#like it is so often that other places in the world are forgotten when it comes to these translation releases

[speaknow-sw]

It’s 12am and I’m listening to sad edit audios and I typed this :

ANGST

Clay Beresford truly believed he was going to live. Not just survive—not just wake up and exist—but live.

He would thought he had earned it. After all the pain, after staring death in the face and feeling every excruciating second of it, wasn’t he owed a little happiness? He had walked through hell and come out the other side, his mother’s heart beating inside his chest, a second chance carved into his body like a promise. He had imagined it so clearly—the life he was meant to have.

A proper wedding. No more secrets, no more hushed hospital corridors or stolen moments under the weight of a dying heart. He and Sam would stand beneath the sun, vows spoken with steady voices, rings slipped onto fingers that no longer trembled with fear. There would be a honeymoon somewhere warm, somewhere far—the Seychelles, maybe. Just them, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead, a life full of ordinary, beautiful things waiting for him when they returned.

His business would’ve been secured. The world kept turning in his absence, and for once, that didn’t terrify him. He would work, but not too much. He would visit his mother—not in the way he does now, speaking into silence, kneeling at marble—but in life, with open arms and the knowledge that he could still hold her, still kiss her cheek and hear her voice tell him everything would be alright.

His mother had given him life twice—once in birth, once in death—but fate is cruel, and love has never been enough to save him. He thought he had made it. Thought he had finally, finally reached the part where he got to be happy. But some people are born under cursed stars, and some hearts—no matter how strong—are never meant to keep beating.

Maybe—maybe—there would be children. A family of his own. He liked to think he would have been a good father, that he would have loved them the way he wished he had been loved. Maybe if he held them tightly enough, whispered I love you often enough, the fear would quiet—the fear of being left behind, of being forgotten, of loving too much in a world that only ever gave him almosts in return. Because deep down, Clayton was still just a frightened little boy, waiting for someone to choose him without hesitation.

Oh, being a lover in a world of betrayal is such a curse.

Oh, being a lover in a world of indifference is such a curse.

Oh, being a lover in a world of leaving is such a curse.

Oh, being a lover in a world of forgetting is such a curse.

Oh…I am a lover…

Love is a violent thing. A cruel, ravenous god that takes and takes, tearing hearts from chests with avid, unholy hands, pressing them between its teeth until nothing remains but the echo of a heartbeat that once was.

Love is a promise whispered like a prayer and broken like a curse. It is the ruin of men who dare to feel too much, who offer their souls with trembling hands only to watch them be devoured. To love is to be unmade, to be stripped bare and left to bleed, to be the poet carving sonnets into the bones of something that will never weep for you in return. Always the poet, never the muse. Always the one left yearning, watching love slip through trembling fingers like water, like blood, like something that was never meant to be held at all.

Oh, to be a lover in a world of betrayal, indifference, and forgetting is to be an angel ripped of his wings, cast from the heavens and left to wander the earth, forever searching for something he will never find. It is to ache in places that cannot be healed, to carry wounds that time will never touch. It is to be made of devotion in a world that only knows how to destroy.

(And to be a writer is to carve that love into ink-stained hands, to bleed it onto the page because where else could it go? To be a writer is to build cathedrals from words, temples to a love that will never kneel at your altar. It is to search endlessly, to script tenderness into characters because you will never hold it yourself. It is to know longing like an old friend, to sit with ghosts of what-ifs and almosts, to resurrect something beautiful just to watch it slip through your fingers again.

To be a writer is to write about the love you will never find, to chase it through sentences and metaphors, to thread it into stories as if that could make it real. It is to love in ink what life has never given you in flesh.)

Following your footsteps pookie @anakinstwinklebunny 🫡 bro is so me frfr

[theyilinglaozus]

Trying to do research into the Rosmei danmei releases and learning that there was talk of a Canadian and UK distributor for them but finding nothing more to see if they had announced anything since is a pain.

There's a few novels I'm interested in but I am especially eyeing the preorder for volume one of How to Be a Villian in Real Life and the future release of Drowning Sorrows in Raging Fire.

[ruins-of-gods]

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

the one where ellie discovers that she has a praise kink minors dni

ellie twisted one final screw into place on the new bookcase she was constructing for your shared book collections. she leaned back, letting out a small grunt once the backache from being hunched over for so long caught up to her. she wiped stray hairs from her face and inspected her handiwork.

you, being a supportive girlfriend, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "atta girl,” you commended, "looks great."

ellie's heart skipped a beat when cursed phrase left your mouth. it was innocent enough—at least the intent behind it in the moment. she glanced over her shoulder up at you, eyes wide and lips parted but not a word escaping. safe to say, all coherent thought was out the window for a fleeting moment. her rosy cheeks only deepened when your sly smile revealed that her reaction hadn't gone unnoticed. ellie would then mumble "thanks" and use her exhaustion from the manual labor as an excuse, which you accepted.

okay, maybe ellie did have an inkling of suspicion about why the phrase affected her. the heat suddenly pulsating to her lower region was answer enough.

and praise already was often sprinkled in when you two were intimate. as a treat. so it wasn't totally new. but the unexpected strike during such an innocuous moment pulled a reaction out of ellie that she hadn’t felt so intensely before. she was just too embarrassed to admit it and wasn't ready to bring it up.

this all changed, of course, during one tired, opportune movie night. sprawled mellowly on ellie's old couch, bodies barely brushing against each other, your gaze repeatedly falls on her silhouette- unable to look away. ellie's perfect smattering of freckles, round emerald eyes, soft bridge of her nose, chestnut hair curved around her jaw. ellie didn't have to do a damn thing; she was just so damn pretty.

finally, your temptation peaks, fueling your audacity to place a deliberate hand on her thigh. you squeeze it, speaking volumes about your growing need. you craved ellie. badly.

a few inelegant adjustments to remove some clothes and get into more comfortable positions later, ellie sinks back into the couch cushion, her torso bare. you take a few beats to seal the image to memory, her soft skin, the curves of her breasts and figure. your suppressed desire unleashed, starting an assault of kisses and bites everywhere on ellie that you can access. the film becomes white noise in the background, entirely forgotten.

your lips, suctioned to ellie's chest, release with a pop. you admire the masterpiece of spattered reddening marks you left all over her skin. the hand previously massaging her other breast starts to travel downwards, tracing her sternum like a trail of flames. your kisses work their way up her neck, these daintier so you can focus on savoring ellie's delicious whines.

your palm grazes the dampened fabric of ellie’s panties, taking great satisfaction in seeing her world turn hazy and glassy-eyed.

“please..please..” ellie whispered- lost for air and desperate. you smirk, feeling your fingers grow wet from her arousal.

you guide ellie to briefly lift her hips to shrug her shorts and panties off, giving you unbridled access to her soaked heat. she parts her legs further, inviting. your mouth goes dry at the sight. you dip your fingers between her glistening folds, the tantalizing movement eliciting a whine from ellie. your thumb finds her pulsing clit and starts slowly tracing circles. once you’ve worked her and yourself up, you press one finger deep into her slick center, trying not to fall apart from how worked up her cries have gotten you.

“you’re being such a good girl for me,” you muttered tenderly, lazily pumping your finger inside her.

the petname hit ellie like a lightning strike. she tells on herself with how she clenches around your digits, her hips bucking up to encourage your thrusts deeper. you turn devilishly cocky when you realize the cause of her unraveling. she’s begging you to keep talking, to move your hand faster and bring her to ecstasy. you keep up the pace, focused on stretching her out until gradually adding a second finger and curling them deeper.

“fuck, you’re taking my fingers so well,” you purr, pairing it with more light kisses and nibbles to her ear.

“mmm…oh my fucking god—“ ellie breathes your name like a prayer, her pleas tumbling out incomprehensibly.

“you like being my good fucking girl, hmm? i didn’t know just how much..you’re so fucking tight…”

your words are ellie’s downfall, a long-awaited orgasm suddenly crashing through her. her entire body shudders, and you guide ellie through the waves uttering similar, delicate phrases, reveling in how the praise undid her. “good fucking girl, atta girl…”

once the throes of pleasure grow further apart, you pull your fingers from her. you bring your wet digits up and press them to ellie’s lips, giving a quiet command for her clean up her mess. “suck.”

ellie, flushed and dumbed out from her orgasm, mindlessly wraps her pretty lips around you, tasting herself on your fingers. the warmth enveloping you is almost overbearing for your own lust. of course, you encourage her as she sucks them clean. “that’s it, my sweet girl. i’m so proud of you.”

[acid-ixx]

if you guys are interested, send in an ask or comment!

will anybody be willing to hear out neglected child reader who was another one of zeus's bastard children. you're out there chasing for your stepmother (hera's attention), whilst zeus just lets you run around without his care, clearly too wrapped up in his affairs. your other siblings aren't as good to you, too, thinking another half-deity isn't worth their time—

so you'd give up, pretty much choosing to bestow the mortal world with your presence instead; because if you can't be loved by your own family, then let yourself be worshipped by passionate mortals instead.

how about romancing telemachus? what if you both learn what it's like navigating through his godly favor with athena, and you with your own powers? what if you have odysseus and penelope be the actual parent-figures you always wanted? their overprotectiveness skyrockets every time you propose to being elsewhere in ithaca, to the point you forget that it's you who has the godly powers to oppose, but how could you when a darker side of them appears every time you allow yourself to be disrespected within their palace?

how about in another place? what are you to many of the great warriors, if not for a forgotten, yet mysterious and whimsical deity? why is your name muttered in all the regions? surely, with just how much you deny your god-like origins, but still manage to capture the hearts of hundreds of suitors, you'd gain quite the infamous name despite your closed-off attitude.

imagine enough attention was garnered on your presence, that that's what was needed for them to finally notice you? but you're not quite the same child who used to pull on their robes, or look at them as brightly as the sun— no, now you deny them of any of your love. your mother, hera, finally sees you and urges you to return to olympus away from the prying eyes of many suitors and back into the domain of safety. she calls you her baby, fuzzing over you even when you openly and spitefully try to rip her hands away from fixing your 'messy' robes. zeus isn't any better, now he calls you sweet names and pretend like he hadn't actively bashed on you for your weakness back when you were begging on his throne for just a sliver of attention? he wants you to sit in between his throne and hera's? you're significantly smaller than him, he's gigantic in nature, and it doesn't help that he treats you like you could be easily squashed by him (which is every damn right possible, and it's intimidating and makes you want to cry).

and there's the issue with the others, too. so many of them used to deny you in favor of focusing on their own domains. now apollo wants to carry you off in one of his chariots to ride off the skies with him while he plays his lyre to you? artemis wants to teach you the way of the hunt under the dark, gloomy skies you used to wish under for a moment of their time? aphrodite used to spitefully shut you out of her own doors, but now she invites you in her room to gossip and play pretend while she coos and braids your hair?

and all the other gods, now wanting to take you away from the underserving - as they say it - mortal realm? that the people who built sculptures of you, who held you more lovingly more than those you grew up with, aren't worthy of your divine presence?

what a joy to be a being looming between the lines of mortal and divine, right?

a/n: this concept is better off and more coherent in my head i swear. now i don't often diverge from my main fandom, but the similarities between this and the yan! batfam is quite hilarious to me that ngl i want to make a crossover of it. and yes, this is me coping with the stress of having to deal with the sudden influx of hate in the yan! dc community, so i'm taking a short break from it to focus on this.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, omegaverse, poly

gn reader

Thinking about Betas and how lost they are navigating the world of Alphas and Omegas. Betas, with no second gender and none of those primal instincts, who has to listen to all this mating and bonding drama without ever participating in any of it. Betas, who often find Omegas cute and Alphas hot but who feel kind of left out of the running. Betas who make great clueless friends…

“So, do you like—take suppressants for your heats or?” he asks during lunch.

You knew it was coming. You’d just had a special guest lecture about heats and ruts, and all your friends, the entire two of them, were both betas—so it was mostly all new to them.

“Dude! That’s so personal!” your other friend berates, jabbing his side and casting him a glare before throwing you an apologetic smile on both of their behalf. But you could tell he was burning with the same curiosity, he was just polite enough to look it up on his phone instead.

“M’sorry, but teach didn’t explain it well,” he apologizes while rubbing his side clear of the definite bruise left there. “Like…” He almost pouts, picking at his lunch. “What do heats actually do? Like—does it compel Alphas to—uhm… have sex with you? Or?”

“Dude!” the other all but shrieks.

“It’s fine,” you declare with a little laugh. Though it’s true what he says that it’s personal, you wouldn’t really mind disclosing some of the basics. Especially if it meant killing off a few rumors.

Though you regret it a bit once both of them end up staring at you wide-eyed and waiting.

“Uhm…” You swallow thickly—you didn’t realize it was that interesting. “So, it’s really… just a faint scent that’s caused by pheromones.” They don’t even blink as they listen, lunches all but forgotten in front of them. “All it really does is let people know when I’m—or an Omega—uhm… is most fertile.”

“Right…” One of them nods respectfully.

But the other, as usual, has more questions to ask. “So why take suppressants if that’s all it is?”

You blush. “Well, it’s kinda embarrassing to walk around letting people know such a thing…” That’s half of it. “But, uhm… well—heats don’t affect others more than it affects Omegas themselves. It’s kinda like… having a fever—but also having swallowed a lot of cough syrup. And well…” You’re really blushing now. Lowering your voice almost to a whisper. “There’s the horny aspect of it too.”

The other two blush as well. The more mature one had gone silent a while ago, but even so, it didn’t stop the other from continuing. “So, like a drug then?”

That wasn’t the worst way of putting it, so you nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

He smiles then, widely. “Sounds kinda fun!”

And the other jabs his side once more. “Dude, shut up already.” 

You didn’t think a Beta could ever do the job of an Alpha—but lucky you had two of them.

You have one of them in your mouth, suckling sweetly, hooded eyes glossy with your heat, looking up at him—your well-mannered Beta friend who barely dares touch you but is absolutely falling apart by the way your tongue swirls around his shaft, trailing veins as you take him as far back as your uvula. He’s biting his lip hard, keeping it tucked so as not to moan out the way his friend is.

He isn’t afraid to touch—or he couldn’t hold back even if he were. He’s squeezing the fat of your haunches hard enough to leave bruises, keeping you in place as he pounds you hard from behind. Unabashed groans and moans leave him, along with the slick squelches of your hole soaking and sucking him in.

“Fu-uck, can’t believe it—it’s so fucking wet—” He’s drooling and sweating, eyes misty and glued to the sight of where he’s drilling the juice out of you. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. Not that he has too much experience, but he’s never wanted to cum so badly in his entire life. “You’re so tight—squeezing me so hard!” he rambles while continuing his downright desperate pace.

“Shut up…” the other mutters under his breath but doesn’t take his eyes off you. You’re bewitching him with your gaze—round doe-eyes, blown wide with pleasure. He wonders if you even know what’s happening or if it’ll be like a blacked-out hangover in the morning. He ought to have asked more questions when he could. But he can’t seem to bring himself to care. In any case, you seem to be loving the taste of his pre, and the thought is making every part of his body buzz with warmth. You’ll probably drink his cum with the way you’re drooling and mewing around him.

It nearly brings them both to tears—it’s like the wettest dream come true as they both fill you up—one deep into your womb as he bottoms out tightly and the other down your throat with your lips wrapped all the way down at the base.

They both collapse afterward. One lies on his back and the other on his stomach—bodies stippled with sweat—both heaving.

You pout, looking at them. They must be out of their minds if they think that’s all it takes. You straddle the one on his back, both your hands around his softening dick, rubbing it back into hardness.

“Hey, hey, hey—hey, wait!” he stammers, shooting up and stopping you—both hands wrapping around your wrist to try and pry you off without prying his dick off while at it.

“No!” you whine. “Not done.”

The look in your eyes is sore enough to make any man fall to his knees.

“Please? I need more… please give me more…”

If he was blushing before, he’s full feverish now. Panning from your pouty face riddled with desperation down at his fellow Beta friend who looks back up at him with a similar expression.

We're in trouble.

♡ BNHA – ShinKami, KiriKami, KamiSero, KiriBaku, TodoDeku, loserboys ShigaDabi or DabiHawks ♡ JJK – ItaFushi, loserboys SatoSugu ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[carbonfiction]

Bitter days and bitten lips

Summary: Thinking about sharing a cold winters day in origins! Logan's cabin. (Or the lovers are loving each other sickeningly)

Can't lie i was cold and lonely when this came to be. Do with that what you will chat. once again fluff is NOT the strong suit so, go easy.. i promise smut will resume again soon :p

Warnings?: just overwhelming fluff. Reader bakes goods. reader makes a joke about him landing on his ass, Cuddles, kisses and general lovey dovey couple stuff.. Plus a teeeny moment of self doubt.

(Spoiler: Logan really likes kisses in this one..)

Masterlist Words: 1.2k (got carried away writing about boyfriend Logan.. sorry chat :/)

Thinking about the kind of days when frost gleams across the mountains. Rocks and trees covered in a dusting of snow. every step accompanied by a resounding crunch, ground slightly slippery with ice.

The kind of days when your breath puffs out as vapor and even a coat, hat and gloves don't ward off the chill.

However, inside that little cabin hidden far atop the hill, life is cosy. The fire steadily warming with a soft crackle; the little wooden pile slowly dwindling. Fingers and toes toasty warm instead of iced cold.

You adorn one of logans flannel button ups with some panties and comfortable knee highs, while logan lives in some sweats and one of his white tee's.

There's a radio playing low on the dinner table, some old music crackling through soft static serenading your actions in the kitchen. Freshly baked good filling the counters; a combination of scents wafting deliciously through the air. Bread, various pastries, and logans favorite pie all sitting cooling whilst you carefully place your cleaned bowls and utensils back in their respective places.

Meanwhile logan lounges comfortably on the couch, body sunk into the soft cushions, a book held in his grasp that he's only half paying attention to. Soft hazel gaze often flicking from the page to peek at you.

The sight, you clad in his shirt and those thigh highs he loves, wrapped up in an apron and doing something so domestic; so.. At home doing what you love in a shared space, brings a twinge of warmth to his chest. He loves you, more than he can ever express, but by god does he hope you know it.

After turning his attention back to the book, its not long before he hears the gentle sigh that releases from your chest. Fingers beginning to tug the aprons bow apart; the soft rub of fabric sounding out as you lift it off to hang on the hook. the soft click of the pantry door following, before your feet start to pad over.

You round the couch and attempt to sit by his feet silently, but logan looks up immediately, a love drunk grin lighting up his face.

"Hey darlin c'mere.." he pats the space next to him as he shifts around, book forgotten in the wake of you.

You shuffle closer, trying to tuck in besides him until he quite literally tugs your body to his. Like you weigh nothing in the world he lays back, placing you comfortably atop of his broad chest, the fire flickering in his eyes as he gazes at you.

"there we go" he murmurs quietly, a teasing edge to his voice as you squirm to wrap your arms around the bulk of him beneath you. "Snuggle on in.."

By the time your comfortable your chin sitting in the middle of his chest, legs limp between his as you rest on your front. "There's my girl" he smiles, bringing up a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. "finished keepin' us nice and fed for the winter huh?"

A smirk falls across his face as he teases, growing as your hand slaps softly at his shoulder making him laugh slightly. Faux shock filling your expression.

"I can stop and make you trek into town for goods instead if you'd like.." you grumble, trying (and failing) to hide your own sly smirk as your fingers draw circles on his pectoral.

"much prefer eatin' what my girl makes, y'know that." logan says, words falling from him so honestly that it makes you grin shyly.

And, in truth, You do, you know he is being honest wholeheartedly. From the way he clears his plates at meal time; often coming back for seconds. To the way he's damn near begged for your food for lunch when he's down working at the yard (a simple sandwich, nothing special really, apart from how he swears its his favorite thing on earth; apart from you of course) he never fails to remind you of his enjoyment.. But what's love without a little fun?

"Mhm, sure." you agree, eyes rolling playfully from under your lashes as you poke at his chest curiously. "Is it my cookin' or the threat of slippin' on your ass down the mountain that makes you say that?"

Logan's silent for a moment as he thinks, making a show of it. Then he dares a quiet hum, hands squeezing your sides jovially.

"Might be a little of both.." he smiles, teeth showing as you gasp dramatically making him really laugh. The deep rumble of his chuckle shaking your body atop of him as you pull on a grumpy little pout.

"Nah, sweetheart seriously" he grunts after a moment, sitting up a little to pull you in even closer, your head resting nearer his neck now as his voice drops in honesty. "you take care of us.. Me.. So well. More than i deserve. Cant thank you enough"

Your heart stutters in your chest, playful expression softening as you look at him. The man you have the best time calling yours, who loves so unconditionally it could bring you to tears.

"Hush" you murmur, hand moving from his chest up to place a finger gently on his lips. "None' a that, i could say the same about you.. deserve the world Logan Howlett"

"I dunno about th-" he goes to grumble, cheeks growing warm with the slightest dusty pink hue. self doubt still creeps up his spine, even as you cut him off by pressing your finger harder against him, smooshing his lips slightly.

"I said Hush.." you all but growl seriously, nipping softly at his Adams apple. "Or do i have to kiss you more to make you believe me?

Ah.. Kisses, or more specifically, your kisses. His achilles heel from the very first day your lips pressed to his. Gentle and sweet, the taste of you overwhelming his senses.

He's certain if he could choose his death, his choice would be to go by your lips.

There's a moment he relishes the feel of you, of the love you press tight to his skin. Across his collarbone, up his neck and even the scruff covered expanse of his sharp jaw.

"...suppose" he breathes shallow, shakily, as a quiet almost whine follows his words. "Kisses could work.."

You hum absentmindedly, trailing up from his jaw to softly peck at his face. cheeks, then forehead and back down the bridge of his nose. Your breath a gentle puff over his skin.

By the time you reach his lips again logan is pliant under your touch. His lashes fluttering gently against his cheeks as his hands grip tight on your waist.

which is why the soft nip of your teeth tugging at his lip draws a little surprised purr from his chest, his heart hammering quickly. The careful pain soothed by the swipe of your tongue before you kiss him properly once again.

"Believe me yet?" you whisper quietly pulling back, thumb rubbing gently over his chin.

"Might-" he pants, beginning to squirm ever so slightly beneath you. "Might need some more.. For convincing.."

You grin at Logan, wasting no time to press your lips back home against his. You'd be happy to kiss him all night if it would make him believe you.

So, you do.

Because nothing else matters but the warmth you feel at home with him; the very warmth that outweighs the bitter chill outside.

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Lucid Dreams llll l

Notes: this is part six to lucid dreams. Readers brother is just an oc. He isn't in mortal kombat. Read the notes on this to explain.

Warnings: child neglect, child abuse, threatening.

___________________________________________

It's been so long since you've last seen him. He's now much taller but still not quite as tall as you. And for a moment you don't recognize him. Because he's changed.

He's no longer the little four year old that you left...and your surprised that he even remembers you. But then again he's always had such a good memory....

And you wonder if he remembers everything...like how mean you were to him....

You had never really liked him.. he was what you could never be. Pure. He had purpose.

He was made on purpose.

But you? You were an accident. And everyone knew that.

Despite you being the bastard and him the true blood. He never treated you unkind. In fact he was quite the opposite. He was kind and loving.

He looked up to you. In his mind you were his sibling no matter the circumstances. But maybe that was just his four year old mine speaking.

But sadly you didn't see it like that. To you it felt embarrasseing to be seen with him.

You never wanted to be looked down on. But when you were with him. It was as if you were constantly compared.

By your father. By your people. By everyone.

So you pushed him away and tried to make it clear to him that you didn't want anything to do with him. But he still looked at you as if you held the world in your hands.

Now looking at him you truly realize how cruel you must've looked. He must hate you right?

But looking in his eyes they hold no anger or resentment in them. Only curiosity. His eyes are sharp and they're the same color as your father...and that makes you visibly cringe.

You've tried so hard to forget him. To forget the way he looks. To forget the color of his eyes.. To forget your past. But like usual it comes back to bite you.

He doesn't look like you. He's got his looks from his mother. While you got yours from your own mother.

You hear his steps on the gravel road.

"I've missed you sister." He says and his voice has now lost the baby tone. He's no longer the cute kid you once knew. Now he's a fighter. And a killer no doubt. And yet his words still sound honest.

"Why are you here?" You say. And you're voice is sharp. It doesn't sound like your asking a question but as if your commanding an answer. And you are.

You don't bother with the small talk. Why should you? You don't want him to be here. He shouldn't be here.

He smiles and it isn't his shy smile like he used to give you. No, now it's a sly smile. As if he knows you won't like his answer.

" haven't you missed me sister? Or have you been to busy with your pathetic other brother. What was his name...jason?" He says.

Now that ticked you off. Because more often then not that wasn't a reply. That was threat.

He just made it very clear that he knows how close you and jason are. His smile is still sly as he waits for your reply.

"Know your place Kion." You say. And your words shock you. Kion that's his name.

you felt like you had almost forgotten it. And yet it came back to you so naturally. And you suppose it natural. Because he is your brother.

He takes a step forward but you don't move. He examines you almost like a predator.

"I seen you kill that clown and I must say I'm impressed by your brutality. " He says.

He had been watching you. That was no surprise. But hearing how brutal you killed the joker made you want to throw up.

It's true you had killed the joker with brutal force. You wanted him to feel all the pain jason had felt. So you burned him alive. Slowly.

"Father will be pleased to know that you aren't some Saint anymore. " Kion says and his voice breaks you out of your trance.

He's right. You aren't a saint. Atleast Not anymore. Your a killer. Just like him.

You hadn't killed...until jason got kidnapped.

"It's a good thing this world hasn't turned you soft. We don't need a soft person in are clan." He says. And you already know why he's here. He's here to take you back. But still you ask the same questions you've already asked.

"Why are you here?" You say and now its your turn to examine him. You see his scars his long hair that he has pulled into a bun. Just like your father.

But you also see something else. Something in his eyes. Something that you can't quite tell yet. He's hiding something from you.

"Father wants you to come back home." He says. But you already knew that.

"Why? Why after all this time?" You say and he looks away from your eyes. He's definitely hiding something. And he knows you can read anyone. Including him. So he doesn't look at you as he speaks.

"Father will tell you when you return home." He says and his gaze still doesn't match yours.

"This is my home. And if you don't tell me why then I'm not going with you just for father to kill me." You say. Your lying you hate it here especially with your complicated life with your mother.

But can't let him see that. You can't let him see that you actually do want to go home. Because he'll exploit it.

"Father wouldn't kill you. Your still his daughter." He says and his gaze finally meets yours. Because he's telling the truth and wants you to read him so that you can see that.

"I'm not going unless you tell me why." You say and it's true you wouldn't go with him until he told you why you father wanted you now.

You know that your father probably wouldn't kill you. No, your far to valuable for that. But why did he send for you just now?

He sighs giving in. Because he knows your being honest. And he looks you in your eyes as he speaks.

"Sub-zero has taken something from us." He says and his eyes slightly change for just a moment but you see it. Then he turns his face away from you.

Now that surprised you. Sub-zero had always been like a brother to your father. And he was always very kind to you despite his cold demeanor.

"What did he take?" You ask as you look down at your brother. You can see that your question visibility makes him uncomfortable.

"Father will tell you when you return home." He says and though his voice is calm you can hear the fierceness in it. He truly isn't going to tell you anymore.

"Then I'm not returning home." You say and your lying. Because your actually considering going with him. But can't let him know that.

"If you do not come with me then father will drag you back. And trust me ,sister, you do not want that." He says and his tone is completely different from the calm tone he had before.

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes. But that's just what you want him to see. You want him to see defiance. And he does. So he begins speaking again.

"Please sister, come back if not for father...then for me." His voice is pleading and he looks in your eyes with desperation waiting for your answer.

"You stopped being my brother along time ago."

You don't know why you said that. You blame it on the horrible day you had with your mother. But you can't blame everything on her. Especially now seeing how much you've hurt Kion.

His eyes change from desperation to anger quickly. And you don't blame him. He's hurt. You hurt him. Again. And he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions. So he does what your father has probably showed him. He turns his emotions into anger.

"Do you still hate me that much sister?" He says and his eyes hold anger but there's something behind his eyes. Something behind the wall he's built.

Your quiet. you don't know what to say.... and you feel horrible...because your acting like your mother.

"Fine. If hate me that much. Then prove it." He says and his gaze is locked on yours. His eyes have that blaze look of fire in them.

"Kill me." He says and his words are so strong. It throws you off guard how serious he is.

"Kill you?" You question as if unsure of what you heard.

"Yes. If you truly hate me. Then do it. You'll be out of are clan. That's your way out." He says and his words are true. Killing him would be your way out.

Because you are blood related to your clan the only way to get out of your clan would be to kill someone else blood related.

"Don't make me laugh Kion. Need I remind you exactly how strong I am?" You say and it's a threat. A threat that you know you can make. Because you know your strong. And you know your stronger than him.

He smiles but it isn't a sly smile anymore no it's a smile that's difficult to read. But you can see it. He's masking his pain...

"I'm not going to fight you sister... if you truly do hate me. Then prove it. Kill me. I'm not going to stop you." He says. And that makes you confused. Because he sounds honest. Why is he doing this?

It's a test that's first sure. But what does he get out of this? If you kill him you'll be out of your clan but why is he risking his life?

You stay silent and continue staring at him but he takes your silence as a form of agreement.

"Go ahead sister....." He says and his head is turned to the side and he's afraid. You can see that.

And you begin looking around. This has to be a test. You know that. But happens if you fail?

He's giving you so many weak spots. Weak spots that your sure he was taught not to show.

"I'll make it easy for you." He says and he sheaths his sword. And you take a step back ready to defend yourself. But surprisingly he throws you the sword.

"Let me die an honorable death ,by sword." He says as you catch the sword. The sword feels heavy in your hands. There's no telling how many life's its taken. How many life he's taken.

Your still quiet the depth of the situation finally kicking. You lift the sword up and hold it to his neck. The tip of his sword is lightly touching his skin.

But he doesn't look at you with shock that your doing this. He looks in patient.

"No, if your going to kill me do it the right way." He says and he grabs the tip of the sword and points it at his heart.

"Breaks my heart one last time before I die." He says and that hurts you. Because you don't want to hurt him. Atleast Not anymore. And yet your still holding the sword to his heart.

"Do it." He whispers and his gaze is locked onto yours he wants you to see his pain. To see how your hurting him. And even though his eyes are exactly like your father's you can't seem to hate them.

Because they match yours.

But you can't let him see your weakness so you have to play along. You have to let him see you as heartless if just for a moment.

So you push the sword deeper into his chest. Not enough to cut him but enough to break through his clothing. Now the tip of the sword is against his skin. And if you push just a bit deeper it'll cut him.

His eyes are still looking into yours as if he's just waiting. And you see it. It's more then just this. Then just you hating him. Something happened.

"What did Sub-zero take?" You ask again and you drop his sword. It's not like you were actually going to kill him. But he didn't know that. And as the sword falls to the ground he sighs.

"That's for father to tell you." He says but his walls are slowly starting to fall and you can tell. So you push just a little more.

You put your hand on his shoulder. A comfortable touch. And you can tell it soothes him. "Tell me Kion." You say with such a soft tone that it throws him off guard.

"He killed her....." He says and his eyes fill up with tears. Tears that you know he's been holding back. Tears that he's been trained to hide.

"Killed who?" You ask confused.

his voice breaks and he's crying. It's the first time you've ever seen him cry.....

"My mother....He killed my mother."

_______________________

Thanks for reading!!

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld @bat1212 @skepvids @sirenetheblogger @Nervousalpacalady @118gremlin @darktrashpoetry @bitternsweet @kksmush @awawage @coffeemin @feral-childs-word @cens0r3d @sweetprincesscomputer @exactlynumberonekryptonite @rosy-myhouse34 @hebaoffside @sheep-from-rad @time-shardz @vanessa-boo @jellyedkazoo @chinxinsomnia @sillysealsies @nervousalpacalady @gwyneveire @simpingpandas

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 2 - Spider Luck

Morning came quickly despite the shitty sleep you received that night. The constant tossing and turning, the constant fear and anxiety of getting caught or broken into, really you couldn’t catch a break. 

Despite that, you did get some sleep, even if the sum total was like three hours. Still, it’s not like the nightmares would have let you sleep regardless. All your failures would consume your thoughts and drown you, reminding you of your losses. 

Sure you moved on, but it’s not like you had forgotten. Uncle Ben’s wisdom, Aunt May’s lessons, and Peter Parker’s kindness. You vowed to honor and cherish those memories, but here you are, in another fucking world, with a high possibility of you breaking some laws just to get out.

Desperate people do crazy shit, and you aren’t that sane to begin with.

Luckily this motel has a shower and you plan to use it. Making sure to clean yourself with what you have (unfortunate) and pick up the necessities that you desperately need. 

Taking your time (since you paid for it) you get yourself ready, making sure your mask, gloves and (stolen) wallet are secured inside the hoodie’s pockets. Suite nice and tucked underneath the turtleneck and leggings. First order of business is shoes. Maybe that should have been your first mission yesterday- oops. 

You definitely should have followed the young spiderlings example and fight crime with shoes. Well if you ever meet them again, you will…

When you meet them again. You will. You have to. No matter the cost.

And then your stomach rumbled. “Great! Time for cheap food. Wonder if that knockoff Wack-Donld place is open. 

Oh that’s a nice plan. But you forgot one thing, genius. Where is it? How would you know where it is? You can’t even map it since you also don’t have a phone. 

About to unlock the door, you realized something. It already was unlocked… “Hmm…” Well, it was good that you webbed the door then.

“Fuck.” Leaving the motel keys at the front, you skedaddled your way back into the streets, looking for either a bodega or a shoe store. In order to keep yourself somewhat sane, you start softly humming music you recall Miles shared with you.

After some time of walking around aimlessly (you avoided asking others for directions, gods know gothamites unwritten rule is to mind your fucking business), you found a thrift store.

Guess what you realized while browsing for shoes. If you buy and fight crime with shoes, and (as of right now) are your only pair, you will get found out. So crocs it is!

Black ones, because white gets dirty too damn easily.

Finding your size and other clothing necessities, face-mask, a backpack and a portable sewing kit, you were good to go and all for a cheap price! God you love thrift stores. You used to go to as many and as often as you could with Peter. Ya had a bad spending habit and Peter certainly never discouraged you. He was your terrible financial buddy.

Not now! You can’t reminisce right now, not until you found a way home. Asking the cashier for directions while also subtly declining their phone number (your excuse is that your phone got stolen) you made it to a corner store. Hurray!

Making sure to stock up on snacks, since- let’s be real, this will be your food source for a while, (no income, remember, silly) you stand in line to pay before your spider sense goes off.

Behind you. There’s a man, hoodie on, looking down, covering their face, hands buried inside their pockets. You’re betting it’s either a gun or a knife. 

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” Oh, it’s a gun. How original.

The cashier seemed to clock in to what is occurring and subtly reaches under his counter. Not subtle enough because the man behind you yelled, pulling out his gun and pointing at the back of your head.

What the fuck spider luck.

You quickly assess your surroundings, making note that there is only one exit, two normal people not including you but including the gunman, and the room feels tight and too small to do anything.

Conclusion? You’re fucked. 

“I said don’t move, hands up! Give me the money, all of it!” From the corner of your eyes you can see just how fidgety this man was. Probably trigger happy if you do something stupid.

“He-hey man, I don’t got much in here.” The cashier had his hands in the air, trembling and freaking out. 

“I don’t care, give me the money! Yours too, bitch. Now!”

How rude. “Alright, I’m going to get my wallet. Don’t shoot.” You made slow movements of reaching into your pocket for the wallet.

“Hurry up! Both of you!” The thug yelled impatiently. You could practically feel how sweaty and anxious this guy is.

You watched the employee open up the cashier and take the money out. The assailant motioned for you to place your wallet on the counter, which you do and step to the side, getting out of his way. Just as he goes to grab the money you quickly grab the wrist with the gun and twist it, making sure he dropped it before smashing his head onto said counter, money flying everywhere. 

Both you and the cashier watched the assailant fall to the ground, nose bleeding and out cold. “Um,” The cashier looked at you, spooked. “I panicked.”

Hey look at that, no shots fired baby! Ya still got it! You are a pro-fess-io-nal~!

“Hey man, no-um no sweat. You saved me.” He replies with a tremble in his voice.

“Cool, cool, I also didn’t want to get shot. How much for my stuff?” You asked, picking up the money on the floor, handing it back while placing your snacks on the counter..

“What stuff? I see nothing. Just go. I already called the cops.” Oh, so he wasn’t reaching for a gun (corner stores usually have one under the counters) but a buzzer or something? Nice, cool, great.

“Thanks buddy!” Hey man, free food is a blessing. Picking up your wallet and bag of snacks, you step over the knocked out guy, (pick pocketing any cash he had on him,) picking up the gun with your sweater sleeve and placing it at the counter. “Here, for the cops.”

“Thanks so much, again for everything. Hey, can I get a name? For the next time you come and…buy stuff.” He shot his shot.

“I appreciate it man, but I don’t give out my name like that. You know?”

And he missed.

“Ye-yeah…” He looked like a kicked puppy.

Just as you stepped out you heard the sound of a motorcycle nearby and your senses went off again.

“Stop right there, not another step.” A third party voice joins the fray.

What the fuck, spider luck?!

Instantly you recognize the vigilante in front of you but regardless you are not taking any chances today. 

Taking a step back inside the store, making sure to close the door on the guy. “Um, hey not to alarm you or anything but there is a guy with a mask standing outside.” Bringing your hands up (again) you back away from the entrance, snack bag swinging around with your movements. 

The employee nods pulled out the pistol from the counter (what the fuck, why would you grab that with your fingers my dude?) and aimed.

Well at least he doesn’t hold grudges for being rejected.

The door swung open and there stood a masked vigilante, but a familiar bat symbol on his chest caught the employee’s attention.

“Oh thank god it’s not another one.” Putting the pistol again he sighed in relief.

“Ah!” The yellow vigilante turned his focus onto you, (who backed up so much you tripped over the k.o.ed dude, fucking embarrassing) hands still in the air and snacks littering the floor.

Some professional you are. Fuck you spider luck.

“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” God, you're embarrassed and stressed.

The vigilante ponders for a few seconds, taking in the scenario, glancing at the employee who nods and turns his attention back. “Sorry about that. Here.” He extends a hand out towards you and to not be suspicious you hesitantly take it, your body tenses on instinct, pulling away immediately.

“Thank you.” you mumbled silently cringing at your embarrassment over spilled snacks.

“What happened?” He still faced you but you knew that question was for the other party member. And even if it was for you, you’re silent.

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” The cashier looked at his hands. “This is his.” And placed the pistol on the counter.

This looks like the perfect time to poof away so you do. Right after you pick up your snacks. Signal sees this and silently aids you. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?”

No you fucking don’t.

Holding out the bag as Signal placed the last snack in you as you shook your head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” And you walk out for the second time. You could still feel his eyes on you until the door closes.

And guess who shows up.

The men in blue.

“Hold it right there.” Bro, you just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask? This time instead of bringing your hands up (for a third time), you instead clutch your bag to your chest, mask down and point inside, making sure your voice matches your facial expression.

“In there, he stopped him there.” meek, timid, nervous.

It seems to have worked as the pair of policemen entered the store and you didn’t think twice and booked it (in a non suspicious manner- if you run, they might chase). Passing by a yellow motorcycle you take a glance back and see the vigilante stepping outside the store, looking somewhat bothered in the presence of the authorities. 

Sucks to suck, bud, you know that feeling very well, not your problem anymore.

As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his face towards you, your eyes meeting a mask. Oh fuck! You felt your hair stand up. Holding his gaze for a few seconds before turning away (any other abrupt movement would definitely make you look suspicious) you continue on your way.

Forcing yourself to not tense up and fight the urge to shiver at his cold gaze you round the corner and you feel somewhat safer again. But it’s a false sense of security, because you know you’re slowly losing your mind.

Hopefully you won’t run into him or any of the other bats.

-

Duke Thomas was patrolling his territory, the Narrows, when he got a notification.

“Signal, there’s a robbing occurring five blocks from your location. The corner store Convenience. Know it?” Oracle’s voice spoke through the comms.

“I know my way. I’m checking it out now.”

“Checking the cameras- there are only three people inside. The assailant, a civilian, and an employee.”

“Got it-”

“Oh wait. Huh, well look at that.” Disbelief could be heard through the comms.

“What is it?” Did things escalate too fast?

“The civi knocked the guy out. Basically one move.” Color Oracle impressed.

“I’m here, anything else I should know about?”

“I’m scanning what I can see of their face, but I’m coming up blank. I’ll let you know if anything.”

Duke didn’t reply, instead as he pulled up he saw someone coming out of the store. “Stop right there, not another step.”

He watched the figure (gender unidentifiable with the oversized hoodie) freeze before making eye contact with him-er his visor. Despite the hood being down, he could not see their face completely with their mask, only their eyes and hair. Just a normal civilian, who apparently knocked out a guy with a gun.

Then silence and no movement.

Until the civilian backed away, closing the store door.

Stunned for a moment, Duke could hear Oracles snort through the comms. “Think they’re scared?”

“From what, me? They took down a guy with a guy and I scared them?” 

“Careful, gun pointed straight at you inside.” warned Oracle.

He moves towards the front door, pushing it open to see the civilian from earlier backing away still, hands up before turning his attention to the employee with a gun. “Oh thank god it’s not another one.”

“Ah!” A yelp caught his attention and it seems the civi tripped on the knocked out guy he just noticed. They immediately spoke, catching his eyes,“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” 

Duke holds in a snort before glancing at the employee who nods in confirmation before he focuses on the fallen person. He calmly walks towards them, taking note of their discomfort and reaches his hand out. “Sorry about that. Here.” 

Despite his covered eyes somewhat obscuring his vision, he couldn’t will them away from this stranger’s visible face. 

Duke watched their hesitation but placed their hands in his, and he swore he felt a spark that sent shivers down his spine. How curious. He pulled them up, noting just how light they felt in his hold.

“Thank you.” Their voice was soft, but audible.

They quickly pulled their hand away, the warmth gone. His hand held its place for a couple of seconds before he let it fall to his side. “What happened?” He still faced the civilian, both unmoving. He already knew what occurred, Oracle told him everything, but he wanted to hear them talk more.

Only the employee replied. He took note of their lack of eye contact. 

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” Duke glanced as the cashier placed the gun on the counter. He’ll leave that for the cops to pick up if they don’t get here before he leaves. “This is his.”

His attention is once again stolen as the civilian in front of him kneels to pick up their half empty bag. Standing above them, he notes the tips of their ears are red, how cute.

“You good there, romeo? You kinda have a staring problem.” Oracle’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

Duke cleared his mind (he hoped he didn’t look weird or creepy, yikes) before leaning down as well and helped pick up the tossed chip bags.

Though he did take his time, just to squeeze a bit more time with this civilian that he has yet to identify. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?” He mostly directed this question to them than the cashier behind him. He wonders if Oracle figured out this civilian's name. 

Placing the last snack inside the plastic bag he watches them straighten up before shaking their head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” His eyes couldn’t seem to leave their figure as he watched them walk out the door.

“Cops outside, Signal.” Oracle once again breaks his attention. 

“Got it.” Duke turns his attention to the guy on the floor, sitting him up as two officers enter the store. One takes the guy off his hands while the other questions the employee, taking the gun.

A slight restless feeling took over him and he made his way outside, the one carrying the passed out guy following. Duke quickly takes notice of eyes watching him and he turns to see the complete unmasked civilian from earlier. 

This time, he really felt like he had a staring problem. He drinks up their appearance like water. Their nose, lips, face shape, everything. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he really couldn’t look away this time. Everything around him suddenly felt silent. He felt his body shiver.

Such a pretty face, this civilian caught his breath regardless. He’s not one to lose himself by a pretty face but it seems this one was an exception. He felt mesmerized, entranced, and tongue-tied. Something about this person had a strong lock on him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat excited then put off. It felt like a very tight leash, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

Three seconds. Ever since he caught their gaze, they made eye-contact (despite him wearing a mask) before she looked away and left, turning the corner. (Their features look pretty feminine so he’s going with her). 

“Anything Oracle?” He mumbled, still a bit lost.

“No dice. How strange…”

Bummer. He mounts his ride and drives off to finish the rest of his patrol. He’s tempted to drive in the direction the civilian went to, but he wills himself to not do that. God it’s like he’s down bad. Really bad.

Hopefully he gets to see you soon, it seems you’re staying in the Narrows which increases his chances to see you. As much as he curses himself internally, he hopes he can save you next time something dangerous happens again.

Something formed in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s desire or obsession.

Regardless, he embraces this feeling whole heartedly.

Prev; Next;

I struggled really hard, like REALLY hard. Duke is new to me (i only learned of him because of the webtoon) Now I'm reading issues he has been in and I don't know his character well but there is a SEVERE lack of Duke fics and I made it everyone's problem. So now he's down bad.

Updates are random and spars, no update schedule and don't plan to make one. This is my hobby not my obligation.

[strwbabydoll]

The Feeling Came Late

Prologue

pairings: grumpy!college student!Harry x fem!sunshine!reader

summary: Harry hates Y/N, it seems like it's been like that forever. He's quick to insult and correct her even when she's right, he's just always been the only one to pick on her no matter what she does. She doesn't understand why it's like this between them or what she did to make him dislike her so much, but what if it's all just a lie?

overall warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, kind of enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol consumption and drug mentions, foul language, Harry is a major asshole in this tbh, heavy on the grumpy x sunshine in this.

chapter .5/? (wc: 1.5k)

001 | 01 | 02 | 03

masterlist

- - - - - -

Fond memories ignored, thrown away in a second as if they meant nothing to him. Like the years of laughter were all just a dream, but they’re not. They were real and it drove him crazy. Harry only stared at the wall, face red and tears streaming down his face angrily. He didn’t know what to do, he was lost. He was angry, angry at the world, at himself because that was his best friend and at her. 

He was just a boy, a kid when it happened. Happy in his “prime years” of high school, he was thriving academically and socially. He was on top of his class work and one of the top students in all of his classes, alongside his childhood friend. They stayed friendly whenever they competed against each other, giving their congratulations when the other won in anything. Harry enjoyed the thrill of trying to be the first one to turn in his assignment though, he enjoyed the friendly banter they shared afterwards and during. It became their normal, he looked forward to it. 

Then it happened, and he was left broken. A shell of the smart and extroverted boy he once was. He can remember every detail of that day, he had just come home from hanging out with his childhood best friend – they had just gotten done studying and finishing the last episode of the season of their favorite TV show – when his mom walked alongside with him. The ride back home from her house to his was silent, filled with a sense of sadness and Harry couldn’t understand why she wasn’t happy. His mom was happy when she dropped him off at school that morning. She sat him down in their living room and said that this was important, and told him. She kept apologizing and trying to reassure him that everything was being done, tried, efforts were being done. They were going to fix this, help him. 

Of course, Harry’s just a kid who’s already dealing with all the new emotions of puberty and teenage feelings, so he screamed at her. Yelled something along the lines of “No, you’re lying and I hate you” but that’s still up for debate, he doesn’t think of this day often. He’d stormed away from her crying figure, her apologies are no good to him, won’t make everything better. He cried, screamed and threw things. He destroyed his room, tearing down pictures and throwing trophies, his vision was blurred from all of the tears in his eyes. He hated himself, it wasn’t his fault though. Nothing he could’ve done would have changed what happened, he couldn’t have stopped it. He knows that deep down, but he has to put the blame on someone, and it only makes sense that it has to be him. 

When he calmed down some, he’d taken all of his pictures off the wall, he couldn’t look at all of the times he was happy. It only reminded him of the feeling in his chest, and he stashed them all away in a box to be kept in his closet. Out of sight, out of mind he hopes will be the cause, but he kept two pictures. He couldn’t bear to have them forgotten, even if they were going to be locked away still. They were special, the people in the picture were special. They’ll always be special, so he cried some more as he placed them in his nightstand drawer. He spent the majority of the night crying, the tears seemed never ending and he hated it. He ignored his mom calling him for dinner and his sister who knocked on his door to check on him. She only sighed and reminded him that she loves him and will be there for him if he needs anything before she left him alone and headed back to her own room. 

Over time, he changed. It wasn’t gradual though, it was very noticeable. He stopped trying to compete with her, stopped trying to be the first anything. He stopped raising his hand, stopped putting efforts into presentations and powerpoints, stopped caring. He started getting into weed, he refused to try any of the harder stuff – not like his friends would give him any, they still had somewhat good morals and he also tried drinking. (A good thing about having older friends is the easy access to these types of things.) He stopped wearing soft and colorful clothes and started wearing darker clothes, jeans with rips in them and short sleeved shirts tight enough to showcase his growing muscles. He worked out more, wasn’t the lanky little boy she used to know anymore, his language expanded, started using more curse words and his tone grew disinterested and mean.

 He knew she watched him from a distance with sad eyes, he knew she tried to help him. He listened from his doorway as his mom talked to her, saying any excuse she can think of to not worry the little girl. 

‘Harry’s just not feeling very good, dear.’ ‘Harry’s just tired, he’s had a long day.’ ‘You know teenage boys can be difficult dear, he’ll come around soon,’ and other excuses were told to his friend when she came to check on him. He couldn’t exactly make out what the girl was saying in response to his mom, she’s always been such a soft speaker, and it upsets him more. He just wants to be left alone and she cares so much for him that she just want to help in any way,  and he doesn’t want to be rude and tell her to fuck off so he has his mom deal with it. She’s the emotional support thinker, not him. 

After a couple of minutes he hears the door shut so he closes his bedroom door and sits back on his bed, the two pictures laid out on his bed as a reminder of the love for his two closest friends, but also as a reminder of the pain he feels and the tears shed over something that wasn't his fault, the blame he put on himself. He sighs sadly as he looks at them once more before he gathers them and sets them in his nightstand drawer. He tries not to look at those pictures too often, he hates how they make him feel. Any time he looks at his best friend’s photo, it fills him with overwhelming sadness, bitter and hurtful. It fills his chest and makes him feel like he’s drowning in sadness, there’s sometimes a hint of anger but that’s never at him. It’s always directed towards himself, not his friend. He could never be mad at him, he was the closest guy friend he’s had and will ever have, he won’t have another one. When he looks at hers, it used to be happiness, love and adoration but it’s turned into anger and  jealousy. Her name will always leave a bitter taste in his mouth, his lips will always turn into a frown at the fleetest thought of her. 

He hates her, hates how smart she is, how she’s always somehow better at everything than him even when he spent hours working on something. He loathes how she just always knows what to say. He hates how she never fell off or even wobbled off the hill she was on no matter what was going on in her life. He dislikes how much he wishes he could be like that. He abhors how much even though he wants nothing to do with her right now that he still longs to be those little kids playing together and studying and gossiping. He especially hates how deep down he hopes that she’ll wait for him or beg for him to let her in, how he actually wants her to fight for their friendship. He loathes how much he misses her.

Instead of acting on those terrible ideas in his head on rekindling their friendship, he focuses on his popularity. High school ends and during the summer he experiments with his look, becomes a ladies’ man and immerses himself in that. He enjoys sex, the feeling of it all. The intimacy of something shared between two people, the feverish kisses and the sounds of his partners enjoying themselves. It’s a very good distraction from the one person who doesn’t seem to leave his mind. His reputation as a ladies’ man and a very skilled person grows, he becomes popular not only with the ladies in school but also with the fellow jocks of the school. He dabbled a little bit in the sports aspect of his education, he also tried out for the soccer team at his school. He’s always loved the sport, even as a little boy, something about the running and kicking balls amused him. He was also a pretty fast learner which helped his case a lot, but he still passed. He dabbled in a lot of different sports, not wanting to tie himself down to just one thing which applied to multiple different areas in the boy’s life. He tried anything to rid himself of one of the two names that haunts him no matter what.

[erwinsvow]

“rafe? can you come over? i think i’m in trouble.” your phone call to rafe is as cryptic as you’ve ever sounded, and you never call him with such a vague message. 

“m’coming. stay there, don’t move.” he hangs up before he can ask you any more questions, mind spinning with a thousand thoughts while he speeds over to your place. are you hurt? was it because of something he did? 

he doesn’t hesitate a second, letting himself in and heading up to your bedroom, finding you sitting on the floor near your bed, wiping your eyes and staring down at a piece of white plastic in your hands. the world stops spinning for a moment when you look up at him.

rafe crouches down to you, bringing you into a hug while you cry on his shoulder. it’s not until you pull away, looking down at the stick—a pregnancy test, he realizes with his heart dropping into his stomach—that he understands what’s going on.

the two of you remain like that, silent, staring at each other, while your eyes well up with tears and you chew your cheeks with anxiety. he knows you, knows you’re terrified he’s gonna up and leave, terrified that you’ve somehow disappointed him. 

“hey, hey.” rafe tilts your chin with his hand, making you look up at him, using his other hand to wipe away your tears. “s’gonna be fine. we’re gonna be okay.” 

he’s actually saying it to reassure himself too, heart thudding in his ears. you, pregnant. he should have expected this, from how often the two of you fuck around with a condom long forgotten. it’s never gotten to this point, so the thought had sort of slipped away.

sort of. he can’t deny that it’s all too easy to cum inside you when you’re begging for it, that it’s his own choice too. the idea of you pregnant was a scary thought before, but now that it’s actually happening, actually a reality, it doesn’t seem that way. 

a vision of you—belly swollen and walking around in a pretty dress, your only care in the world what kind of baby clothes you want to buy and what color he should paint the nursery—dances around in his head. he feels his shoulders relax, his grip on your hands tighten.

“it’s gonna be okay, kid. we’ll go today, get the paperwork and get married. we can do all that wedding shit later. and we can find our own place, for the three of us. i’m gonna take care of you, alrigh’? you won’t have to worry about a damn thing.” he runs a hand through his buzz, settling on the back of his head. “well, besides the baby, i guess. and, uh, i can fit a carseat in the truck. i bet wheezie’s crap is still in tannyhill, somewhere.. i'll have to find it. and tell your parents. shit.” 

your breathing evens out, staring up at your boyfriend with big eyes. he brings you into a kiss, whispering more reassuring words against your skin.

“we’re gonna be fine, okay? you and me,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. you melt into rafe’s touch.

“rafe?”

“yeah, kid?”

“is this a bad time to say april fools?”

[merakiui]

no because skully is actually so sad when you think of him in every context (platonic, romantic, a fleeting crush, etc) because imagine meeting this guy who is in a very similar situation to you (trapped somewhere in a new world with no friends, all alone, and everyone thinks he's strange because they just don't understand him) and so he can sympathize with you and your situation. he completely gets it, and maybe you just,,, get him. maybe in a way no one has before.

over the course of this predicament, you form a fast friendship that's very meaningful to both sides. for skully, it's finally a friend who can understand him and isn't a complete idiot like his dull classmates. he finally has someone. and you finally have someone who actually pays genuine attention to you, doesn't call to the front the obvious power imbalance between you (magicless human) and a school full of talented mages. for once, you're just (name) to someone. not the magicless human or the beast tamer or the person dropped in twisted wonderland from a far, far place. you're just (name). skully sees you for you, and you see him for him. maybe that's why he comments on how similar the two of you are so often because he wants to cling to this connection. maybe he sees parts of himself in you and you see parts of yourself in him.

it's a connection that seems so real and raw and heartwarming. right place, right person, you'll both think.

but all of that is rendered meaningless when you're destined to come out of the book, having forgotten all inklings of halloween town and its residents and, most importantly, skully. the one friend who could understand you in a world where no one is able to. and now whenever you look at the portrait of the halloween king you're filled with so much sadness and longing. but why? you've never met this person before.

you never will again. even skully recognized that when it was time for everyone to leave because when he leaves the book he'll be dead, but you're still alive. the both of you are from vastly different times.

right person? definitely. but you met him at the wrong time. a little too late.

or maybe in a bittersweet way it was the right time. even if you can't remember your experiences, the both of you imprinted something special on the other. when you think of halloween, you'll think fondly of that unique portrait and a grin that seems eerily familiar. and maybe if he was still alive today he'd feel comforted every time he thinks he's alone only to feel as though someone, if only for a moment, was able to really, truly know and understand him in the ways he hoped to be known and understood.

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ when you unexpectedly go to their practice room and hear them talking about you - RIIZE

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre fluff, crack pairing riize x reader request by: @ladylilith

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

"Yeah, I know, she's just too cute… I can't stop smiling when I see her. Sometimes I just want to grab her cheeks and…"

Shotaro froze for a few seconds, realizing you were standing at the door of the practice room, smiling at him. He let out a nervous laugh, wondering how long you'd been listening.

"And what?" you teased, walking toward him with a grin.

"…and kiss them, like this!" He said, wrapping you in his arms and showering your cheeks with kisses as both of you laughed.

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

You had decided to visit Eunseok’s practice room since you hadn't spent much time together lately. As you got closer, you heard his voice and quickly realized he was talking about you.

"I miss her so much…"

"How long has it been since you last saw her?"

"I think it's been a week, but god.., I miss hugging her. I've never felt like this before…"

"Aww, Eunseok, why don't you say these things when I'm around?" you murmured as you entered the room, arms open for a hug.

Eunseok smiled instantly when he saw you, walking over quickly and wrapping you in a tight embrace, planting a kiss on your head. "Here you are."

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

"Y/n? Oh yeah, she's so beautiful. I can't help but feel a bit nervous when I see her… Can you really tell?"

Sungchan had messaged you saying he really wanted some pastries, but because of rehearsals, he didn’t have time to go buy them. So, you decided to surprise him by bringing them to his practice room. What you didn’t expect was to overhear him saying that about you, making your cheeks flush.

You walked into the room, trying to appear calm. When Sungchan saw you, he froze, wondering if you had heard everything he said. You simply handed him the pastries, pretending as if you hadn’t overheard a thing.

ᯓ★ WONBIN

When you heard Wonbin mention your name in the conversation he was having with the others, you stopped near the door to listen.

"Ah… I miss y/n. If I could hug her right now, I think it would recharge all my energy."

After hearing that, you didn’t hesitate to rush into the room and wrap your arms around him from behind, making him jump in surprise. When he realized it was you, thanks to the mirror, he turned around to hug you back, looking excited to see you there.

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

"Me? I wouldn’t trade y/n for anything in the world. You might laugh, but I feel like she’s the love of my life… I don’t know how to explain it, but I know I want to be with her forever."

You had decided to drop by Seunghan’s practice because he had forgotten his charger at your place. What you didn’t expect was to overhear such heartfelt words from him the moment you arrived. Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened. When Seunghan noticed you walking into the room, crying, he quickly approached you, laughing softly as he gently stroked your head, realizing you had heard everything.

ᯓ★ SOHEE

Sohee often struggled to express his feelings when you were face-to-face, which is why it surprised you to hear him talking about you when you visited him in the practice room.

"Yeah, I know, she’s perfect. I don’t know how I got so lucky… Maybe I’ll stop by her place after rehearsal. I need to see her."

When Sohee turned around and saw you standing at the door with a huge smile, he froze, his cheeks heating up quickly. You walked up to him and gave him a kiss on the lips, while he continued to look at you, still stunned and a bit embarrassed that you had overheard his confession.

ᯓ★ ANTON

"Y/n? Yeah, she’s really sweet… but we’re just friends."

"But don’t you like her? Why don’t you ask her out?"

"Well… yeah, I like her, but I want to ask her out in a special way, although I’m not sure how…"

Anton fell completely silent when he noticed you standing in the doorway, realizing you had heard the entire conversation. A bit nervous, he walked over to you, while you could hear the other members chuckling at the situation.

"Oh, y/n… how long have you been standing there…?"

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist

taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

@enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa

[sttoru]

♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

[vivimura]

PAIRING ~ perv!sjy x fem!reader

SUMMARY ~ your flirty neighbor jake sneaks into your house when he sees you lounging by the pool all alone.

GENRE ~ enemies, suggestive.

WORD COUNT ~ 2.871k

ᯓ★ no but like i swear jake would do something like this.

When you found out that you were going to be spending a whole Friday night all alone, with the house all to yourself, you were elated to say at least. However, the party you’d planned to host was terminated the second your mother overheard the rather rowdy conversation with your best friend. If there was one person who was still just as ecstatic, it was your pervert of a neighbor - Jake.

When the night grew darker, bored out of your mind, you decided to toss the book you were reading away and descended the staircase to make your way towards the small pool located in the backyard of your house. In the house mere meters away, Jake was in the middle of tying up his shoelaces to attend another one of his Friday night parties. He stopped in his tracks when he heard the splashing of water coming from your side of the large yard separated by a white fence. He kicked off his half-tied shoes and took curious strides to his section of the yard, peaking over the fence to catch a glimpse of the source of the sound. A wolfish grin formed on his naturally plump lips when he saw you, his attractive neighbor, sitting all by yourself at the edge of your pool with your legs dipped in halfway. As he continued peering over at your figure through the fence, his grin only widened when he noticed your outfit. It was an outfit he’d often seen by peeping through the curtains of his room, that is of course, without your knowledge. Those familiar little red booty shorts that some people might even consider short enough to be underwear had his blood rushing southward. Not to mention the skimpy white tank top you seemed to love more than anything else in the world. The party he was supposed to leave for was now long-forgotten. With a grunt, he climbed on top of the fence, landing onto your side. He wiped the dust on his hands, a cocky smirk on his lips as he made his way to you, his steps obnoxiously loud. You flinched at the sudden intrusion and whipped your head in the direction of the sound. The earlier, peaceful expression you had on all disappeared into a scowl. “What the hell’re you doing here?”

Jake's smirk widens as he takes in the way your body reacts to his presence, noticing the look of annoyance on your face. He chuckled softly, his eyes roaming over your body unabashedly. "Oh, come on now. I just came over here to keep you company. you look so lonely sitting here all alone like that." he teased. You gave him an unamused look and crossed your arms over your chest. “Go home, perv.” He chuckles again, taking a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you, his eyes flickering with amusement at your attempted glare. "Now, now, is that any way to speak to your neighbor? I'm just being friendly, you know?" He said, his gaze lingering on your form a bit longer before he sat down and took a seat right next to you, carelessly dipping his jean-clad legs into the pool. “Friendly?” You scoffed. “I’d rather you rot in hell.” You childishly replied, flashing a sarcastic sweet smile and scooching a few inches away from him. Jake let out a mock hurt gasp, placing his hand on his chest as he feigned being offended. "Ouch, that hurts, baby. I thought we were past the hating each other stage." He teased, shifting closer to you once again on the pretense of getting "comfortable". however, his eyes stayed on you, taking in the way your eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’re hurt, are you? Good. You deserve it.” You mockingly replied, scooching another few inches away. “And there is no ‘stage’. I think you’re a total pervert and despise your existence. End of story.” He chuckled again, finding a twisted entertainment in your attempts to move away from him. his gaze darkened a bit, noticing your frown and irritation. "You know, you're very obvious when you're annoyed, baby. you've got this little tick right here-" Jake said, his hand coming up to lift your chin towards him, his touch gentle but still holding a hint of control. "Right here at the corner of your lip." You clicked your tongue in annoyance and sighed frustratedly, swatting his hand away. Though, you couldn’t deny the effect the look in his eyes and words fanning right against your ear had. “Don’t touch me.” Jake's smirk only widened as you swatted his hand, fully aware of the effect he was having on you. He leaned forward, close enough that his breath gently fanned against your skin. "Or what? you going to yell at me again? hit me?" He teased, his eyes still locked on yours, darkened with something that you couldn't quite decipher. He leaned in even closer, his body now pressed right against yours, his hand reaching out to rest on your hip, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "Come on, baby. it's just the two of us here. you don't have to be so uptight all the time." He murmured, his voice low and sultry in your ear, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin of your hip. Your lips parted, the insides of your stomach beginning to feel all funny over the way he touched you, and his words somehow always worded so right. You closed your mouth, swallowed thickly and cleared your throat in attempts to snap yourself out of your daze. “Don't you have other girls to annoy? I'm surprised you're even at home on a Friday night.” You grumbled indifferently in attempts to change the topic.

Jake's smirk grew, noticing the way you swallowed. He found amusement in your attempt to keep up the feisty act, knowing deep down you were enjoying this little game of back and forth between the two of you. He chuckled, his hand still on your hip, his fingers slowly tracing small circles on your skin. "Oh, you're keeping tabs on me now? I would've thought you'd be too busy with your little friends to notice my whereabouts." “Yeah, you wish. I’d rather watch paint dry. At least I have friends.” You mocked and rolled your eyes so hard, as if you were trying to peek at the back of your skull.

He chuckled at your exaggerated eye roll, his hand on your hip giving a light squeeze, his fingers gently digging into your skin. "Watching paint dry, huh? That sounds real thrilling." He mocked back, his voice laced with sarcasm. the smug look on his face only grew. "And what friends would those be? the ones you have over for tea parties?" “Okay, first of all- they’re called picnics. Second of all- get out of my house, perv!” You shot back without missing a beat, a slight tint of embarrassment forming on your face. Jake chuckled again, his smile growing as he leaned in even closer, his breath fanning against your face. "Picnics. How adorable. You and your little tea party friends, probably talking about boys and makeup, right? that's what you girls do." He teased, his hand on your hip slowly snaking around your waist, his grip gently tightening. “And what is it that you do with your friends that’s oh-so great?” You snapped, beginning to grasp at his wrist to keep his touch from getting too prickly. He smirked at your attempts to keep his touch from getting too frisky, noticing the way your fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Me? oh, you know. the usual. sports, beers, chicks." He said, his eyes locked on yours, studying your every expression. his hand on your waist slowly started to glide up towards your ribs, tracing a gentle path along your skin. You scoffed, mustering up your best nonchalant expression. “How boring. At least I have friends who care about me.” Jake's smirk turned into a cocky grin. "Boring, huh? I think you're just jealous 'cause we get to do all the fun stuff. Your friends probably think you're some stuck-up, uptight brat that's got a stick up her ass 24/7. They probably don't even like you.” He challenged, his fingers tracing a slow, almost teasing path up and down your ribs. Your face further soured at his reply, but you knew better than to take his words to heart. “Fun? Like what? Catching STDs? I think I’m good.”

He chucked, clearly amused at how riled up you were. He loved getting under your skin, seeing your reactions, knowing you were trying to hold back your true feelings for him. He took great pleasure in this little game they had going on. "Oh, come on now, baby. don't tell me you've never gotten a little naughty before." He teased, his hand now trailing along the underside of your tits, the touch light and teasing, almost testing your limits. "You wouldn't last a day with us."

Your eyes widened when you felt his stupidly attractive fingers reach dangerously close to the lacy edge of your bra. You were quick to yank his hand down, reaching the end of your temper. “I'll have you know I'm not some prude. you think i don't know what kind of game you're playing here? you're trying to provoke me to get into my pants. I've rejected plenty guys who're just like you, Jake.”

He chuckled again at your reaction, his smirk widening as you attempted to restrain his wandering hand. He took note of the way your breath hitched and how your face reddened as he came so close to touching you in places you didn't want him to. "Now you're catching on, huh? good job, baby." He said, his voice laced with sarcasm and mockery. "I bet none of the guys ever made you as wet as you probably are right now, though.."

“I-..” You stuttered, growing uncharacteristically speechless. Your face felt embarrassingly hot, and you subconsciously squirmed in place as a clear giveaway of how right he was. Jake's smirk was almost animalistic now as he saw you squirm, noticing your face turn a bright red. He could practically smell your arousal now, and he wasn't done teasing you just yet. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? or are you just too embarrassed to admit that I'm getting to you?" He teased, his hand slowly trailing back up your body again, this time gliding up towards your neck. “G-go home!” You managed to stutter out, trying to catch hold of his wandering hands. Jake chuckled, clearly enjoying this little game of cat and mouse. He moved even closer to you, caught your wrists and pinned them behind you, pressing his muscular frame flush against yours. "Tell me to stop, and I will." He challenged, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent and leaving a few kisses there. You pressed your thighs together in arousal, dead silent. “That’s what I thought.”

[thewickedjazzy]

“Stay with me, milaya”

➵Pairing: fyodor x afab! reader

➵Summary: fyodor searches for you across countless lifetimes, witnessing you die in his arms again and again. Yet, fate continuously brings you both back together with each of your rebirths.

➵Tags and word count: 5.3k words. sfw, angst to comfort, slight fluff, hallucinations, vivid memories, delusions, shifting scenes, mental health struggles, dissociation.

➵want to read more of fyodor ?

"There is a cruel irony in the fact that you are bound to return to this world, only to be torn away from it time and again. Seven lifetimes, each one a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time. But even as you are reborn, your fate is always the same—a life cut short, a soul never allowed to rest."

The sky is a deep, unforgiving gray, the snow falling gently around him. He stands alone in the desolate landscape, a faint figure against the blanket of white. His breath is visible in the frigid air as he stares down at the burnt-out edges of an old photograph clutched between his slender fingers. The image, though charred, still reveals traces of a face—your face, the one he’s sought in every life.

"Milaya... even now, your features begin to fade from memory, like everything else in this world. But I will not allow time to erase you completely—not when I am so close to finding you again."

His whispers drift on the wind, barely audible but there is an unwavering resolve in his eyes. He carefully traces the faint outlines of your face with his thumb, trying to capture every detail, every curve, every hint of the life that once was. Yet, he knows the futility of it—each reincarnation is a shift in memory, altering your essence just enough to make you a stranger once more.

"This time, my dear," he murmurs to himself, "I will not let you slip through my fingers. I have searched for you across centuries, manipulated the lives of others, all to find you. I will not be denied, not by destiny, not by anything."

Fyodor tucks the burnt photograph back into his coat, his expression stoic as he surveys the snow-covered ground. He is nonchalant, almost detached, but beneath the surface lies a storm—a desperation that he cannot fully suppress.

He begins to walk, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he heads toward the place where he knows you must be. His heart, though often cold, beats a little faster at the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, even if you do not remember him. But he is nothing if not persistent. He will make you remember, one way or another.

Yet there you are, gazing at the sky above you as it transforms into a canvas of burnt orange and fading blue, cinnabar streaks bleeding through the clouds like a watercolor painting. Your thoughts drifted back to a time you thought you'd forgotten—a memory of the day you first met him. It felt distant now, yet the details were so vivid.

He had been unlike anyone you'd ever known. some how he stood out in ways most people didn’t. His features were strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just his looks that caught your attention—it was the quiet mystery that followed him wherever he went. His pale skin, almost alabaster, contrasted sharply with his dark clothing, and his eyes—those glowing, enigmatic violet eyes—held depths you couldn’t quite reach. There was often a flicker of pain in them, so subtle it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it.

Which makes total sense. His father 'Mikhail Dostoevsky' was well-known for his austere and viciousness—well after he was granted a nobleman's rank of course— contrariwise, Fyodor was something of a benevolent despot.

The gardens of the palace stretched out before you, a haven full of flowering fragrances, nooks, and crannies of sheer delight.

You caught sight of him standing beneath the glow of the moon, his posture composed as he conversed with his elder sibling. The moonlight cast a soft halo around his figure, making him appear almost ethereal. He seemed unbothered by the festivities around him, his attention focused solely on the conversation. Even in this elegant setting, he exuded a calm detachment, as though the world itself was just an intricate game he was patiently observing.

The path before you was lined with gravel, your footsteps muted by the soft crunch beneath your heels as you made your way through the evening’s parade of guests.

Delicate fairy lights hung in the trees, casting vibrant hues that danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, the clink of glasses, and the hum of casual conversation, but your attention never wavered from him.

As if sensing your gaze, Fyodor glanced your way. His eyes met yours across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the lights, the music, the crowd. There was something paranormal in the way he looked at you. His lips curved ever so slightly into a familiar smile, one that seemed to say he had already anticipated your approach long before you had made up your mind.

Without thinking, you moved toward him. The space between you disappeared as you stepped into his world, where time seemed to slow. He turned to face you fully, his elder sibling excusing themselves from the conversation as you approached.

“Good evening,” his voice was smooth, a touch of amusement hidden in the depths. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve been watching me for some time now.”

His words made your heart skip, but you steadied yourself. There was always something about him that made you feel as though you were always a step behind, as though he had already calculated every move before you even realized it.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, finding your voice again. “You stand out, even in a crowd like this.”

His smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Perhaps, but it’s not the crowd I’m interested in.”

There it was again—that flicker of something deeper, something unreadable. You could sense the burden he carried, a burden of his past, his family’s legacy, and the expectations placed upon him. But beneath all of that, there was something else, something that drew you in even as it warned you to stay away.

“Shall we walk?” he offered, extending his arm toward the gardens.

You nodded, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm as you both began to stroll along the moonlit path. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to follow your every step.

“What do you think of all this?” you asked, gesturing to the grand event taking place around you, the celebration, the laughter, the excess.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It’s fleeting. Moments like these… they’re beautiful, yes. But they fade, just like everything else.”

“But not everything fades,” you ventured softly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully once more. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, reading your thoughts before you could speak them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but the way he just stood there gazing at you said everything.

“Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice low, “but that’s what makes it dangerous, am I right?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the night, about the fleeting beauty of the moment, or about something else entirely. But in that instant, you realized that with Fyodor, nothing was ever simple. He was a puzzle, a mystery, one that you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to solve, but one that you found yourself wanting to.

As you walked beside him, the moonlit scenery unfolding before you, his appreciation for beauty became evident. He had always been drawn to those who possessed a rare allure, and tonight, it was clear that you were his focal point. You were a vision of rare beauty, a one-of-a-kind presence in a world of fleeting appearances.

The scene before you blurs, in an instant, it felt as though time had slowed, and a piercing ringing filled your ears, making you gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of memories.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” he murmured as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

Wait.. when did you get here? Where do these memories come from, and why do they haunt you so persistently?

“I’m just following orders,” you replied slowly, bringing your eyebrows together in a slight frown.

“Stay away from this,” he imploded, sighing. “Please, lyubov.” He places a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But fedya...why now? We’re on the brink of ending your father’s relentless corruption,” you argued. “Why give up now?”

But you knew... you know he wants to protect you from the malignant influences of his father’s world. Yet, the very opportunity to dismantle the chains binding him to this sinister system was slipping away. His father’s grip was a malignancy that threatened to stifle all hope.

“Close but no cigar,” he murmured, his chin resting on your head as he inhales your fresh scent.

But he was right. You should've stayed away from those morons ages ago. You made a mistake and paid dearly for it.

In that moment, the same familiar searing ringing in your ears swept across you, pulling you from the depths of your reverie.. it's happening again.

"Fuck, I am such an imbecile." blood spilled from your abdomen, splattering across your trembling hands as you pulled the dagger free. Your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, every inch of movement sending sharp, jagged pain rippling through your body. And slowly but surely, all you can see is the orange sky getting fuzzier and fuzzier as the pain intensifies.

You reached out with a shaking hand, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, but your limbs refused to obey. Instead of crying out for help, all that escaped your lips is the metallic taste of blood.

“Ah...fuck, not now…” you gasped, the light behind the man standing in the distance, widened with each passing moment. Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you?

You blink, once, twice, trying to focus as everything around you darkens, and just as quickly as you are pulled into this chain of nightmares, you find yourself back in the present as the persistent ringing stops.

Gasping, you sit at your desk, drenched in cold sweat. Your fingers instinctively press against your abdomen, but there’s no blood. No wound. The dagger, the pain, it’s all gone, as if it never existed.

You press harder against your stomach, feeling for any injury, but your skin remains unscathed.

"I need a mirror," you mutter, voice trembling as you push away from the desk and hurry toward the mirror in the entrance. Your reflection stares back at you, eyes wide with panic, face pale, but undeniably yours.

“It’s me,” you whisper in relief, leaning closer, bracing yourself against the cool surface. You reach for the pill bottle on the nearby shelf, your fingers fumbling with the cap as you swallow a dose, desperate to calm the storm inside your mind.

You sit back at your desk again, hands still shaking as you breathe deeply. "It’s fine. I'm okay. It’s all delusions," you whisper, trying to convince yourself.

But you somehow memorise all of these memories like the back of my hand. You call them memories, despite knowing you never actually lived through them, yet they always feel so incredibly real.

They never really leave, do they?

Even now, the phantom ache in your abdomen remains, a cruel reminder of something you’ve never lived through but can feel so vividly. The sky outside your window returns to its soft twilight hues, but you can’t shake the feeling that reality itself unravels around you. Each time you are pulled into those visions, it becomes harder to tell what is real and what is imagined.

While you're sitting there, managing to steady your breath, you wonder—how much longer can you hold on to what’s real when your mind keeps dragging you into a world that feels just as tangible?

You exhale a long, relieved sigh finally calming down as you try to regain your focus. What were you doing again? Ah, yes... finishing your new book.

You type the final words of the epilogue, fingers hovering above the keyboard for just a second longer. The ending comes together, but still, something doesn’t sit right with you... the title. The book is finished, but how can it be complete without the right name? You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, eyes scanning the screen with tired satisfaction.

You aren’t just any writer, though. Hidden behind your pen name, you’ve become a literary sensation, with fans desperate for even a glimpse of who you really are. But anonymity suits you; fame has never been the goal. The words are the only thing that matter, and the world you’ve built between the pages feels more real than anything else—maybe too real?

Despite finishing the epilogue, something feels unresolved. Titles usually come easily to you, but this one, this book demands something special. Inspiration eludes you. You need a change of scenery... somewhere that can kickstart the creative process again.

With a resigned sigh, you dress quickly, grab your notebook, and head to one of the few places that has become your sanctuary when ideas won’t come: your favourite café.

The café sits nestled on a quiet street, its warm glow inviting you in like your old home. There’s something about the atmosphere, the soft hum of conversation usuallybetween elder people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft clink of cups against saucers—that always seems to loosen the knots in your mind. You order your usual, find a quiet table in the corner, and set your notebook down, flipping it open to a fresh page.

"The War of Sakura," you scribble, only to strike it out immediately. "No, no, that’s terrible!! Ugh," you mutter to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips in frustration.

You take a sip of your coffee, leaning back in your seat as you stare out the window, hoping for some stroke of genius. Come on, Kurasu Café, work your magic. But the more you stare at the page, the more the words seem to evade you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice someone sitting down across from you until you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Startled, you blink and look up, eyes widening as they land on the man before you.

It’s him.

For a moment, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you again. The man in front of you has the same striking features, the same quiet mystery, the same piercing gaze that seems to see right through you.

The same man from your memories—the one you’re certain is nothing more than a figment of your imagination, or perhaps a character you’ve written into being.

But no. He’s here, in the flesh, sitting across from you in Kurasu Café.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly blink, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, as though he can read every thought running through your mind.

“Excuse me…?”

He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says with the same silky smooth voice."You seemed… preoccupied."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, still trying to reconcile the fact that he’s real. The man in front of you is every bit as captivating as the one from your memories, as though he’s stepped right out of the story you’ve been crafting in your mind.

“I—uh,” you stammer, your fingers tightening around your pen as though it can somehow anchor you to reality. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

His smile deepens the same one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he says simply,“but I know you.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. How can he know you? And why does it feel like he’s not just referring to surface-level details of your life, but something deeper, something far more intimate?

You glance at your notebook, half-expecting to see the story you’ve just finished reflected back at you, as though it’s somehow come to life.

He leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the table between you. “You’re searching for something, right?”

You narrow your eyes, “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugs, a graceful gesture that seems too perfect, too practiced. “I can always read your eyes, my dear” he replies. “You’re chasing after a truth that eludes you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he seems to know things about you that you haven’t even told yourself. You should feel unnerved, but instead, you feel drawn to him—just like in those memories, you can’t escape.

“Who are you?” you finally ask, hoping it's not one of your delusions playing tricks on you.

His smile softens, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, it's the same flicker of pain that's so fleeting you almost miss it. He stands smoothly as he places a card on the table.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop running from your life,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, your mind racing as you stare at the card he’s left behind. No name. No details. Just a single word, embossed in gold.

"Remember."

The café around you blurs, the noise fading into the background as you stare at the word on the card, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

And in that moment, you know—this isn’t over. The story isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

It's now 1:25 am as you sit at your desk, the dim light of the lamp doing little to coax you into sleep. Your eyes fixate on the card that lies on the desk, the single word "Remember" still taunting you. It feels surreal, like the whole encounter earlier today had slipped from reality into something else entirely. Your fingers brush over the card, tracing the embossed letters, as your mind races to make sense of what happened.

Should you call him?

You hesitate, holding the card between your fingers. Who was he? Could he really know you, or was he just one of your creepy fans, trying to unnerve you by dressing up like the protagonist of your story? You’ve heard of fanatics going to great lengths to mimic characters, but this felt different. Something about the encounter stayed with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. Maybe it was just an elaborate prank, you think. Maybe he was just trying to scare you. Or worse, trying to manipulate you into thinking your own creations are coming to life.

But even as you try to convince yourself, it doesn’t sit right. No fan, no matter how obsessed, could have pulled off what you experienced earlier. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you forever, made your skin prickle. His words had hit too close to home, and the feeling that he understood something about you—something you barely understood yourself—makes it impossible to shake off the encounter.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you finally make up your mind. Your fingers hover over your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. You type in the number from the card, each digit sending a shiver of doubt through your body.

Placing the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing begins. Once. Twice. Your heart pounds in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

Just as the ringing starts to stretch into a third tone, there’s a faint click. You hold your breath.

“Hello?”

His voice is calm, like the same smooth, familiar tone from the café.

You pause, unsure of what to say, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me,” you finally manage to say.

He chuckles softly, as though he expected your call all along. “Ahh my dear...I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, his voice oh god his voice is so soft. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Your heart races. “Figure what out? What’s going on?” you ask confused. “Who are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll answer at all. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “You already know who I am,” he says. “You’ve always known, milaya.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room seems to close in around you, the silence pressing down as you try to piece together the meaning behind his words. You want to argue, to demand answers, but something stops you. It’s as though the truth is right there, just beyond your reach, but you’re too afraid to grasp it.

He continues, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “There are no coincidences. I didn’t come to you by chance. I came to you because we both have known each other for way too long.”

Your head spins. What does that even mean? You glance at your manuscript, the story that had felt so real, so vivid—too vivid. The lines between fiction and reality begin to blur, and the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to separate the two.

“What do you mean we know each other?” You whisper, voice trembling.

On the other end, he chuckles softly, a sound that’s too familiar, as if you've heard it a thousand times before in some forgotten dream. The sound pulls you out of your racing thoughts and back into the moment, grounding you in an unsettling way.

"You’ll understand soon," his voice is calm, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your chest.

Before you can protest or demand more answers, he continues, "I’ll come to your place, darling. We can talk then."

Panic flares inside you. Your eyes widen as you shoot up from your chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “What? How do you—” you begin to ask, but before you can finish, his voice cuts through.

“I know where you live,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “What… are you a stalker or something?” The question tumbles out, half-accusation, half-fear.

But his response is immediate, eerily calm, “No,” he says. “I’m no stalker. I know because no matter how many things change, no matter how the world twists and turns… the place you live, it always remains the same.”

Your heart races, your mind scrambling to process his words. The place you live… always the same? How could he know that? Why does it feel like he’s speaking of something far deeper than just the physical space around you?

“Please, my dear don’t worry about the details right now,” he interrupts your thoughts. “Just know that I’ll be there soon. And when I arrive, we can talk more about what’s really going on.”

The line goes dead before you can respond. You stare at the phone in disbelief the world around you seems to tilt on its axis, and the comforting normalcy of your room suddenly feels alien. You sit in silence, the unanswered questions swirling in your mind as you hear a soft knock on your door.

You rise from your chair with trembling hands, each step towards the door feeling heavier than the last. When you open it, he stands there—just as enigmatic as before, with that same stoic, detached expression.

He smiles when he sees you, and the smile feels almost out of place with his otherwise stoic demeanor. In his hand, he holds a bouquet of red roses. “Good evening, Malyshka,” he says smoothly. “I thought these might brighten your night.”

Confusion knots in your stomach, but you take the bouquet from him, stepping aside to let him in. The roses are fresh, their scent a heady mix of sweetness and subtle spice. “Thank you,” you manage to say, “Please, come in.”

He moves past you slowly, navigating the living room with the familiarity of someone who’s been there more than a few times.

“I didn’t expect you to show up so soon,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “How did you find my place so quickly?”

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar look. “As I mentioned earlier, some things remain constant, no matter how much else changes. I’ve always known where to find you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady.

He sits on your couch, smiling softly “I want to help you understand the connection we've always shared,” he says. “There’s much to discuss, and I believe it’s time we begin.”

You nod, slightly anxious of what he's about to reveal, “Alright. I’m listening.”

He relaxes his posture, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s start with the basics,” he begins. “You’ve been searching for answers, and I’m here to provide them. But first, you need to accept that the boundaries between a life and another are not as rigid as they seem.”

With a deep breath, you take a seat across from him silently waiting for him to continue.

“This is probably the sixth time I’ve been through this,” he continues. “my dear...you have an ability—one that makes you reincarnate. It happens every seven lifetimes, and this one is the seventh and final life.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of his words. “Reincarnation?” you echo, incredulous.

He nods, “Yes. I’ve witnessed you die in my arms time and again. Each time, you lose your memories, and I find you again. No matter how many lifetimes pass, I have always been there. In every life, I have been your one and only—your husband.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks. “But… but how? I’ve been experiencing delusions lately, slowly disconnecting from reality. I- I even went to a therapist, thinking I was going insane, but…”

“But what?” he prompts gently.

“But now I’m starting to think those memories were real,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe the writing affected me, that I was imagining things. But if what you’re saying is true… I’ve been recalling memories from past lives?”

He nods, his gaze compassionate yet firm. “Those fragments were memories from your past lives. The feelings of detachment, the disconnection from reality—it’s all part of your ability’s process. Each lifetime, you’ve struggled with this, but you’ve always managed to find your way back to me.”

You sit back, feeling overwhelmed. “So, all this time, I’ve been recalling memories from past lives? And that’s why I felt so disconnected and unsettled?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing, even when everything else seemed to be in place. Your soul remembers our connection, but the details slip away with each new life.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to find the truth in his words. “Are..are you immortal?”

He sighs softly, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Something like that,” he admits. “I’m not exactly immortal, but I endure through each lifetime. It’s not without its own pain.”

He stands and moves closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His touch so tender making your heart flatter subconsciously leaning into it, his eyes filled with profound...it's heartbreaking. “You have no idea how much I miss you, milaya,” he says quietly. “How much it hurts me to see you slip away from my arms each time. Every time, you’re taken from me by an ability user. The first time, it was my cruel father who killed you. The second time, it was an assassin with an ability. And so it went, one after another.”

His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “But this time? I will never let you go, moya lyubov. I won’t let anything take you from me again.”

Slowly, he leans in, and you find yourself lost in his half-lidded amethyst gaze, the slight glance of pain in his eyes is now gone. You brush a strand of his slightly long hair behind his ear, your knuckles grazing his cheekbones.

"Milaya," he whispers, closing the distance between you, his cold lips gently brush against yours, The moment your lips touch, a warm, relaxing spark ignites deep within you, spreading a soothing glow through your entire body. It’s a kiss that feels like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your heart.

Your body reacts instinctively. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He lifts you gently, your feet barely touching the ground, as he holds you close. His hands rest on your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as his kisses start to get sloppier with a sweet, heartfelt heat. It’s as if he’s trying to savor every moment, every touch, to make up for all the years apart.

He gently pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You should get some rest, darling,” His words are a tender reminder, and his touch lingers as he softly caresses your cheeks, jaw and chin.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck, “Please don't leave.”

The Russian man, ever devoted, cannot bear the thought of leaving your side now that you are once again in his arms. With a serene nod and a tender, otherworldly smile, he whispers,

"I will forever be by your side, moya milaya."

A/N: I know this isn’t my best work—I've been dealing with writer’s block lately, especially after spending the last few days working on Kinktober fics. Apologies if any part feels rushed. I also made sure to use past tense for the memories and present tense for the current events, in case you noticed that. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this!