help her shine through everything.

summer and winter:

"summer remains in Hyunjin, in his smile and the dip in his cheeks, in the crinkling sides of his eyes when he’s happy and the scent of his bodywash." (ch 50).

summer is Y/N's favorite season and summer is her happiest season. she meets hyunjin during the summer and starts tying it with him. and even with his scent, since summer is the peak peach picking season. she even imagines her wedding to be during summer.

yet everything bad that happens to her is during winter like her dad cheating for the first time and everything that went down with seungmin and her worse stages of yearning for hyunjin are during winter as well.

"Despite the bitter winter you feel the warmth of sun seeps into your being when you take his hand in yours. It’s as sweet as peaches and embraces you in overwhelming comfort. a peaceful buzz that settles through the center of your heart, a fresh new color, so bright and foreign but more than anything welcomed." (ch 53.)

hyunjin forgiving her and deciding to give her a second chance is the first happy moment that she gets to experience during winter. therefore breaking the cycle of miserable winters.

smaller things:

Hyunjin smoking: after Y/N and hyunjin break up the first time he changes a lot almost becoming a whole different person and quits smoking. He only starts again after Y/N is back in his life and without meaning to he starts falling back into his older habits as his emotions are climbing back to the surface. Like falling into the cycle of denying his feelings and refusing to talk about them like when he was a teenager.

Dying his hair: he dyes his hair in pathetic attempts to regain self control. like trying to prove to himself that he still has power and Y/N doesn't have the same power she used to have on him (she does)

why is it called carousel:

they keep going around and around each other like a carousel constantly chasing each other and never meeting in the middle and also because their love felt like being stuck on a carousel ride that never ends it starts out fun but becomes dreadful the longer it takes bc it's filled with miserable events as well.

༶��┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Taglist: @annybah @christopherisfoive @kkamismom12 @nujeskz @realrintaro

@wolfietara @luvvvash @pnkcasket @shyshyshytwice @samhomo

@babrieeee @nhyunn @lilliansreality @enzstr @feelikecinderella

@linocvp1d @itgirlalisaa @arikazu @hyundumpling @cupkiki

@avokralaim @super-btstrash-posts @mellhwang @kaiyaba

@finnbbl @rockyhedgehog @heyhaez @amarecerasus @anjian03

@jihanniee @skvrze @enzos-shit @certified-lana-del-rey-lover @chartrucewhore

@skz1lov @dreamerwasfound @lixie-phoria @sillygoosegoose

@20crowsinahoodie @siriusly1 @iheartchaes @hyunjinhwang-23

[blue-jisungs]

bandaid + yoon sawol :D

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ FLOWERS & SLEEPY KISSES 🧸ྀི — meeting with your bf sawol after oh so long (11 days. he’s dying. it’s forever) ( wc 1475 )

[ extras ] mention of blood and wounds. lowkey contains spoilers from season finale

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! i already told u 23897438 times but TYSM FOR THIS REQ :( i love my boy sawol i wish more ppl wrote for black knight:(( BUT HEY I GOT TO WRITE STH FOR HIM FINALLY<333 hope u like it!!! :D

you wandered around the small room, humming a random song underneath your breath. you just couldn’t keep still – you kept reorganizing the flowers in the vase, the books on the shelf, the pillows on the bed. time was running painfully slowly and you swore the clock’s hands haven’t even moved.

you sat on the bed with a sigh and patted the duvet, trying to get rid of any possible wrinkles. 

sawol should be back any minute now. 

you couldn’t help but grin at the mere thought of finally seeing your boyfriend. 

with his new position as a delivery agent, you had less time for each other. sometimes he’d get such a packed schedule you couldn’t see each other for two weeks (or even worse!). 

which is why, after eleven days of not seeing your boyfriend, you’re at his dorm. sawol always texted you his schedule the moment he got it so you carefully planned this day. 

he ended his shift around 8pm, so he should be back around 9:30pm more or less – depending on the route back. hell, you didn’t even know where he was going so it could take longer. 

despite finishing so late, tomorrow was his day off. knowing him, he planned something special for you as well. but you were faster. 

you even bought him fresh flowers and prepared a lunchbox in case he would be hungry. you’d figured he’d be sleepy and in the need of a shower so– 

clank. the soft click of the metal lock shifting followed by the door opening caused you to jerk to your feet. or maybe you should stay sat on the bed nonchalantly? 

you heard a heavy sigh and footsteps, sawol about to walk out around the corner in a moment. you decided to sit back down, facing the corridor. 

you saw his silhouette, his work attire fitting his figure perfectly. scanning his jacket, up to his cute hair with blonde highlights, scratched face and hands that shot up in a stretch– wait, scratched face?

“wait, what are you doing here?!” sawol’s eyes widened in surprise, halting his movements.

“i wanted to visit my busy delivery agent boyfriend” you smiled and stood up, pointing at the fresh flowers in the vase. it was a huge struggle to get them but you somehow managed “and brought a package for you” 

before you could turn back to look at him, you felt his arms wrapping around your waist. you flicked off the cap off his head and he instantly buried his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you even closer to him. 

“i missed you” he mumbled into your skin, words barely audible.

you wrapped your hands around his back, slowly creeping up to play with his locks. but the image of his face in your mind made you frown, trying to pull him away a bit. 

sawol obliged yet kept his stare down, like a puppy that just got yelled at. 

“wollie…” you mumbled, hand sliding to grab his chin and make him face you. he smiled sheepishly, small bruises blooming on his jaw. he had a cut on his brow and some dried blood under his nose. you scanned his face worriedly, gently turning it both sides to check if there’s more surprises. 

“its nothing serious! after the delivery 5-8 and me went to train a bit” sawol explained and his hand tenderly wrapped around your wrist. you let out a soft huff. 

“he did that to you?” you gasped, cupping his face gently. “listen, if it were some gangsters i wouldn’t be able to do anything. 5-8; however, is at the reach of my hand…” 

sawol giggled, shaking his head.

“yeah, right, as if you would be even able to touch him” your boyfriend joked and you tsked, leaning away to look for the fist aid kit. 

“hey, don’t underestimate my passion. for you i would even try attacking him… even if i probably ended up in coma just from his one punch” you said, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

sawol, chuckling, plopped on his bed and observed you. it wasn’t the first time you were patching him up – and certainly, those weren’t the worst injuries you’ve seen. but that didn’t change the fact that you were worried. 

“sorry i got here so late. if i knew you were waiting… “ he sighed and you just shook your head, finally getting what you needed. 

“don’t even worry about it. i’m glad you’re here now” you smiled and approached him, signaling sawol to lean against the wall. 

he did and you put the first aid kit next to him, shitty after straddling his lap. you grabbed some saline solution soaked cloth and sighed softly. sawol observed you with puppy eyes. 

“i don’t like seeing you in pain” you mumbled, beginning to clear his cuts and other wounds. his jaw just tightened, hands flying to your waist for comfort. 

“you know it’s not that bad” he whispered. of course, with him being a mutant all his wounds healed quickly. but not immediately. 

“i know. but still…” you hesitated and wiped the dried blood under his nose. sawol scrunched his nose, the feeling ticklish. once his wounds were cleaned, you reached for a band aid. 

his hands never left your waist, thumbs drawing circles in a soothing motion. moreover, nor did his eyes. he was staring at you as if you just hung the stars in the sky yourself. 

you put the bandaid over his brow and cupped his face, your fingers gently digging into his skin. his cheeks were squeezed, so were his lips. 

“and lastly, very important step…” you hummed and leaned closer, placing feather-light kisses on the bruises on his jaw. 

before you could realize, one of his hands came up to wrap around your wrist. you pulled away, gently letting go of his cheeks. sawol was looking at you, heart eyed. 

“i missed you like crazy” he breathed out and led your hand on his shoulder. 

in a blink of an eye, sawol was flipping you. his other hand protected the back of your head in case you were to hit the first aid kit. 

your eyes widened, his necklace dingling in your face. sawol was grinning teasefully, his other hand coming to cup your cheeks now. 

“you still haven’t kissed me properly. here i am, drying like a flower because i haven’t seen my wonderful girlfriend in almost two weeks…” he started.

“eleven days” you corrected him, sawol just scoffing.

“still longer than it should! those flowers you gave me are beautiful, thank you. but you know why they are alive and pretty? because they have water and…”

“and sun” again, you interrupted, only to annoy him. 

“and sun. and you are both my water and sun. so i need a kiss like, right now. or i will explode” he groaned and leaned in, not even waiting for you another sarcastic remark. 

his lips were a bit chapped and you swore you could taste a metallic hint of blood. but that didn’t bother you. 

you kissed sawol back, slowly and gently. he was impatient, though, kissing you like a man starved. he groaned when you tugged at his hair, not missing the way your lips formed into a smirk at his reaction. 

“sawol” you breathed out, pushing him away ever so slightly. he hummed, placing kisses along your jaw. his hair was tickling your skin “you must be tired…” 

“i am. but i don’t want to waste time that we rarely have” he whispered quietly, placing last soft kiss on your chin and flipping onto the mattress, next to you. 

you placed your hand at the back of his head and he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, wrapping his limbs around you like a koala. 

“there’s still tomorrow” you said, already plotting how to get him to sleep. he had to get some rest. 

“well, yeah but… i missed you. and i just want to treasure… this…” sawol groaned when he felt your fingers caressing his locks gently. 

“sleeping counts as quality time for me. besides, when we sleep like that i can rest peacefully because i know you’re safe and with me” you hummed, his breath tickling your skin. 

it was working, he was getting sleepy. but then again, it always worked. 

“yeah but… it’s boring…” he slurred, reaching to grab a blanket “are you even…” yawn “comfortable?” 

“mhm” you answered and pulled the blanket over him, tucking it under his chin. 

 “i planned something… f’ tomorrow…” his voice was growing quieter, eventually turning into soft snores. you grinned proudly yet your hand was still playing with his hair. 

“sleep well” you just whispered and got ready to doze off as well.

“love you… s’much…” sawol sighed dreamily, a ghost of a smile imprinting against your skin.

m.list <3

kdrama taglist. @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @planetkiimchi ,,

@primoppang ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @eternalgyu ,, @haecien

[silvercap]

24. Bedridden or 66. Bedside Manner, with comfort/caretaking from the team? Leon's gonna need it... (can be a continuation of something else, or a standalone, up to you)

He definitely does 😭 (For this prompt list)

Bedridden/Bedside Manner

"Fuck," Leon hisses weakly, arching backwards into Piers' arms as Jill tears yet another of the barbed spikes free of his thigh, the sound coming out closer to a sob. His breaths come harsh in his chest, one hand squeezing Chris's meaty palm in a death grip where he's decided to lean into Leon's space from the edge of the dusty bed, the other clawing into Piers' arm where it's been wrapped securely over Leon's chest. He shudders, sweat dripping down a temple.

"One more," Jill says grimly, to which Piers subtly tightens his hold. She doesn't give Leon a chance to prepare himself, cutting deep into his leg and yanking the final spike out in a gout of fresh blood. Leon can only gasp, spasming.

"Got--got anything for the poison, yet?" he slurs, feeling the burn of it through his veins now that the overwhelming source of pain has dulled. He thinks someone responds, but then Jill clamps down hard on his leg to provide pressure and Leon can't stop himself from passing out entirely.

He comes to with a cough, blinking blearily at the sensation of a cool cloth against his forehead, a callused thumb so large it can only belong to Chris sliding gently beneath his eye to collect the tears that have fallen there. He's still slumped against Piers' solid body, shivering weakly despite the warmth his fiancé provides. Leon moans.

"Shh," Chris soothes from Leon's left, Piers' hand smoothing over his hair as he shudders involuntarily. "We've got you."

Another, smaller hand is propped under his knee to hold it up, white gauze and bloodstained bandages visible in his blurry vision when he glances down. He winces as Jill pulls the top layer tight, bare thigh pale where it sticks out from beneath the thin blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. He's still wearing his jacket, the distant growl of BOWs audible outside of the shack they've crawled into for shelter.

"Piers," Leon croaks as Jill finishes what she'd been doing and gently tucks his injured leg under the blanket, pulling it up until the top edge is aligned with the neckline of his t-shirt. "P-Piers--"

"It's okay. I'm here," Piers murmurs in a low voice, holding Leon tightly when his body spasms for what feels like the hundredth time.

"Piers..."

He can't remember what he'd been about to say. Chris's hand slides back into his, squeezing as Leon's eyelids flutter. He stays like that for a moment, trembling--until Piers is helping him slightly more upright, the metal edge of a canteen meeting his lips. The water is cool and soothing enough that Leon can reopen his eyes, Jill's solemn face meeting his where she holds the canteen on its side. Chris is beside her, looking worried, but Leon doesn't have the strength to comfort either of them. He's starting to feel a little sick, if he's honest, the full weight of whatever had been in those spikes wreaking havoc on his system.

"Thanks, nurse Valentine," he rasps when Jill pulls away, mainly in an attempt to lighten the mood. If anything, it makes the lines on Chris's forehead even more pronounced, voice lacking in enough conviction to play off his condition. He sighs. "We should--keep moving."

"Absolutely not." Piers is firm, then softens. "There's no way you can stand without help, and we have no idea what the toxin might do to you. Just rest."

"He's right," Chris says softly, voice too gentle. His brown eyes are wide and watery when Leon manages to look, a forced smile on his face like he's trying to convince himself that it's real. Jill pats Leon's uninjured shin.

"Sleep it off, Kennedy," she says roughly but not unkindly as she sits down in a chair near his feet, in typical Jill fashion. As if following the order, Leon's muscles suddenly relax, the cottony haze in his mind becoming more pronounced as he sags into Piers' arms. He whimpers. Spasms.

"It's okay," Piers whispers, voice cracking. Leon doesn't have the energy to ask why. He reaches up blindly, hand getting caught in the blanket until he can free it to brush his fingers against Piers' jaw.

Unconsciousness takes him.

[biscuitbox23]

Dead weight.

summary: you run into the woods to get away from the group, you were reaching the end of your life as you suffer from aplastic anemia, only to get stopped by Rick.

A/n: I’m not a medical expert, i have no familiarity with the field of medicine I am just an idiot who is a sucker for terribly made sad stories. This may be a very long opening to the actual climax so im sorry for that :( please do DM me for advice on how i can make my fanfictions better!

Warnings: inaccurate depictions of the illness, non-established relationship (rick and reader), mentions of death, angst, cursing. (Not much due to me being a minor.) somewhat bad grammar since English isn’t my second language.

words: 1.3K

It has been a while, well, a while since you had a good stock of medicine. You had been in an abandoned cabin a few months after the outbreak. During it, you got stuck in a pharmacy in Atlanta. The law was gone now, so you hoarded a ton of antibiotics, capsules, injections, and anything you could get your grubby hands on.

When Rick and Daryl saved you from a trio of men who were trying to take advantage of you, you joined them and did not stay inside forever, especially when blood stained the floors of your shelter. It was a mistake.

You wanted to stay with yourself, isolated from the horrors and sacrifices that the world has offered now. It was harder to find medication now that most stores were stripped clean. It was easier for you to catch minor fevers, and you tended to have more rest than the others in the group. The only reason you were there is because you knew how to survive.

In the woods, in the apocalypse, no problem. Whatever your dad knew your dad would teach you, he was an outdoor person and loved to forage different shrooms and plants. God knows what happened to him.

You grew closer to the group, helping them find food and clean water, scavenging what you can find in abandoned retail stores (even if it does not have much importance.)

Now you find yourself walking out of Alexandria by attempting to climb the steel borders to the outside of the wall, your head spinning as drowsiness has consumed you to your very core, yet you still have the urge to continue. Or else you are just dead weight. You had a few foot slips —you swear, Enid makes it look easy— but managed to get out. You can sense your muscles aching as if you did not even have the strength to pull yourself up despite climbing trees more than a million times when you were a teen. You needed to disappear 

from the people, the group. Rick.

Rick was a leader, for sure. He had all the correct morals and cunningness and looked up to him for it. You were no longer the person of any use to him and his group. You could not even defend yourself without stumbling down to the ground.

You were around when T-dog and Lori passed away. You 

remembered falling for Rick when you first saw him, only to discover he had a pregnant wife and a kid. It started like a rocky road. You were so used to the isolation that it took a lot of convincing to get you to come with them to the prison.

You took a liking to his daughter Judith. You loved babies. It was a surprise. You thought that you would never find a baby in this world again. Carl was the closest to you. You tell him stories about your life and would do the same, reminiscing about the world that used to be. He praised his father a lot and got a good idea of what Rick was like as a father. Hershel would check up on your health while Rick would stand beside the old sport as Hershel examines you.

Making your way into the woods, you stopped by a tree to take a breather. Your hands were on your knees as you stared down to the ground, crinkles of the leaves crushing on the bottom of your shoes. The night was cold and airy. The chill on the tip of your nose was evident as you took one more glance at the haven that shielded the real outside world from its inhabitants. The sour stench of rotting meat was not detectable and gave some fresh air — It is not like you cannot get fresh air in Alexandria. You want to be alone most of the time.

“thought I'd find you here." A voice called out, the voice echoing in your ears sounding familiar as the crunching of leaves has gotten closer and closer.

“fuck” you curse under your breath, “how did you find me?”

“Carl saw you tryin’ to climb the walls.”

“huh,” you playfully scoffed but was met with a chill and a cough, “thought I was being sneaky…”

“what're you doin’ out here?” Rick asks out of the blue, staring you up and down as you lean back into the tree.

“Rick," you sighed heavily, “go back.”

“I'm not goin’ back till you tell me what happened, y‘know that, don’t you?” Rick asked with a twinge of concern mixed with his southern drawl.

You paused.

“I'm leaving, Alexandria,” You rubbed your forehead as your stomach grumbled. Sliding down to sit as your back leaned onto the tree further.

“If this is about your illness we can make—“Before Rick could finish his sentence you interrupted.

“Make it work? Yeah, I don’t think so…” You retorted, “You don’t understand, Rick. I have a condition where my bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells, and I have no meds to help me, what are the chances of finding a pharmacy? A pharmacy where it has all the things I need to survive?” You spat, frustration filling your mind like hot liquid.

“Denise can help you, Y/n, you have seen her efforts in helping you,” You can sense Rick’s desperation to get you back to Alexandria’s infirmary. His voice remained gentle but firm.

“Why, Rick?” Your eyes stared into Rick's ocean blue orbs, frustration, and confusion, “I’m not strong, anymore. I can’t go on runs, anymore. I can’t protect anyone.”

“Because we still need you—“

“Maybe it’s you who still needs me, Rick…” You spat, leaning your head on the wood as you got the strength to finally stand up, with the support of the tree, of course.

“Y/n we can discuss this once we get back,” Rick sighed, coming closer to you as he held both your arms gently.

A rush of adrenaline painfully scours into your veins as you push him away with all the remaining strength you have.

“GODDAMNIT RICK, WHY CANT YOU JUST LET ME DIE OUT THERE!” You yelled at him. “YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO BE A BURDEN AND YOU SAW HOW MANY PILLS I HAD ON THE TABLE!”

Rick scoffed, “You're giving up now? After all that has happened? The prison, terminus… and you decide to end it all here? Where we’re finally safe?” His tone wasn’t as gentle but it was now harsher, deeper.

“if you think more treatments, will change anything, it won’t. I'm done and I won't let you guilt me into continuing this charade.”

“then what’re you gon’ tell Carl, hm? That you’re sick of bein’ alive so now you’re gonna leave?”

“This isn’t about Carl, Rick it’s about you keeping me to fill in the gap of what Lori gave you,” you glare with poison in your very eyes. “Leaving you to care for a child that was never yours.”

Rick went quiet, as you realized what you had said, “i-I’m sorry… Rick…” you pleaded, holding his hands.

Rick sighed, “Maybe you're right."

You nodded, your breath becoming shorter as your legs finally give in. You feel your body starting to shut down. Rick helped you sit down comfortably on the ground. You were paler and had many bruises on your arms and legs. You were heating up again.

“I'm sorry, Rick,” you breathed heavily, clutching the hand he gave you.

“It’s okay, Y/n,” Rick comforted you, kissing her knuckles as her legs trembled. Rick’s voice was shaky, almost labored.

“I don’t wanna turn, you can ask Daryl to keep my gun, you’ll need it,” You softly chuckled. Rick looked at you, taking his revolver from his holster.

“Get back to Alexandria, to Judith…” you smiled as you felt bile in your throat, blocking your airway and your heartbeat becoming more abnormal.

Rick gives you a final kiss on the head as an act of kindness and comfort on the edge of a quick and painless death.

—————————————————————

a/n: Hello everyone! This is my very first Fanfic and I thought about it on the spot 😭 Reading it for me makes me kinda cringe but don’t we all? Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it (cuz I didn’t but I’m a sucker for tragic love)

[a-library-of-old]

I know fnaf isn't popular anymore or whatever but it doesn't get talked about enough how badly Glamrock Chica was set up for failure. Don't get me wrong I know the other where to if not more so then her but the fact she doesn't get to have any fun places in the pizzaplex, the fact her only attractions are a cupcake place and mazercise....how she'd probably loved to bake but yet could never make a finished product because of the deep seeded need to eat she has...how she's programmed to want to stay thin and healthy despite this need to eat. Constantly running on treadmills and leading pilates or however its spelt in mazercise with food in her mouth. Hearing how own voice preach the importance of a healthy balance and yet she can never have that. How she lost her beak and yet could still shove food past the maw that's left behind unable to speak anymore. How her voice sounds so robotic and fake in the main game compared to the others, no personality past food. But this is how it is when you have a eating disorder to, you loose a life outside of food. Even in ruin we don't see her decayed no we see her rotting from all the food she's gummed up her electrical insides with, no one around to clean and repair her anymore, no way to even be 'full' for a moment now with her stomach left exposed. Anything she manages to get in herself immediately falling out as she hunts for even more food, body left mostly motionless as she can't move. The closest she gets to being full again is a trash bag full of garbage getting stuck in her while she's like this so instead the food can pile atop, this obsession representing how she fills herself with unhealthy foods, from the fresh carbs and trash left behind of old to the current day of mold covered mush that used to be food. The way she'll die cold and alone in a bathroom surrounded by a crumbled building reflecting how her life's crumbled apart. This isn't even mentioning the trash compactor incident or pizza making mini game of the main story either....a chubby chicken or not she deserves so much more then she was given

[skzartemis]

𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒

Pt.1

Pairing: Jisung x F!reader Genre: Romance, drama, slice of life, angst Warning: Major character death, grief and loss, mental health stuggles

The warm buzz of the cafe was something I'll never forget. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries filling the air, the light chatter around me, and the sound of a few old songs playing softly in the background. I had been there countless times, but that day was different. That day, I saw her.

Y/N. She was sitting alone by the window, eyes focused on the book in her hands, but there was something about the way she looked up as I walked by. A soft smile that seemed like it had been waiting for me.

I don't remember exactly what happened next—just that we talked, and from that moment on, everything changed. It was so easy to be with her, so comfortable. The way she listened, how she made the world feel a little less heavy. We started spending more time together, going to the same places, sharing the same jokes. Eventually, we began dating, and every day felt like a new adventure with her by my side.

But time, as it always does, passed too quickly. Our life together, despite all the joy, was not without its challenges. There were moments I could feel something was off, something lingering in the background, but Y/N was always so good at hiding it. She'd smile, assuring me everything was fine, even when I could tell she wasn't feeling well. I wanted to ask, but every time I did, she'd brush it off, telling me not to worry.

It wasn't until a few months later that I found out. It was during the world tour, when the days felt like a blur of performances and rehearsals. I remember how my heart sank when the manager pulled me aside, his face somber.

“Jisung… Y/N... she's been diagnosed with a serious illness. She doesn't have much time left.”

My world shattered. I didn't know how to process the words. All I could think about was her. The woman who had always been there for me, who had filled my life with light. But there was something even worse that tore me apart—her last words to me.

She told me to keep going. She told me everything was fine, that I shouldn't worry, that I should focus on the tour. That everything would be okay. And I, being so focused on the world of music, listened.

I wish I hadn't.

I didn't get to say goodbye. She was gone before I could be there.

I saw her for the last time in that sterile hospital room. The other members were there, standing in silence, not knowing what to say. I could barely breathe. The weight of regret crushed me. I should have been there. I should have stayed with her, but instead, I chose to be on that stage, chasing a dream that suddenly felt so meaningless.

It was after her passing that I released Close. It wasn't just a song—it was a part of me, a way to release the pain, to let everyone know what had happened, and to feel like I was still holding on to her in some way. My heart was broken, but music was the only place I could pour my emotions, where I could let her know how much I missed her.

The hiatus was inevitable. I needed time, needed to heal—or at least, try to. The world of the stage, the fans, it all felt like it didn't matter anymore without her. So, I withdrew into myself, into the quiet, trying to make sense of the loss, trying to live without the person who had once been my everything.

The world would go on, but Y/N would never be a part of it again. And that, above all else, was the hardest thing I had ever had to face.

[punkbooyahbomber2227]

so with the big run happening at wahoo world in less than 2 weeks, many people looking to leave grizzco will likely find themselves unable to break out of their contracts in time of the run itself. here's some tips from your local union rep to help ensure the safety and wellbeing of your fellow laborers and of the migrating salmonids:

if you aren't employed at all and see all those openings the weekend of big run, do NOT be tempted by any promises of a high pay grade. new employees are always paid the lowest wages that the company can get away with, and if you sign up as a temp worker they'll almost always worm their way of paying you entirely and claim your shifts as being an unpaid internship

grizzco recruiters target inkfish fresh out of school who aren't familiar with regulatory standards and practices for jobs involving manual labor and don't know their rights as workers. check in with your local chapter of the industrial woomies of the world and they can bring you up to speed on whatever you need to know about your rights

if you are employed at a workplace that was acquired in a grizzco buyout and were grandfathered into the company, double-check the terms your contract. don't let upper management pressure you into big run participation if your contract exempts you from doing salmon runs, despite any claims of it being "mandatory" work

call in sick if you're feeling unwell the day before, even if you know you aren't contagious. grizzco might not pay you sick leave, but they're still obligated to give you that time off. contact the union if you're refused time off and they'll back you up and help you deal with management

never go more than 2 hours on the job without taking a break. make it a minimum of 15 minutes, and make sure you drink some water and have something to eat in the meantime

keep your eye out for the pathways salmonids are taking on land, and make sure nobody crowds around the places where they're surfacing from the water

ink storms can reduce visibility for everybody, not just workers. redirect any drizzler projectiles towards the sky above the ocean so they don't accidentally hit any salmonids on land

if there's a slammin lid out on the field, make sure any workers and salmonids on the ground stay out of its crash radius

don't go out of your way to go past quota. the only reward a hard worker gets is more work

always ask for consent before kissing your coworkers on the job

[hanjicakes]

⏆ summerboy ︵

synopsis .ᐟ - after spending what you would consider the best summer of your life in Australia, you aren't sure if you're ready to give it up

content info .ᐟ - felix x gender neutral!reader, summer (or winter? idrk), barely angsty but juuust in case, reader canonically makes bad decisions

word count .ᐟ - 1.0k words

author ' s note .ᐟ - my first fic!! i didn't have a plan for this i just started typing and kept going lol but i had some friend proofread and they said it was good so let's trust them

my mastrlist ૮₍›ᆺ ‹ ₎ა

You stare down at your hands quietly, using your thumb to push out the sand managing to hide under your fingernails. Foamy sea water washing over the shore and the occasional gull squawking creates a serene and safe atmosphere. You felt at peace here, like nothing can harm you when it’s just you, your thoughts, and the beach— and Felix, as well.

Despite the peace, everything about this was spontaneous. Random, unplanned, maybe even reckless to some people. Most people would definitely believe it is a crazy, perhaps dangerous idea to plan a trip to Australia without telling anyone. They would think it’s even worse that you didn’t bring any money and had no plan. But, you easily managed to find Felix. He stood out clearly in bustling crowds, not because of his dusty blonde hair, but because of his attitude. He was never bothered. Nothing on this Earth, not even the end of times, seemed to worry him. He didn’t even seem fazed when you told him what you did.

“That was quite the idea you had, huh?” He asked. His voice fit that stereotypical Australian accent but still held its own charm. Something uniquely his own. “Oi, I don’t mind having you stay at my place. My parents— They have a spare room in the basement.”

The first night, you were reasonably intimidated. Staying in a stranger’s home, in a foreign country, with no real plan in life was starting to seem a bit crazy. But, when you’re with Felix, none of that seems to matter. He gave you a sense of stability in a situation where most people would shut down or falter. He showed you the best restaurants, all the true “must see” spots in town, and all the hidden spots on the crowded Aussie beaches.

He even took time to teach you to surf. You, unsurprisingly, were not successful. The memory remains vibrant and fresh in your mind. The sound of your combined laughter when you emerged from the waves soaking and your hair a tangled mess. 

“God, I think I swallowed some water…” You mutter while you vigorously rub a towel over your body, attempting to dry your skin. Felix pulls the surfboards onto the sand. His hands rest casually on his hips. The ends of his bleached hair are so drenched that they stick to the nape of his neck. Still, he smiles proudly.

“You can’t learn without a few failures. I’ve probably swallowed a whole lake’s worth of water trying to teach myself. You’ll get it one day.”

Felix seemed perfect— the kind of person someone would write as their inspiration on a job application, or something like that. You aren’t sure how to put it. He’s raw, unfiltered yet knows his limits. He’s never crossed a boundary in his life, except for that time he swerved into the opposite lane on the highway. You wished to be like him, to make everyone comfortable and loved. Part of you didn’t think he was real.

You were indecisive and random, literally. It would take over a dozen sets of hands and feet to count how many decisions you made based on the flip of a coin or eenie meenie miney moe. Your family always said you needed more control, but something about letting life guide you was exciting. Thrilling, even. And, right now, the rewards of that process were showing. Even after only a couple of weeks together, you can’t imagine a life without Felix. You think back to your hometown and wonder, ‘God damn, what the hell did I even do all day?’

“Hey, you still with me?”

Your head snaps up, turning away from your palms to look at the man next to you. He lays in the sand, his elbows holding up the weight of his torso. Salty water clings to the strands of his hair and water droplets cover his skin like freckles (besides the ones he already has, of course.) You hum faintly in acknowledgment of his words.

“Month’s almost up. What ‘re you planning on doing now…?” Felix asks. The tone of his voice is hesitant and strangely concerned. Like he was worried about your future plans.

You meet his eyes before folding your legs so that your knees meet your chest. Your gaze shifts out to the water, watching how the sea seamlessly meets the sky. With a simple shrug of your shoulders, you respond.

“I don’t know…” You reply, “Gonna go home. Pack my things then go back to school. College, y’know?”

“Ah.” He hums, nodding his head along as he also turns to look at the water. Silence settles between the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. Nothing is ever uncomfortable with Felix. Nothing.

“My flight’s Tuesday.” The words seem to slip out of your mouth despite trying to keep them to yourself. You didn’t want to upset Felix, but part of you thinks you really didn’t want to upset yourself. Part of you knew that you just weren’t ready to go back home. Back to normality and responsibilities and God awful dormmates. Part of you knew that you just weren’t ready to leave him.

“I see.” He says. From the look on his face, he seems unaffected by your words.

“You should come back one day.” He blurts out. Felix turns to look at you, his eyes flickering over your face. “I’m not going anywhere. I mean, outside of Australia. I’ll still live here.”

You swallow heavily. Eye contact wasn’t your strong suit, but it felt different this time. It was like Felix was trying to see inside of you— into your soul, mind, and spirit. He’s begging for an answer. Maybe not physically, but you sense it. You’ve learned to read him well during the days you’ve spent together. So well that he doesn’t even have to speak sometimes. You just get it.

“Yeah, I will.”

“I hope you will.”

The two of you continue sitting in silence, letting the sound of waves washing against the rocks fill the air. It felt like nothing had to be said. Maybe, because it didn’t feel like a goodbye. It didn’t feel like things were over, just paused momentarily. And perhaps one day, you won’t have to pause Felix. Perhaps one day, you could have him forever. Nonstop, always.