#just a little glimpse into their normal lives before everything went wrong!

[tunastime]

okay for kalesa and julian again, i imagined them getting caught in the rain and having to take shelter somewhere and just waiting it out and having a moment, so…. “you’re my happy place.” & “don’t get cheesy on me.” + watching the rainfall — do with that what you will :3

"You're my happy place." "Don't get cheesy on me." / watching the rainfall (914 words) (x)

The first raindrop hits Julian square in the head. He blinks—startled when another thumps his shoulder, the drizzle picking up pace through the leaves. The air smells like wet grass and dirt in an instant as all the tiny blades of grass and flowers and leaves shake awake to receive all the water they can. He holds his hand out, tests the strength of the rain, and when nothing falls into his open palm, he turns his gaze back from where he was standing against the house, back into the small field in front, where the collection of kids smack around small wooden practice swords. A few of them have abandoned the lesson entirely to run in the slight drizzle of rain. 

Kalesa practices easy, calculated movements across the way as well, sparring in slow motion with one of the teenagers. He watches her for a moment, her tail flicking as she makes a hundred micro-adjustments to her stance, her sword form, the power she puts behind the wooden swing of the blade. Her brow is drawn tight in concentration as the rain falls, darkening her shirtsleeves. She drops her stance slowly as she notices the rain, stretching her hand out to test it, startling when the drops fall on her head. She looks over to Julian with wide eyes, face breaking into a grin. He doesn't see her nod to her partner or send her off, but he hears her laugh from across the small field as she makes her way over, weaving between the kids.

"Just going to leave me out there to melt?" Kalesa teases. "How very saintly of you."

"You know divinity was never my aim," Julian snorts, carefully sheathing the silver-coated blade he'd been holding. It sits tightly in its scabbard, the gem-inlaid hilt glittering as he sets it carefully against the front door. He's draped his tabard over the banister. A breeze tugs at the loose bits of his tunic, ruffling his hair, tossing about his boot laces. He sinks down against the wooden steps, stretching out his legs. 

Dressed in matching, simple pants and hide armor, Kalesa looks so similar to the knights he went to school with: slightly out of breath, beaming with pride, hair pulled tightly away from her face. The hide is dark in spots from rain and sweat and as she sits, he waves her over.

"It's just a little rain," he soothes, hands working to loosen the side straps of her leather chestplate. She moves without question to the other side. "You won't die."

"You never know," she argues. Julian laughs, pulling the chestpiece off in one motion as Kalesa ducks her head, pulling at her linen shirt to unstick it from her back. 

"I think I know," Julian says. Kalesa makes a noise in the back of her throat, one Julian has come to know too well to not catch. Thin ice, it says. It's not much of a threat, though. Not as Kalesa shuffles over and makes space in the curve of his side for her to sit. Her hand slides back around him and falls to his hip, tracing a soft line over where she knows a long, thin scar tracks, raised but healed. He lets out the rest of the breath caught in his chest as he easily burdens himself with her weight and leans to accommodate. The rain patters down into puddles in the front garden, soaking the shirts of the children running around in the sand and mud and grass. The warmth that weasels up in his chest sits right between his lungs and his heart, forcing him to swallow and breathe around it, to feel every stretch of that new ligament illuminated by love and light. It feels a lot like hope—a muscle he'd forgotten to work the knots out of, a muscle that strained and tore when pulled the wrong way, one he'd begun to cultivate again, to tug at, to foster. And as his heart thuds around it and through it and it moves with him, it feels. Easy. To breathe. Kalesa makes a warm line from shoulder to hip bone. Her clothes carry a scent like campfire ashes and charcoal, and he's never so badly wanted to smell like a bonfire.

"I think you're my happy place," he breathes, squeezing a little closer. Kalesa laughs, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Are you getting cheesy on me?"

He snorts, warmth rising to his face. He can feel the cool band around his left ring finger, the fine, woven pieces of metal that made its latticework. He presses his cheek to the space between her horns, sighing sweetly.

"I sure hope so," he says. "I've always been the sappy one."

Kalesa laughs again, squeezing his side. A shudder of warmth prickles up his ribcage, curling around his stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut, he kisses the top of her head. The tingling feels a lot like love. It feels a lot like being wanted. And, with enough of it, and if he let himself, as he always did, he could drown in it. 

"I'm glad," Kalesa says quietly to his collarbone. "It's been long enough at this point. What, six years?"

"Just hit six," he hums. He hears her sigh, relax a little further, and return to the soft soothing of his side.

"Let's try for six more, mm?" she says. 

Julian hums his agreement, smiling into her hair.

[hurtspideyparker]

Thinking about restless spirit Tony Stark who just can't move on to the after life.

The first thing he does once he realizes he's an apparition is check on Pepper and Morgan. True to their word, they're okay. He watches them for a bit but feels this deep unrest pulling him away from the quaint home he yearns for.

There's a deep wrongness within him, some unfinished business that draws him back to New York.

He fears for a moment that it's Peter- but no, it can't be him. He'll be in Massachusetts right now, attending MIT as a freshman. There isn't a doubt in Tony's mind that his little genius is already making his mark.

Still, he follows the pull of his spirit to some dingy Queens' apartment he's never been to before.

It's deep in the night yet the apartment is empty. He looks around a bit, his body phasing through anything he attempts to touch.

It's small and dirty. There's old coffee cups on the desk, alongside a couple GED manuals. Great, the universe thinks he has unfinished business with some broke high school dropout.

He's pondering how he must have screwed up this kid's life; was it the Avengers, Stark Industries? Maybe his old playboy lifestyle is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

His contemplation is cut short by the sound of the window cracking open.

It strikes Tony for a moment that maybe he's stuck on Earth to be a guardian angel, Iron Man living on as some invisible protector against whatever creep is sneaking into people's windows. It doesn't make much sense considering the whole non-corporeal thing, but he still stiffens like he's ready for a fight.

He sees a man- no, a thing? A creature maybe, or an alien. Even in death Tony can't escape being one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The creature is shrouded in darkness, something slick and bald crawling inside the room with terrifying grace and silence. It shuts the window with a soft kssssh as the seal is formed.

And then it pulls off its mask.

There, with the click of a table lamp, glows the face of Peter Parker.

He's definitely older now; sturdier shoulders, a rugged set of his jaw, hair tamed to something semi-professional. Still present, though, are those gentle brown eyes.

Nothing makes sense right now. Why is his kid here, in this apartment? Surely May wouldn't allow this. How many tenant laws does this place break? Where are his little sidekick friends? And on what planet would Peter Parker ever need a GED?

Tony's getting angry now, watching Peter move around the tiny space. He changes out of his costume and into pajamas. That spider suit isn't Tony's suit, it looks like cheap craft store fabric.

The kid opens a small freezer and pulls out the singular bag of peas that reside in there, pressing it against his ribs while he goes to pop some bread into a toaster.

Tony takes note of every glimpse he gains into Peter's life. Empty cabinets when he reaches for a jar of peanut butter. A fridge housing nothing but condiments and energy drinks when he goes to grab jam. A drawer with two spoons, no forks, and a paring knife which he pulls out and sticks into the strawberry jam jar just as the toast pops.

This is all so wrong.

Tony's outrage is coming to a rolling boil. Peter deserves the world- he was gonna give him the world. He couldn't wait to send Peter to MIT and show him off as his protégé. Tony was gonna fund his projects, tease him about pretty girls, maybe even see him step back from Spider-Man and act like a normal college kid. He wanted to see him flourish and grow up. It was all he could think about when Peter turned to dust between his fingers; he should be goofing off with his friends at a mathletes meeting, or building Legos, not fighting an intergalactic war.

Tony couldn't even conceive how much went wrong to end up here.

Alone. Broke. No school. He didn't even have his Stark suit to protect him. Everything that made him him has been stripped, leaving him in this shallow box with scuffed paint and hollow cabinets.

Tony can feel the violent rage burn deep in his spirit as he thinks about it.

This is why he's here. He can't let his boy live like this, wasting his potential to be some villain's punching bag. Where is everyone? Does no one care enough to stop this? The fury that builds in Tony is dangerous, wondering why a dead man is the only one who cares about the teen's life right now.

Without thinking Tony's hand reaches for the GED textbook, a mocking piece of work that laughs in his face, and throws it at the stupid little kitchenette that's mere feet from the bed.

It sails across the room with surprising speed before it's met with a thunk against Peter's palm, hand reaching out to catch it from the air before it collided with the toaster.

Oh.

Peter sets the book down and immediately picks up his web shooters, eyes darting furiously to every corner of the tiny apartment.

"Who's there?"

Tony steps a little closer but Peter's eyes just look right past him.

"C'mon Pete, c'mon. I'm here, I'm right here."

Tony looks for something else to grab. He swats at a hopefully empty coffee cup on the wooden desk, but his hand just passes right through it.

"Shit," the hope Tony felt waivers slightly and he tries again.

Nothing.

Peter is searching his apartment now, making sure the window is secure and feeling around every crevice, bookshelves, under the bed, in the top corners of the room. Searching for something nefarious, tech maybe.

Tony hits the cup, again and again, frustration building up and up and up till-

The cup flies across the room, Tony and Peter's eyes track its movements as it bounces against the ground and rolls to a stop.

"Shit," Peter breathes out.

Tony walks up to Peter now, standing before him.

"Figure it out. Think kid, you've met aliens, gods, magicians, surely ghosts aren't too far fetched."

Peter closes his eyes. His posture straightens, Tony watches him take a deep breath in as the hairs on his bare arms stand on end.

Peter's eyes blink open, and they're looking directly at Tony.

Tony smirks, "that's it."

Peter turns around and picks the cup off the ground, running to his desk with it and ripping a piece of lined paper out of a notebook and scribbling furiously on it.

Tony walks over as Peter places the cup in the center of the paper.

On the left is the word YES in bold print, NO on the right.

"Okay, okay okay. So, move the cup if, if you wanna talk. Um, is there someone in the room right now?"

Tony reaches for the cup, an intense glare as his fingertips graze it gently. It shifts minutely towards the YES.

"Shit! Shit. Sorry, whew. Okay. Are you friendly?"

Tony moves it to YES again.

"Are you a, um. Person? Like not an alien?"

YES.

"Are you wearing tech, invisibility suit or your molecules are uncalibrated or maybe it's a portal thing like, multiverse shit is happening again, a mirror universe! Oh, maybe a..."

Tony let's a frustrated sign. The kid is too practical, logical. He needs to think like a non-genius.

"... could be. Or, or maybe you're just a ghost-"

Tony perks up and immediately swats the cup, causing it to fly off the desk towards the YES.

"Oh. Oh that's... kinda normal. Or maybe really weird? I mean... I certainly have some ghosts in my past."

Peter picks the cup up and puts it back on the desk.

"Do I know you?"

YES.

"You said you were friendly, and I'm not getting any danger tingles from you. I'm gonna start with people I know are dead, cuz I just really hope you're not a... new ghost. Um. M-May?"

The boy's voice cracks on the word and Tony freezes. May is dead? Tony starts to fear that things are a lot more wrong than he previously thought.

Peter's breath catches and Tony realizes he's waiting, dying for an answer, and quickly pokes the cup towards NO.

Peter's shoulders sag.

"Uncle Ben?"

NO.

"T- Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, "now we're getting somewhere!"

YES.

Tony is going to have his work cut out for him, but being here with Peter just feels right.

Peter breaks out into a matching smile.

"Wow, okay. I think I'm gonna need more paper," he says as the boy gets to work making a more complex system than YES and NO.

Tony watches on proudly, reminiscing about all the great Peter was and all the great he still is, despite his situation. Whatever this is, they'll figure it out.

Together.

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby (special chapter!)

alastor w/ angel daughter reader

(notes: This special chapter gives us another glimpse at Alastor's relationship with his only daughter, you, and how unique his parenting skills are. Currently set in the 30s where you two are still living and breathing so far.)

( Welcome back to my fellow angel baby readers! Also much welcome to any newcomers!

Here is a new chapter for my alastor and daughter series, I know it's been such a long while and I understand if a lot of you have moved on qwq I did take quite awhile so I can't blame you. But school finally ended and it's summer! I have much more time on my hands now! If thee are people still interested I'm totally willing to focus my time on updating!

Thank you so much for staying tuned! Let's start then shall we!)

(caution: alastor being manipulative(?), more or so cruel, he makes you cry :( )

(Tags: @maksdust @willowwillflower @sunshinesetsstuff @0willowwisp0 @projectdreamwalker @1potato2rulethemall @just-here-reading @avitute @pooplyface1423 @insomniacfigure @mo-0-o @thekanrojimitsuri2 @nevermorekisses @wildfire153 @sirenetheblogger @potaturkey17 @barrythestrawberry041)

(p.s. NOT PROOFREAD, I also apologize if the pacing and writing is a bit weird qwq I have written in awhile so I'm slightly rusty..!)

It was yet another particular day in the 30s of New Orleans.

Word of mouth of politics, money, entertainment.. everything was nothing but as normal as it could possibly be for a seventeen year old girl.

You woke up to the sound of soft birds chirping yet soon being covered by human made sounds like chatter and metal clanking. You fixed yourself up once you got out of your puffy bed that kept you in sweet dreams each night.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you fixed your chosen outfit for the day, a small smile cheering yourself up at how you felt a soft gleaming feeling in your chest.

'today will be a good day.' you thought.

...

Something was missing, there was a little gleam of excitement that you couldn't wait for.

You could start it anytime soon but-- it felt wrong.. it was wrong.

'maybe later, I can wait much later...'

Walking out of your bedroom and down the hall, passing by your father's study and your family bathroom ended up in between the kitchen and living area, your nose led you down to the kitchen.

It was a fairly early morning but your nose could smell your father's presence despite him leaving half an hour ago, your feet tapped against the hardwood floors as you went up to the stove with your eyes also noticing a note with writing on it on the counter beside the heating appliance.

Eyes flicked between the warm pot on the stove and the note, your nose took another long whiff of the comforting aroma to be a dish you absolutely love to have in the mornings.

Your hands went on to pick up the note and raised it up for your eyes to see, your father's neat and sophisticated writing made you smile as you started to read:

'Good morning my dove, I do hope you had the sweetest of dreams last night. I know you over exerted yourself the other day and I just hope you aren't slugging like a sloth this morning!-'

Giggling slightly, you continued reading.

'Nevertheless, I made you your favorite before I left off to work. Don't forget to tune in soon!

Love, Father Dearest.'

Right.. his radio show will be on soon!..

You smiled as you folded the note and tugged in into a small pocket/spot on your person before going on to plate yourself breakfast that your dad made and getting a glass of your preferred drink before skimming past the dining table to eat on the living room.. you weren't exactly allowed to eat here but it's not like your father was here to scold you.

Carefully yet hurriedly sliding your glass and plate on the small coffee table your father recently bought to 'bring more life to the house'. You would then scramble up to the home radio and flick with it for a bit until you finally reached your father's signal.

Turning up the volume to hear it loud and clear you proceeded to go back to your break fast and set yourself nicely.

A small opening of music played, his show's theme was a tune you knew by heart and you never missed a day where you wouldn't hum it to yourself.

"Good morning New Orleans!"

Cheered a familiar voice, your own responding back to him despite you fully knowing that he cannot hear you at all.. yet a part of you knows that to a certain extent he knows you're very much present.

"Morning papa!" you smiled as your father's voice continued on to start his daily morning schedule. You proceeded to pick up your eating utensil to start eating.

"This is Alastor! Your favorite radio host here to join you on today's morning broadcast to start off your day with the latest news and weather! Today it's described to be of a nice warm sunny day with little to no clouds, yet it is said to get very chilly once the sun starts to set. So prepare those coats and scarves ladies and gentlemen!-"

You took note of the weather for today, remembering that you needed to have a fire on in the fireplace by the time father came back as well.. he’d probably arrive cold.

He continued on talking about small updates on politics but more or so on the music and entertainment industry, maybe even a little bit of 'gossip' talk about famous figures in pop culture at the time.. talking about latest trends and such.. you sorta admired that about him.. you ate your breakfast whole as you listening to him while sometimes he faded into background noise here and there.

During both your times alive, Alastor always kept up with the latest rages and knew as much as he could about the most recent fads while he was kicking it, even as he raised you he somehow always kept up with all these details.. it was almost fascinating.

Speaking of fads..

You couldn't help but frown slightly.. you were home alone, you could just sneak a peek and father wouldn't know.. but guilt ate at you.

'..I'll do it after chores.. ' you thought.

You finally finished your food and drink and placed your glass and silverware on your empty plate, prepared to pick it up and take it to the sink until you couldn't help but listen to him a little longer until his broadcast ended, which should come to a break segment.

You sat on the sofa and rested your arms and head against the arm of the furniture, feeling slightly full and a bit sleepy from what you ate but in the end it was all worth it.

You let out a huff of air from your lungs out your mouth, the sigh full and heavy.

Your father's voice deafened slightly as your eyes closed for a few seconds, your mind wandering off to your current life and how you were mostly content with everything.

Mostly everything.

You were mostly satisified with your life, you were happy. How couldn't you? You have a warm home, a bed, food, a caring father, caring friends-

Well..

Everything minus the friends.

Sure, you have befriended a few people but your father never let you ever hang with anyone your age. Ever since you no longer needed babysitters, you would lack communication with young people such as yourself.

It was nice that a few people around your age recongnized you as being your father's daughter, you enjoyed people seemingly knowing you off the bat simply because of who raised you but.. father would constantly deter you away from befriending others.

According to him, because of your connection to him there could be people in the world who want to do you wrong.. of course you believed him, you never really knew any better.

Sometimes the loneliness kicks in, you yearn to befriend those similar to you and to have the life of the average ordinary teenager.

But father wouldn’t let that, not for a second.

That is- of course if he never finds your hidden teen fashion magazi--

“And to my lovely daughter, ______, who must be leisurely resting at home.”

Your eyes opened up as your head perked up at the mention of your name. Your heart skipped a beat—

“Ughhh.. daaadd!..” embarrassment creepep up your neck into your cheeks, highlighting the red in your face while you groaned and shoved yo ur face back into the arm rest.

“Don’t forget that we’ll be heading out soon! Get your shoes and coat ready! Don’t forget, father loves you dearly!

And with that, our morning broadcast concludes as the afternoon is now setting. Don’t miss out on our evening broadcast where we’ll be singing a few gentle tunes to soften your night!”

Right.. it’s been a few short hours. You always wondered how your father could never stop talking or run out of words while on air, another talent of his you supposed.

You sighed as you dragged your arms and legs to pick up your dirty dishes, head back to the kitchen and clean them up before father came home.

Oh! And you almost forgot— you also went to set up that small fire in your home’s fireplace. It was rather easy for you to install, you’ve done it many times. Alastor wouldn’t let you do this unless he knows to trust you well and that you know exactly how to do it without burning yourself or the house down.. so you did this part without a hitch.

Even let your arms warm up to the soft ever glowing flames as well..

You knew that he was now wrapping things up with his coworkers and heading back home so you sped slightly so you would be able to get ready on time.

Once you were done you checked the time,

‘1:51..’

You read on the nearby clock, father gets here at exactly 2:00 at most times.

You stood there for a minute, pondering if you should scratch that hidden itch to the back of your head or if you should patiently wait.

But you’ve been waiting since yesterday to look at it..

Should you risk it??..

"One second wouldn't hurt.." you mumbled to yourself, and just like that you were gone in a flash into your room.

You sped so fast to the point that you almost stumbled slightly as you tried to carefully slide down to your knees and your head peeking under your large and heavy dresser.

Your hand reached under and moved side to side with your fingers trying to grip onto the familiar texture of flimsy paper-

"Aha!-"

You exclaimed as you felt your fingers curl around the sudden sound of crunchy paper.

Pulling it out you were met with three various magazines that you saw around the shops as the ideal fashion magazines for teen girls such as yourself.

You remember how you wanted one before but father says that it's not appropriate for a 'pure and gentle soul' such as yourself.

Oh boy if only he knew you had them now.. he’d absolutely go bananas! He would never let you out to get groceries again!

You quickly flipped through the first few pages of the first magazine, it's thin pages full of color and various designs of trendy clothes, accessories, make-up, hair, even love and school advice here and there.

Heck- even the celebrity photos caught your full attention, stars like Clara Bow, Louis Brooks, Anita Page, Madge Bellamy, Jean Harlow, Constance Bennett.. the list could go on forever!

It captivated you, making you curious of the outside world.

You stopped at a certain page, one where you purposefully bent the corner of the page as to remember the spot you wanted to go back to.

It was a particular piece of clothing, one that was all the rage. You stared at it for a bit in admiration and yearning.. you wished father would let you wear something like that. It was that unique shape, style, color/pattern, accessories and other smaller details that simply made you want to wear!

You slowly flipped the page over to the back, a part of the magazine you haven't yet explored, and your eyes widened.

'Call ****! And get your free order of this piece's sewing pattern straight to your home as to make it yourself at home with your own unique choice of fabric, colors, and/or patterns! CALL NOW!'

"No.. way.." you mumbled breathlessly, the sudden realization hitting your head like a broken wine glass to a skull.

Free sewing pattern?.. make it at home?? This is just a GAS! Perhaps you could order it and while making it you could most definitely tweak it a bit!.. to make it into something father would approve of or even let slide!

"I.. I've GOT to get this!-"

Before you knew it you were yet again scrambling on your feet to run towards the living room to the telephone with your magazine in hand, excitement rushing into your veins up your face as you now knew what you had to do!

"With the patterns maybe I can make it myself! make it my own!.."

Your hands esthetically rested the magazine with the number attached on the table the telephone rested on and you quickly started to dial the numbers to the device one by one. You awaited eagerly..

"Cmon cmon.. pick up pick up..!"

...

"Hello this is Everygirls Magazine, what can I help you with?"

"H..Hello! I—“

The phone was snatched right from your hand, you still tried to reach for it due to confusion but then realized who it was that took the phone from your hand.

"Hello there! My apologies for the disturbance-" rang Alastor's voice, sweetly apologizing to whomever was on the other side of the line.

"-but we accidentally dialed the wrong number. Thank you!"

Alastor gently placed the phone back on it's stand, in an almost threatening type of way.

There was silence, your father stared at the magazine before slowly picking it up. You couldn't bear to look at his face, not with that smile you were sure was plastered across.

Minutes passed that felt like hours, the silence was deafening with the only thing cutting it was the sound of paper rustling.

"Father.. " you mumbled, your hands curled and resting onto your chest in slight fear "Are you.. alright?.."

With no words he turned towards the hall, his steps sharp and loud as if confirming his presence and his title in the house.

He was going straight to your room.

"Father?... Father!.." you rushed to follow him, lagging a bit behind him. "Father where are y--"

You couldn't help but softly gasp as you saw him walk into your room and bend down to grab the rest of the magazines to take a closer look. He did all this without saying a word-- and that smile never faltered either.. not for a second.

He flipped through the pages a bit erratically but eventually just clenched the thin booklets in his right hand before suddenly walking up to you and grabbing your wrist with his left. He dragged you with a sudden uncharacteristically harsh and aggressive demeanor.

He was getting tired of your growing rebelliousness. He hated it.

Why couldn't you just listen?.. he was trying to keep you safe! In how own way!

"Father!.. hey!-- that hurts!--"

“Listen here young lady.”

Alastor’s voice was stern and commanding, as if intending to intimidate you.

And it did, you stood there in disbelief and fear.. yet you haven’t fully realized that the both of you were now in front of the fireplace. Its flames dancing, waiting.

“There will be absolutely no secrets under my roof, no misuse of your allowance, no misuse of your time outside that you are more than privileged to have." He was angry, fuming even despite the vaguely cool tone he tried to emit--yet..

His smile, was still there.

As if he was mocking you..

"I told you many, many times that these magazines are full of garbage only intended to rot your head with silly and useless ideas.."

You feared him.

"You've been disobeying me more than I hoped. you're rotting from the inside--"

what.

"Father--"

It wasn't until you saw him turn only to throw your magazines into the fireplace, tossing them mercilessly as he knew you'd watch with distraught eyes.

Tears were brimming in your eyes, your hands held together against your chest as to hold back any sobs.

To him they were just magazines, to you was everything you wanted to know and more.

"I'd hate to do this to you little dove, but no daughter of mine will get consumed by filth that'll decay your pure little mind."

His neck snapped quickly towards you, making you jump slightly and how fast and abrupt it did so.

"Do you understand, dear?"

You opened your mouth to speak but to your dismay nothing came out, but you cried.

Just cried, without warning the tears you tried so hard to hold back just spilled out the moment there was silence after his last sentence.

Your hands snaked up to your face to cover your eyes and tears from being more visible than it already is.

"Oh, darling. Shh.. no need to cry.." Alastor said, you heard his footsteps come closer and you couldn't help but have your shoulders stiff up when you felt his arms go around your shoulders, one of his hands gently patting your head as if trying to soothe you.

After destroying your things.

Even while speaking, you could hear him smiling.. you just knew he was.

"I saved you, little dove. You truly have the world's greatest father.."

(THANK YOU FOR READING THIS SPECIAL CHAPTER OF MY ANGEL BABY!!! AAAAAAAA thank you sososos much! for anyone who's still reading this now thank you so much for looking for my pics yet again and thank you to anyone new for checking this out! much thanks! I once again apologize for the lack of proofreading this time and any other potential issues, I'll try my very best to get back in the zone!

I hope to see you in the next chapter of My Angel Baby! Where we will continue with it's current story in hell and the usual format of the flashbacks at the end as a treat, bye bye!!)

[just-alittle-spooky]

LUCK OF THE IRISH

Pairing: Charlie Kelly x fem!reader Summary: Charlie decided to stay in Ireland with his father Shelly, and he happens to meet the cute new coffee shop waitress down the road from their house. Completely by chance, he wasn't stalking her or anything. Warnings: Not really anything, it's VERY tame. Side warning though, I'm not from Ireland but I do attempt to use some Irish slang so if I use it wrong I'm very sorry.

----------

Charlie didn't get out much. Back when he lived in Philly, it wasn't like he was a shut-in. But he had always tended to keep to himself and only interact with new people when absolutely necessary. His four best friends were generally the only people he'd talk to for weeks, sometimes months, not including the various innocent bystanders that would get wrapped up in their hair-brained schemes. The only woman he'd had strong feelings for since highschool didn't show him the time of day for decades, and once she did, he realized that they simply weren't meant to be. Every minute he spent in Philadelphia since then seemed to drone on and on. Like there was no purpose or meaning to life anymore. All the enthusiasm had drained out of him, Charlie had been drifting for so long, he wasn't sure when it had started.

Which was why the normally travel-shy janitor had jumped at the chance to get out of their usual routine once Ireland was on the table. He wanted to see the country he supposedly hailed from (if his last name were any indication), experience a new place, and give life another shot. It was only coincidence that he ended up finding his father, an old pen pal that he hadn't thought twice about in years. But as they began to reconnect—or rather, connect for the first time—he started to feel a passion that had left him long ago. It was startling when he realized that he wanted to stay, to leave behind his old life, old friends, old apartment, old city, hell, his whole home country. As the days went on in his new home, he found that those things were all beginning to be easily replaced. He found a new house in staying with his father, a new city in the quaint Irish countryside village, a new life as a cheese mongrel or whatever it was they were doing. And even the old love of his life slowly but surely slipped away, and was quickly being replaced by a new one.

Alright, maybe it was a little soon to say she was the love of his life. They'd only know each other a few weeks—well, he'd known her. Without her knowing at all—but that had never stopped him before.

Besides, who could blame him? She was everything Charlie had ever wanted in a girl. Sweet as honey, pretty as the morning dew, gentle as a doe, and did he mention how pretty she was? He'd never met eyes with her, but he was sure that it he did, they would sparkle at him like diamonds. From a distance, her hair looked soft and he could only bet that it smelled as sweet as the glimpses he'd get of her perfume on the few occasions she'd walk past him. Charlie had listened in on her conversations—it was what any good potential suitor would do—and her voice had this musical quality to it. It made him want to write her a million love songs to play along to her everyday conversation. In Charlie's eyes, this girl was absolutely perfect. And moreover, she was perfect for him.

But he couldn't escape the nagging voices in his head. The ones that belonged to his old friends, his old life. Dennis criticizing his every decision, moving in on the girl and capturing her away before Charlie could even introduce himself. Dee shrieking in his ears that no girl would ever want him the way he was. That he was dirty and gross and that he couldn't read, that anyone with half a brain would see what a mess he was and run in the opposite direction. Frank telling him he was better off alone, that he should just stay in the apartment with him and make Grilled Charlies all day long. And what stung the most, was the voice of The Waitress in his head. Every time she'd ever rejected him, every nasty word she'd ever spoken in his direction, all the times she tore him down and told him that there wasn't a chance in hell they'd ever be together. It was all just one great big reminder that he wasn't worth the trouble. That he should cut his losses and stick to staring at her when he was sure she wasn't looking. It had always worked for him, before. Usually. Sometimes. It had worked once or twice. Regardless, that was what he resolved to do.

Unfortunately, he didn't count on Shelly being so observant.

"Well, you've a glad eye for that one, haven't you?" the words were lighthearted, and accompanied by a gentle push on the shoulder.

"I don't have a glass eye," Charlie replied, voice steeped thick in confusion. Not uncommon for him.

"No, Charlie, a glad eye. It means you've got a crush," Shelly explained himself, giving his son a sly grin.

"What? No! No, I– I don't have like a..." he trailed off, losing his train of thought when the pretty girl appeared in his peripheral once more. Charlie and Shelly had been after a quick bite to eat that morning—one could only eat so much cheese in a day—and Charlie had innocently suggested this little coffee shop on the edge of town. It was close to their house and came, of course, with the added bonus of Coffee Girl.

"You should talk to her, Charlie," Shelly suggested, nudging his son lightly yet again. "Ask her on a date."

"No," Charlie shook his head immediately. There was just no way. "I can't, she'd just say no and then I'd keep asking and it would turn into a whole thing for like ten years and I don't wanna go through that again."

Shelly, despite his obvious bewilderment, filed all his new questions away for a different time and place and tried instead to encourage the boy. "You can't know that for sure, son. Listen here, I'm going to find the jacks. She'll be headed your way in a minute, why don't you talk to her?" Shelly hauled himself out of his seat and landed a heavy hand on Charlie's shoulder before he left.

Charlie, unsure of who exactly Jack was and why Shelly needed to find multiple of him, shook it off and began to mentally prepare himself. He'd never actually been a customer at this coffee shop before, always having hung around outside or snuck in to get a look at Coffee Girl before he chickened out and ran back home. There was no way he could handle another rejection from a dream girl. Having taken enough rejection to last most men a lifetime every other week, Charlie wondered if it was worth it to try at all anymore. Things had ended so badly with The Waitress, and after all the time he'd put into her, all the love he'd given over all those years. He wasn't sure if he could take that kind of rejection ever again. But there was just something about Coffee Girl, he couldn't describe it. Something deep inside of him just told him that she was the one for him. That little voice in the pit of his chest always fighting all the other, much louder, much meaner voices in his brain telling him that she'd only hurt him like The Waitress. Or that he wasn't good enough for her, or that he'd already screwed it up somehow, or that–

"Hello? Sir?"

Shit.

How long had she been standing there? How long was he staring off into space like a maniac? She had to hate his guts now, of course she did, why wouldn't she? He was a creep and now she knew it, too.

"H..." Charlie made to say hello back, but the word got caught in his throat. It just came out as a throaty, breathy sound, and the crazed look in his eye only served to make him look all the more deranged. Nevertheless, he pushed through, remembering Shelly's encouragement and listening to the little voice in his heart for once. "Hello."

And then she did something that made him think that somewhere along the way, he'd died and gone to heaven.

She smiled at him. So beaming and bright and full of warmth that he thought he might never be cold again. It caught him so off guard he couldn't speak. In all the years he'd spent loving The Waitress, he could count the number of times she'd smiled at him on one hand. And at least three of them had been cruel and at his expense.

"Hi!" Coffee Girl greeted him, overly chipper to have received his full attention. "How are you, this morning?"

"Good! I'm," he laughed nervously, that had been too loud, "I'm good. How are you?" So far so good, even though he was sweating through his shirt. Oh well, the army jacket would hold off the pit stains from being visible hopefully until the end of this interaction.

"I'm great, thank you for asking," she replied and smiled down at him once again with a certain twinkle in her eye (he was right, they really did sparkle). Charlie had seen it before, usually directed at Dennis from some drunk, helpless girl, but he knew what it meant all the same. She liked him. Maybe just barely, but she did.

Coffee Girl looked at him a little too long, smile faded but still soft on her lips. She couldn't help it, he was just so cute. Obviously, he was also quite nervous to be talking to her, which only made him that much more endearing. He just held that eye contact with her for so long that she almost forgot she was supposed to ask him his order.

"Sorry," she shook her head with a light, embarrassed laugh, cheeks turning the slightest pink shade. Charlie felt his heart leap at the sight. "Can I get you anything?"

"Date?" he asked, suddenly. So suddenly, he caught even himself by surprise. The way her eyebrows jumped up just a little sent his heart right back into his stomach, and he stumbled to explain himself. "No! Not a date, sorry– like a, um, y'know, like–"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Coffee Girl interrupted him, if only to stop him spiralling.

Here it comes. Dammit, Charlie. He should've known better. Now, she was going to laugh, tell him that was ridiculous and walk away. Or glare at him and snarl that she'd rather do literally anything else in the world. His brain voices were right and he should've just listened to them in the first place. Now, he had to brace himself for the inevitable, painful rejection. The only thing he could do was apologize and hope he never saw her again.

It was only when she kept talking that he realized he'd never actually answered her question of whether or not he was asking her on a date. It probably didn't matter, anyway.

"Cause if you are, I'd– well, I'd like that, a lot," she spoke. This was out of character for her, she didn't usually do this sort of thing. But something told her that Charlie didn't either, and if she didn't make some kind of move, they'd stay right there staring at each other until they were both grey and old. "But I don't know your name."

Charlie was frozen. He knew he should respond. He wanted to, more than anything. But he just couldn't believe his own ears. She had said yes. Had she said yes? He thought she did.

"Yes," he blurted out, saying the first word that came to mind. Shaking his head and starting over, he said, "sorry, I mean, I'm Charlie." With that, he gave her a toothy grin that made her heart melt into a puddle.

"It's okay, Charlie, you don't have to be sorry." There was that warm smile again, and that sweetness that he loved. Charlie supposed that he shouldn't have been so surprised. He knew she was sweet, that was why he liked her in the first place. For whatever reason, he just expected her to be sweet to everyone else but him. Most girls usually were.

His smile faded down into one that was a little more natural. Gentle, kind, and overall surprised at her good nature. It was a very pretty smile, she noticed. And while she would've loved to stare at it until her shift ended at eight o'clock, she could see her manager beginning to poke his head out of his office.

"Could I get you something to drink?" she asked him in a voice that made him wonder if she'd dipped her tongue in honey while he wasn't looking.

He grinned sheepishly and asked, "you don't have any beer, do you?"

Coffee Girl grinned back, pride swelling her. "It's your lucky day, Charlie," she teased him good-naturedly.

As Charlie felt another flutter in his chest, he spotted Shelly coming back over out of the corner of his eye. Here he was, Charlie Kelly, sitting in a coffee shop, arranging a date with the cutest coffee shop waitress he'd ever laid his eyes on, his father only a few steps away, a beer with his name on it, and even the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. He almost couldn't believe it. Maybe he really had died and gone to heaven. Maybe that cruise ship really was purgatory, and everything between then and now was hell. Maybe getting away from The Gang was the one thing he needed to do in order to get into heaven. Whatever the case, he was sure it didn't matter.

Delicate smile still perched upon his lips, Charlie locked eyes with Coffee Girl once more. He spoke softly, "yeah, I think it is."

[lampmanliveblogs]

”Actually, the Titan’s skull is normal. Everything else is… wrong.”

That’s a brief, if not very descriptive summation of the current situation. It looks like someone threw the Teletubbies and every Kirby game into a blender and spilled the smoothie over a box of halloween decorations.

I feel I should probably talk a little bit about the scene just before this…

The Witch Kids were, naturally, elated to be back home, with Willow & Gus goofing off for a bit. Hunter looks on fondly… until he hears a bird’s song and catches a glimpse of a red bird. He snaps at Willow & Gus, telling them that they don’t have time for this, they need to find Belos.

Willow & Gus share this look, and I think they both realize the same thing. Namely, that Hunter just went through a very traumatic experience, including his best friend and familiar dying. Dying by his own hand, forced as it may have been by the monster that has abused him since childhood. Also, the whole grimwalker thing.

I would not surprise me if Hunter ends up becoming obsessed with hunting Belos down and putting him down for good as vengeance, not just for the pain he himself has had to endure, but for taking the life of Flapjack as well. And that obsession might cause him to lash out towards his friends and family, and cause some conflict.

That thing atop the Titan’s skull Willow, is The Collector’s new house where he will live with King and where they can be best friends forever and ever.

Now, what to call it… It looks a bit like a crown, or maybe a tiara. I kinda like the sound of ”Tiara Halls” as a name. It has a nice palace-y vibe to it. I think I’m gonna call it that from now on.

Luz has still not changed her mind. Not that I expected her to, it’s been like fifteen minutes in-universe time. She’ll come around eventually. I hope.

Oh, and kudos to Luz for figuring out so quickly that Camila figured out her intentions. Well, Camila didn’t so much figure them out as she heard Luz herself explain them, but still. Luz has historically not always been the best at picking up on details like that.

As for Camila… she’s trying, but she obviously just don’t know what to say. She can see that her daughter is making a mistake, but she doesn’t know how to tell her that. She tries to be supportive and talk about how nice the Demon Realm is, but that falls pretty flat. as she finds herself in a scary land, filled with ghosts and dangerous things, and monsters running around.

And to be fair, it’s not like Luz was always super-pumped about the Demon Realm either. I seem to recall that her reaction back in season one, episode one was ��Oh jeez, getting transported into a magical land was actually super scary! Weird witch lady, please bring me home!”

Then she made friends with King and Eda, and the prisoners at the Conformitorium. And in the end she decided that she wanted to stay in the Demon Realm to learn magic. My point is, it wasn’t love at first sight for Luz when it came to the Demon Realm, so we shouldn’t expect it to be so for Camila either. I’m sure that once she sees how happy this world and its people makes her daughter, she’ll grow more fond of it.

Oh, and sidenote: I mentioned in the last episode that Luz had what I thought might be a book on taxidermying. Turns out I was right, as Camila confirms that Luz has (or had) a taxidermy hobby. So yay, go me! I got it right!

(future Lampman here: something I only recently remembered: back in Yesterday’s Lie, Camila made Luz promise that she’d stay in the Human Realm once she made it back. I talk a little bit more about this later)

Hunter: ”Oh come on, It’s not like a swarm of ghosts will inexplicably appear if you say his name. I think.”

The Ghost of Caleb Wittebane about to do the funniest thing: ”Wanna bet?”

So the question is, is that a real ghost? We’ve heard references to ghosts and spirits before, but I don’t think those were ever implied to be the vengeful souls of the dead.

Another, perhaps more likely explanation is that Philip hallucinating. Like I said last episode, towards the end there, it really did seem like he wasn’t even sure when he was, much less where he was or who he was talking to. It really did seem to me like he was reciting an old conversation, from that fateful day he took his brother’s life. Of course, the lifeless body of Caleb and the bloodied knife would be on his mind. And, well… Philip wasn’t exactly the most sane person there ever was to begin with, and that was before he was turned into gloop.

Looking at this apparition (blurry as it may be), I immediately notice the knife Philip used to take Caleb’s life hanging above the dead brother’s head like some Sword of Damocles that already fell. It’s stained red with blood, which is pretty intense imagery for a kid’s show from Disney. I also notice a tear in Caleb’s shirt, from where Philip would have stabbed him, I presume.

Something that’s kinda interesting though is how unhealthy he looks. His cheeks are sunken in, and his eyes have large dark bags beneath them. He looks malnourished. Which… is not how I recall him looking in the paintings in Philip’s mind back in Hollow Mind.

It’s… still not entirely clear whether this is a ghost or just a figment of Philip’s imagination. Ghost!Caleb doesn’t say anything, only looks on with what almost looks like disappointment or possible disdain at how pathetic Philip has become.

Granted, these dead looks seem to mean something to Philip. He thinks Ghost!Caleb is mocking him and lashes out. Of course, his strikes pass through the apparition and he collapses on the ground as his body continues to decompose. He drags himself away, muttering that he needs another body as the camera pans upwards towards Tiara Halls.

Philip says he was only trying to save Caleb’s soul and that this is all his fault. I do wonder… I wonder if Philip genuinely blames  Caleb for, well… all of this. Or if this is some part of his broken mind trying to justify his actions to himself and push away the guilt. Maybe it���s a bit of both.

[5piderboy]

skinny dipping (au)

summary: after six years of not seeing each other, you bump into Natasha in your favorite coffee shop. 

natasha romanoff x fem!reader 

warnings: a little bit of angst, a little bit of slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending. please let me know if i missed anything. 

word count: 3 713

a/n: thought my favorite thing that i’ve ever written still deserves to be out in the world, so here i am reposting it. tbh i don’t care how many notes it gets this time (it had plenty before), i just feel that it deserves to be posted (i deserve it as well).

english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any mistake.

It’s a normal Wednesday. You’re waiting in line to order your usual cup of coffee in your favorite coffee shop in all of New York City. Outside it was snowing, and the streets were a little more chaotic than usual because Christmas time was approaching, but inside the shop it was warm and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, making you feel calmer. Living in New York City, you appreciated small moments like this one, basking in the glorious simplicity of enjoying a well-made latte in a city that always seemed to be complicated. You were always looking for these moments, sometimes you even craved them when nothing seemed to slow down, and you needed to stop time for a few minutes. 

The line was a little longer than usual, and you started balancing yourself on your feet because patience wasn’t really a characteristic you had, so the calm you were feeling was a little ruined. It makes you a little angry how long people take, and you wonder why they don’t approach the cashier already knowing what they want, as if they didn’t have time to think about it. You could blame your impatience on New York if you wanted to point fingers, everything always had to be fast, everything always had to be ready in impossible deadlines, and having lived 5 years here, you had unfortunately soaked up that mindset. 

Finally, you could order and a warm cup of coffee was put in your hands by the talented barista in no time, and thanking her with a smile you went to sit down in your favorite corner of the shop. Eagerly, you took a sip of your latte, and your lips felt the warmth of the coffee to then travel down your body and warm you up. Suddenly, the cold day of New York didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Oatmeal latte for Natasha!” The barista screamed out, absolutely careless to your heart that started to skip a beat at her words.

No, it can’t be.

There’s absolutely no way. There’s absolutely no way that is her. 

You think that between the buzz of the place and the music playing in your headphones you heard it wrong, but when you catch a glimpse of a fire head between the people waiting for their coffee, you know you didn't. And you feel like your heart just stopped. 

What was she doing here, in New York, after all these years? 

It’s been 6 years since you saw her. Those last moments were replayed in your mind like a broken film ever since that day, and you desperately held onto them because you were scared that you were going to forget, despite how heart-breaking the memory was, there wasn’t a single detail that you didn’t want to remember about Natasha. This too, was something that sometimes brought you peace. 

Your eyes are fixated on her, she moves gracefully to pick up her cup of coffee from the counter. It is to go, in a few minutes she isn’t going to be in the same space as you. As beautiful and fleeting as a shooting star, Natasha was going to be gone, leaving you to wonder if you were just gifted the most marvellous minutes of your life because you could observe such a beautiful thing; or it was rather a curse because now the thought of it not happening again was going to haunt you for the rest of your life, leaving you to just wait for the phenomenon to repeat itself. 

But then like she senses you, she looks up. And she sees you. Her beautiful green eyes are looking into yours again. And suddenly you don’t feel anything anymore, you don’t feel the cold of the outside or the warmth of your coffee, you don’t feel the calm the place brought you or the rush of New York City, you don’t feel the music, you don’t feel the buzz of the people. You just feel her. Each and every one of your senses, each and every one of your thoughts are now overtaken by Natasha. 

As beautifully as she moved to grab her latte, she moves to you. 

“Hi, Y/N” You never thought you were going to hear your name falling out of her lips ever again, a side smile that showed her dimple was present on her features. It was your favorite smile of hers and you didn’t realize how much you missed it until now, making you remember how you always wished you could make yourself small and cuddle into that dimple. 

“Hi Nat, how are you?” It has been too long and you greet her almost as if she was a stranger, but the thing is that you’ve been estranged from her for years now and your body didn’t know its way around her anymore, like the beaten up body of a soldier coming back from war to his loved ones but feeling unfamiliar with the changes in his house and the growing of his kids. You are sure it’s home, but deep in your soul it doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

You used to admire every single shade of green that swirled in her eyes; your fingertips traced by memory the invisible path that joined all the moles of her naked back; your hands were always skilled to get in between her red locks, that now had some blonde fading on the tips, to braid it when she had a bad day; your lips could always find it’s way to kiss in between her thighs to worship her. Every single thing that made her, every step, all the ways that her body moved, had consumed you and were engraved into your memory. And now, it had all became too unfamiliar, you just ached to reach out and learn everything all over again. 

She was standing over you with the coffee cup in both of her hands to warm them up, you looked at her from below. “I’m fine, I was heading to work” Work? Is she working here—wait, is she living here then?. 

“How’s your sister?” Natasha asks because she somehow wants to keep talking to you and says the first thing that comes into her mind. The small talk was awkward, the red-head was shifting her feet in her place, and you were playing with the sleeve of your cup, slowly tearing the cardboard apart. 

“Oh, Wanda’s being Wanda, she is almost finished with law school” 

“Wow, that’s impressive” 

“Yeah, she actually also lives here with her girlfriend, they both met at Columbia” 

“An Ivy League!? That’s even more impressive, wow” 

You nod in agreement and a silence falls between the two of you. All that you could have right now was this minute of nonsensical chatter and that felt so wrong. Natasha’s mouth opened and closed, and her brows furrowed as her eyes fell into the lid of the cup.

“Would you like to do this on purpose sometime?” She looks up at you and sees the confusion on your face, immediately regretting her words. “I mean—if you wanna of course, this was nice and— uhm” Again, her gaze adverts yours and you find it kind of cute how nervous she is, especially when you know that you’d follow her to the moon if she asked you to. 

“I’d love to, Nat” You say softly, and her beautiful eyes meet you again and you allow yourself to admire the different shades of green like you used for a few seconds, unintentionally catching on the way the sides of her eyes wrinkle because of the smile that was now her face. Both dimples are now showing, and holy shit how much you missed those dimples. 

Natasha walks away with the promise of texting you, maybe a promise of something else that you can’t quite still figure out. You see her disappear from the window of the shop as she turns the corner.

You take a sip of your coffee. 

It’s cold now. 

You hug yourself as you feel the cold that leaks under the garage door. of Natasha’s house. Her parents were inside, and she didn’t want them to hear you arguing, so she didn’t even offer to go into the house even though you were freezing. 

“I think we need some time apart, Y/N” 

The memory rushes back to you, every detail of that conversation has been replayed in your mind, a conversation that was clouded with insults aiming at each other’s deepest wounds, words that neither of you had ever meant and that were regretted ever since that moment. 

It had been long enough for both of you to not harp on that. Natasha was 19 when you left her standing in that garage, leaving her behind as she faded in your rearview mirror, also leaving your heart behind to never be returned to you again. It was hers back then, and you were sure it still belongs to her even six years later. Natasha had sweated her heart down deep into your soul, engraving herself there forever; you were always looking for her in your memories and looking for her in the faces of the New York crowd, desperately trying to find her anywhere you went, you tried to reach for her in your dreams, you actually went to bed expecting you could dream of her if that was the only way you got to see her.  

When a year after the break-up happened, you moved to New York, you were hoping that by escaping you would forget her, but you always found yourself begging that her memory wasn’t going to fade away.

Natasha arrives at her tattoo shop and finds her friend Bucky already working on some of his designs for the coming week. She feels a little too unfamiliar with herself, her heart has shifted to be restarted the second she saw you sitting in the corner of that coffee shop and it seems like her body was trying to adapt to feeling this way again. 

She heads to her work station and takes a sip of her oatmeal latte. 

It’s cold now. 

She can’t believe how she let you slip through her fingers. 

Natasha texts you later that night when she is done with her work day. 3 tattoos. 2 arm pieces, 1 leg piece. In every single line that she traced, she thought of you. 

The date is tomorrow night in a small Chinese restaurant that she really likes. It made you think back to all the nights you stayed cuddled in her couch watching horror films with Chinese take out cartons laying on the floor, and the way you always laughed about how you could taste the soy sauce in her lips when you kissed her. 

You’re standing outside the restaurant playing with the rings in your fingers in an attempt to calm yourself a little. The attempt is an absolute failure, and you get only more nervous when you see Natasha stepping off a beautiful black motorbike. She always talked about having a bike when she grew older, a smile creeps up your face when you see that she finally has it. 

“Hi, Y/N” If someone had told you you would’ve heard her say those words twice in two days, you were sure it was going to be in one of your dreams. 

“Hi, Nat” You want to tell her that she looks beautiful, but you’re not sure if it’s right for you to say it. So you just train your eyes a little longer on her, hoping she would understand what you didn’t dare to pronounce. 

She opens the door of the restaurant for you and walks you inside. You can tell that she is a regular here by the way the workers greet her. She pulls the chair so you can sit. Your heart warms at every sweet gesture, a familiar warmth that Natasha always made you feel, a familiar warmth that only belonged to her and that now was traveling to every cold corner of your soul to warm it up. 

“So, what are you doing in New York?” You ask her as she slurps some noodles of her meal, some soy sauce falls on the corner of her lips and you just want to kiss it away like you used to. 

“I opened my tattoo shop three years ago” Sparks show in Natasha’s eyes when she says this, and when you catch on to that, it makes you smile. Her biggest dream was to have her own tattoo shop. When you left her she was just an apprentice for some local artist, but at such a young age she was so talented. With such a talent, and with the drawings of how she wanted the shop to look already pasted on her bedroom wall, you knew she was eventually going to make it. 

What you didn’t know is that she was going to make it here, in New York, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she chose this city because of you. 

“I’m so proud of you, Nat” Her eyes sparked more at your comment, making themselves smaller when she smiled, you mirrored her gesture.  

“And what are you doing here?”

You are keeping the talk bureaucratic, your knees graze behind the table and you can't tell if it's intentional or is the natural magnetic field that attracts you to her. Her hand lies on top of the table and you feel the ache in your bones to reach out and touch her, and if your movements were commanded by your heart, you would've already, but a logical mind filled with uncertainty told you the opposite. 

“Well, I’m a concert photographer based here. I cover mostly all the major shows that happen in the city and sometimes I travel abroad” Like Natasha, you had your dreams too and one of them was becoming a photographer, the rest of them included the red-head sitting now in front of you. So a year after your break-up when it finally weighed down on you that the ones with her weren’t going to happen, you shoved your broken heart in a suitcase and flew to New York to try to accomplish the one dream you had left. 

“Did you move here to chase your dream or to run away from me?” She blurted out the question, but it didn’t sound like a claim, she actually sounded hurt. And she always asked herself this exact same question, because she never knew if she had done something so bad for you to want to run away from the city you both lived in. 

“Did you come here to look for me?” It has been long enough for you not to harp on any of what happened, but it hasn’t been long enough that it doesn’t hurt. A spine in your hearts that could never be removed, and you can see that in the eyes that meet you from across the table, how both of you are thinking about how different you are from those scared little kids that had those arguments in Natasha’s garage and all the ways you sabotaged it. 

The questions were left unanswered and Natasha asked for the check, maybe they didn’t need a response, not after so much time had passed. For whatever reason you left, for whatever reason she had chosen New York to base herself in, right now it didn’t matter, that reason had brought you back together again to a little Chinese restaurant, and maybe that was the way it had to happen. 

Now Natasha was walking you home, hands wanting to hold each other as they stayed deep into the pockets of your coats. 

“Y/N, I-” She tries to speak up, trying to untie the knot on her throat with all the words she had to choke herself with. You can see her struggling, trying to figure out if the glimmer in her eyes is because of some tears or was just the moonlight reflecting on them. 

“Nat, I know” You finally reached out of her hand and interlaced your fingers. Both had to stop for a minute as your breath hitched in your throat because of the contact after so long, it was as soft as always. “Do you want to go up, to talk?”

Natasha nodded and you welcomed her into your open space loft, she started to wonder it as you went to the kitchen to prepare some lavender tea. You took the cups to the sofa area, in which Natasha was already sitting, she had taken off her leather jacket and now you could see some of her tattoos. 

“It’s a really nice place, Y/N” She took the cup you were handing her and wrapped her hands around it to warm them up from the cold night of the city. 

“Thanks Nat, the job pays well” Natasha is sitting the further from you the sofa allows her, as if the further she is from you, the less she would want to pull you close; but she knows deep down that isn’t true, she wanted to be able to pull you close even when you were miles away from her, specially when you were miles away from her. 

Both cups were now on the coffee table in front of you, both hands free to hold hers. Once again, you took her hands into yours, intertwining your fingers, a little squeeze to make her look up at you. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I-” Tears brimmed in her eyes “I should’ve never let you go, it’s probably one of the worst mistakes I have ever made and I never want to give you away, again” You reached out to her cheek to wipe the tears that didn’t stop falling, ones of your own also rolling down your face “If I were to never touch you again, to see you, even if it’s just to admire you from afar, that would be such a fucking shame”

Natasha’s lips trembled as a sob threatened to escape her, she tried taking a shaky breath to stop it, but her body only betrayed her, breaking down when she exhaled the air. You pushed her into your body and her arms found their way to hold you closer as she rested her face on the crook of your neck. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Natty. We were young, we were dumb and we both made mistakes, now you're here and that’s the only thing that matters” You whispered into her hair, repeating like a worn out prayer that it was okay, that she didn’t do anything wrong. 

Natasha clung desperately onto your body, trying to make up for all the years that she couldn’t feel you. Her hands wanted to wonder to all those familiar places and retrace all the paths they had once drawn on your skin, she wanted to lay her head on your chest so she could hear all the heartbeats that belonged to her, even wanting to collide your heart with her own to fuse them forever so you would never escape again. But that desperation subdued when she realized that now, she had the rest of her life to do that. 

Finally, she pulled away from you and looked into your teary eyes, you found love pouring out of hers to drip down into you and fall in your heart to heal one of your deepest wounds. 

Natasha got closer to rest your forehead on yours, holding each side of your body almost making you climb onto her lap as your arms looped around her neck. Her caresses on your exposed stomach and yours playing with the hair on the nape of her neck were soft and careful, like they were calculated because if they did something wrong, the other might fade away again; so both of you stayed like that for a few minutes, basking in the moment of being in such close proximity again. 

But then you rubbed your nose with hers, and then your gaze traveled to her lips that were slightly parted, inviting you in. 

And then, you kiss her. All your regrets and mistakes were kissed goodbye as soon as your lips touched, one soft kiss that lasts only a few seconds because Natasha pulls away to look at you and make sure that she isn’t dreaming, her lips still parted and fresh tears welling up in her eyes. 

Inches apart, you stare at each other’s lips and your breath is knocked out of you when she collides with force against your lips again. Her hands are now gripping the back of your t-shirt and they make their way under it to feel the warmth of your skin, to try to feel you as close as possible; your hands are holding her cheeks as you wipe away the steady stream of tears, feeling their saltiness as some fall in between your lips. 

Foreheads are touching again when the kiss ends. And if you weren’t a believer of destiny, at this exact moment, you were sure you had become one. 

When you left her standing in her garage, when a year later you ran away with a broken heart to chase the only dream you thought you had left, when you chose that coffee shop as your regular, when you walked in to buy a latte on that Wednesday like any other day. Every single decision you made, every single step you took thinking that you were getting far away from her, was only taking you back to Natasha, back home. 

And when you looked into the different shades of green of her eyes that now were yours to admire forever, you knew that even if you did something different, you were going to end up in the same place you were now. Everything was always going to lead back to Natasha. 

“The tea might get cold” Natasha said, you chuckled but still followed her moves and grabbed your cup from the table, both of you taking a sip at the same time. 

It was still hot. 

[apocalypse-eyes]

X.

I think my parents are probably dead. I don't know why I keep thinking about that. I don't know anybody who knows them anymore. Even before I disappeared. There was nobody who could tell them when I died. They'd probably died already then. I haven't really heard about anybody outside of this city being alive, not on the west coast anyway. There was a migration along the highway moving north a few years ago, when things started to get really bad. Thousands of cars all stuck in congestion.

Refugees poured into town and some of them kept going farther north. After a while they just stopped and there weren't any more cars coming from the south. The weather and the fires started getting worse and that fucked up the roads. You couldn't drive south anymore if you wanted to.

I didn't think to call them until after I was dead and became this. I still haven't, but it only just occurred to me that I'm probably the only one left. Alive in whatever version of the world this is. Whatever version of being alive. I mostly started smoking after I died too. It seems like I've been eating little animals I find in the buildings since I keep waking up with blood in my mouth. I don't spend any money on food or rent anymore since everything died, but the cigarettes are these terrible, scrounged-together things. They're too expensive, but it feels like my brain is alive again sometimes.

I haven't been very coherent lately. It's really not important to be coherent when I'm barely alive and living inside a corpse of the distant world. People walk into the city sometimes and they don't remember anything. Mostly the soldiers just shoot them. When it got really bad then I started to not feel anything. The sky looks different when I'm feverish. I think I'm usually feverish because it doesn't all fit together. I'm sitting on my bed smoking one after another of these awful cigarettes to get little glimpses of clarity.

My name is Vermin and I live in this abandoned, empty building a little bit into the first evac zone. There used to be other people here but they trickled away as it kept getting worse. Somebody died upstairs but he's still in his room. It smelled like death in the hall but then it went away. There used to be more soldiers around in the streets because they don't want anyone living where they can't control it. Midway through last year though, after everyone else was gone, they mostly stopped coming through here. It's easy enough to hear them when they do. It's easy to hear a car move down the road when it's the only car around. I just walk the few blocks to past the fallen-over barricade signs and pretend that I'm still human.

There's this voice in my head that wants to kill someone. It wants that pretty much more than I want to be alive anyway. Even ignoring this fucked up situation I have, I don't know what being alive means now to anyone. It's pretty interchangeable to me, but maybe I'm wrong to think I'm the same as anyone else now. It makes me more crazy when I talk to people because they talk like there's nothing wrong. The cops keep killing people but it's really easy to ignore that when you're not looking for it.

I'm missing something. Something really vital to being a person and it's been missing for a while since before I died. This state is just an elaboration on the way that I was before. I have this blanket my aunt crocheted for me when I was sixteen and now it's covered with ash smears and blood. There used to be a lot of wine stains but you can't see them now because of the blood. There's this guy called Marty and I think about him way too much. We knew each other a bit when things were normal. We almost started dating but that didn't work. Most of the rest of my world got killed while I just live here disintegrating and getting more sick and unreal.

I don't know what to do about the ways I feel about him. I only make sense to myself when I'm completely soaked through with nicotine and I'll forget that later. But wanting to kill someone is a part of me too. That other presence in my body isn't really different, it just comes and goes depending on my chemicals. I think I'm a lot more changeable than other people and I just picked this up along the way. When Marty wanted to talk to me it felt like there were parts of the world still alive and like I was only wrong not to see them. Nobody else ever did that, but I think he got bored of me or something happened. I don't really remember when I do thinks, even before. My thumb broke off and then two of my middle fingers from the other hand and I just woke up with them gone. There used to be dead birds all over the beaches for most of a year but they dissolved with the tide eventually.

Vermin (work in progress)

I.

My body is a rotten animal. My bicycle is left under the water. I haven't got to understand myself yet and I still came here to kill. I can pass through surfaces easily as my self is a semi-transparent layer. Dead water air and the stagnant sea. There was some paint on these hands when i found them.

The air is all saturated with smoke. I know you can see me when you look out your window. It doesn't really mean anything. Like peat soil, I'm standing in the way of the road. Cars look at me. And I forget what I'm supposed to do. Weren't you like this when you were still in your body? Some alcohol would change you, I can feel in this stomach now the way that you were. Your phone got destroyed in the water so there's no one else for now. The earth will tilt beneath us when I get sober. So you recover me. I found myself in dreams like you. The fallen trees in the forest that were incapable of decay. It's too late. The trees were all turned into ash, a fine white powder, while those grotesque tessellations of smoke replace their plumage.

The city used to be surrounded with trees. It was a part of the world. I don't know what these words still mean when I remember them. You take control at times I get too calm to follow death. Attached together, we're everything attached together. I can't really understand what you want except that missing a thumb like this is spiraling.

Your body is inconvenient. I went to your apartment when I found you and I pulled apart your strange collections. It seems you were in love, from the way that you didn't live in your room for a while. The plant there was dying. Its vines were all turning blond and brackish strands of hair, like pitiful handfuls can be clutched from a scalp. Your life was getting dismal with love.

I think that I came here to kill someone. There's signal interference. The pistol you kept in the closet, I took that out the first night and we walked around the city together. You start to understand yourself when it's losing connection. I was still damp from the fall. Still walking around there wrenched and bloody. You don't look them in the eye when there is smoke coming out of your clothes. Black smoke fills the sky at night and it turns back to white and red in the morning.

I keep walking home to your hole in the floor. The place you were disappearing. You're gone now, except those chemical reactions and you occasionally wake in the night. I need to keep drinking so I can stay in control of this terrible dream. You look at the ceiling or into the mess of green skeletons outside and keep thinking it won't be like this forever.

And everyone knows it's too late for pollution. You may as well eat the pigeons off the street. You may as well eat the rats and arthropods before the water rises. There's someone at the door. The window is broken so it's very cold in here. We talk in the surface of water that your face reflects and you try to explain yourself sometimes. I told you that we're going to kill. It doesn't seem to bother you much. It's just okay that we are going to kill someone. The world got to be like that while you were alive.

A clot of hair in the drain, that's how I describe it. I need to be inebriated to float back on the surface. The scraps of dead souls that can molder together. Spaces between, congealed tension and reconstitution. You understand it if you don't. No one thing or another. Those particles of smoke who pulled you out of the water when you died. It's not as simple as that. There isn't death.

You walk around with the body when I can't get numb anymore. He was at the grocery store again and it felt like falling under the water. The hammer from the wind that dragged you off the bridge. It was the grating in the middle that felt treacherous before. You get used to some things and then they kill you. I can't hate you like you wanted me to, and you can never want to be in love with me.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Desperate Measures.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaeya/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Delusional Mindsets.

Kaeya was a man, distracted.

Distracted. Divided. Not inattentive, but pulled away from his responsibilities by a force he couldn’t name and couldn’t say he cared for, either. He wasn’t a stranger to romantic inclinations — fantasies, sudden flings, slow-burning inclinations that died the moment his attention was called elsewhere. Predictably, the few relationships he allowed himself were short-lived, at best distasterous at worst, but he didn’t have a problem with that. If anything, Kaeya appreciated it. He’d always thought of company as optional, and what little loneliness he was still capable of feeling could be drowned with a generous glass of wine. He wasn’t one to linger. He tried not to overstay his welcome. He’d been sentimental, once, too emotional for his own good, and he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t intend to change.

He didn’t want to change.

And yet, here he was.

Distracted.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. It was all he could do to look like he might’ve been trying to read the most recent document left on his desk – this one from Jean, a directive for the younger knights or legislation she needed him to review or another vague, important report that he probably would’ve dealt with weeks ago, if he’d been able to concentrate.

He made a half-hearted effort to straighten his back as the door to his office began to open, but Kaeya dropped the act quickly, abandoning it completely by the time he heard the sound of heeled boots against hollow tile, caught a glimpse of a familiar (albeit, rarely used) catalyst, searched for eyes and found the cover of a thin book, instead, your face still buried in your newest novel as you stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. It was you. He should’ve known it would be. Who else did he deserve?

You, Lisa’s new assistant. You, the latest addition to the Knights of Favonius. You, his current, infuriating, unshakable fixation.

You, the new recruit who hadn’t paid him so much as a passing glance since your arrival, much to Kaeya’s frustration.

You didn’t look at him. You rarely ever did, but it hurt more than it usually did, today, as you dropped another form onto his desk, letting it replace the greeting you’d forgotten to offer. “Lisa needs you to sign this,” You started, laying out your priorities clearly, a skill Kaeya was beginning to resent. “It’s just next year’s budget. If you don’t want to read it, I think I’ll be able to look the other way.”

He glanced over the rows of numbers, the messy hand-writing, the columns of meaningless gibberish that blended together into a mess of ink and digits, and took your suggestion, scrawling his name across the only blank line. It was a lost cause, especially with you in the room. Especially with your unoccupied hand resting on his desk, your fingertips idly tapping an unsteady rhythm into the wood, and all he could think about was who he’d be willing to kill to feel that hand pressed against his cheek.

He considered asking you, for a moment, giving you an order and hoping you'd absent-mindedly obey. He thought about touching you, or running his fingers through your hair, or pulling you into his lap and mumbling sweet-nothings into your ear until someone else dragged you away.

He thought about a lot of things. Then, he said, “I take it your silence comes at a price?”

“Do I seem that selfish to you?” You were selfish. You had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then surely you would’ve been kind enough to put him out of his misery months ago. “I like helping people. Just remember this when I need a favor from you.”

“I’m sure we could work something more immediate out,” He went on, but you were already starting towards the door, calling the conversation to a close before Kaeya could begin to finish. In the back of his mind, something flared, the urge to catch your wrist, to go after you, to put himself between you and the only exit and refuse to move until you looked at him, but he forced it down, swallowing the temptation before it could eclipse his common sense. He couldn’t be impulsive. He couldn’t make rash decisions. He wasn’t prepared to deal with how difficult that would make things, not now.

Not yet.

“Join me for a drink?” He tried, again, attempting to sound unbothered. Nonchalant, casual, normal. Like he wasn’t itching to burn every book you’d touched. “I know you don’t have anything better to--”

“Another night, Captain.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving Kaeya’s muttered response to echo through his empty office.

“Of course.”

~

Kaeya was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveler who hadn’t seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed knight, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from you. He knew where you'd be. You were a creature of habit, and he’d already had more than enough time to memorize your routine. He’d had enough time to memorize everything about you, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he’d spent trying and failing to win your favor.

It was evidence of how pathetic he’d gotten, over the course of his one-sided pursuit.

You were in your usual spot – tucked into the far corner of the library, perched on the edge of a windowsill, your attention monopolized by the tattered scroll spread across your lap. You were still pouring over it by the time he reached you, slumping against the nearest wall, taking in how brilliantly the muted sunlight looked as it danced across your skin. He didn’t try to hide the way he stared, anymore. He was long past worrying that you’d care enough to notice. Your hair was unkempt, proof that’d you slept in the archives again, if you’d slept at all. Your lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might’ve been stranger if they weren’t. It must’ve been a nervous tick, but Kaeya found it cute. Kaeya found it endearing. Kaeya found everything about you endearing, and to the archons, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his co--

And he hated it. He found everything about you endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. You didn’t look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out your concern. “I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by your standards. “I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one he’d already used a hundred different times. He didn’t care. He’d use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t fight, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Albedo because the chemicals he was working with reminded me of the way your favorite kind of flower smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but you only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Your dull nails bit into the edges of your scroll, but you didn’t seem to mind, nor did you move to roll it up as you finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across your expression. “You kissed Albedo?”

“You don’t get it,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do,” You admitted, more earnestly. Your gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Kaeya deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. I still have to give everyone else a reason to trust me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with one of my superiors so early on.” You paused, laughing to yourself, and something in Kaeya’s chest tightened. It was the happiest he’d been since he met you, and he still felt like you’d pushed a sword through his heart and twisted. “But, you don’t really want a relationship, do you? You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I���m the most available option, so...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture. “It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Captain, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.”

It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth. Once he did, the words came stumbling out on their own.

“Of course.”

~

Kaeya was a man, determined.

Determined might’ve been the wrong word for it. Too soft, too suggestive, the impression too positive and the meaning too vague. ‘Depraved’ might’ve suited him better, but that was too harsh, too primitive, and he’d like to think he’d been as gentle as anyone could expect him to be, given your stubbornness. He’d tried to be gentle. He’d wanted to be gentle. If he was going to do this to you, he could at least do it gently. You deserved that much, at least.

Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

He couldn’t really make up his mind, about that.

“Lisa?”

And he was gentle, more so than he had to be. Sure, you were on the floor, bare stone already beginning to chafe at your skin, but the shackles around your wrists were padded, and he’d given you enough slack to sit down, to ball yourself up, to act like it’d never crossed your mind that he’d resort to something so… easily misinterpreted. The blindfold was, similarly, an act of mercy. You’d panic if you woke up like this, chained to a wall in someone else’s cellar, and Kaeya didn’t want that. You needed time, and he could give you that. He would give you that. Even if it pained him to stay at arm’s length.

“Amber?”

He wanted to touch you. It’d be easy, now, easier than it’d ever been before. You wouldn’t be able to push him away, and even if you tried to, he could always overpower you. Take you by the neck, pin you against the floor, leave you shaking and trembling and begging, pleading with a captor you couldn’t see. He’d find a way to make it up to you, later on. He’d find a way to lie, to smile, to make it better, even if he’d failed to time and time again, out there. But, this would be different. You wouldn’t be able to cling to your excuses, and he’d be able to show you how much he cared, how much he wanted this, how much he loved you. This would be better.

“Kaeya?”

See? You were already coming around.

Your voice was already soft, hesitant, a sliver of a whisper that was constantly on the verge of dying out completely. You were trying not to make noise, trying not to seem as terrified as you really were, but he could hear the way your breath hitched as he took a step forward, your restraints rattling as you curled into yourself. You couldn’t hide from him, but you wanted to. That much was obvious. You didn’t want this.

But, he did. More than you could ever want to run away from it.

He wanted to touch you, but he held himself back. Instead, he only kneeled in front of you, letting himself linger for a moment before he spoke. “I’m here, love.”

“Where are we?” You were afraid, too scared to put the pieces together. Not while you could still hope there was another explanation. Not while you could still deny the apparent. “My head hurts, and I can’t--”

“I know, and I’ll make it up to you.” This time, he let himself reach out, cupping your cheek and chuckling as you tried to shy away. The two of you could work on that, later on. He could live with the guilt if he let himself enjoy it, now. “Just give me a moment, alright? Just a second, then I’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, then you closed it again. Kaeya wondered if you’d be bold enough to refuse if he did try to kiss you, or hold you, or go further than the fleeting touches he’d swore would keep him satisfied, at first, at least. He wondered if he’d care, when you did. “Are… are you going to hurt me?”

He wanted to reassure you. He wanted to promise he’d be patient, that he’d understand if you lashed out, that violence wasn’t an option he was willing to consider, but he couldn’t, like this, could he? He didn’t want to hurt you, but he’d never wanted to kidnap you, either, not until you made it obvious he didn’t have another choice. He didn’t want to stoop so low, he didn’t want you to hate him, but…

But, he was lying again, wasn’t he?

To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely cared whether or not you loved him back.

You stifled a scream as his hand dropped to your jaw, his grip tightening as he jerked you forward, just close enough to wrap his arm around your waist, to bury his face in the side of your neck, to get a taste of what you’d deprived him of. It wasn’t enough, he doubted it’d ever be enough, but he had you. He had you, he was close to you, and he had you. That had to be enough, for now.

“We’ll see.”

[milazka]

not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.

warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking

last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.

─── ° • ❀ ───

The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose. 

“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her. 

“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare. 

“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.

“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”

“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins. 

“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched. 

“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.

“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.

“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.

“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget. 

He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance. 

“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious. 

“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.

─── ° • ❀ ───

“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash. 

“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt. 

“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.

Crying is for the weak.

She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.

“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?” 

Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.

“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm. 

“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?” 

“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well. 

“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.

“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?” 

He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.

“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.

“Show me.” 

“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.

“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,” 

“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine. 

“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.

Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.

“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties. 

“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds.  She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.

“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him. 

“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him. 

“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl. 

“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?” 

“Uh no, should I have?” 

“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.

“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?” 

“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question. 

“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.

He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye  before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.

At leats he know where the clit is.

"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.  

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.

He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.

─── ° • ❀ ───

taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist

[lizzy-williams]

❝𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 & 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜❞

ღWarnings: SMUT (18+ please!), language, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), sexual situations.

ღMasterlist

ღRequest: Can you do the most dirty hard good sexy lovely spanking doggy position french kiss smut EVER please PLEASE with tom 🙂🪓

ღSummary: You’re been in a mood almost all week, Tom having to leave right on Valentine’s Day for filming. The day before he has to leave, you’re the meanest you’ve been, and Tom’s had about enough. 

ღA/n: ANON YOU DIRTY BEAN I LOVE YOU. This will be the first thing I’m posting since I came back, So I hope you guys enjoy, feel free to send in more requests. 

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 in a mood the entire week. More specifically at your boyfriend, who chose a job that somehow, someway got him taken away right on Valentine’s Day. 

Even worse, this would be your 5th Valentine’s Day together, which you saw as a mile stone. You knew you were being irrational and a bit selfish, but you were too blinded by your anger to realize it. 

For the time being, you were giving Tom hell, inside and outside your small flat. On Monday, you and Tom went out for coffee, but of course, being the little minx you are, you teased him right then and there, in public, and you managed to turn Tom into a needy, whiny child with only a few touches.  

But when the two of you got home, you did a full 180, becoming completely distanced and untouchable, evading every advance Tom tried to make on you. You just kept all your attention on Tessa for a majority of that day. 

At first, Tom was clueless, the sudden distancing confusing the hell out of him, but it only escalated from there. 

On Tuesday, you had some things to do for work, and there you sat on the couch, typing away on your computer before Tom, still flustered and needy from yesterday, came waltzing into the living area and plopped down right next to you, resting his head on your shoulder. 

Yet you sat there, still typing away, acting as if Tom wasn’t there at all. Tom adjusted himself a few times, seeing if his movements gained any attention or reaction from you. Still. Nothing. 

Now he resulted to sighing loudly, and due to where his head was, it was right in your ear. It was erotic or teasing, it was just straight up annoying and childish. 

You finally pried your eyes away from the screen and turned to look at him, “Do you want something?” was all the response he was going to get, and even then it was a grumble. 

“I wanna cuddle.” 

He sounded so much like a kid, and in any other circumstance, you would tend to his request. But no. You were mad at him. 

“I’m working, Tom.”

That’s when Tom knew something was definitely wrong. No usual ‘bubba’ or ‘bub’. Not even honey. Just his first name. Not even his full first name. Just Tom. 

You felt him recoil and slip away into the other room. 

Tom: 0, You: 2

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Wednesday rolled around, and Tom was talking to Harrison on the phone. Once again, you had been giving him the bare minimum all day, but when you kissed him, it was long, passionate and lingering. And Tom was, to say the least, baffled. 

“I dunno, man, she’s been like this all week.” 

You happened to be in earshot, and slipped behind a doorframe, listening in on what Tom had to say. 

“No, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. I’ve even been making an effort to put the toilet seat down, and somehow she keeps being so distant. I even tried hugging her from behind this morning and she just brushed me off.”

That one was true. You were making yourself lunch when Tom, who woke up late as usual, came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms lovingly around your waist, but staying true to your previous attitude, you brushed him off, using the stove as an excuse. But instead of reassuring him, like you normally would have, you turned and gave him a purple and red hickey on his sweet spot before turning back around and acting as if nothing had happened at all. 

“No, it’s not that time of the month, she already had it. I kinda know these things.”

That was also true. Because you and Tom had such a frequent and vibrant sex life, he made it a personal mission to know when your period came so he could work around it and comfort you. All things aside, he truly was a good boyfriend. 

“Ohhhhh,” he made a sound of realization and it made you perk up a little, wondering if he truly understood why you were so evasive. 

Wait, did he?

The sound of his footsteps clamoring down the hall made you frantically look around for something to look busy with. 

“Darling?” he called out. 

“In here!” you called out, trying to sound unbothered. 

“Ah, Darling,” he seemed giddy, as if he had just solved the worlds biggest mystery, “I know why your angry at me.”

“Oh?” you questioned, as you kept fiddling with whatever you were doing, acting as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. 

“You were upset about the paparazzi pictures. The ones with Ciara.” 

“What?!” you seethed, now not caring about acting like you didn’t care. 

“Th-The other day, when I went out to lunch, you knew about it...?” he was terrified by the look in your eyes. 

He was being honest. He did say he was going out with the female co-star, and you were okay with it. You trusted him. But what you didn’t think about were the tabloids. The gossip sights that would no doubt leak into Twitter, causing an un-needed uprising in Hollanders and shippers. 

Immediately you pushed passed him and went straight for your phone, looking up news sight after news sight. 

Ciara Bravo and Tom Holland: New Hollywood Couple???

Tom & Ciara, A Valentine’s Day Miracle

Did Y/N and Tom SPLIT? Ciara and Tom Spotted!

At this point you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Tom. Despite him and you understanding there was nothing going on, the outside world put pressure on the both of you, and you needed to breathe. 

Tom didn’t say a word when you got your coat and left with a ‘I’m going out. Don’t wait up.’

By time you got home, Tom slept on the couch, and you slept in the bed. 

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Tuesday was quiet, nothing happened. The two of you didn’t speak to each other, a day going by silently, but when you were going to bed, that’s when things got interesting. 

“It isn’t my fault.”

He stood in the bathroom as he spoke, and you were on the bed reading a book with Tessa at your side, sound asleep. 

You gave a small, unbothered sigh, “I know.”

Tom perked up, “What do you mean, ‘you know’?” he asked irritably. 

“I mean I know it isn’t your fault about the media. I don’t care, it’s fine.”

“Then why are you so mad at me?!” he was annoyed now, making you raise a brow. 

“You really don’t know?” you hissed, closing your book, not caring if you lost your page or not. 

“No, of course I don’t know!”

“You’re leaving me! On Valentines Day!” you snapped, standing up, Tessa’s ears going back. 

“Are you serious??? That’s it?” he questioned with wide eyes. 

You glared at him, giving him an expression that only meant one thing, slipping out of the room without a word. 

Needless to say, you slept on the couch that night .

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Friday. The day before Tom leaves. The day before Valentine’s day. 

And as always, you woke up before Tom, hearing Tessa scratch at the bedroom door from the inside. You walked down the hall, turning the bedroom door handle slowly and letting Tessa out the door, but not before catching a glimpse of your sleeping boyfriend in nothing but boxers, holding onto your pillow as he slept. 

Thats when the idea popped into your head. You were going to make a lovely Valentine’s day themed breakfast. For yourself.

If there was any way to get Tom back, it was with food, your food more specifically. 

You immediately got to work, prepping the veggies for the omelette, mixing the batter for waffles, and washing the strawberries, planning on using them for a garnish.

You worked for a good hour, almost everything done, the last thing being cutting the strawberries when you suddenly heard the bedroom door open. 

Tom walked out, his curly hair all a mess on top of his head, purposefully not wearing anything except for his Calvin’s, and you shamelessly checked him out, in hopes that would get him going. 

Before he got too close, you whipped back around and began slicing in the berries in front of you. Just like he did the many mornings ago, he let his arms wrap around you right before you felt him leave a small peck below your earlobe, and you had to bite back a smile. 

“Good morning, darling.”

Fuck. His morning voice. It was rough, deep, and gravely, making your stomach do summersaults and slick glisten between your legs. 

“Morning.” 

The sexual tension was palpable, so thick you could cut it with the knife in your hand. But you needed to stay strong. You were mad. You were still mad....

Right?

“Are those for me?” he questioned, motioning to the breakfast platter you had spread on the kitchen island, complete with a glass of OJ. 

You did a silent self-pat on the back. 

“Nope,” you smirked, before popping a strawberry in your mouth. 

His demeanor switched, “That’s it-”

You squeaked as he took the knife from your hands, throwing it into the sink before sweeping his hands across the counter, knocking the cutting board aside, roughly grabbing your hips and putting you on the counter. 

“I’ve just about had it with your attitude,” he growled, pulling his semi-hard-on out of his boxers before grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy, lustful kiss, his tongue diving in the instant that his lips touched yours, making you whimper out, trying you best to regain control of the situation but failing quickly. 

A sudden smack to your ass made you quit your pursuit of control, a whine finding it’s way out of your throat as you felt him smirk into the kiss. His tongue prodded around your mouth as you held onto him desperately. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, his member pressing right up against your clothed clit, daring him to do whatever he was going to do next. 

Suddenly, he picked you up off the counter, breaking the kiss and pushing you down to your knees, harshly, shoving his member against your cheek. 

“Suck. I’m not gonna ask nice again,” he grunted, and you knew that he would keep his word with this one. 

You hesitantly took him in your hands before stocking him slightly, sticking your tongue out and licking a strip from his base to his tip, before taking it in your mouth, using your tongue to tease the angry veins and ridges on the underside of his cock. 

“Oh - FUCK - you’re so fucking precious.” he hissed, his hand weaving in your hair before pulling you down on his cock, going so deep it touched the back of your throat, praying that your gag reflex was on your side. 

Suddenly he pulled you back, before pulling you all the way back onto him, tears welling up in your eyes as he repeated his movements, using your face and whispering obscenities into the air around you, harshly fucking your mouth. 

“My bratty girl, shit, you sound so much better choking on my cock,” he grunted, his pace suddenly faltering, cock twitching, signaling he was about to release. 

He looked down and his eyes widened as he caught sight of your hips moving slowly and gently. You were so cute like that, humping the air like a little bunny, Tom taking immense pride in the fact that he made you like this. 

Without another warning, you felt his cum fill the back of your throat, making you whine as you had no choice to swallow it all, knowing he wouldn’t take his cock out of your mouth until you did so. 

Tom watched tentatively for the bobbing of your throat. The one indication that you swallowed. You shivered slightly as you felt the salty substance make it’s way down your throat, and he finally, finally, pulled himself out, and you gasped for air. 

Tom admired your fucked out state, tears wetting your cheeks and your lips swollen, hair ruined from his grip. He could have you looking like that...

He used one hand to stroke and caress your cheek, the other smoothing out your hair the best he could before standing you back up, your eyes dazed as you looked at him with pleading eyes, your past angers forgotten as you were desperate for his touch. 

“Go to the bedroom, strip, lay down, ass up darling. Wait. You touch yourself and I’ll leave you there for the rest of the night, understand?” he hissed before you nodded, scampering off down the hall.

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

 You waited on the bed as you were told, your back arched as you put your ass in the air, your head resting in your arms as you scowled slightly impatiently. It had been 5 minutes since Tom promised he’d be back, and yet there you were. 

You began to play with the sheets between you fingers as you sighed quietly to yourself. But your head propped up slightly when you heard the sound of the door swinging open, a now completely nude Tom stepping through, a small box in his hands. 

“I was going to wait until tomorrow, but now seems like a much more... fitting time,” his smile was devious as he opened the small box, pulling out a thick, bullet shaped piece of equipment. 

Right as he twisted the bottom, you heard it buzz softly, and the realization hit you like a ton a bricks: the realization that this was going to be a long night. He stalked around you like a predator trying to catch pray, and you felt the bed dip behind you, and you heard him let out a sigh of content as he looked at your completely wet pussy, courtesy of the events earlier in the kitchen. 

“Fuck, you look so pretty all wet like this for me... this is for me, right darling?” he kneaded your ass in his hands before you could answer, “Who am I kidding, of course it’s for me.”

You knew what was coming next, knowing how much Tom loved your ass, and jus as expected, you felt his tongue lick a long, rough lick from your clit to your rim, making you jolt forwards slightly. 

Soon enough you felt two of his fingers plunge inside of your pussy, making you moan sweetly into the open air of the bedroom. His movements made the coil inside you tighten and spark, your need for release becoming more and more apparent. 

But the sudden buzzing on your clit made you lose your mind, release coming sooner than expected, your cunt squeezing around Tom’s fingers like a vice as you moaned out, breathless as his pace never faltered, his speed, (if anything), increasing as your body shook. 

Even after your high was ridden out, he continued, making you gasp. 

“T-Tom, I can’t, I can’t I- AHHH!” your babbling was cut of by another sudden shock through your cunt, making you scream out in such quick pleasure. 

“Holy fuck, so wet-” Tom was in awe of your actions, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what just happened. 

You just squirted. 

Tom wasted no time getting down there and sucking your clit harshly, his movements driving you crazy as you tried to collect your thoughts and make a complete sentence. 

He was so high on you, so drunk on your taste as he continued to taste and tease every part of your most sensitive place. 

“P-Please Tom,” you begged, shifting. 

Please what? Please keep going? Please stop?

“Please fuck me,” 

It was a soft whimper, oh so soft, but he heard it, and it drove him crazy. He sat up and positioned his newly hardened, throbbing member up to your entrance. Without a second thought, he pushed in the tip with ease. 

You silently thanked god for the slick of your cunt as he drove in farther, and to your surprise, he waited. Waited until you were ready. He knew that no matter how many times he fucked you, you would always be tighter than hell. So he waited. He always did. 

But as soon as you nodded, his demeanor flipped again like a light switch, drawing himself out and slamming himself back in. Soon enough he set a rough and punishing pace, throwing you back onto him like a rag-doll as your body went limp, letting him use you. 

You jerked when you felt him land a slap on your ass, knowing he enjoyed the way it move after he did so, before kneading the flesh, planning on repeating his actions. 

You were whimpering and keening at his movements and pants, the feeling of him pounding into you taking you over, and the only thing you could think about was him. 

Him, him, him.

Not the fact that he had to leave the following morning, or the fact that the tabloids were a nuisance. Just that fact that you were completely fucked out and it wasn’t even noon yet. 

“Shit, darling, so. Fucking. Good,” he grunted, punctuating his final words with harsh, long, hard thrusts, accompanied with slaps to your already sensative ass. 

His pace was faltering, dick twitching, his pants getting more frequent and louder. You knew he was getting close, the sight of you so out of it only spurring it on. 

“C-Cum for me, Tommy,” you whimpered, making his thrusts almost come to a full halt, “Cum inside me, please,”

Tom knew you were on the pill, and it was always for other reasons, and he usually pulled out, more as a personal preference to you. But now that you wanted him to claim you, so intimately and so passionately, his movements went from 0 to 100, before he felt himself snap. 

This of course made you plummet backwards off the cliff of ecstasy, the both of you coming together as a symphony of moans and whines and growls filled the air around you, your body feeling as if it were floating as your ears rang. 

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You both fucked like rabbits till noon, the both of you feeling drunk off each other’s touch, just not getting enough. You were both starved all week after all. And it took it’s toll. 

By time you two were done, your body was weak, your muscles completely spent and you heartbeat doing it’s best to settle down. You felt Tom’s arms help pull you up, laying you on your back and disappearing into the bathroom. 

When he came back, it was with a warm, wet washcloth, and be began slowly wiping up his mess, whispering praise and words of admiration while doing so. You found your eyes closing as you basked in the attention and after-glow of orgasm. He was completely in love with you, he couldn’t stop if he tried. 

Tossing the rag off the the side, you felt the area beside you dip before you were greeted with Tom’s arms, once again, finding home around your body, and you immediately leaned into his touch, laying your head softly on his chest as he played with your hair. 

The both of you enjoyed the silence. His other hand drifted up and down your arm, making goosebumps erupt in its wake, the space to think being larger than life. 

Finally, you spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” you muttered, holding him just a little bit closer. But Tom being Tom, you knew he would milk it as much as he could. 

“For?”

You sighed, embarrassed that you had to admit it out loud, “For being a bitch all week. I was just angry. It wasn’t fair to you. Ergo, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. But you’re buying me coffee on the way to the airport tomorrow morning,” he insisted. 

That’s when your senses finally took in the fact that it was still light outside. The clock on your bedside table read a shocking 12:23 pm, and you let a small smirk creep across your face at the Valentine’s Day sex you were truly going to be missing out on. 

Sure, it still made you sad that he was leaving. But knowing Tom, you knew he would do something special for you, no matter how far away you were. Besides, there was hours of Facetime sex to be had, and you couldn’t wait for that. 

“Do you want lunch?” you questioned quietly, your hand gently gliding up and down Tom’s abs, which always felt like you were touching marble stone. 

“Yeah. You’re buying though,” he contested, and you smirked. 

“Nope. I’m making. I was thinking tomato soup and grilled cheese,” 

You knew it was one of Tom’s favorites, one of the few things on this planet that Tom would die for, (besides you, of course).

“That would be lovely, darling.”

˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“I’m gonna miss the fuck outta you,” you whined, standing at the gates, your doe eyes peering up at him as you held his hands. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, love, and you can text me and call me at the end of every day. I can even fly you out to visit if you want.”

Tom was doing his best to soften the blow of him leaving; it was hard on both of you, and it was supposed to be for 2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days. You hated it. 

“Love you,” you grumbled like a child, before hugging him with all your might, trying to remember this feeling to keep you company. 

“I love you most,” he challenged, making you pull back to rest your chin on his chest before leaning up and giving him a kiss, but it turned heated quickly. 

Before it could get any more hot and heavy (because the paparazzi are VULTURES), you pulled away. 

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you replied. 

Suddenly the lady on the overhead speakers began to talk, “All first class passengers on flight 32-B to Atlanta, Georgia, is now boarding.”

“That’s me,” he sighed. 

Tears pricked your eyes unexpectantly, and before Tom could see them, you gave him one last, rib crushing hug. 

He pulled back with a smile, waving a wordless goodbye, walking away, but not without giving you one last look, mouthing the words:

‘Happy Valentine’s Day’

THANK YOU FOR 1K!!!!! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU!!!

[forcefulkitten]

cursed comfort

[geto suguru x fem! reader]

summary: after being shunned by your family, you show up to Geto’s house unannounced and find comfort in him, eventually indulging in the fantasies that have plagued your mind. you’re completely unaware that you’ve fell right into his trap.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, oral sex

word count: 3,161

author’s note: this fic includes spoilers about Geto. please do not read if you aren’t aware of his backstory and motives.

Growing up you were teased by friends and family for being afraid of the monsters they weren’t able to see, and you owe thanks to Geto for helping you become an unofficial jujutsu sorcerer. When you met Geto, he felt for you and offered to teach you how to exorcise cursed spirits and channel your cursed energy. Not only did he build your confidence but he helped you see the world as a place to live without fear.

You noticed the small changes become more noticeable after Geto came back with stitches across his forehead. The patient, kind and charismatic man seemed colder and always distracted. It wasn’t that he was cruel to you, it just felt like he pushed you way harder during training. When you asked him if he was alright, if anything was on his mind or if he wanted to speak about it, he brushed you off with that perfect smile of his, reassuring you that everything was fine. Training continued, and soon he mentioned that if you were in jujutsu tech, they’d label you as a special grade sorcerer by now. Your accomplishments made him a cocky man since you’re the product of his teachings. The once weak girl, now able to fight strong curses and defend herself by using her cursed technique, all because of him. Words can’t describe how grateful you are for him.

You should’ve known better than to visit your family. It was too convenient that your parents, grandparents and siblings all fell ill recently. After you arrived and cleared the home of the cursed spirits, as well as the ones directly attached to your family members, they still shunned you, called you hurtful names and even threw water on you as you left. You’re a fool for believing they’d warm up to you after helping them. At this point, you have nobody to turn to besides Geto.

Heavy wind is all you can hear on the otherwise quiet streets of Tokyo. The night is peaceful, the exact opposite of what you’re feeling right now. Showing up unannounced to Geto’s home drenched in water is probably the last thing he expected to happen on this evening. He opened the door cautiously and when he notices that it’s you, he pulls you inside quickly. His hair is completely loose, not half up like it normally is and he’s dressed in his normal attire. “What’re you doing here at this hour?” When you pull out your phone, the time reads 9:37 PM. You feel bad for intruding but he’s all you have right now. “I went to see my family because I found out that they were sick. They still don’t accept me even after I rid them of the curses that inhabited the house and made them sick. They even threw water at me as I left. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. This really isn’t your problem... I should get going.” You turn to leave, opening the door just enough to look outside before he slams it back shut. “Your apartment is far from here. I was just having some tea. Would you like some?” His voice is tender, it breaks the strong facade you’ve put on since you arrived. You turn around and face him, wrapping your arms around his torso and hugging him as tight as you possibly can. Tears stream down your face, onto his robe that’s already getting soaked because of your wet clothing. “What’s wrong with me Geto? Why won’t they accept me even after all of this time? It’s been like this since I’ve been a little girl and I’m so tired feeling this way.” He doesn’t respond, staying completely still besides a hand that caresses your hair. When you look up at him, he doesn’t look annoyed or like you’ve bothered him. For a moment, you’re given a glimpse of the soft nature he used to have. “You’re just different and they can’t comprehend it. Stay here and I’ll bring you something clean to wear after I get changed.” 

The clothes sticking to your body are uncomfortable and you feel itchy as the fabric shifts with any movement. You decide to undress down to your underclothes even though they’re soaking wet as well. When Geto gets back, he’s in a fresh robe and you notice that he put his hair up, much to your dismay. He hands you what appears to be the same outfit he’s wearing, and takes your wet clothing before saying in a courteous manner, “I’m going to go put these to wash and dry. Get changed in the meantime.” Since he’s putting them to dry anyway, you figure it won’t hurt to ask, “Can you show me the way? All of my clothes are wet. Including these.” You pull your underwear strap and look at him with a fake smile to hide how weird you feel boldly letting him know such a thing. He chuckles and signals for you to follow him. His laundry room is nice and thankfully has a door so that you can change without him seeing. He puts your wet clothing in the wash, adding some detergent and fabric softener before leaving. After peeling off your bra and underwear, you put them into the washer and set it to begin before changing into the robe and pants he provided you with. They’re both awfully large on you so you ditch the pants, figuring that the robe will suffice as a dress until your clothes are ready. 

“Ta-Da! It’s not my size so don’t make fun. I left the pants folded because they don’t necessarily fit.” Geto’s sitting on the floor, sipping tea while reading a book. “It was that or my old jujutsu tech uniform which I doubt you’d want to wear.” You let out a soft laugh, more like a puff of air and sit down. There’s a cup of tea opposite from him that he made for you. It smells like chamomile, your favorite. Taking a sip of the hot liquid, it burns going down but your body is still freezing so you don’t mind. The lack of socks and underclothes underneath the robe surely isn’t helping either, but you’re happy that he didn’t let you walk out earlier. “Thank you for the tea and for letting me in.” Geto briefly takes his face out of his book, giving you a nod and a smile before going back to reading. After drinking all of your tea, you scoot over next to him and try to end the silence, “What’re you reading?” He closes his book and sets it aside along with his empty cup. “I’m just doing some research. Are you cold? I can make you more tea or set the thermostat higher.” Yes, you’re cold but at the moment you have an urge to ask about the changes he’s had recently. “I’m still a bit chilly but it’s okay. I’ve been meaning to ask you why you seem so different lately. You know you can talk to me right?” You lean your head against his shoulder and fidget with your fingers while waiting for his answer. “I’ve been bothered by how sorcerers and people who can see curses are treated. I guess you can say it takes a toll after seeing it happen so frequently.” You feel like he’s saying this to comfort you but Geto always speaks with meaning. He’s not one to say things purely to make someone feel better. “Hmmm, so Suguru Geto has a heart behind his seriousness after all.” He wraps both arms around your waist and swiftly pulls you into his lap, laying his head against your back. “I guess you can put it that way.”

You let Geto rest his head against you for what feels like eternity, not knowing what else to do at the unexpected gesture. He holds you close and after time passes by, you’re becoming more comfortable being embraced by him. You unwrap his hands from your waist and turn around to face him. You’ve never been this close to him before, your body feels freezing and warm all at once. Without second guessing yourself, you smash your lips against his fervently. Much to your surprise, he leans in, deepening the kiss even more. With one hand on the back of your head, and the other rested on your neck, he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes of chamomile tea with a tinge of honey, and his tongue doesn’t dominate yours, instead letting you set the pace. The rhythm that your tongues dance in is heavenly but you break off the kiss to disrobe, leaving you completely naked before questioning if you took this too far without considering if he’s comfortable with this.

Geto stands up and picks you up bridal style, carrying you to his bedroom where he lets you down and corners you between both of his arms. Before he can go in for another kiss, you undo his hair and let it down again because it’s quite flattering on him. You pepper kisses to his ear, down to his jawline. Fully naked and the only thing in his line of sight, you undo his robe and let it fall to the ground, revealing his chiseled chest and toned stomach. You trace your fingers over his abs and down to his boxers where you palm his half hard cock.

Geto looks down at you in surprise when you drop to your knees and slowly pull his boxers down whilst littering him in kisses from his navel to his cock. You don’t fully understand why you’ve allowed this to happen but the lust in the air is thick and you’ve daydreamed about him too many times pass up this opportunity. You gather a bead of saliva on the tip of your tongue and roll it down your lips, onto his length. The sheer size of him is enough to make you gulp and internally pray for your throat. Sticking your tongue out, you take in as much of him as you can before closing your mouth around his length. When you begin to bob your head, you hear hitched breaths come from him and it’s enough motivation for you to speed up. 

You quickly learn that Geto’s cock isn’t going to fit in your mouth without some assistance. He notices your struggle but let’s you suck him off to your desire while pumping the rest of his length with your hands. At first, you thought you weren’t pleasing him until you notice his clenched fist and feel his hand on the back of your head that tenses up when you swirl your tongue on the underside of his length. Arousal pools between your legs when you look up and see him biting his lip, long hair flowing down in a style that you hope to see more often. Too caught up with how handsome he looks from where you’re at, you somehow manage to take him fully into your throat with only teary eyes as a consequence. When your gaze locks with his, your seduction proves too much for him and he pulls you off of his length. “Come here.” His voice is laced with desire, a tone that you’ve never heard from him before. 

You two eagerly shuffle over to the bed where you land face first onto his satin sheets, courtesy of his big body behind you. Geto wastes no time pressing two fingers into your cunt. “So wet already,” he mumbles before spreading both of your ass cheeks with his hands and diving his tongue into your heat. Your hands grab at the sheets desperately while you hold back your moans. You never would’ve guessed that this moment would be anything more than one of the thoughts that ran through your mind whenever you thought of him. His tongue laps at your pussy earnestly, coating himself in your essence and not letting a single drop of your slick go to waste. Your clit brushes against the bed just enough to tease your clit, making you buck your hips further against him for more of that sweet friction. You can easily cum in this position if he continues but he has no intention on letting you unless it’s around his cock.

Lifting yourself up from laying on your stomach, you position yourself ass up as Geto lines himself up with your entrance. Your head feels like it’s running a thousand miles per minute, perhaps this is all happening too quickly but you’re enjoying every second of it. You look back at him for a moment, he looks focused while inching into you. The pleasant stretch of his cock is electrifying, you arch your back deeper and hiss at the sting. He’s rubbing circles into your back with one hand, the other gently rocking you against him. When your hand goes to toy with your clit, he firmly catches your wrist and pulls it away. Whining at him denying your orgasm, he pulls your back flush against his chest. “Easy now. I’ll reward you for your patience.”

Being pressed directly against him while he pistons into you feels like a dream. He sets the perfect pace, allowing you to enjoy every drag of his cock without overwhelming you. By the sounds of his deep grunts and groans, you guess he’s enjoying this too. When his thick fingers find their way to your neglected clit, you let out a moan of relief and he holds you tighter with his other hand. His grip on you is iron clad, you can’t move out of this position even if you tried. His hair cascades over your shoulder, tickling you and making you feel more sensitive to touch. The coil in your stomach is on the brink of snapping and he knows by the way you throw your head back aimlessly and moan out his name. His grip around your torso moves slightly up so that he can squeeze one of your nipples. All of the sensations flooding your body make your orgasm hit you all at once, so strong that it clouds your vision. You scream out an incoherent slur of praise and profanities, cursing him to hell and back for providing you with pleasure you’ve never felt so intensely before. As you ride out your orgasm, he thrusts into you slowly, still working on your clit but gently now, just to bask in the mewls and moans that are a result of him. Out of breath and wishing you could taste his lips against yours, you practically beg, “I want to see your face.” 

Strong arms help you effortlessly off the bed before he lays down on his back against the headboard. Even though you’ve felt him buried into you, you can’t help but blush at the sight of him with his hard cock on display, basically calling for you to take a seat on it. Geto looks so confident, arms clutched behind his head while he waits for you to take the lead. You climb onto his lap and pull him into a sloppy kiss that doesn’t last long because you’re too eager to have him back inside you. Grasping his cock, you line it up with your entrance and sink down quickly. Feeling stuffed, you let out a pleased sigh at the delightful intrusion. You gently sway up and down his cock while he watches you in amusement. Your plump breast bounce with every movement, he’s almost getting off by the sight of you alone. As your legs begin to tremble and burn, you bite your bottom lip and rock against him harder. Your calves are screaming for you to stop, but you ignore the growing ache and lift yourself completely off of his length before slamming against his hips again. Tight walls spasm around his cock and you scream out at the delicious feeling of him rummaging through you. He unclutches his arms from behind his head and grabs handfuls of your ass, taking over while you lean forward against him and let him use you as a cocksleeve. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling his face between your breasts as you both fill the room with moans. “It’ll be fun keeping you around.” His words knock you out of your stupor, not understanding the meaning behind them. Before you can question him, he ceases his thrusts with your cunt locked around his cock to the hilt. Geto looks up at you while suckling on one of your nipples as he releases hot ropes of cum. You grind your hips against him, squeezing every drop spurting into your plush walls. He doesn’t try to pull you off of him, instead the two of you make out fiercely in a manner more aggressive than any other exchange that occurred this entire night.

After freshening up, you realize you never moved your clothing to the dryers. You tip toe from the shower to the laundry room and bump right into Geto. “Y/N, I just put your clothes in the dryer. Are you alright?” He sounds unaffected by everything that just happened but your face wears a blush that won’t go away. You ponder, “Thanks. When we were... you said that it’ll be fun keeping me around. What did you mean by that?” He brushes past you, grabbing your wrist in the process and the two of you go to the kitchen. The room is eerily quiet while he prepares something light for you two to eat. Over the course of an hour, he tells you about his plan to change the world. You’re dumbfounded the entire time but it all makes sense since he’s definitely been acting odd for a while now. Though you probably should run and never look back because this plan sounds dangerous, you find yourself empathizing with the man who has good intentions with a bad strategic method of organizing the perfect world. Him comforting you after you came here crying, and the phenomenal dick he provided is enough to make you stay by his side. After all, he is the one who saved you, taught you how to exorcise curses and conditioned your cursed technique. In a way, you feel obligated to save him if he needs it, considering that he’s done the same for you. Little do you know, this is all a part of his elaborate plan to use you to his advantage. From releasing curses in your childhood home and making sure they attach themselves to each of your family members, having word get to you knowing that you’d run to help the family that’ll still despise you, and putting you in a situation to come directly to him when you feel alone, you’re just another toy in his tool box that’ll execute his plans exactly how he tells you to.

[the-shiftshop]

Thrown Away and Broken

What happen to Boyfriends when they become Throw-Aways?

There it was, in front of me, grime and mud covered his body. There are tapes attached to his limbs, an evidence of being so desperate to live. He’s not looking at me, but I can see the pain and misery he had been going through.

Yet another throw-away, but this time I’m not leaving one behind. Unlike the one’s I have seen before, he looked much humane, alive. When he saw me strolling round the river, I know he wanted someone to save him. Tears welled up in his eyes seeing a human and there I thought he was human too.

Some people who buys their extremely realistic boyfriends from that shop, they only treat them like sex dolls, and when they don’t want them anymore, they just throw them away. They never treat these like people because they aren’t, but some make exemptions.

“So...” I called out. “Do you remember who’s supposed to take care of you?”

He grimaced hearing my question. I shouldn’t have asked that.

“Sorry...” I said, then continued asking him questions. “How long have you been out here?” I asked, facing him.

“I already lost count, but it felt like forever.” He answered in his deep solemn voice.

I just sat there, 5 feet away from him. Though, despite being all dirty and shit, he doesn’t reek. Probably a feature of theirs.

“How did you manage to stay alive though?”

“You mean food? I can stay alive without consuming food.”

“I mean... You’re technically in the forest. Wolves, bugs, probably snakes.”

“Gladly, I’m safe, though I might have been bit by ants almost every minute”

I looked at his shoulder that had been wrapped in tape. A thought came to me right away. He couldn’t have done that. Not in this environment.

“Uhm... May I ask what happened to your shoulder?”

Yet again, he grimaced. I was about to say sorry, but he spoke up.

“Barry... erm... My boyfriend... He was a jock much bigger than I am. He bought me not because he likes me. He...” He trailed off for a while and took a deep breath, “He wanted someone to fuck and because he can’t get any girl, he took advantage of getting me in the shop... He never treated me like a person, but because of that, I became aware of everything. I cried inside almost everyday whenever we fuck. He called me names, slurs, and never properly took care of me... and...” He stopped again, “I’m sorry... I think I’m sharing too much.”

“No, no. Let it all go.” I assured him, placing a hand on his dirty leg.

He looked up on me and almost teared up again. “A... about my shoulder... It happened before I got thrown away. He broke my shoulder when he was fucking me in the behind with my body against his wall. He was gripping my shoulder too hard and accidentally pulled it the wrong way, much like how you might break a bone when you twist yours incorrectly. He tried to tape me up. I thought he finally cared, but no. After trying to fix me, he never found me whole anymore. Instead, he took me here and ran away.”

Hearing his story is quite moving in my part. His story was much painful that when I was dumped by my girlfriend, and it tears me apart.

After then, I tapped his leg and stood up. I have made up my mind.

“Get up. I’ll take you home, but I oughta clean you up first by the river.”

He looked up at me and I can see his shock. His eyes sparkled as if I’m seeing stars in the morning. In them, tears began to pour out once more. He looked down and covered his face with his hands, and began sobbing.

“T-Thank you so much!” He repeated over and over again.

Soon, I was bathing him by the river. Starting from my torso then towards his legs. Earlier, I never really paid attention to his penis, but seeing it right now, they really had these boyfriends super realistic. His penis outmatched mine and probably even some of my friends’.

“Nice cock.” I said, jokingly. “No homo.”

He chuckled, “Thanks... though I’m pretty sure I never have used his before.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I piss and stuff when I drink water like every human does, but I guess I had never been touched down there by Barry... and I was forbidden.”

“Forbidden by Barry? Damn. How big is his effect on your life?”

He just chuckled my remarks away. Soon he’s almost clean. What’s left is his hair and face. He faced down to the point that his head touches the water. I carefully but thoroughly removed all the dirt in his hair. After that, I moved to his face, and finally, he’s fully clean.

I took him in my car, though he was still naked. I didn’t bring any extra clothes anyway. I began driving and as we pass through the houses, I can see him look around like a dog finally brought out by his owner on a car. When we arrived, I told him to hide his junk with his hands as I lead him in.

“Let’s go to my bedroom. I’ll let you use my shower to clean yourself much thoroughly. I’ll go get you some clothes.” I said, grabbing him by the other arm and leading him upstairs.

When we got to my room, he went in the bathroom and I got him some clothes: my underwear, shorts and a tanktop. I waited for him to finish cleaning himself and when he came out, I had to help him wear the underwear and shorts though. I can’t risk his arm detaching all of the sudden. He sat on the bed while I dress him up. Luckily, my clothes fit him.

“Now the shirt....” I said, looking at his arm.

“No, wait. I can stay shirtless for a while. I can’t raise my arm.” He said, holding onto his arm.

I came closer to him and examined his arm much closer.

“I’ll try to fix that one for you. Can I remove the tapes for a moment?”

He looked at me worried for a few seconds, then he nodded and looked away. I sat on the bed beside him I began taking off the tape that was barely hanging on anymore. His arm detached and got a good glimpse of how it works. They’re like a doll’s. There weren’t any blood coming out, though I can see his veins by the split of his torso and arm. It seems like the veins were blocked out to prevent bleeding. I see holes around the split of his arm, and upon examining the split on his torso, I saw those little thingies that snaps with the holes. He was not literally broken. He just got detached and I can snap it back right away.

I pushed his arm against his torso and made sure there weren’t any loose area. Soon, he can move his arm again.

His eyes brightened. It didn’t really take him a long time to finally be able to feel his arm again and make it move. He looked at his hand, flexing it and relaxing simultaneously. He looked at me and pulled me into a hug.

“Thank you so much!” He repeated all over again.

He hugged me ever so tightly. It felt so reassuring to know what I helped him. He stayed in his arms for a longer time, and before I know it, we both released and pulled in again to give him a kiss on the lips.

I pulled out, kind of shocked with what I did, but satisfied at the same time. An awkward moment built up in between us for a while. I had never kissed a guy intentionally before. He was my first.

Breaking the silence, I asked one more question.

“Uhm so... I just realized that I never really got your name.”

“I... I was never named...”

Again, we went back to silence, but then it was him who started to talk.

“You have a nice house. It’s much cleaner here.”

“I’m kind of a clean freak. Though I rarely even get visitors.”

“Ah, so you live alone?”

I stopped for a while and looked at him.

“Not anymore, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath in and let words come out.

“You’ll stay here. I’ll be the one to take care of you from now on.” I looked at him, he’s already starting to cry again, “I’ll be your boyfriend from now on, Michael.”

As if on cue, he cried upon hearing the name I gave him and I pulled him in for another kiss, a passionate one. Our tongues intertwine and soon my hand is touching his cock which was already rock hard.

“Let me be the one to make you feel good. You’ve been left out for a long time.” I smiled at him.

The morning was emotional, but the rest was rewarding. Never will I treat Michael the way his ex did. Never will I treat him like a toy. He will be treated like a normal person with me taking care of him.

[stardustprompts]

the poppy war - r.f kuang   sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw :   drugs , death , murder , nsfw , prostitution mention , language

‘take off your clothes.’

‘why would anyone drug themselves before a test?’

‘you’re about to be a very lucky girl, sweet.’

‘wow that’s great. really great. Terrific.’

‘your folks are assholes.’

‘well fuck the heavenly order of things.’

‘don’t you have actual responsibilities?’

‘I don’t want to get on _____ ‘s bad side.’

‘you would make a terrible prostitute. no charm.’

‘what is so wrong with getting married?’

‘do you want to die?’

‘everything is spilling out of my head as quickly as I put it in.’

‘please do not commit spousal homicide.’

‘give me a way out of this shithole.’

‘hello, I’m praying.’

‘I seduced him with my nubile young body. you caught me.’

‘you can’t scare me into a confession, because I’m telling the truth.’

‘and that means you’re shit at your job.’

‘if you cross them—- if they even think you’ve looked at them funny—- they can and will hurt you.’

‘it’s easy to lose a language when you never speak it.’

‘you’re offending them with your very presence.’

‘they’ll make you an outsider, because you’re not like them.’

‘no matter what they say, you deserve to be here.’

‘I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you.’

‘I went out in the sun once. you should try it sometime.’

‘oh, you’re the one ____ hates.’

‘you’d be a prick too if your family was both rich and attractive.’

‘honestly? I think he just comes in here to get high.’

‘I think you’re flattering yourself.’

‘unless you’ve got a weapon, don’t aim for the face. the neck’s a better target.’

‘we aren’t here to be sophisticated. we’re here to fuck people up.’

‘this is the only kick you’ll ever need, really. a kick to bring down the most powerful warriors.’

‘power dictates acceptability.’

‘he hasn’t done anything to earn my respect. all he’s done is act high and mighty.’

‘you’re nothing. you shouldn’t even be here.’

‘consider me bullied and intimidated, just let me sleep.’

‘he’s playing with her. he’ll end it soon.’

‘they’re good at fighting, but not much else.’

‘spend a lot of time looking at ____’s eyes do you?’

‘a betrayal of that sort would not have been out of character.’

‘come on, you belong here too.’

‘they’re not going to get rid of me like this. not this easily.’

‘I’m calm! I’m extremely calm!’

‘you’d rather kill your own people than let the opponent’s army walk away?’

‘you don’t let an enemy walk away if they’ll certainly be a threat to you later.’

‘he can’t stop raving about you.’

‘oh, don’t pretend to be bashful. you love it.’

‘you’re a walking disaster.’

‘anyone this obstinate deserves some attention, if only to make sure you don’t become a walking hazard to everyone around you.’

‘I heard he got drunk on rice wine last week and pissed into ____’s window. he sounds awesome.’

‘it’s me, your favorite person in the whole wide world.’

‘I do not have a problem. you are making up this problem for reasons unbeknownst to me.’

‘you’re killing the mood.’

‘they were weak as shit. scrawnier than you, even.’

‘you’re a real asshole. you know that right?’

‘your state of mind is just as important as the state of your body.’

‘sometimes you must loose the string to let the arrow fly.’

‘because I want to break his stupid face.’

‘he’s the most dangerous when he’s desperate.’

‘from this point on you’re just going to be a danger to yourself and everyone around you.’

‘you’re too reckless. you hold grudges, you cultivate your rage and let it explode, and you’re careless about what you’re taught.’

‘I knew I was the only one that could help him.’

‘they honed his rage like a weapon, instead of teaching him to control it.’

‘one urinating statue for my easily entertained friend.’

‘I don’t believe in gods. but I believe in power.’

‘one might say you’ve been obsessed with ____.’

‘don’t look to your left. pretend you’re taking to me.’ / ‘I am talking to you.’

‘we’re studying very weird things.’

‘I don’t actually know what I’m getting into.’

‘here is what happened: you called a god, and the god answered.’

‘you know that if you don’t get answers now, the hunger will consume you and your mind will crack.’

‘you’ve glimpsed the other side and you can’t rest until you fill in the blanks.’

‘supernatural is a word for anything that doesn’t fit your present understanding of the world.’

‘I’m supposed to take it as true that you’re a god?’

‘I’m not a god. I am a mortal who has woken up, and there is power in awareness.’

‘are we getting high? oh, wow. we’re getting high.’

‘ah. the law. so inconvenient. so irrelevant.’

‘we are not madmen. but how can we convince anyone of this, when the rest of the world believes it so?’

‘the price of power is pain.’

‘I understand the truth of things. I know what it means to exist.’

‘prey do not question the motives of the predator. the dead do not question the living. mortals do not challenge the gods.’

‘I killed for you. I would have done anything for you.’

‘I have seen the end of things. the shape of the world has changed.’

‘war doesn’t determine who’s right. war determines who remains.’

‘it’s alright. I know what you are.’

‘I thought I was the only one left.’

‘we have developed the power to rewrite the fabric of this world. if we don’t use it, then what’s the point?’

‘I don’t mess with that shit. it screws you up.’

‘I understand the appeal, I really do, but I like having my mind to myself.’

‘he’s a charmer. like a new puppy. you think he’s adorable until he pisses on the furniture.’

‘there’s no routine. no discipline. nothing you’re used to. am I right?’

‘so you’re the last of your kind. that’s sad.’

‘If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own.’

‘____ feared, and so he held you back.’

‘great danger is always associated with great power. the difference between the great and the mediocre is that the great are willing to take that risk.’

‘don’t ever let go on that anger. rage gives you power. caution does not.’

‘don’t give in... you’ve been so brave... but it takes more bravery to resist the power.’

‘the nature of this god is to destroy. the nature of this god is to be greedy, to never be satisfied with what he has consumed.’

‘so. screaming at rocks. is that, like, normal behavior here?’

‘fix this. prove your worth. do your fucking job or get out.’

‘I saved your life. doesn’t that make us at least a little square?!’

‘I was scared of you. and I lashed out.’

‘I thought I was better than you, and I’m not. I’m sorry.’

‘when I killed it, it felt like murder.’

‘look, I’m happy to discuss this, really, but I’m currently leaking life out three different wounds and I think I may pass out. would you give me a moment?’

‘well maybe ____ should get his head out of his ass.’

‘ ____ is more fragile than you think.’

‘look, asshole, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’

‘they say he can read the future. shatter minds.’

‘you misunderstand the nature of our relationship. I am not your friend.’

‘he’s not human. he—- I don’t know what he is.’

‘but ___ was never allowed to be human.’

‘do you trust me?’ / ‘no. but that’s irrelevant.’

‘you don’t know what true suffering is.’

‘I have seen more than my fair share of suffering.’

‘that boy is beyond redemption. that boy is broken like the rest.’

‘I don’t want to be saved! I want power!’

‘that power will destroy everything you’ve ever loved. you will defeat your enemy, and the victory will turn to ashes in your mouth.’

‘we’ve missed something. something’s been laid out for us, but we can’t see it.’

‘fretting won’t make the dead come back to life.’

‘there was nothing human in those eyes.’

‘It was a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up.’

‘I don’t need your pity. I need you to kill them for me.’

‘whatever it takes. swear it on your life. swear it for me.’

‘I won’t judge him. I don’t dare, because I don’t have the right. and neither do you.’

‘you asked me why I wouldn’t stop him. now you understand. you can’t stop an avenger. you can’t reason with a madman.’

‘I am afraid of what he might do in his quest for vengeance. and I am afraid that he is right.’

‘I am about to do something terrible. and you will have a choice.’

‘they give nothing to the universe, and the universe owes them nothing in return.’

‘you cannot survive my death.’

‘you’re trying to deceive me. you don’t get to deceive me.’

‘this is not the way. this path leads only to darkness.’

‘when are you going to stop being such a damn coward? what are you running from?’

‘you will turn the world to ash, and only demons will live in the rubble.’

‘you dress up your crusade with moral arguments, when in truth you would let millions die if it means you get your so-called justice.’

‘you have not cared about anything for a very long time. you are broken.’

‘I am terrified. but only because I’m starting to remember who I once was. don’t go down that path.’

‘your country is ash. you can’t bring it back with blood.’

‘I’m so sorry. I tried to warn you.’

‘you know the worst part? we’re so close to home.’

‘did you miss me? did you miss this?’

‘I just gave him some of his favorite medicine.’

‘resistance here means suffering. there is no escape. no future.’

‘you have nothing to fight for anymore’

‘what are you defending? you owe ____ nothing.’

‘we were disposable. we were tools. tell me that doesn’t make you furious.’

‘I am sick with fury.’

‘I will die on my feet. I will not die a coward. and neither will you.’

‘we could stay here. we could stay here forever. we wouldn’t have to go back.’

‘you’ll have to live with the consequences. but you’re brave ... you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.’

‘I have lost everything I care about. I don’t want peace, I want revenge.’

‘I don’t need to sleep. I need to feel nothing.’

‘do you want forgiveness? I can’t give you that.’

‘we avenged him. he’s gone, but avenged.’

‘you have to believe that it was necessary. that it stopped something worse. and even if it wasn’t, it’s the lie we’ll tell ourselves, starting today and every day afterward.’

‘aren’t you supposed to be a seer? do you ever see anything useful?’

‘we have an enemy whom we love.’

‘I’m going to find and kill everyone responsible. you cannot stop me.’

‘oh I’m not going to stop you.’

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 11

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: nothing (i think?) Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

a/n: hi all please be patient I am having some writers block/lack of motivation lately for writing so this series may be a bit on a pause (hopefully not) but I am working to get out more drabbles to maybe just get some inspo or something!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Waking up in Bucky’s arms felt just too good to be true. You were sure it was a dream, a nice, new dream Fate had blessed you with, but when Bucky shifted beside you and you felt every sensation, you knew you were truly awake. 

It also helped tremendously that you had a pleasant dream about him. It feels like centuries since you were shaken awake by the actions of The Winter Soldier. You couldn’t even consider any of it the actions of him next to you, feeling like the person in your dreams was and wasn’t the man in this bed. Everything felt like it intertwined dangerously, vines running through your mind. But, truthfully, you didn’t wanna think too much about it. You were finally getting your chance at the real soulmate experience, dates and dreams and all, and that was too priceless to spend time dwelling over much else.

Bucky awoke slowly, his normally rough eyes met yours in the softest manner. You two were tangled comfortably, still in most of last night's clothing, minus your panties and Bucky’s sweater which he must’ve ditched in the middle of the night. But none of that bothered you for a second. You were just too glad to be in this bed with your soulmate, cocooned lovingly in the sheets.

Bucky’s hoarse morning voice broke the silence, “Good morning.”

You smirked. “Good morning.” You shifted on your side and Bucky removed his arm from your waist, letting you get comfortable. The other arm around your shoulder stayed put. Quite surprisingly, it was his metal one. You could see Bucky’s torso completely now, the light from the sun hitting him in just the right way. Your eyes traveled from his arm to his shoulder, looking curiously. He was a fascinating phenomenon that you couldn’t believe was yours.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t shiver away at the interest you were taking again in his arm and instead, indulged in your curiosity. “What’s going on in that pretty brain of yours?”

Your eyes snapped back to Bucky’s face. Your cheeks heated up from the question, feeling like you were caught doing something wrong. But Bucky didn’t look at all upset. Slowly, your eyes drifted back down and your hand came up to caress the base of his neck, just barely skimming his shoulder. He shuddered under the feeling.

“Does it… Does it hurt or anything?” You asked, suddenly feeling very stupid the second the words left your mouth. You bit your lip, trying to find the words to peddle back, but Bucky didn’t seem very bothered by it.

“No,” he shook his head. “I guess I don’t think much about it now. It’s just part of me. Obviously.”

You nodded, still letting your hand trace invisible patterns on his skin. “And you use it to fight bad guys?”

Bucky chuckled. “You’re still on that, huh?” You smirked and shrugged, wordlessly asking him to continue. “I… I help where I can. Don’t think it’s much to get excited about it but I like to think I have a hand in making the world better. It’s the least I could do since…” His words trailed off, leaving a kind of heaviness in the conversation. Bucky’s eyes lost their softness. They were beginning to water up but before any tear could escape, he spoke again. “You know, I actually am glad you brought this up. I have a mission soon.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?” 

He nodded and sat up in the bed, untangling you two. You followed his motions, gripping the blanket to you as you now sat side-by-side. 

“Should just be for a day or so. Mainly just gathering intel, nothing really crazy from the looks of it, but I still wanted to let you know.”

“W-When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Your jaw went slack. “You have a mission to leave for tomorrow and I’m just now hearing about it?”

Despite your rising anger, you let Bucky take your hand in his. He rubbed soft circles on your skin. “Doll, I promise, I didn’t know about it until yesterday morning.”

“Were you going to tell me?” You were a bit surprised by how softly your words came out, just barely making it above a whisper. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears, worry and uncertainty course through you. You didn’t know what these missions could really entail. Could they really just be intel gathering? What if stuff goes wrong? Stuff goes wrong all the time, right? Your head was swimming and all you really knew was that you were losing your soulmate for a bit. Sure, you had gone your entire life without him (and he went without you much longer) but now you two were connected. It was practically set in stone. The situation had changed drastically and now he was leaving to do God knows what…

Bucky let out a sigh, the noise forcing you out of your worried thoughts. He spoke gently as if sensing the uneasiness within you, “Yes, I planned to, doll, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. When you asked about my job again, I just jumped on the opportunity, okay? I swear, I wasn’t going to just disappear.”

You wrapped your arm around his, leaning closer to rest your head in the crook of his neck. He shifted to welcome the touch. 

“You can’t disappear,” you whispered. “After what happened that night on the phone…” It flashed back. The dial tone in your ear, the thought of Bucky gone in the night. You didn’t want to remember those feelings, really. “You gotta promise me you’re going to be safe.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle and you possibly would’ve found it comical, it was actually quite funny asking an ex-assassin to be safe, but thanks to the bond, there wasn’t anything funny about anything. You couldn’t imagine even having to put a bandaid on him. 

“I’ll be safe, doll,” he said. “Try not to worry.”

You scoffed. “Impossible.”

A moment passed before Bucky reached to cup the side of your face. Instinctively, you brought your face up to meet his. His expression as he stared back with a true whirlwind of emotions. Sadness, appreciation, love… But he didn’t express anything outwardly, and instead just placed his lips on yours. His body pressed into you as the kiss deepened, slowly pushing you back to the bed. You two fell back once again into the entanglement of one another. 

***

“You’re going to be okay, right?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.”

You tried giving an understanding nod but still, all you felt was worry as you and Bucky stood outside your apartment building saying your goodbyes. It was early and he had made sure to stop by before you had to leave for work. You thought you two had said your goodbyes in more ways than one yesterday but he wasn’t leaving so easily and you were secretly glad.

“I’m just making sure,” you sighed and reached to grab his hand. He accepted, intertwining your fingers.

“I know,” he nodded. “Are you going to be okay?”

You raised your brows. “Me?” You let out a small laugh. “I’m not the one going on a mission to do who knows what in God knows where.”

Bucky shook his head, a small smirk on his lips. “No, but I still have to make sure you’re safe here.”

“Bucky, I’ve spent a lot of time alone. I’m going to be just fine.”

Bucky’s expression morphed into something unsettling. He looked quite distressed at your comment, which you hadn’t truly expected, but hearing it out loud, you wanted to cringe at the statement. It was probably the most uncomfortable reminder but Bucky didn’t mention anything about it.

“I’m just making sure.” He repeated your words as a teasing remark, making you let out a small sigh of relief.

In a quick last-minute move, you pulled him closer to place a loving kiss on his lips. He smiled into it as his other hand came up to caress your cheek. Warmth raced through you as he broke the kiss.

“Have a good day at work, doll.”

“Have a good mission, Buck.”

***

You thanked your lucky stars that work today was ridiculously slow. It was almost the weekend but the usual rush of morning folks had dwindled pretty fast. Truly, though, this was a best-case scenario in your eyes because in between the fleeting customers and out of the watchful gaze of your boss, you took time to send Bucky some texts. While, yes, you knew he hated texting (who could blame him with the T9 keyboard he was working with) but you still thought they would be nice for him to read. 

I’m sure you’re high off in the sky getting briefed on your task but I wanted to wish you luck. You hit send with a goofy grin feeling a bit silly and a bit… concerned. Your worry for Bucky hadn’t stopped and you knew most likely it was consequences of being separated from your soulmate but you wished the gnawing at your soul would quit it. Still, though, a part of you felt giddy being able to send him cute little things while he was gone.

Your coworker took notice of your behavior quite quickly. As she came around the counter  restocking the syrups, she asked, “What’s got you all lovestruck?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your smile. “Bucky’s gone for a bit and I was just sending him a little love note.”

Your coworker chuckled. “A love note. Oh, how far you two have come.” With that sentiment, she went back to her restocking, leaving you to stare at your phone. You nodded to yourself realizing, yeah, you and Bucky had come far. You didn’t know if all relationships hit the gas pedal but there had always been an urgency with you even before ever looking at Bucky. You had wanted this for a while, always unsure if you would get it thanks to what the nightmares showed, but now it was real. It was as Bucky said, if it felt right to you two, then it must be.

Thinking of you. You sent off another little message before sliding your phone back into your pocket. You waited the rest of your shift but never received anything back, not that you really expected it, though. You figured if he had time to call, he was going to wait for that opportunity. 

Eventually, the clock hit quitting time and you exited the coffee shop, waving a brief goodbye to your coworker. Standing on the sidewalk, you half expected to maybe see Bucky eager to walk you home or take you to dinner but the street was gravely empty. You shook off the unusual thought and began your journey home. 

It was a fairly quiet night and you were thankful for that. It gave you a chance to just be with yourself for a second after a whirlwind of days and nights with Bucky by your side. Maybe this distance would be good, you thought. The distance creates a need and your reunion would be unlike anything you had ever felt before. You blushed at the thought.

You made your way into your apartment building and up the stairs. Unlocking your door, you threw down your items and began getting ready for bed. The softness of it was just begging for you. While you would’ve loved to be back in Bucky’s, you were dying for a bit of sleep to maybe ease your hyperactive thoughts of your soulmate and his mission. 

After taking off your make-up and getting on your pajamas, you crawled under the covers. Sleep hit you almost immediately, a new occurrence you were getting used to. You never really recalled a time when you were welcoming sleep with open arms.

But maybe you were counting your blessings too soon. Tonight ended up not being how it had been for the past few days. The nightmares came back in a sudden rush, way too fast for you to even think about what the hell was going on. You felt so lost, being pushed so many steps back in your progress, as scenes of fighting and guns blazing flashed in and out without any warning. The emotions came back as well. Need and anger were swelling in your heart as you fought and fought within the nightmares. Everything began feeling…so real. The nightmares felt strong as your body felt it had a mind of its own, tossing around your bed in panic as your brain filled with the images and… yells?

You were shaking now. You didn’t remember hearing sounds in your nightmares before but everything can be suppressed if you’re traumatized enough, you figured. But there was just something within you that didn’t feel right. Granted, nothing was right about the nightmares but this was different… these sounds felt real and sudden… Your brain was screaming. What the...

Something cold hit your back. At first, you had thought your blanket fell off but when you went to grab it, you found your hands were bound together. Real panic, nothing of the dream kind, raced through you. Your eyes bolted open. 

You didn't find your blanket because it wasn’t there. You weren’t in your bed. Hell, you weren’t even in your apartment. You were alone, shoved into a dark cell, your back pressed against a cold, metal wall. The panic was settling in but you couldn’t find the strength to react besides staring around frantically in the dark. You couldn’t make out anything, barely able to even see your own body. It was deadly silent.

You began praying to whatever was out there that this was just a dream, that you just really couldn't wake up, you had only thought you woke up. But that just wasn’t the case and a sad part of you really knew it. Nightmares suddenly weren’t just reserved for bedtime.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[linkspooky]

Can you make an analysis on Yuji please?

Sure, non-non-non. Have you ever noticed that Yuji is just a little bit crazy? By that I mean, he has no mentally healthy way of dealing with his emotions so he just represses all of them. The thing about Gojo is, he tends to have a good read on people, he knew Geto was self-righteous right away, and one of the first things he says about Yuji as early back as chapter four is that there’s something not right about Yuji. I’ve seen a lot of commentary on who Yuji is on the surface, but rarely do they dig deep, so let’s dig a little bit deeper. 

1. Suicidal Ideation

So, to set up in the first chapter Yuji has a really bad day. His only living relative dies leaving him practically an orphan, and on top of that he finds out he’s going to be executed. A normal person would be devastated by so much at once, but, Yuji doesn’t really react normally, he never really shows his sadness or the pain of his loss on the surface it shows in his actions instead. I mean, a few hours after his grandpa dies, Yuji’s first instinct is to throw himself into danger, fearlessly, against a terrifying monster.

Ever since his grandpa’s death Yuji thinks constantly of death, especially trying to save other people from what he thinks is a cruel and unusual death and giving them a natural death instead, however he doesn’t ever show the same regard for his own life. Once again in the first chapter, Megumi comments this.

You just seem like you wanna die anyway!!

Constant thoughts of death, a passive longing to die, that’s termed suicidal ideation. I think it’s clear here, Yuji is all smiles on the surface, while at the same time dealing with thoughts of suicide in his head. It’s just he’s not actively trying to kill himself, but throwing himself into dangerous situations with no regard for his life, that’s an easy way to get himself killed. Rather than active, it’s passive, a wish to die, or at least, an unhealthy disregard for your own life. Thoughts like, if I die it’s fine, it doesn’t matter. 

Which is why it’s actually kind of messedup Yuji just swallows wth finger without thinking of the cosnequences at all. 

If you think of Yuji’s life before this point it was kind of empty as well. He was in the occult club, not because he cared about the occult but because he felt needed there. The only thing he did after school was kill time, until he went to visit his grandpa in the hospital. He doesn’t really seem to have any close friends from his previous life, even though he gets along with others just fine. He was an amazing athlete, but he didn’t feel like joining the sports teams. It’s like, he has all this talent, but he doesn’t really want to try hard at anything, Yuji is a super friendly guy, and yet he doesn’t really act close to anyone. Yuji gives off the impression of someone idling through life, with no particular investment in anything or anyone. 

Then suddenly, he’s given a purpose in life to swallow the fingers of Sukuna and die, and Yuji leaps at the chance. He says he doesn’t want to get executed and he’s upset about that, but if he is, all those feelings are repressed because he doesn’t show them on the surface. Yuji is almost, overeager, to fight and die for this cause the second it’s been dropped in his lap. That’s something that Yaga even says to him in the third chapter. It’s odd how unconcerned Yuji is with the details, he’s way too nonchalant, is he doing something he truly wants to do - or is he looking for some excuse to die. 

This is also something brought up again in curse womb must die, despite thinking about death all the time, Yuji doesn’t really face those emotions. Things like panic, fear, he runs away from. When pushed to the edge and when he’s about to die, Yuji starts reacting like a normal person for once. 

All of this suggests that Yuji functions, by repressing all of his negative feelings, just all the time and only letts the positive ones showing on the surface. For someone constantly thinking about death and how he’s going to die, he doesn’t seem like someone dealing with something so heavy, and that’s because he rarely lets others glimpse what he’s truly thinking about. 

2. A Seriously Repressed Dude

Yuji has a pattern with how he deals with his emotions. He bottles everything up, explodes, and then goes right back to bottling them. Repressing your emotions is an unhealthy tactic for dealing with more negative feelings, because rather than facing them and working through them it revolves around the idea of simply ignoring them and pretending they are not there. Here is Yuji’s pattern in action, repress everything until you’re forced to snap. 

Then, after he cools back down he goes right back to bottling. We know Yuji changed from his interactions with Junpei, from being unable to save Junpei, and yet right in the next arc, Yuji just seems like the exact same Yuji as before. 

Yuji puts a great amount of effort into not letting other people see when there’s a anything wrong with him. He’ll even try to hide things, which only those observant people like Megumi can notice.

This even repeats in a scene in the next arc, where Yuji decides to keep a secret from Megumi because he doesn’t want Megumi to feel guilty for the choice of saving him. 

Yuji’s strategies for dealing with complicated emotions all revolve around avoidance rather than confrontation. Especially in regards to his close friends, Yuji is in no doubt a friendly guy but do you notice while he trusts his friends to fight alongside, he never really confides in them or tells them what’s going on in his life? He encourages Fushigoro to be more open but rarely does the same. If Yuji and Megumi were open and honest with one another, there wouldn’t be a long drawn out chapter where they both decide to keep secrets from each other. 

Yuji deals with his emotions by repressing them until he can’t. It’s a scene that repeats three times. First in the fight against the cursed womb, then in the fight against Mahito after losing Junpei, and finally in the second fight against Mahito.

Yuji hits his limit, and then represses himself and keeps going forward even when that’s not working. We see that’s even his resolve at the end of the Mahito fight, he’s just going to keep mechanically forcing himself onwards even though we’ve shown time after time, this never works. Yuji just represses himself until he explodes again.

I bring up his “just keep moving forward” logic because 1) it doesn’t work, and 2) for the most recent arc it’s a clear parallel to Yuta. Yuta’s most defining character trait being that, just like Yuji he’s a person who seems like a good guy on the surface, who seems timid, passive, but otherwise approachable, soft nice guy. Only to completlely flip out. 

Now Yuji’s craziness is probably going to reflect in Yuta who is hunting him down, because they both have this same tendency. They’re both so unhealthy at handling they’re emotions, they just bottle it all up until they explode. Except this time, rather than fighting a clear enemy, like Geto, or Mahito, they might be pointed at each other. Yuji’s unhealthy habit of resorting to violent anger when someone he loves gets hurts, is now reflected in Yuta who is angry with Yuji for cutting off the arm of Inumaki and hurting his loved one.