#need to get back in the swing of things before DE comes out

[bricreative]

Reposting this comic! Max and Chloe from 2021 cuz I still like it. Maybe I’ll do a redraw sometime?

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hii, this is my first time requesting and I wanted to know if you could do an Alastor x hard to get fem reader, who is somewhat stronger than him in the beginning, but as Alastor fights more overlords he gets stronger and tries to woo her into a relationship with him and she is just not having it. Maybe he goes as far as killing a member of the Goetia family to prove his strength but in turn makes the reader like panic and cast him away from her. Maybe Alastor wins her back by taking care of someone that’s been bother her than she doesn’t have time to deal with, like a stalker or something. I hope this wasn’t too much, I just really love your writing!

A/N: kiss your brain i love this so much!!! I love writing for Alastor and i’m so excited for the show to come out so this makes me extra excited!! I haven’t written in a little while so I apologize if this was a bit off, still getting into the swing of things! But I hope this was good!

Warnings: Obsessiveness, slight yandere!, murder, power trip, mentions of death, cannibalism, mentions of blood

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Hard to get

Meeting you wasn’t something Alastor thought would affect him as much as it did

You were different, but a different that scared him and he hated that

Your power and calmness together sent shivers down his spine, it gave him an adrenaline he had been craving and he didn’t even know it

After his fight with you he had fled, to hide away bask in your energy

He had gone as far as studying you from afar, watching the way you carried yourself and the way you went about your day

He would become stronger than you, to take you down but to also have you as his own; his bride

In his eyes you were a prize to be cherished, someone to love so dearly you wouldn’t need to lift a finger again

He had talked to you during a meeting with other overlords, after everyone was done cowering from his power

You were quiet, stoic and didn’t say much- hell you didn’t even spare him a glance

¨Hello dear!¨Alastor said calmly to you after the meeting.

You didn’t say anything, you just stared at him with a blank face, waiting for him to continue

¨May I help you?¨You asked, and he just grinned

¨Why yes you may! I couldn’t help but take notice to how awfully somber you looked all by your lonesome and felt it was my duty to accompany you.¨He said with a grin, leaning down to get a better look at your features.

¨I was actually doing quite fine before you came along thank you.¨You say, facing away from him and turning your nose up slightly. You clearly couldn’t be bothered to socialize with someone like him. His smile stretched painfully wide and he fought every urge to pull you to him right there.

¨Well I-¨

You cut him off

¨If you wouldn’t mind, the stench of blood is heavily present on you and I’d appreciate it if you cleaned yourself up properly and kindly left me alone. I’d hate to have a repeat of our first meeting.¨You said, side eyeing him.

He was stunned to say the least, and without another word, walked away from you, his dignity in shards at his feet.

You had really pushed him over this edge and a part of him was living for it but the other part really wanted to burn the entire city down.

Weeks went by and he was silent for a while, pondering over your words and what you had said. Clearly your standards were high, higher than him by far. He would have to play better.

He began taking his anger out on other overlords, claiming territory day by day and night by night. His carnage all over the radio, for you to hear. His subliminal message to you, that he was a changed man. Ready to be the man you needed him to be.

¨Please, whatever you want Ill give it to you, just please enough of this!¨ The overlord shrieked as Alastor rummaged through their belongings, his shadows making work of their lower ranked demons.

He stops when he sees a picture of you on their wall, a photo, where you were actually smiling.

Words couldn’t express how his dead heart felt, he was in such a state of shock he didn’t even remember killing the poor overlord. What a shame, and here he thought he could’ve asked some good questions about you.

He keeps the picture for himself, along with a file the overlord had made about you

Clearly you were smarter than you let on, because the file was made up of small things almost anyone could gather about you- poised, confident, but quiet

Alastor had made his way to where you resided, a large estate in a rural area, with a tower attached to the back of the building. It was gorgeous and seemingly had you written all over it.

Stepping onto the front grounds, he took notice to how the grass was withered and dead, but sharp black roses decorated the steps leading up to you’re front door. It was so elegant, so precise. So much so he had fallen in love all over again.

He hadn’t bothered to get flowers, knowing you would probably take them and kill them right in front of him.

Knocking on the door three times he waited quietly, hearing light footsteps make their way to the door.

A smaller, frail woman opened the door, and he smiled politely down at her.

¨Hello sir, I believe her majesty is not available right now. Though she expected your arrival. Would you care to come inside and wait for her with some hot tea?¨ The small woman asked.

Alastor just nodded and stepped inside, taking the interior in as best as he could, hoping to burn the image into his brain. The smaller woman led him through various halls, all elegantly decorated by your hand as she explained, before leading him to your study, a large library with a glass windows all around.

He took a seat, taking the liberty to put a record on, slowly humming to the jazz as he waited for your arrival.

Some time later you stepped in, Góetia prince in toe as you pulled a book from the higher shelves with your magic, handing it to the prince.

¨I believe this was all¨ was all you said. He nodded, the two of you giving Alastor a quick glance before shaking hands. The Goetia prince turned on his heel and left quickly, leaving you to deal with Alastor.

¨You have proven to be a constant thorn in my side.¨You sigh, sitting across from Alastor in your study. He just grins, finally happy to have some of your attention.

¨Well a thorn does belong on a rose, does it not?¨He asked, and you clicked your tongue.

¨Roses get their thorns cut off.¨You reply, still cold and monotone. There’s no expression on your face, and its then he takes in your appearance.

Dressed from head to toe in a long black dress that hugs you quite nicely. Your hair is done back, away from your face, making your features all the more present. You sit cross legged, and don’t say much else, waiting for a response.

¨Well that is also true.¨Alastor finally draws out. You hum, leaning back in your chair.

¨What it is you want from me?¨You ask finally, eyes shutting for a moment.

¨Well I-¨Alastor stops, the door opening to reveal the smaller woman again.

¨Excuse me your majesty, but the prince is back- and quite enraged.¨She said nervously, a loud crash coming from down the hall. You sigh, standing.

¨A moment please.¨You excuse yourself, leaving the study. The small woman stays inside, and Alastor decides to take this time to question her.

¨That prince, is he?¨Alastor asks, and the small woman shakes her head.

¨Goodness no, her majesty would never get with royalty. She’s trying to get away from that life.¨The small woman said. So the prince wasn’t your prince, that was for sure.

¨How long has she been down here?¨Alastor asks, knowing his arrival had been pretty recent.

¨twenty years. Died on March fifth, 1909.¨ The small woman said. ¨She was a child when she died, but thankfully to her power, she can continue to age as much as she wants here. Per her family’s request.¨ The woman said.

¨I hope you two are having fun gossiping.¨You said stepping back into the room, flicking a piece of glass off of your hand. Alastor sits up, now a bit more confident in talking to you.

¨Oh the most fun one could have.¨Alastor draws on, the small woman nodding to him as she steps out. You take your place back across from him, massaging your temples.

¨Lets get on with this shall we.¨You say, ¨I don’t know what you want from me. But let it be known I have felt you watching me, lurking as one would say. If you don’t want a detachment from your head to your torso I would politely suggest you leaving me alone.¨You say, your eyes sharper, but tone still calm. He could see the enragement behind your tone.

¨Why don’t we have dinner? I can explain much more than my dear.¨

¨Do not call me that.¨You say, and he laughs.

¨I will not be so easily swayed, unfortunately for you.¨He says grinning. He stands, tapping his staff on the ground to wake his radio up. ¨I do believe that my visit must be cut short. I have more sinners to erase!¨He grins happily, poofing himself out of the room and elsewhere thanks to his shadow.

You don’t hear from him for quite some time, and its almost comforting. He kept his distance at overlord meetings, even though fewer overlords were alive to be present thanks to him.

You had began getting small gifts, and seeing shadows whenever you turned corners. Almost like a mind game. Though you were sure it was him, you had more important things to tend too than his childish games.

It wasn’t until you had gotten home from the Goetia ball that you were face to face with him again.

In the foyer of your home, black tiles stained red, Alastor stood in the middle of the mess. The Goetia prince beheaded in your home.

¨What have you done?!¨You yelled, panic settling in. Alastor had worked so hard for this. A Goetia prince? Hell royalty was a new kill for him truly.

¨He wont bother you anymore my dear, of course I had hoped the mess would be cleaned by now but the fight he put up was quite time consuming.¨He said with a chuckle.

¨Alastor get out. Now.¨You said, and it was then he had froze. You were surrounded by an aura of black smoke, breathing heavy and eyes going full white. The room had began to get darker, and the doors behind you flung open, wind raging as he fought to keep his feet planted on the ground.

¨Cant we just-¨

¨I said- get, out.¨You said, swapping places with him in a blink of an eye, having his body pushed through your doorway with the wind, sending him into the forest far away from your home.

It had been ten years since then.

Alastor had felt defeated. He had tried all he could. Gifts, flowers, cleaning up your messes that you refused to admit were yours. Hed taken out such awful suitors who thought they had a chance with you.

It wasn’t until the next overlord meeting, when you didn’t show up, he had gotten worried. He knew he should’ve stayed away. But he just couldn’t. He hadn’t looked you in the eye for so long, but putting his own fear judgment aside, he decided to check up on you. Rosie, a friend he had acquired, had told him one visit wouldn’t hurt.

He found your doors wide open, the area eerily quiet, the dust coating your home entirely out of character for you. A man stood in your foyer, calling your name over and over frustrated.

¨ Please Y/n,talk to me! Anything!¨He said. The man was trying his hardest to get you to show yourself.

¨Excuse me.¨ Alastor said, and the man turned to look at him.

¨Who the fuck are you?¨ The man asked, and Alastor just smiled.

¨ Someone you’re going to wish you never met.¨ he said. The man doesn’t have time to react, his bones breaking on him, as he collapses on the floor with a loud shriek of pain. It draws out for a bit before the man finally dies, a slice to his chest shutting him up as he chokes on his own blood. Alastor hums as his shadows make quick work of cleaning the mess he made. He knew you hated your tiles stained.

¨Alastor?¨ You ask, standing at the top of the staircase. Your hair is down, still in the same dress Alastor had memorized so well. He smiles, his dead heart freezing over at the sight of you.

¨hello dear. Forgive me for my sudden intrusion. You weren’t at todays meeting and I thought to check up on you.¨He said, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiping his hands with it. You walked down the steps slowly, taking in the shadows working on the now dead man on your floor.

¨ Did you do this?¨You asked, looking through the open door of your home. Your voice was softer than before. You looked a mess, but almost put together in a way. As if you were only slightly losing your mind.

¨Yes.¨He said, taking your hand and pulling you closer to him. He figured this was his last shot with you. Now that he had you here, he had to take advantage.

¨Mon cheri, I know you casted me away all those years ago. But I have you here now, and I cannot hold this will in my heart any longer without telling you.¨He said, his other hand turning your face to have you look at him. Your eyes were different this time, something he couldn’t read. But still, he kept on. ¨ I believe my love for you is strong in itself. I can protect you, you wont ever have to worry about some deadly sinner like this again. I know you didn’t believe I was capable of making you happy. But I must know now, if I am truly worthy of your love. I will do whatever it takes.¨ He said.

Your eyes were dark, with something he could only describe as pure lust. ¨Alastor please, you always were.¨You say with a smile. He had been so, immature before. But after years it seemed he changed, on the surface that was. Maybe you could give him a chance. Maybe he was worth coming out of the dark for a bit. Especially now, since he was stronger than you.

¨But, you must promise me something.¨ You say to him, and he nods quickly.

¨Of course.¨ He says. You grin at his willingness, and turn away from him, the mess he made now long gone.

¨Do not ever play me for a fool again.¨ You say. He stiffens and nods, hands as gently as possible reaching out for you.

He turns around around to face him, and almost jumps when he hears the doors to your home slam shut.

You don’t bat an eye, instead pulling him in by his tie and with a chuckle, eye his shadows as they snicker in a corner at the sight of the two of you. ¨ Dont worry, I know you wont.¨

Alastor just grinned, finally proud of himself. Not only had he gotten his power, no, he had gotten his hands on you as well.

[tightjeansjavi]

knead

A/N: so after rewatching Narcos all weekend and staring at the screen with big ole heart eyes for the infamous Javier Peña, I decided that he, like Joel, deserves nice things 🤍

~word count: 1.2k~

Summary: Javier Peña desperately needs a fucking break and to be kinder to himself <3

Pairing | Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of guns, cigarettes, implied death(s) due to an unsuccessful raid, established relationship, fluff, hurt and comfort, Javi is incredibly hard on himself, takes place during season 3 of Narcos, both Javi and the reader speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

Lo entiendo, hermano. - I understand, brother.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende - You don’t understand, brother. No one does.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, cariño. - You don’t have to wait up for me every night, querida. Your sleep is important too, baby.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa. - Jav, I always want to make sure you’re home safe

Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor. - Javi, please don’t apologize for this. Please, my love.

Siempre tan bueno conmigo - Always good to me

Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño - I love you with everything that I have to offer, cariño

Te quiero más a ti, Jav - I love you most, Jav.

When he comes home, he’s still in his olive green tac vest. His hair is strewn about in a sweaty mess across his face. He reeks of gunpowder, stale tobacco, and disappointment. It drips from his pores and lands in a puddle at his shoes, once shiny, now dull, scuffed and speckled in blood. A failed raid. Innocence lost, and disappointment. So much fucking dissapointment that swallows Javier Peña alive.

An anonymous tip leading to more fucking bloodshed. So much for things being done differently this time around.

A hero? Hardly.

Javier doesn’t feel like a hero. Not when all he’s done is failed over, and over again.

We’ll get them next time, Javier.

Will we?

Of course. You know the Cali Cartel like it’s the back of your hand, Peña. We’re this much closer to bringing them to justice.

Justice? He laughs. If there was any justice in this world, I would be in fucking jail right now.

Lo entiendo, hermano.

Javier laughs, voice rasped in bitterness. He swings his keys around on his pointer finger, jaw ticked, muscles aching beneath the sweat stained fabric of his shirt.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende. Javier responds coldly and unlocks his car door before climbing into the driver seat.

He thinks hard on his failure the entire drive home. He doesn’t listen to the radio. He sits in silence, puffing away on a stress cigarette even though he swore he was trying to quit.

In the lowlight from the hallway, Javier is able to make out your sleeping mass under the colorful patterned quilt on his couch. He swings the door shut softly behind him and quietly locks it.

His back and shoulders are tense, aching with each step he takes. Another jab and painful reminder of his failure tonight.

Despite Javier’s protests, you always wait for him to return home. He appreciates this more than you realize. It’s his one sense of comfort that he feels he’s undeserving of.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, corazón.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa.

The worn couch cushions gradually press down from the weight of his body as he slowly sits down in the unoccupied space between your covered feet. He winces when he feels that annoying pinch in his lower back and brings his hands over his face, dragging them down over his alquine nose with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his gun, badge, cigarettes, and lighter. He tosses them onto the coffee table and leans back just as you begin to stir awake from the sound.

“Jav?” You murmur softly and subconsciously reach for him over the blanket.

“Its me, cariño.” He rasps. His hand reaches towards you in the dark, finding you soon after. He laces his fingers through yours.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, sitting up and facing him.

“No. I’m not okay.” He admits.

“What happened?”

He looks over at you through the darkness and shrugs his shoulders. “What didn’t happen.” He clarifies. His thumb skates across the back of your hand gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?..”

“No. I just..I’m tired, querida. I’m tired of failing all the fucking time.” He sounds exhausted. You know just how much his job truly weighs on him.

“Javier, my love, you are not failing all the time. You aren’t. No one thinks that you are a failure, Jav.”

He makes a snuffling sound through his nose that comes across more like a scoff. His movements cease when he feels your freehand grasp his jaw and pull him in close. Even in the dark, your eyes are soft, gentle, and laced with concern.

“Everyone tells me that I’m a hero, cariño. I’m not a hero. I’ve never been a hero.”

“Javi, you don’t have to be a hero. People mean well with their words. I know they do, but you have to try and not let it get to you this much. Okay? Javier, you have one of the toughest jobs out there. No one but yourself is going to understand how you feel. Whatever happened tonight, does not make you a terrible person, or a failure. You’re doing everything you can to take down the Cali Cartel.” You reassure him.

“I feel like I have to be the hero. Javier Peña, the dashing DEA agent that took down Pablo Escobar.” He laughed. “Cariño, I was told that this time things would be different, but they were wrong. Everytime I try to ensure that innocent lives won’t be lost, someone gets caught in a crossfire. A civilian. A child. An unsuspecting bystander. It weighs on me. It fucking weighs on me more than I’m willing to admit.” He said in an exasperated tone.

You saw the tears begin to brew along his waterline before he even realized he was crying. You detected the strain in his voice, and sprung into action. Your hand dropped from his face only to then pull him into a hug with your hand gently cradling the back of his head and your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scratching his scalp gently in hopes to soothe him.

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap so he could be closer to you. His warm palms slid under the thin fabric of your shirt along your lower back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I don’t want you to see me like this, cariño.”

“Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor.”

“You’re so good to me.” He kisses the exposed skin on your neck, the tips of his mustache tickles you as you hug him tightly, rubbing your hands up and down his back and shoulders in a soothing motion.

“And you’re good to me, Javier. Siempre tan bueno conmigo.”

He nuzzles you affectionately, wishing he could crawl inside of you and live there forever. “Cariño, can you do something for me?” He asks softly, dragging his lips across your skin once more.

“Anything, Jav.”

“My back and shoulders are fucking killing me. Can you—” you cut him off before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.

“Of course I can.”

He breathes a sigh of relief through his nose “Gracias, cariño”

He slowly drops his arms from around your waist so he can remove his shirt. He undos each button with meticulous precision and slowly slides the fabric down from his forearms. He lays his shirt along the side of the couch while you slide into the space behind him, with your thighs wrapping around his torso. He leans back into your touch, lashes fluttering shut when your hands work their way up from his lower back, kneading the tender strained muscles there.

You work your way upwards and pay close attention to the areas where he’s feeling the most pain. He murmurs praises in both Spanish and English under his breath when you slowly and delicately work through a particular nasty knot between his shoulder blades.

Your gentle, yet firm touch sends the DEA agent into a state of bliss, and he’s putty in your hands in no time.

Your chin comes to rest along the crook of his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss along his jawline. He hums and tilts his head to the side, finding your lips in a gentle kiss. A thank you. An I love you, and an I appreciate you can be tasted through the kiss. He rests his hands along your thighs that are wrapped around him, gently kneading the soft flesh with his strong, yet gentle hands.

“Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño”

You smile against his lips, kissing him deeper while your fingers gently brush through the wispy tendrils of hair along his forehead.

“Te quiero yo más, Jav.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications.

[iovebarca]

La Roja - Fermín Lopez

Authors note: why do schools feel the need to give sm work when the weather is nice

WC: 700+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff.

send me requestsss 🫶🫶

You sit on the edge of the sofa, phone clutched tightly in your hand, eyes flicking from the muted television to the closed door of your shared apartment. Your heart races with a mixture of anticipation and hope. Fermín, your boyfriend, has been waiting for this moment his entire life, and you’ve been waiting right alongside him.

The past weeks have been a whirlwind of tension and excitement. Every time the phone rang, both of you would jump, hoping it was the call from de la Fuente himself. You’ve seen Fermín play his heart out on the field, every match an audition, every goal and assist a plea to be noticed.

Today, though, feels different. There’s a buzz in the air, a kind of electricity that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. Fermín left for training this morning with a determined look in his eyes, more focused than usual, if that’s even possible.

As you glance at the clock, you realize he’s due back any minute now. You stand, unable to sit still, pacing the room. The TV, still on mute, shows highlights from last night’s games. You spot Fermín in one of the clips, effortlessly dodging defenders and setting up the winning goal. A smile spreads across your face, pride swelling in your chest.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock snaps you back to the present. The door swings open, and there he is—Fermín, your Fermín. His usually confident stride is hesitant, and his expression unreadable. Your heart skips a beat as he steps inside.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to gauge his mood. He looks up at you, and for a moment, you can’t read his eyes.

Then, slowly, a smile breaks across his face, growing wider until he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I got the call,” he says, voice trembling with excitement and disbelief.

You let out a scream of joy, launching yourself into his arms. He catches you, laughing, spinning you around in a jubilant dance. “You did it! You really did it!”

“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you close. “I’m going to play for Spain.”

You pull back to look at him, tears of happiness in your eyes. “I knew you would. I’ve always known.”

The two of you collapse onto the sofa, still holding each other tightly. He tells you about the call, about how the coach praised his performance and dedication. You listen, hanging on every word, your heart soaring with pride.

As Fermín talks, your mind drifts back to when you first saw him play. He was just a teenager then, full of raw talent and unrefined skill. You remember the muddy fields and cold mornings, the way he would practice for hours, driven by a dream. You stood by him, cheering at every match, nursing his bruises, and celebrating his victories. Each step he took, you were there, his biggest fan and unwavering support.

“We should celebrate,” you say, jumping up. You decide to cook his favorite meal, filling the apartment with the rich, comforting scents of home-cooked food. Fermín calls his parents, his voice animated as he shares the news. Later, you both head out to your favorite spot in the city, a little ice cream parlour with a view of the sea, to toast to his success under the starlit sky.

The conversation naturally drifts to what comes next. The training camps, the matches, the possibility of playing in the Eurocopa. You discuss the logistics, the travel, and the new routines you’ll both need to adapt to. There’s excitement in the uncertainty, a sense of adventure in the new chapter unfolding before you. Fermín squeezes your hand, promising that no matter how busy things get, you’ll always come first.

Back at home, you give him a small, wrapped box. Inside is a bracelet with a simple charm—a small football and a heart intertwined. “For luck,” you say, fastening it around his wrist. He pulls you close, his eyes soft with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” he whispers, and you know he means it.

As the evening fades into night, you talk about the future, your dreams intertwined. Through it all, Fermín keeps one arm around you, as if he can’t bear to let you go.

[clintbartoncelebrationbash]

That's A Wrap!

The 2024 Clint Barton Celebration Bang has officially come to a close!

We have collectively created 10 fics, 10 pieces of artwork, and 2 podfics, all celebrating the greatest archer in the world!! There's something for everyone - whether you're a long time Clint Barton fan or just starting out; whether you like friendships, relationships, or fully-focused character studies; whether you like shorter snapshots or longer epics. Check out the full list below and send these amazing creators some love!

💜💜💜💜

Anchor Points

Fic by @widowsresolve | Art by @betrayedbycinnamon 37,935 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton & Barney Barton, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Clint Barton &/ Natasha Romanov

Summary: For one glorious, gravity-defying moment, Clint felt like he was flying as he jumped from the swing.

It made him feel like he could do anything. It made him feel fearless and untouchable.

He needed more of that in his life.

--

The journey of Clint's life from a boy wishing for a better life in Waverly, Iowa to the man who becomes an Avenger and the relationships that helped to make him who he is.

💜💜💜💜

(hands) touching hands

Fic by @safelycapricious | Art by @auripigmentum 2,384 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen and Up Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Summary: “And what name was on your wrist?” Coulson asks.

“Uh, none?” Clint says, scratching at his eyebrow.

“You have a burn scar,” Coulson says, carefully, like he’s talking to a bomber off of a ledge, “where your soulmate name was.”

💜💜💜💜

The Healing Properties of Air Vents and Hot Chocolate

Fic by @sishal01 | Podfic by @flowerparrish 4,002 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton &/ Bucky Barnes

Summary: Clint gets de aged and little Clint is who finally pulls Bucky out of the asset

💜💜💜💜

Once in a Lifetime

Fic by @betrayedbycinnamon | Art by @carcrash429 12,088 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton & Laura Barton

Summary: Nobody knows exactly which Clint triggered the inter-dimensional dominoes, but it doesn't really matter in the end, because this one just needs to focus on his new reality. He discovers some things about himself along the way.

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the road not taken looks real good now

Fic by @sup3rbloom | Art by @rufferto9 5,660 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen and Up Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes

Summary: Clint is going on a road trip after the events of End Game. He needs some time to clear his head before getting back into the thick of it. While on the road, Clint runs into someone unexpected, and finds himself taking care of none other than Bucky Barnes himself, which eventually leads to Clint falling in love a little along the way.

💜💜💜💜

some of us are just born with tragedy

Fic by @graffiti-bi | Art by @auripigmentum 14,424 Words, 4/4 Chapters, Not Rated

Summary: After the events of Freefall, Clint and Lucky flee to Waverly. No one's going to look for him in a town he hasn't thought of setting foot in for the better part of two decades. Plus when it's safe to head back to New York he can just sell the farm and be done with the place for good. There's nothing left for him or Barney there anyways. Right?

💜💜💜💜

Summer Seasons

Fic by @teeelsie-posts | Art by @nolanfa | Art by @carcrash429 23,285 Words, 5/? Chapters, Explicit Clint Barton/Dick Grayson

Summary: The autumn that Clint is 12 years old, for the first time that he can remember, something really good happens.

The autumn that Clint is 12 years old, he meets Dick Grayson.

OR A Clint Barton POV companion piece to Winter Quarters.

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Support You All The Way

Fic and Podfic by @42donotpanic | Link to Art @wyxan 10,012 Words, 6/6 Chapters, Explicit Clint Barton/Matt Murdock

Summary: Matt notices his Partner changes over time.

OR:

5 times Natalie struggled with gender and 1 time Clint realised who he really was

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That's So Fletch

Fic by @artaxlivs | Art by @rufferto9 10,115 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Explicit Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes

Summary: Stop trying to make fletch a thing.

(I will not, nor will I stop shamelessly plugging 80s and 90s cult classics.)

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wrap your roots all around my bones

Fic by @carcrash429 | Art by @noxnthea 30,212 Words, 1/1 Chapters, Teen Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Summary: “What exactly do you think it is we’ve found?”

“Pieces of yourself that you thought were lost.”

-

Clint and Steve thought they knew each other pretty well after six months of working and living together. Turns out, they each have a lot of ghosts buried in their past, waiting to be uncovered.

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

Recreate

Pairing: Biker!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: fluff, implied smut

Request by @waywardfillorian: Biker!Dean takes his Book tiktok reader girly friend to get as books as she wants at Barnes & Noble. 

Summary: As your boyfriend, Dean is responsible for your happiness. Books are what make you happy. Riding his bike is what makes you happy. Recreating famous BookTok scenes is what makes both of you happy… and eager.

Square Filled: play fighting (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Dean never said where you two were going to go on your date so you decide to dress casually--jeans, a short-sleeved frilly shirt, and the Converse Dean bought you for your birthday. It’s still hot when the sun goes down so there is no need to bring a jacket if you stay out that long. You put two small hoops into your ears and make sure your hair is perfect before hearing the familiar sound that gets butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Dean’s motorcycle can be heard even before he enters the cul-de-sac, and you race to your window to see him round the corner. A wide smile spreads across your face and you race downstairs to greet him. Dean parks his bike when you come barreling out of the house. He catches you in his arms and hugs you while rubbing your back affectionately. He’d kiss you but his helmet is still on.

“Slow down there. What’s the rush?” he chuckles and slides up his visor so you can see his beautiful green eyes.

“Nothing. I just missed you is all.”

“It’s been two days,” he laughs.

“That’s too long. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You ready to go?”

“Yep!” You twirl to show him your entire outfit. “Do I look okay?”

“Y/N, you are the most beautiful woman. It doesn’t matter what you wear.”

“Even if I was wearing a burlap sack?”

“I think that’d be sexier.” He chuckles. “Come here.”

You step up to him and he grabs the second helmet strapped to his bike. He slides the helmet over your head and makes sure it’s on snugly before helping you strap it in. He’s concentrating so hard on the small task, his thick fingers pressing delicately into your neck. One of the things you absolutely love doing is behaving like a brat for him. He radiates dominant energy with just about everyone in his life, and you’re no exception. He loves you with all of his heart and he treats you like a princess but you love it when he loses his shit just because you decided to have an attitude.

It’s why you reach up and slap his visor close as he is trying to strap you in.

Dean’s entire hand wraps around your throat and he tips his head to the right, his eyes burning with a challenge. A challenge that says, “Are you sure you want to play with me?” Dean tips your head back more and tucks the strap into the helmet to keep it out of the way. Then, he slides his hand from your throat to hook under the helmet by your chin. He pulls you closer so that your helmet bumps against his.

“Keep it up, sweetheart.”

You can’t help the giggle that comes out. He makes you want to melt into a puddle at his feet. Lord knows he’s tried before. Dean gets on his bike and stabilizes it for you to get on. You grab his shoulder and swing your leg over it, settling on the bike right behind him.

“So, where are we going?” you ask. There are microphones inside the helmets so that you can talk to each other comfortably. “I made sure to dress for every occasion.”

“It’s a surprise, princess.” You smile. “Just enjoy the ride.”

Dean turns the bike on and kicks the stand back before peeling back onto the road. You reach around him and grip the very small handle so you have something to anchor yourself to the bike. You wish you could feel the wind in your hair just once without a helmet but there is no way Dean would ever let you ride his bike without a helmet on. He cares too much about your safety to do that, even if you suggest riding around the neighborhood.

An idea pops into your head when you remember a TikTok you watched the other day of a woman who was backpacking for a biker. Thank God no one can see the mischievous smirk forming on your face. You wrap one arm around Dean’s waist while the other rests on his thigh. Without giving him any warning, you slide the resting hand over the front of his jeans and right over his cock.

He stiffens and waits for you to make the next move. You’re playing with fire and he knows it. You love it too much. You love the animal you bring out in him whenever you do this shit to him. You haven’t even moved and he’s already growing underneath your touch. He slows down for a red light and you make the bold move to palm his cock gently. Dean reaches behind himself and hooks his fingers under your helmet by your chin. He yanks you to him and you move your hands to his thighs to steady yourself.

“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. Do you want me to turn this bike around and punish you at home?”

“Maybe,” you smirk.

“You’re such a fucking brat.”

The light turns green so Dean is forced to let go of your helmet and continue to ride all the way to Barnes and Noble. When you see the sign, you audibly gasp in excitement. Not even the worst of storms will keep you from going to Barnes and Noble. This is your favorite place on Earth as you love reading so much. Your book collection is always growing since Dean loves to spend his money on you.

“You brought me to Barnes and Noble?” you grin and get off the bike when he parks.

“Get as many books as you want. This spree is on me.”

You don’t have to be told this twice. You don’t even take your helmet off before sprinting into the store. There are a lot of genres you love reading but there is one that will be above everyone else--dark romance. You love men in masks, men on bikes, men who murder, men who take what they want, and men who love unconditionally. The sex is always hot between two enemies or between a stalker and his victim.

Dean leaves to go to the bathroom while you browse the book selection. There are so many you have read so you’re always looking for new books to read, new characters to invest into. You grab a book you’ve never read before but have seen all over TikTok and turn to a random page. A smirk spreads across your face when you read all about the two characters fucking. You have no context clues but you can guess the premise when you see the word “Maze of Mirrors”.

You’re so invested in the story that you don’t notice someone standing behind you.

“Is this what you read about? Naughty girl.” You slam the book close and turn to Dean who no doubt has a smirk underneath his helmet. He backs you into the bookshelf and grips your neck with his calloused hands. “Why don’t you get that book and we can recreate that scene at home?”

If he wasn’t holding you, you’d already be kneeling on the floor for him.

“Okay,” you squeak out.

Barnes and Noble will always be here when you’re ready to come back and get more books but there will never be another moment like this with Dean. Every time Dean suggests something like this, it’s always a different scenario. There is nothing about Dean you hate. You really found your soulmate in him.

x

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[cameronspecial]

The People We Used To Be

Pairing: Musician! Rafe Cameron x Musician! Reader

Warnings: Rafe being an asshole

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 8.5K

Summary: Music brought together Y/N and Rafe, but he pulled them apart. After seven years, a competition to win a recording deal brings them back together and they are forced to confront their past.

A/N: Inspired by @ghostofwriting's Kildare Spilt series which is absolutely amazing and you have to check it out if you haven't already. The songs in the fic are "Traitor" by Olivia Rodrigo (Altered to fit the fic) and "Right My Wrongs" by Bryson Tiller. I didn't write them.

Masterlist

Music has a way of making the world make sense for Y/N and Rafe. The Pogue and the Kook met at a Mommy and Me music class their mothers took them to as toddlers. Their mothers and each other helped foster a love for the art and it became even more of a necessity when they lost their mothers. Rafe was the first one to lose his mother. Margaret Cameron had been battling cancer for two years before her passing and it completely destroyed her eight-year-old son. Every Kook he knew tried to help him with his grief, except the one person who could actually get through to him didn’t live on Figure Eight. Instead of crying in his room in Tannyhill, he found himself riding his bike to a small bungalow on the Cut. It was in that small house where a little girl sat on the front porch with a guitar that was too big for her, trying to play “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. Her mom’s favourite song. The sound of the chain of his bike caused her to freeze and look up from the strings. “You are getting better,” he praised, getting off his bike to walk it up the small driveway. She gave him a smile that showed him she wasn’t afraid to be happy during his time of mourning. She didn’t walk on eggshells around him and he loved it. It made him feel normal, like before his mom got sick. She beckoned him to the porch swing with her hand, “Come sing with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Nuh-uh, that’s a girl song,” he argued. 

The front door opened and out came Melody Y/L/N. Her smile matched her daughter. “Now, Rafe. Have I not taught you anything about music? There is no such thing as a boy song or a girl song. Or a Pogue song or a Kook song. As long as it speaks to you, it is meant for you. Now, why don’t we all sing together?” Those words touched him and it would continue to do so well into adulthood. And it was that afternoon when Rafe started to heal from the pain of a dead mother. Playing music with the Y/L/N women and being happy made him feel closer to his mom than any condolences from other people.

———

Y/N lost her mother at twelve years old. The real kicker was that the universe decided that the day the girl would turn into a young lady was the day of her mother’s funeral. Her mother was a lively person and requested in her will that people wear their favourite colour to her funeral. So Y/N wore light blue to the burial. When she went to the bathroom after returning home, she was greeted with a massive red stain in her underwear. It felt as though the world had ended. Melody may have talked to her daughter about the logistics of dealing with a period, but Y/N couldn’t remember a word of what her mother had said and she began to panic. She locked herself in the bathroom after her dad gave her a new pair of underwear and some of her mom’s leftover pads. Other than that, he had no idea what else to do to get his daughter out. His wife was gone and his daughter was dealing with a problem he had never experienced before. He felt hopeless until he thought of the one person who could help. 

Ward dropped off his son in front of the one-story yellow house, telling his son he could sleep over if Y/N needed someone. Rafe walked into the house as if he lived there and went straight to the bathroom door. “Hey, Rock Star. I heard you were feeling bad. I brought you some KitKats, dulce de leche ice cream and some Tylenol,” he announces, looking through the bag. “My mo- My mom used to say eating sweets made her feel better.” She didn’t respond; instead, she remained seated on the floor against the bathtub. Her head was on her knees to catch the tears coming from her eyes, wishing her mom could be here to help her through it. Rafe sighed, worried his friend would never leave that room again. Since food didn’t work, he only knew one other thing that might be able to get her out. If it didn’t work, then he didn’t know what would. He ran to the living room and flipped through the CD holder, looking for a specific one. He finally found it and took it out. He set it in the CD player and dragged it into the hallway. He plugged it in, skipping to the perfect song. The notes began to play and he shook his hips in synch with it. “I come home, in the morning light,” he started to sing with Cyndi. She could hear his exaggerated shrieks from inside her confides. He was definitely doing it to goad her out. “I think I’m a great singer. What do you think, Rock Star?” he screamed from the other side of the door. She sat there for a little longer, listening to his horrible singing. 

Eventually, she had to save her poor ears from the torture. His singing dimmed in volume at the click of the lock. He saw her feet tapping and he knew it was only a matter of time before she joined in with him. Once she started singing with him, he switched to his real singing voice. The slant of her lips was still in a frown, but it was still an improvement from not wanting to see anyone. And once again, music helped the children grieve the loss of an important woman in their lives. 

———

Her foot taps against the floor as she bites her nails. The earplugs she is wearing help dampen the sound from the stage. She can’t believe he is here. It really shouldn’t be a surprise. This competition would launch the winner’s career. Y/N hasn’t seen him in seven years and hasn’t played with him for just as long. Kiara comes from behind her and rests a palm on her shoulder. Kie has been touring with Y/N’s band for three years now. As soon as she graduated high school, she hit the road and became the Melodies’ personal assistant. They both turn to look at the lead singer of Just Wanna Have Fun as he sings while strumming his electric guitar. He turns so she can see the back of his guitar and she spots the beam note with their initial in each of the ovals of the notes. R and Y/I/N. She is surprised he hasn’t painted over it already. Each band gets to play three songs and when she hears the next song he decides to play, she can’t stand on the sideline and watch them perform anymore. She turns around and heads into the lounge area for the musicians. How dare he play that song?

He could feel her gaze on her throughout his first set. He should’ve figured she would be here. If he thought she was, he wouldn’t have played the next set. He finishes his part of the duet and he looks to the side of the stage to see her while Frank sings the verse that used to belong to Y/N. Disappointment flashes across his eyes at the empty spot where she was. This is the first time he gets to see her in seven years and of course, he has to screw it up. He gets so caught up in the past that he almost misses his verse. 

———

The cool air tickled their skin as her head rested on his stomach. The new electric guitar his dad bought him for his fourteenth birthday lay beside them. “Do you ever worry about us not being friends anymore?” she thought out loud, staring up at a cloud that looked a little like a bunny. He frowns at her and lifts his head up to look at her, “No, why in the world would I think about that?” 

“We are total opposites, Rafe. You are a Kook. I’m a Pogue. You are destined for a life of greatness while I’m meant to be stuck on my side of the island.”

He laughs, “That’s absolutely ridiculous because we are both meant to be in a band together and become so famous that the members of Pink Floyd will be jealous.”

He could see the seriousness of her question and sat up, taking her with him. She now sat across from him and he took her hand into his. “But seriously though, all that stuff doesn’t matter. Not when we have music. It’s like your mom used to say. Music isn’t meant for one type of person. As long as it speaks to you, it is meant for you. And that logic is the same for us. We speak to each other, so we are meant for each other,” he promised. He scooted to his backpack and got out a Sharpie. He sat back down beside her, flipping his guitar onto his lap. “What are you doing?” she questioned. She slid in closer to him. He uncapped the marker and began to draw a beam note. He looked up at her with a smile, “Proving to you that we will never stop being friends.” He put his initial in the first note and handed the marker over to her. She got the message, writing her initial in the other note. He took the marker back to cap it. “There. Now, as long as this is here, we will be friends forever.” She giggled at his remark, thinking it would eventually fade; however, what she didn’t know was that he forced his dad to get something to seal the writing that very night. 

———

Y/N will never get over the feeling of being on stage. Whether she is playing for a crowd of one or a hundred, all she needs is to share what she loves with people willing to listen. She smiles at the camera Kiara flashes in her face and takes the towel Kie hands to her. The fabric removes the sweat from her forehead, staining with makeup in the process. She makes her way to the lounge to put her stuff away so she can wait out the other bands until they announce who is going to make it to the next round. Her usual routine after a gig is to take a breather outside by herself. She needs the outside air to cool her down and let her think, so her bandmates give her the space she needs as she heads out the backdoor. She breathes in the cool air, slamming against the rough brick wall. So far, she has been able to contain her emotions about seeing him again. Yet, finally being able to focus on her feelings, makes her realize that she is still hurt by what he did all those years ago. She trusted him with all of her heart and he broke that trust. How could someone she loved so much betray her so badly? 

“It’s been seven years and you still haven’t changed, Rock Star.” The voice snaps her out of her thoughts. Her head swivels in his direction, rolling her eyes at him. “Neither have you because I’m guessing you are here to smoke. You know those things will kill you, right?” she retorts, looking in the opposite direction. He chuckles, “Yeah, this girl I used to know a while back told me that all the time.” She doesn’t join in his playfulness. “You know what, I’m just going to go back inside,” she decides, pushing off of the wall to head to the door. He reaches for her wrist to stop her. She stops at the contact and he flicks the cigarette bud on the floor. He stomps it out. His gaze finds her again and at the disapproving look on her face, he picks it up and throws it in the garbage. He points toward the door, “I’ll go. I recognize how much you need these moments alone. I’ll see you back inside.” He steps toward the doorway, pausing to glance at her over his shoulder. “It was nice to see you in person again.” She scoffs, “I wish I could say the same.” This digs another shallow hole in his heart and he lets the door slam shut behind him. Once he is gone, she slides down the wall, resting her head on her knees with her eyes closed. Is a record deal with one of the best recording labels really worth the regauging of old wounds? 

Rafe heads to the bathroom, the inside of his cheek caught between his teeth. The decision to use the individual bathroom is easy; he doesn’t want anyone to walk in on his mental breakdown. His hand twists the cold facet and splashes the water onto his face. The shock of the temperature aids him in rearranging his thoughts. At the sight of her broken heart, it killed him that he wasn’t able to drag her into his hold and whisper how sorry he was for letting them get to this point. After all their time apart, every single detail that he remembers about her is the same. Her lavender perfume remains his favourite smell in the world. The dark fuschia lipstick is the one he picked out for her when she started wearing makeup. And she relies on the tiny taps of her feet in rhythm with the song playing in her head. 

———

Rafe watches her from his spot in front of the stage. The area designated for the bands to stand in during the elimination announcement isn’t as crowded as the general admission behind him. Two bands are going to be eliminated. It isn’t a lot, yet it doesn’t guarantee Just Wanna Have Fun is going to continue in the competition. He hopes the Melodies advance, certainly because the longer they both stay, the more chances he has at making things right between them. All he wants is to get back what they had and maybe what they didn’t get the opportunity. That wish is quickly submerged by a wave from a passing jet ski. 

The jet ski is probably two inches shorter than Rafe. His light brown curly hair goes passed the bottom of his ear and looks like a flat mane. The green eyes stare at Y/N with adoration that only Rafe should be allowed to direct toward her. What really destroys Rafe is when that five o’clock shadow brushes against Y/N’s skin to give her a kiss on the cheek. Garrett notices Rafe’s gaze and shoves the glarer with his shoulder. “Stop staring. You look creepy,” Garrett orders, turning back to the stage. As Rafe is about to obey the suggestion, he catches the way Y/N leans against the chest of the mystery man, causing a bubble of nausea to form in his stomach. The screech of a microphone calls the attention of everyone in the crowd. A short woman with blue hair and black lips angles the bulb toward her, “Everyone played beautifully tonight, but unfortunately, you all can’t join us next week. Just as a reminder every week, two bands will be eliminated. Now, for the moment you have all been waiting for.” She takes a pause to unfold the paper with the names of the unlucky musicians and her cheerful demeanour shifts to one of sorrow. “I’m sorry to announce that Dex the Sex and Heartaches will not be playing on this stage again next week.” The bands closest to the exiled ones express their condolences, while the ones further away can be seen celebrating the small victory. Rafe turns to hug his bandmates and can’t help but risk a glance at her. Her arms are around her supposed boyfriend’s neck and their chest are pressed against each other. 

The green-eyed monster tickles his heart. His legs move in advance of his brain processing his emotions. The tips of his navy blue converses touch her black leather boots. He notices the way the man’s arm around her waist slightly tightens so that the veins in his arms are prominent and the sharp jaw clenches. Rafe eventually has the confidence to look in her eyes and her distaste for him marinates in them. His fingers go to scratch the back of his ear, “Congrats on making it to the next round. You… you played great. Was the last song new?” She leans forward in the man’s hold and some of her hatred cools down. “Thanks, it is. Something I came up with last week. We’ve been working late nights to perfect it for tonight. You sounded great tonight too,” she says barely above a whisper. The man behind her looks between the ex-bandmates and extends his hand out, “I’m Knox, Y/N’s boyfriend. It’s nice to meet you, Rafe.” 

Rafe grips Knox’s hand a little too tight with a straight smile. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he placates, wondering how much trouble he would get into for punching the idiot. It would be unwarranted for sure, yet it doesn’t stop his urge to want to do it. Feeling the start of a cock fight brewing, Y/N steps in. “We didn’t eat dinner before the show, so we are going to go… do that.” She breaks away from her boyfriend’s hold and takes his hand, following her friends toward the exit. Her cold demeanour might have made someone else lose spirit. Someone who didn’t know Y/N. Rafe knows otherwise though. He was able to crack the glaze of her harshness. He isn’t letting that victory go. 

———

His feet ache after a late-night practice. They had gotten the last timeslot for practice at the venue today, not that Rafe minds. He works better at night because it is when he needs a distraction the most. She was there earlier, so he didn’t get to see her. The smell of her perfume followed him wherever he went while he was there. They haven’t had any encounters since that night. It doesn’t surprise him; she is obviously avoiding him. It hurts him more than hell and he knows he deserves it because he did something a hundred times worse to her. The echo of his footsteps is the sole sound in his vast apartment. This has been his house for five years, except it doesn’t feel like home. Not when it doesn’t have that touch of her like his room at Tannyhill does. 

———

“God, could your room look any more like a stereotypical teenage boy’s jerk off-centre?” she criticized, looking around the room with disgust in her eyes at the cluster of cups on his bedside table. Some of them had ring stains around the glass. He looked at her over his shoulder, “What are you talking about? All the guys I know have a room like this.” She points at the walls littered merely with car posters or bikini models. “Yeah, and that’s the problem. How can you call this place home if there is nothing that shows you are the one living here?” she argued. He gestured to the poster, “What do you think that is?” 

“That shows me that any guy in my class lives here.”

“Like a Pogue could afford half of the stuff in this room.”

“Really, Rafe?” 

“Right, sorry. Can you just get to the point? What do you think I should add then? What will make this place my home?” 

“You need more personality in here. Pictures of people you love. Little trinkets. Plants. Music stuff. Love letters from a sweetheart.” 

He chuckled, “Like you display your love letters. And why can’t my personality be cars and bikini posters.” “Because that’s every other straight cis-gendered boy's personality. You know, if you added more things, it would make a girl feel more comfortable in your room,” she attempted a different tactic. His brow arched, “Hmm, never thought about it that way. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in my room though. Why bring it up now?” “I’m tired of looking at this nasty-ass messy room. That’s why,” she admitted. He nodded, taking into consideration her opinion. He grabbed a piece of tape from his desk drawer and took out his wallet. She observes as he slides out a picture from the window slot. He tacked on the photo right above his desk. She couldn’t see what it was in, so she stepped forward. Her eyes welled up with tears at the sight. It was a picture of them. The memory of when the photo was taken comes to the forefront of her mind. They were twelve years old and he had just learnt a new chord on the guitar, so of course, he had to teach her it as well. His hands were placed over hers on the neck of the guitar, while he guided her fingers. “What’s this?” she stupidly questioned.

He grinned at her, “You told me to put up a picture of someone I loved and I did.” “And you just had that picture in your wallet this whole time?” she clarified. He shrugged, “Yep since I got it.” “That is very unexpected, Rafe,” she thought out loud. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “What do you expect, Rock Star? You’re my best friend. Of course, I love you.” The words stung her. It shouldn’t surprise her that was who he saw her as. She was a Pogue; she could never be more to him. 

———

He should’ve brought that picture to New York with him. He did bring one thing over that reminded him of home. The music room in his apartment has everything he needs to write a song. It is the one place in his apartment that he doesn’t mind spending time in. There are so many ways for him to clear his mind here and it is where his bandmates like to hang out too. No matter how many times Frank (keyboardist), Garrett (bassist), Topper (drummer), and Barry (band manager) enter this room and know every inch of the room, they will never find his most precious possession. He kneels beside the drawer tower filled with various accessories for the instruments and pulls the bottom one open. He pushes down on the false bottom to reveal a stack of lined papers. They are rumpled from how many times he has read them over; he just couldn’t bring himself to send them or get rid of them. At first, he wrote them to apologize to her, but then he started to use it as a cathartic method. He allowed himself to express everything he had ever wanted to say to her in the letters and every time he needed a reminder of who they used to each other, he read them. His hope was that one day they would be the personalization their house needed to feel like home. It’s been a while since he wrote a new one; however, with her reappearance in his life, it feels time to write another. 

Dear Rock Star,

Even after all this time, you still manage to find a way to have a hold on my heart. Maybe, it’s because I never sent the first letter, so we never got the closure we needed. But seeing you again made my heart feel like it was beating to the tune of its old song. Everything I felt for you came back like a tidal wave and all I wanted to do was hug the ever-loving shit out of you. And then he went to you. That wave I thought I could overcome became my undoing. It made me regret never reaching out to say I was sorry. I realized that your rejection of my apology would be a lot less painful than your moving on from me. It was bound to happen. How could it not when you are the most amazing person to have ever existed? I just dreamt that I could’ve found my way back into your life before it happened. But I didn’t and now, I have to stew in my consequences. 

I sometimes wonder if you miss me as much as I miss you. I get that it is different for you. You were the one who got hurt instead of the one doing the hurting. I think you do. You may not admit it, but you responded to me. Maybe you wanted to seem professional and I can see that being your reason. Yet, your eyes told me something else. I’m not talking about when we talked. I’m talking about when I was on stage. You saw the beam note and I could see the yarning behind the hatred. You want to go back to that time just as much as I want to. I’m going to get us back to that place, I promise. We might not be able to be exactly the people we used to be; nevertheless, we can try. Because you still speak to me, Rock Star, and that means we are meant to be.

Loving you always,

Rafe

He sighs at the final stroke of the pen and caps it. He reads it over and over until it is all he can think about. The words have never felt more true to him and he makes a vow to himself to make it come true. If he can’t have back what they once had, then he will make damn sure he’ll earn the next best thing. He hears the jiggle of the front door handle and rapidly shoves everything back into the drawer. “Dude, why is it always so damn dark in here? Don’t you know how to turn on lights?” Topper teases from downstairs. “Where are you? Come out of the studio for once, will ya? We brought you food from that Turkish place.”

———

“I think maybe we should try you coming in later with the backup vocals, Debs. Why don’t we try again?” Y/N advises. At the nod from the other girls, Y/N faces the stage outward and grips the microphone with both hands. Viola counts them down, beginning the rhythm for everyone to join in. Y/N waits for her cue to sing; she has been the lead singer for the Melodies for seven years and she has yet to figure out what to do with her hands. When they started the band, they figured having two guitarists didn’t mesh well with their sound. So, she offered to drop the instrument for the band because Laila hates singing. She didn’t mind not being able to play on stage, except there were sometimes when she missed it. She’d even dare to say she missed playing with Just Wanna Hav Fun because she wanted the ability to shred some strings in a room bigger than her shoebox of an apartment. The note that signifies she comes in plays and she opens her mouth to sing. Her mind turns off, focusing entirely on hitting every note perfectly. Every time she gets to be on stage, she finds herself falling in love with music again. Especially since it helps her feel closer to her mother.

The girls get lost in the music and forget the time. The clearing of a throat causes Y/N to whip in the direction of it. Topper gives her a small smile and a wave, “I hate to stop the creative flow, but it’s eleven.” Y/N’s head bobs and helps the others get all of their stuff together. She can feel the eyes of the people she used to call friends on her. She tries not to succumb to the pressure of their gaze. As they leave the stage, both groups awkwardly look at each other. She hasn’t kept secrets from her girls, so they know everything that went down between her and the boys. 

Laila, Viola, and Debra can see the emotionless expression on her face at the encounter with her past and decide not to bring it up. “Are you working a shift today?” Laila inquires whilst placing her guitar in its case. Y/N slings her bag across her chest, “Yeah, I’m doing a closing shift. If you guys want to come over to rehearse some more, come over after ten. I need a break between now and work.” “Got it, I’ll bring the pizza,” Laila informs before leaving with Debra and Viola. Kiara returns from the bathroom and approaches Y/N, looking nervously between the stage and her friend. “I don’t want to talk about it, Kie,” she laments. Kiara notices the way the singer avoids eye contact. The PA shakes her head, “You’ve been burying this within you for almost a decade. That isn’t healthy.” “I have no idea what you are talking about. It is perfectly fine to not talk about it. And for your information, I interacted with him on the first competition night. I would say that counts as acknowledging it,” she contends. Kiara’s head tilts to give Y/N a pointed look.

“I overheard that conversation. You were just being nice because the audience could see you.”

“You can’t deny that I was being nice. So I say it counts.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean, Y/N/N. You aren’t only hurting him by leaving things unsolved, but yourself. The more you avoid getting closure, the more you come up with your own explanation for his actions. Those are always going to be worse than the truth. Think about it, not for him. For you.”

Kie doesn’t wait for an answer and it leaves Y/N to think about the impact of her friend's words. She chances a glance to where the music is coming from before heading home. The world is drowned out by the music playing in her headphones, filling in the space where her thoughts should populate. Everyone believes she has to speak to him; they lecture her on the importance of learning the full story. It is rich of them to say all those things when they aren’t the ones who Rafe pained. He didn’t even have the decency to say he was sorry after she confronted him. All he had to present to her were countless excuses. So they don’t get to have an input on how she deals with her shit because she is dealing with it. Through her writing. Out of Rafe and Y/N, she has always been the one more attuned to writing. Rafe can write good songs, he just isn’t as in love with the process as she is. Once her headphones come off at home, she rushes to her bedside drawer, pulling out a beaten-up notebook. She flips through countless songs about him. Every single one was written when she couldn’t contain how she felt. She finally gets to the picture of them she uses as a bookmark. It is the same one he taped onto his wall when they were fifteen. She couldn’t bring herself to take anything else of him during her move. As soon as the pen hits the paper, everything she has been bundling up inside falls onto the page.

———

He had asked her out. Rafe asked her out and she said yes. It had been a game of cat and mouse, them going back and forth on whether or not they should risk their friendship for something more. Spoiler alter, it wasn’t going to be. She didn’t know that though. At the moment, she was focused on getting to band practice. The cold evening breeze caused her to wrap her zip-up hoodie around her body by holding it against her waist. She drops her phone right as she gets to the opening of Topper’s garage. Something she overhears while picking up her phone makes her delay her entry to the room. “I heard you are going on a date with Y/N.” It was a high-pitched voice that could only belong to Samantha. Y/N wasn’t the biggest fan of Samantha. The Kook had a permanent judgmental face in her presence and she could hear the repugnance lacing the question.

Y/N expected her best friend to hear the same tone and defend her. It never happened. “Listen, I didn’t want to do it. I got tired of her doing that pathetic mopey-eyed shit. She was begging for me to ask her out, so I did to stop her pestering. Trust me, I could never willingly date a Pogue.” Suddenly, her heart popped under the weight of the tire and he continued to smear her most vital organ across the road with every laugh he let out. What added to her decimation was that her other bandmates joined in her mocking. During their friendship, they had never made her feel different because of what side of the island she was born on. She thought they didn’t care about the number in her bank account; apparently, they did. She wondered how many lies they told her. Was everything they ever paid for for her because they pitied her? Were they truly her friend? She stepped back to leave, not having the courage to face the most important people in her life until Rafe said something that turned her agony to rage. “What about that stupid saying her mom always said that she lives by.  As long as it speaks to you, it is meant for you. It is so ridiculous. One. Not everything talks. Two. Does she believe that a life outside of the cut is meant for her? Y/N is so delusional.” Samantha let out a cackle. This was the ultimate betrayal. 

She stormed into the room, letting the boys’ height tower over her. The faint smell of weed permeated the air. With the number of times they smoked in here, she was surprised the fabric of the light brown couch didn’t permanently smell like the drug. Topper’s garage wasn’t what most people would imagine for a place to park a car. It made sense though because his family didn’t keep their cars in this garage. They had another small building to house their vehicles in true Kook fashion. This room was a modern finished room, perfectly equipped for whatever Topper’s new hobby was and it happened that his hobby for the past year was being in a band. Rafe could see the fury in her eyes and knew she heard everything they said. He felt horrible. In an ignorant teenage boy fashion, he said anything he could to get laughter out of his friends, creating the biggest mistake of his life. Time needed to rewind, so he could say what he should’ve. The way she looked at him buried him in regret. His desire to take her into his arms for her comfort was trumped by the knowledge that she would chew his head off. “How can you say those things about my mother? The fact that you would ridicule her after she treated you like her own son is sickening. You didn’t deserve her love and she would be disappointed in who you turned out to be. So would your own mom because the Margaret Cameron I know would be ashamed at how you just talked about her dead friend and your presumed best friend,” she fired. He could make glass out of sand with the way she scorched him. His mind zipped around with ways to apologize and make things better, yet his dumb hormonal self advised him to keep digging. She was outnumbered after all. 

“Playing the mom card, how depressing. No, I think my mom would be proud of me. She never liked you anyway. How could she? All you are is a sad little poor Pogue.” 

Lies. Margaret adored Y/N, loving getting to sing with the little girl. The laughs from the Kooks fueled his outer confidence, while his heart was being grated into millions of pieces. She froze; her face contorting into a pout. He spotted the wobble of her lip and the hitching of her breath. His feet shuffled forward a micro-inch, wanting to wipe away her despair. She took a deep breath. Silence seeped into the air. The tension thickened like trying to swim in a pool of peanut butter. She held her head high as she spun to leave, refusing to let them see her misery. 

———

Another competition night passes with the survival of Just Wanna Have Fun and the Melodies. The venue hall is practically empty, except for a few stray people. While the rest of the girls go home, Y/N stays behind to get some downtime alone in the rehearsal room. Being in the Battle of The Bands with Rafe is proving to be harder than she thought. They haven’t had another conversation, but their proximity puts her on edge. Her footsteps echo in the hallway as she leaves the bathroom. Headphones cover her ears, distracting her from the presence behind her. A tap on her shoulder causes her to twirl around. A skinny man with a sad excuse for a beard leers at her. He is wearing The Melodies’ merch and gives her a gut-twisting smile. Suddenly, she feels uneasy because of the lack of people in the building. Time droops as his thin fingers encase her wrist. She tries to yank her arm out; his baby-like grip impedes her attempt. “You have such a beautiful voice,” he mumbles. The usual compliment doesn’t have the same effect coming from a man who looks at her in such an objectified manner. 

“You need to let go,” she orders, having no obligation to acknowledge the content of his words. His hand further coils around her skin, “I said something nice about you. The least you can do is say thank you.” Fear sets in when his other hand reaches for his belt and he begins to drag her toward the bathroom. An arm hooks around the delusional man’s neck, causing him to stop and jerk her backwards. She quickly recognizes the thick bicep. “Let go of her,” Rafe growls in the assaulter’s ear. Relief flushes her at the release of weight from her wrist. “Rock Star, go get security and go back to the practice room.” Her mind goes on autopilot and follows his instructions, overlooking the manner in which he knows why she is here late. 

Once security is sent to aid Rafe, she returns to the instrument-filled room. Her attention is on the blue acoustic guitar resting in its case close to the metal stool. She picks up the guitar and takes a seat. Her fingers press against the string on the neck and her other hand strumms to create the chord. The lyrics she wrote so long ago flow out of her. 

“You betrayed me And I know that you'll never feel sorry For the way I hurt, yeah You said I was priceless but you really meant worthless. It took you a second To pretend I was nothing Guess I should’ve known That you were always a liar.” 

Rafe's back rests against the stone, a tear slipping out of the corner of his eye and down his face. He was going to go in to check in on her but hesitates to fall through. She needs to say something to the universe and for once, Rafe isn’t going to take that away from her. He saw the way the bounce of her foot disappeared with the song. Instead, he plans to give her exactly what she needs. The guys are going to hate him for this. 

———

The crowd is electric as Rafe takes a second to breathe. He looks around the venue, searching to see if she is in the section for the musicians to watch the show. His eyes connect with Y/N’s. He can carry on with his plan. He rests a hand on the microphone and adjusts the earpiece in his ear. The mic stand tilts while he brings the mic closer to his mouth, “This next one is new. It’s not on any of our albums, but it is something that is long overdue.” He flicks his head toward Topper to start playing the song they worked all week to perfect in time. Rafe’s head bobs to the beat of the drum, waiting for his queue to jump in. He starts singing at the same time he strums the first chord.  

“I've gotta right my wrongs With you is where I belong You've been down from the go Recognition is what you want And it's something that I should know Something that I should know All the things that you went through I never meant to put you through it twice, no Tell me how can I right my wrongs That's something that I should know All the things that we been through I never meant to put you through it twice, oh no”

His eyes flicker to her and his heart drops at the tears running down her round cheeks. Every part inside of him wants to stop playing when he sees her go backstage. He gets through the set and the rest of the guys say goodbye to their fans. He is too distracted to give it his full attention. Once backstage, he removes his guitar and weaves through the crew and other musicians in a jog to get to the musicians’ lounge. Disappointment crosses him when he can’t find her. He spots Kie and runs over to his sister’s friend. “Where did she go?” he interrogates, eyes frantically scanning the room for her. Kiara’s eyes roll, “You seriously expect me to tell you after the stunt you just pulled.” His hands clasp together in a shake. “Please, Kie. I needed to do it. She had to know how sorry I was and music has always been our way to connect. It felt right,” he explains, trying to resist the urge to drop to his knees in front of everyone. 

“It’s seven years too late, Rafe.” 

“It’s only too late unless one of us is dead. I need to make sure she is okay. That she knows I mean what I wrote.” 

“I don’t think you are begging enough.” 

His head goes crooked and he follows her gaze to the floor. He swallows his pride and gets onto his knees, “Please, Kiara Carrera. Tell me where Y/N is.” Kie smiles in satisfaction. “I won’t tell you where she lives, but I will tell you where she works and you can keep going there until you happen to be there when she works,” Kiara grants, typing the location into his phone. 

———

The clouds outside make the afternoon dark, adding to Rafe’s loss of hope of not seeing Y/N. The news said it was supposed to rain tonight, but it said that about every day this week and it was wrong. There is a small skip in his step as he reaches for the handle of the coffee shop. An elderly lady stands in the doorway he opened, so he steps back and allows her to pass him. She gives him a small smile as she does. Freshly ground coffee beans and the sound of steam coming from the machine strike his senses. Lydia at the counter recognizes him and begins making his usual before he gets to the register. TJ already has his order punched into the system when he gets there. All Rafe has to do is pay. Once that is done, he sits at a booth sitting along the right wall to wait for his drink. This allows him to see the counter and the front door at the same time. He has been to the cafe every day this week. He only leaves when they close or when he has to practice at the venue. A week isn’t long, yet it still allows him to get to know the people working there. They couldn’t disclose when Y/N is working for privacy issues and he understood why. He would be more concerned if they did tell him no matter who he claimed to be. His name is called and goes up to get it. He reseats himself, opening his laptop to keep himself occupied. 

Lavender. It overpowers him in a good way. He glances toward the front door and she is there, walking further into the store with the most dazzling smile directed toward Lydia. “Look who finally showed up to work,” the barista calls out. Y/N laughs, “I haven’t been scheduled to work. You know that, Silly.” “I know. Work just goes a little slower without my work wife here to keep me company,” Lydia complains with a grin. Y/N hasn’t noticed him and a part of him wishes she never will so she never loses the joy he hasn’t gotten to see since he was sixteen. He considers ducking out before she can see him, except Lydia has other plans. “Oh, by the way, this guy has been coming in every day to see you. He’s sitting over there.” Y/N’s eyes follow Lydia’s finger to where Rafe sits.

She sighs, “My shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes. Is it okay if I…” TJ answers for the barista. “Yeah, take your time.” Y/N’s head bobs and she pulls the hood off from her head. The KCHS written across her chest causes his heart to ache. He gave her some of the money so that she could buy the hoodie. She must not have remembered that fact if she kept it. Her path turns to his table and she settles herself in the seat across from him. “The nerve you have to sing that apology like it can solve all of our problems and then stalk me at my place of work,” she grits through her teeth. He bites the corner of his lip, “Music was always how we connected. And I wanted to make sure you were okay. You ran off during my set.”

“You don’t get to pretend like we still have music after what you said about our mothers. You gave that right up a long time ago. You also aren’t allowed to pretend you care for me.”

He reaches out for her hand and she yanks it away. “The things that I said… They were my greatest mistake. I have never forgiven myself for not apologizing on the spot and I don’t expect you to do so either. I do hope that you know that I regret every single word I uttered that day, Rock Star,” he pleads. He tries to meet her eye, but she averts her gaze. “The world has been a much darker place since you left. I am so sorry that I caused you the pain that I did. I would do anything in this universe to tell my younger self to tell you the truth that day.” She can’t help herself, “And what was the truth, Rafe?” “That even though we hadn’t been on our date yet, I was madly in love with you. I love you with every fibre in my being and it scared me because I knew how much it would hurt if I lost you. Not only that, I was just a teen and stupid enough to think getting a laugh out of my friends was better than facing something new. I had never been so wrong in my entire life.” Her eyes gloss over and checks the time on her phone. She stands up without another word, breaking Rafe’s heart as she walks to the back room. 

The air comes out of his nose in high pressure. He understands her message and leaves Y/N’s place of work. It is hard to process the words he said. Her younger self would’ve loved to hear his declaration of love. She would’ve been so excited. A small part of her heart flutters at the reveal, no matter how angry she is at him. The worst is she genuinely believes he is remorseful of his actions.

Their issues couldn’t be fixed with one small apology; however, she would never forgive herself if she never saw where this could go. “I’m sorry. I’m going to take my break right now,” she informs her co-workers, not waiting for answers. She takes off her apron and throws it onto the ground. She runs out the door in hopes she can still catch him. The crowd makes her question her belief until she spots the blue flannel he is wearing. She threads herself through the people and is met with resistance. “RAFE,” she yells out. He freezes, spinning around to see her. He pushes his way to her and they stand before each other as wet spatters begin to hit their heads. He chances resting his hands on her elbow, delighting when she doesn’t flinch away from him. “I think I forgive you,” she says. The patter from the rain drowns out her words, so he places his forehead against hers to hear her better. His smirk reveals he does have an inkling of what she confessed, “What did you say?” She knows the game he is playing and rolls her eyes. “Forget it, I’m just going to go back to work,” she snarks, turning away to head back to the cafe. Rafe catches her wrist and tugs her against his chest.

Their lips finally connect in the way they have been waiting for for twenty-three years. Her soft petals press hard against him like a rock. He reciprocates the pressure, running his tongue along her lips to ask for entrance. The rainwater mixes in with their saliva as she allows him in. He remembers the jet ski that once drowned him and pulled away. “What about Knox?” he questions. She stares at him with big eyes, “We were never really dating. He is Viola’s brother. He knows our history and thought it would be fun to play around with you to keep you away.” 

“I see. That didn’t work out as you guys had planned, did it? I don’t think anything can keep me away from you once I realize how stupid I was.”

“No it did not… You need to know that just because I forgave you doesn’t mean everything is back to normal. We can’t go back to pretending that we are still the people we used to be. I’m not the girl I was seven years ago and you’ll have to regain my trust.”

“And I am prepared to do whatever it takes to gain back what I broke. As long as I can be by your side.” 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[rongzhi]

genuine question, what other option is there other than to vote harris? because third party votes aren’t going to be able to overtake both democrat and republicans out of nowhere and the only other person to vote for is trump, who wants to completely dismantle democracy

I feel like I’ve seen this question get asked all over the place and there is no good answer to satisfy the person asking, because when you say “What other option is there” and then immediately discount the idea of third party voting, then you’ve already made it clear that all your faith is in the popular vote to prevent Trump from attaining office again, which is all that matters to you, presumably.

And before the accusations fly from anyone else, obviously no, I don’t want Trump in office any more than the next guy, however I do not think he will dismantle democracy even if he was because he would be incapable. The idea of project 2025 and Trump as some ultimate ender of democracy is ridiculous if you beat down the hysteria for long enough to think about: first, project 2025 is nothing new, just everything the likes of the Heritage Foundation and conservative lawmakers have already been pushing for years (ie turning the U.S into a Christian theocracy more or less), written out in a way to get liberals dizzy with fear. It is alarming but no more alarming than the slow slide in this direction that I personally think we have already been taking for several decades. And it is insane. People can see that it is insane and extremist and as much as people who are terminally online like to wring their hands about it, I think that the average voter that we don’t hear from is going to be put off by it. It is offputting to liberals/Democrats obviously, it is offputting to centrists, and it is offputting to many moderate conservatives/(mainstream) Republicans. It is fringe and unpopular enough that even Trump himself doesn’t want to be directly tied to the whole thing. Like, I feel like people are not grasping just how fringe true MAGA and extremist Christian Nationalists are in the broad scheme of things. I think the cable news is getting a lot of mileage out of the current election cycle in their usual gleeful way, but for all the 24 hour coverage and charts and panels and panic, I don’t think Trump is going to win. Of course, feel free to come back in a couple months and wag a finger at me if that turns out not to be true.

Either way, by asking “what other option is there?”, I feel you overestimate the power of your individual vote. You are not voting for the president anyway. You are voting for electoral delegates, and to put it broadly, those guys don’t have to listen to you. Or have we all just forgotten about that too?

And I’m not saying “don’t vote”, either. I just think you should be voting for something and not against something else, and I don’t subscribe to the way of thinking that a third party vote is somehow less of a vote (see previous paragraph for the irony). I think voting has its uses, especially in local elections where council members, etc, have the power to more directly effect your life. As to the matter of Harris, look, as I said, if you’re already planning to vote Democrat, I’m not going to persuade you to not do so—I can understand people feeling the need to do so, especially if they live in a swing state, and that’s their prerogative. Of course, I think that should also be done recognising what that means in terms of what foreign policy decisions you are voting for when voting for Harris. And that being the case, I think Harris voters have no ground to turn around votescold (not saying you are doing that, anon, but simply speaking to the broader trend I’ve seen online over the past months), especially toward any single-issue voters voting third party or abstaining over the very serious single issue of supporting genocide. Me personally, I voted uncommitted in the primaries and will likely vote for Jill Stein or Claudia de la Cruz, depending on who gets ballot access in my state, as Cornel West didn't get ballot access.

So, those are my approximate thoughts on the matter and sorry for any typos or unclear thoughts. Probably forgot to say some things, but I don’t think I’m saying anything new, either, and I will not be answering any additional asks about voting or the U.S elections, including the ones that have come in after this one, as it’s not really my wheelhouse. There's been enough discourse on the matter that I feel like at this point, you should know what you're going to do one way or the other.

EDIT: bolded a few areas that some of you could afford to reread!

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Can you make a story where reader protected Donna from danger that almost cost her life. Donna manage to save her but reader hs been unconscious for a weeks. While she's taking of her, Donna couldn't forget what almost happened to her lover. This became worst because of the severe mental illness that Donna has, but this time she's actually losing her sanity at this point but still clinging to the reader because she's the only one can make her sane. Miraculously the reader woke up, still injured but alive. Donna felt a sense of peace in her soul.

Note: Reader almost died because a soldier tried to kill Donna but she save her. The soldier is possibly a BSAA agent.

It's in Donna's POV, I want to see things her perspective especially when she starts breaking down.

Donna is also shy and weak not like most of her siblings so she struggled with this to.

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Come back

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Donna's POV, mental health issues, Donna being Donna

Word count: 5,650

Summary: Please, let you light come back to my darkness...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Come on, Donna, it's just a walk,” you said in a tender voice, with those eyes you knew perfectly well I couldn't resist.

I sighed, shook my head and fought the gentle tugs you gave to my hand.

“We, we're better off at home,” I murmured, looking away and causing you to sigh tiredly.

Your pleading look didn't change.

“Come on, today is a too great day to be locked up in this horri… I mean, wonderful, dark house,” you said jokingly, swinging my hand with yours. “Please…”

“(Y/N),” I said a bit nervous, shaking my head again but, surprisingly, starting to think about your offer, as always.

You always did with me what you wanted, and I let you. I would do anything for you, always, (Y/N), always.

“Is that a yes?” you asked with a sufficient smile, completely ignoring my protests. I wish, (Y/N), I wish for once, you hadn't insisted.

“I didn't say yes,” I said, frowning, gently pulling you along, with an amused sigh.

“Now you did,” you joked in my ear.

How could I refuse?

“W, well, okay, okay...” I whispered defeated, unable to make you see how comfortable I was at home. I don’t liked going outside. Of course, you were always there to make those fears, which you said were irrational, disappear.

You jumped for joy and stole a kiss from me, one that relaxed my nerves even more. Your kisses had that effect on me, a wonderful effect. I returned it, unable to do anything but look at your eyes, your smile. You were my only addiction.

With a brief triumphant smile, you walked towards the door and I followed you, reaching out for my black veil, the one I never left off if I had to go out for some reason. I already knew I was a monster, you did too, but you denied it, you always denied it.

“Hey, no, leave it there,” you said, giving me a gentle slap to get me to let the veil go before I cover my face.

“But, but, (Y/N)… I have, I have to…” I stammered, trying to make you understand that I needed that veil, that the sunlight was a privilege that someone like me didn't deserve.

No, the world didn't need to see my deformed face.

I couldn't stop you from seeing it, but I could stop nature from being disturbed by my horrible appearance.

“It’s just a walk through the grounds. There's no one around here, you don't need it,” you said in a soft, comforting tone, definitely moving the cloth out of my reach.

I, in my perpetual madness, tried to snatch it from you, without success.

“Donna, stay still,” you said, this time with a firm voice, forcing me to remain paralyzed and nod defeated once again. “That's it... Good girl,” you whispered, pleased by my answer, by my shoulders falling helplessly and my slightly angry look.

“You like to make me suffer,” I hissed, unable, again, to face your decisions.

Deep down I knew you did it for me, you always did it for me.

“Yes, yes, I like to make you suffer...” you repeated rolling your eyes, without letting the smile disappear from your face. “Stop complaining and come here,” you ordered softly, gesturing with your hand. “Come on, come here.”

A bit reluctant, but motivated by that look, by that smile, I obeyed, grabbing your hand again as we left the estate. It was the first time in a long time that I could see the sun clearly, and it was blinding.

“If you feel sick, you get nervous or want to go back, just tell me, okay?” you said as we walked.

“I want to go back,” I whispered, in an embarrassingly childish tone. You laughed amused, arching your eyebrows and squeezing my hand tighter.

“You’ll see how good the fresh air is for you,” you said, ignoring my protest and kissing me on the cheek. “Besides, I’m here with you, holding your hand very tightly, see?”

I looked down, distrustful, looking at our intertwined fingers, my hand next to yours, fused into one. I don't know how you did it, but your advice always worked, relaxing my spirit.

Before I met you, I thought my life had only one purpose, one that I even doubted: to exist, to attend to the requests of my savior, Mother Miranda. Being named Lord was not a relevant change in my life.

I spent all those years alone, as if the world itself had forgotten me. I cannot be surprised by that. I, Donna Beneviento, never knew the meaning of appreciation, affection, love...

My misfortunes haunted me. I was unable to escape from my demons, from the illness that damaged my mind. Feeling powerful, with control over people should have been enough to give meaning to my life, but it wasn't.

The hours, the days, the weeks... Not even the passage of time had meaning in my old estate, I wonder if it ever did. No, nothing in my life could keep me away from the darkness, nothing could silence the voices in my head, my cries in front of the mirror, the nightmares…

Angie was a good support, but it wasn't enough. I guess my father thought the same when he gave her to me. It's a shame that she didn't serve any purpose. It was just to increase my problems.

People, conversations, human contact… All this stuff always sounded like something impossible in my head. I was aware that there couldn't be anyone, that no one would be able to understand me.

Solitude became my name. Isolation was my home. A horrendous monster, was my appearance.

I had already assumed my sentence, my sentence for existing, for being born in that cursed place, in that cursed family. There would be no remedy for my soul, or so I thought.

Then you came.

(Y/N), a girl from the village who dedicated herself to weaving, to selling her fabrics. What a curious coincidence. I needed those fabrics, you made them. Always, even before I met you, you had something I needed, something I craved.

Love was a dream for me. I could only get close to it in my books, in my dreams where a female hand held mine.

Was it your hand from the beginning? I have no doubt.

But, thanks to you, I knew what it meant to have someone by your side, someone who… loved you. Maybe it wasn't hard for me to fall in love with someone like you, a beautiful, smiling, cheerful girl… However, I still wonder what you could see in someone like me, (Y/N).

 I was, I’m a monster.

Your lips silenced my doubts with a kiss, one you gave me under my black veil. You said you never cared about what was underneath, you only cared about knowing if I was as crazy about you as you were about me.

I was, really, I was.

Loving you was easy, the fear of losing you wasn't. You should have abandoned me when my demons forced me to yell at you, to hurt myself. You didn't, you never left.

Like an angel I never had, your presence illuminated me. It revealed to me the little light left in my soul. Your hand, the one I dreamed of before I met you, held mine tightly to calm me down, to return to being that good monster you wanted to kiss.

The little sanity left in my tormented soul was like a thin thread that your perfect hands held. There came a point where I couldn't, I didn't want to live without you.

“Are you okay?” you asked, taking me out of my thoughts, entering that dark forest, walking slowly, in silence.

I nodded, smiling as I remembered you, as I thought about that first kiss, about all the ones that came after, about all the things you showed me. You showed me to love, and to be loved, just thinking about it could make my deformed face smile.

“I was just thinking,” I said, clearing my throat.

You nodded slowly, leaning towards me, resting your head on my shoulder, sighing in conjunction with the calm of that forest.

“Nice things, I hope,” you joked with a purr.

“Of course, tesoro, I was thinking about you,” I said whispering, making your cheeks blush while your gaze became shy.

Silence was our company again. That walk was certainly not a bad idea. Nothing could be bad if it was with you.

“You are very sweet, Donna,” you sighed, stopping and turning my head to give me one of your kisses, a gift much more divine than the Black Gods themselves.

“I try,” I said amused, moving your hair out of your face. I hated it. I hated seeing how the locks got in the way of your beauty.

Did you also feel the same when I put on the veil? No, impossible, you were an angel, I was the devil, a monster.

“Look, let's sit down, the sun is about to set,” you said, changing that sweetness into enthusiasm, pulling my hand towards the edge of a cliff, where an old tree seemed to catch your attention. “Come, sit down.”

I looked at you strangely, but I nodded, obeying you. I would always be faithful to you, (Y/N), I would do everything you asked me to do.

You let yourself fall in front of me, leaning against my body, completely relaxed.

“Are you comfortable, tesoro?” I asked, trying not to disturb the romantic atmosphere of that place with my husky voice. You laughed, looked at me, and shook your head.

“No,” you said abruptly, searching for something with your gaze. You located my arms, grabbing them and passing them around your waist, snuggling among them. “Now I am.”

You were right, it was a beautiful sunset. Maybe it was because you were beautiful. Gods, I love you so much…

“Donna,” you said, interrupting that relaxing calm, playing with my hands with a playful expression.

“Mm?” I murmured, resting my head on your shoulder, kissing you slowly on your soft cheek along with shy laughs.

“Come on, do it,” you said, moving away and looking at me expectantly. I frowned, confused.

“What?” I asked amused. Your cheeks blushed even more.

“You know…” you said with a soft voice, with shining eyes. “Speak to me in Italian, you know I love it,” you asked me, biting your lip.

I opened my mouth to fulfill your wishes once again, but some unpleasant cawing prevented me from doing so. The crows that used to rest in the trees of the forest flew away. It didn't take a genius to know that this was a bad omen.

“Wow…” you said, looking at the birds, curious like me. “What's wrong with those birds?”

“I, I don't know,” I said with a different look, worried.

My hands were starting to shake. It was time to go home.

“There are no lycans around here, right?” you asked, getting up scared by the strange behavior of the forest animals.

“No,” I said, standing up as well, looking around for the source of that horrible feeling that was starting to run through my body. It was like someone was watching us.

“I have a bad feeling,” you whispered, as if you too were focused on a danger you couldn’t see.

“Me too, let’s go home,” I said, grabbing your hand, almost pulling you along, heading back to the path that led us back to the safety of my darkness.

“Donna, wait,” you said, planting your feet on the ground, stopping abruptly. “Have you heard that?”

I shook my head nervously, grabbing your hand again. The chills were getting more intense. You, horrified by something, stopped again with your eyes wide open.

“Don’t, don't shoot,” you said with your hands up, looking towards a corner, where an armed man was crouching, with what looked like a rifle pointed at us.

“Get away, civilian,” that masked man said, focusing his attention on me.

I was paralyzed. I didn't know how to react to that strange threat.

“Donna, watch out!” you screamed, lunging at me just as a thunderous shot echoed in the forest, followed by a flash of light. There was no doubt, that man had come to kill me.

“Back, stay back (Y/N),” I said, pushing you away from my body and dodging another shot. I should have noticed you, I should have.

“Shit,” the man whispered, trying to reload his gun. It was too late for that poor bastard.

I walked slowly, keeping my monstrous gaze on that strange mask. He was going to pay for what he had done, no doubt. With a strange calm, which I needed to use my powers, I extended my hand towards him. He couldn't see my face, but I knew that I terrified him.

“Wait, wait,” the poor man begged, crawling on the ground, throwing away his gun and trying to flee.

Soon my powers began to take effect, forcing him to writhe in pain for things that didn't exist, to grab his gun, point it at his head, and pull the trigger, ending his existence forever.

“Bastardo…” I hissed, kicking the lifeless body of what was, without a doubt, a soldier.

“Donna…” you said, in low voice, crouched on the ground, hunched over yourself.

I looked at you, still filled with the adrenaline that came from using my gift. I ran towards you, I bent down to help you up, but when I looked at my hands, there was only blood on them.

On your belly there was a wound, a wound caused by that weapon, by that stupid act of throwing yourself at me.

 Once again, I was paralyzed, horrified, I only saw blood, your blood.

“(Y/N), (Y/N),” I said nervously, checking your condition.

Your eyes danced, your skin paled dangerously. My hand pressed your wound to stop the red flow that stained it. No, it couldn't be possible, it was a nightmare.

“Donna…” you sighed, letting yourself fall into my arms, losing strength. I didn't know what to do. I was just trying to keep the light that wanted to leave your gaze. “I saved you…” you whispered with a smile, before fainting completely.

“No, no, no, no…” I repeated furiously, holding your head up high and my hand on your wound, looking for help with my eye, a help that wasn't going to come. “(Y/N)!” I screamed furiously, passing my hand over my forehead, bathing it in your blood.

Do something, stupida…

The voices in my head rebuked me for my frustration, forcing me to take your unconscious body in my arms, running you back to the home we should never have left.

“Resisti, (Y/N), per favore…”

I couldn't say how I got home. All I saw was blood, your blood desecrating your beauty. All because of me, all, because, of, me.

“In… In… In a coma?” I asked when Mother Miranda, in her eternal mercy, came to my call for help. The priestess looked at me after bandaging your unconscious body.

“The bullet has pierced part of her spleen, be thankful she's not dead,” she whispered, closing a briefcase and looking at me with hatred, with the hatred of not being able to save you, surely.

I, still nervous, soaked in your blood, couldn't stop shaking, I couldn't think of seeing you like that, almost lifeless in bed, with your beautiful eyes closed, would I ever be able to see them again?

“Did you kill him?”  Miranda asked, distracting me from the task of squeezing your hand, like you taught me, like you told me all problems passed. “Donna!”

“Yes, yes,” I answered without looking at her. I should have been grateful to her, but I couldn't, I could only hate myself.

“Fine...” the blonde sighed, with that golden glow blinding my eye. “That rat has been causing problems for a while now. I guess it finally got what it deserved.”

I suddenly let your hand go and got out of bed, furious at what those words implied.

“Did you know? Did you know that bastardo was lurking around?” I asked furiously, feeling my temples throbbing as if, without your hand squeezing mine, I would lose control of my actions.

“Shh, calm down,” Miranda said, with a grimace of disgust, without moving, without blinking. Stoic, all-mighty  as always. “Of course I knew. The BSAA never gets tired, right? I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“Not for me…” I whispered, squinting, clenching my red fists tightly. “And for her?!”

“Stop, yelling, Donna,” the witch said, pressing her eyes shut with her fingers, again, not even slightly fazed by my behavior. “I couldn't possibly know that your girl was going to play heroes.”

I growled furiously, pacing erratically around the room, thinking of a thousand ways to kill my adoptive mother, to end it all, to make everything go up in the air. I couldn't stand it, I couldn't stand that you had risked your pure life to save a monster's. Anything but that.

“I'll come back next week to check on her,” the blonde said, disinterested. Of course, you were a mortal, she didn't care about you.

I cursed all her ancestors. I really wished that her body and her golden robes would fall down the waterfall where my family died.

“Take care of her in the meantime, or kill her, I don't care,” she whispered, making me growl in horror. “But I don't want you to give me any trouble, is that clear?”

When Miranda disappeared, everything collapsed around me, my body collapsing against one of the bedroom walls. There was no more laughter, no more gasps, no more moans of passion in the dark bedroom. Only my agonized crying echoed off the walls while my hands pulled at my hair, hitting the floor in rage. A pathetic scene that I couldn't avoid.

When I managed to calm down, I saw that Angie was next to me, as always.

“Is she dead?” the doll asked unpleasantly pointing at your inert body. I shook my head, realizing that I had hurt myself, that the blood dripping from my head was mixing with yours on my hands.

“No!” I shouted, angrily pushing the puppet away. “She's not…” I said, this time sobbing, burying my head in my hands, sinking into my knees the shame of not being able to save you.

“Bad Donna, stupid Donna!” Angie protested, damaging my ears.

I was about to, about to deactivate her, but I needed her, I needed someone to speak for me, someone to keep reason in my head, to keep madness away from my sick mind.

“I'm sorry,” I said, getting up from the floor coldly. Angie nodded without resentment and climbed into bed next to you.

I approached slowly, taking your hand in mine, squeezing it again like you taught me.

“She's asleep, huh?” Angie said, getting too close. I controlled my impulse to mistreat her again, with an absurd idea in my head.

If you were asleep, that meant I could wake you up, right?

“Wake up, wake up…” I whispered, caressing your cheeks, your soft, addictive skin. There was no response and I took a breath again, resting my hands on your shoulders. “Come on, tesoro, wake up…”

“Wake up, you fool, wake up!” the doll shrieked, moving you too. Yes, it was true that Angie was jealous because you had captured all my attention, but she appreciated you, really. It was impossible for her not to, she was part of me.

“Per favore…” I begged, sobbing again, seeing that your body still didn’t react to my gentle movements.

My breathing became agitated and my hands trembled as they moved you more and more roughly. My heart was about to explode.

“Svegliati, (Y/N), svegliati!” I shrieked, moving you roughly, desperately. I knew it was a good idea not to deactivate Angie, she stopped me.

“Hey, hey, Donna, stop, stop, you'll hurt her!” the puppet shouted, uselessly placing itself between your body and mine, clinging to my unhinged arms.

I finally left you alone, sinking beside you, crying on your chest, pathetically settling next to you, wrapping my arms around you, just the way you liked it.

“Don't do this to me, tesoro, please... Don't leave me alone...”  I sobbed, staining your skin with my tears, crying until at some point, my monstrous body gave in to exhaustion.

A day passed, two, you didn't wake up.

My desperation seemed calmer, but it wasn't. I took care of you, I looked after you, but in my head there was only a flash, a horrible sound: the light of the shot, the sound of the bullet that pierced your skin.

That bullet must have pierced me, not you.

You had saved my life, what for? Why would I want to live in a world without you?

It was absurd, (Y/N) I should be dead, not you, you should wake up, smile, light up the world with your smile. It was too unfair.

Little by little I forgot to eat, to drink, to live…

I tried to stay sane while I read you your favorite books, hoping that the words that made you feel those emotions would revive your soul and I could see your beautiful eyes again.

But I was never well, I was always sick. Without you, without the thin thread that kept my sanity, I began to take small steps into the darkness.

“I sat with them at the table, next to Queequeg, and mentally prepared myself to listen to some stories about whale hunting…” I read calmly, next to you, my disastrous body didn’t separate from yours for a second, my hand always held yours.

Donna…

A dark voice interrupted me, a voice I knew, that I knew where it came from. Shaking my head, I tried to ignore it, but it wasn't possible. In that old book the words danced, making me dizzy, that dark voice sounded louder and louder.

She's dead…

That voice spoke to me again. I dropped the book, pulled my hair as I bent over myself, preventing it from continuing to speak in any way.

“No… No…” I said nervously, kicking the floor hard.

Yes, of course she is… Because of you…

“No! (Y/N) is alive!”  I screamed neurotically, to respond to someone who didn't exist, who only lived inside my crazy head. “Stai zitto!”

Really? Check her pulse…

Knowing that they were just trying to undermine my morale, that those voices weren't there, just as you always told me when they appeared so I would stop listening to them, I ignored your own words and brought my trembling hand to your neck.

You were cold, frozen, there was no sign of your heartbeat on your neck and, in front of me, your body began to crack, to calcify.

“No… No!” I screamed with my hands on my head, falling to my knees on the floor, crying, pulling my hair, unhinged again.

Yes, Donna, you killed her…

“Basta! Basta!” I yelled crying, covering my ears to uselessly silence the voice of my demons.

It's your fault! It's your fault!

“Donna, Donna!” a squeaky voice interrupted that horrible spectacle. It sounded like Angie, but I couldn't be sure. In my mind, I only saw your body falling apart, breaking into a thousand pieces. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t answer, I just pointed at your body with my finger. The doll climbed onto the bed, the bed I didn’t want to look at.

“What? What’s wrong with her?” the doll asked, with a confused voice.

Dead, dead, dead…

“Angie, (Y/N) is…” I murmured, swallowing my own tears, hitting the floor helplessly, furiously. I had to fall apart into a thousand pieces, not you.

“She’s what? She’s still asleep,” the doll said, getting off the bed to stand in front of me, tilting her head curiously.

“She, her body is…” I said in a low voice, making an effort to get up and dare to look at your broken body. It wasn't, you were still intact.

Your chest rose and fell calmly. Your expression wasn't cracked, but serene.

Confused and scared, I ran my hand over my sweaty forehead as I sat next to you, relieved to see that it had only been my imagination.

You will kill her, Donna… She saved your life, and you will kill her…

“Gods… (Y/N),” I said, resting my forehead against yours, keeping my face very close to yours.

“Are you okay?” Angie asked, suspecting what was the cause of my attitude.

“Yes, I…” I lied, moving away to let you breathe. “It, it was nothing.”

“Why don't you cut her throat and end her suffering?” Angie asked, with an amused tone. I stood up in surprise, grabbing the puppet by the neck.

“What did you just say?” I hissed as the doll struggled against my grip.

“Hey, let me go! I said why you don’t keep reading,” the puppet protested.

I let go, shaking my head, confused, overwhelmed by the situation.

I was losing my mind, and I knew it.

“Ugh, you need a break,” the doll said, comically shaking her dress. “And a shower, you stink.”

I closed my eye, breathing slowly, like my gardener, Josef, had taught me. It was true that I was a monster. That man was good, and I killed him.

“What I need is for her to come back…” I said sobbing, succumbing to crying again, squeezing your hand tightly, trying to beg you to come back to me.

“I miss her too,” Angie said, tenderly stroking your hair. Not even the fact that Angie acknowledged that she appreciated you was enough to reassure me.

“Please, (Y/N)… Please… Come back to me… Don’t, don't leave me alone, I need your light to get me out of this darkness…” I begged, squeezing your hand perhaps too tightly. The voices returned.

She will never come back to you, she never loved you. You will never feel her lips again. You will be left alone, with us, Donna, in the darkness where you belong.

Three, four days passed, or so I thought.

I lost track of time as well as I lost my mind. The voices were already a constant sound in my mind, the panic attacks, the hallucinations began to put you in danger. I decided not to get too close. My hands could turn against to you.

I kept repeating how much I needed you, how bad I felt without your comforting presence. You were my light, (Y/N), and you were fading away.

The weakness that my mind felt soon entered into harmony with that of my body. I was hungry, I knew it, I had to eat, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave you alone. I wanted to be with you, to cling to your unconscious body to feel that I wasn't lost, that there was still hope for me, and for you.

Exhausted, sitting on the floor against a wall, I closed my eyes tightly so as not to hear the voices that now asked me to leave everything, to abandon you, to abandon the life that was granted to me by the grace of Mother Miranda, that second chance that I didn't deserve.

She is like this because of you, you should die, Donna...

But no, I couldn't succumb to those requests. You needed me. You needed my care, for me to be by your side. You had saved my life, I couldn't abandon you, but neither could you.

“Don't you dare to leave me,” I sighed, my voice broken by crying, my weak body struggling to stay awake, in pain from the blows caused by the wounds caused by the crises.

My madness worsened as the hours passed. Reality, my own existence became something inexact. I didn't know when it was night, when it was day. There were no windows in that bedroom, you were always sleeping.

“Hey, hey, Donna,” a strange voice, which didn't come from my head, scared me, waking me from my exhaustion with some soft slaps on my face.

Cagna... She's coming to fuck her.

Ignoring the warning from my subconscious, I managed to make out my sister Alcina leaning over me.

“What...? What are you doing here?” I said, leaning on the wall so I could get up, ready to fight for you until the end. I didn't care if she was really there or it was another vision.

I was always jealous of my sister.

“You didn't come to the meeting. Miranda is asking for you,” the tall woman commented, walking sensually towards the bed. I couldn't move as fast as I wanted, and weakness made me stumble against the lady in white, who held me with her raised eyebrows.

“Vaffanculo…” I whispered, letting my sister guide me until I sat on the bed. “Get out.”

“You're a mess…” she murmured with disinterest, fixing my dress, almost torn by my own attacks. “How long has it been since you ate, dear? Not to mention how you stink…”

“I told you… to get lost…” I said furiously, pushing her with pathetic force. She just laughed, was she really there? “Porca puttana…”

“How vulgar…” Alcina laughed, holding me by the shoulder, dodging my furious attacks. “Aren't you supposed to take care of her?”

“I take care of her,” I said furiously, crossing my arms in a childish manner.

“Do you? I doubt you can take care of yourself, dear,” the lady in white mocked.

I growled again, guiding my gaze towards you, searching for your hand and grabbing it with the little strength I had left.

“Alcina… I'm…” I said calmer, relaxed by the softness of your skin. Maybe you were right and your hands were magic. “I'm losing my mind.”

“Oh, that's not new,” the vampire said, with a mocking expression.

 I ignored the comment, suppressing a sob.

“I feel, I feel that without her I…” I said with a broken voice, letting Alcina lay me down on the bed, next to you, sighing with pity.

“That's it, draga…” the big woman whispered, making sure I was comfortable. “You must stay strong, it's the best for (Y/N).”

“I don't, I don't know if I can do it… Alcina… I, I don't want to be alone, I want, I want her to come back,” I said, noticing how sleep attacked me again. At least when I was about to sleep, the voices didn't attack me.

“You must come back first, Donna,” my sister whispered, caressing my messy hair while covering me with a blanket. “(Y/N) needs you… Sleep, my sweet Donna…”

Those were the last words I heard before the darkness of my nightmares invaded me again.

Even today I still don't know if my sister's visit was real or if it was just a last breath of my sanity demanding me to come back, to force my demons to stay in a cage.

Three more days passed.

The voices continued to harass me, but something changed after that unexpected visit. My desire to fight my madness, to get you back, was much stronger. I even dared to accept the fruit that Angie brought me. Eating gave me strength, the softness of your hands kept the flame of hope alive.

“Actually I had always felt that way...” I read, like every day, another one of your favorite novels.

Miraculously, the voices that whispered horrible things to me no longer interrupted my words. I felt strong, or so I tried to show. With each passing day, the vision of the light of your smile became more blurred.

“…Without being able to explain why. I had never wanted to accept that life was so grey and indifferent, so without secrets or wonders as people pretended when they said…”

“That’s life…”

I read the end of that paragraph and nodded with a sigh. I soon realized something strange. No, it wasn't a horrible voice in my head. It wasn't Angie's voice that continued my reading.´

I dropped the book, let it fall loudly on the wood when I noticed something warm in my hand, yours, squeezing it tightly. Afraid that my mind would play tricks on me again, I closed my eye, opened it again and looked at your hand in mine, moving.

“Hello, darling…” a hoarse voice, broken by tiredness reached my ears, your voice, your angelic voice, your voice that came back to illuminate my dark path.

“(Y/N)…” I whispered, looking slowly into your bright eyes, half-closed but shining. “(Y/N)!”

I threw myself into your arms, burying my body in yours while my hand squeezed yours, to confirm that it hadn't been a dream. Not wanting to waste a second, I captured your lips in a kiss, crying with joy, crying for having you back, and scared in case it was just a dream.

“Hi… Hi…” you repeated, fighting against my gestures of affection, laughing weakly.

“Let her breathe, silly Donna!” Angie shrieked, pushing me away from you, jumping with joy on the bed. “You're back, you're back!”

“Yes, yes, it seems so…” you said coughing, in pain from the wound in your abdomen, trying to sit up, something I prevented.

“Don’t, don't move, you could... You could hurt yourself,” I said, playing nervously with your hair, with your hands, with everything that was within my reach.

“Hey...”

“Tell me, tesoro,” I said nervously, hoping to hear a request for water or food.

“I'm glad to see you again, Donna...”

“What are you talking about?” I asked confused, shaking my head. “(Y/N)... I'm, I'm the one who...”

“I told you a long time ago...” you sighed, exhausted, exhausted but awake. “That I would never abandon you...”

[izgnanik-a]

Craving For You Still —

Imagine the infamous Frank Castle being your ex and you get an unexpected visit with clarity.

Tags: afab reader, angst, smut, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, fingering, hurt with comfort, unresolved anger finally resolved

Word count: 4K

MDNI // smut below the cut

You’d had a long day and your first and only thought was going home to take a bath.

You’d moved from the heart of Hell’s Kitchen to Long Island a short while ago in hopes of starting new. Your father disapproved of you moving so far form the company, but you had told him you wanted no part in his business anymore.

You’d buried that part of you along with a few others.

You stepped out of the car into the gentle downpour, said to pick up a little later, and under the canopy of the front steps leading up to the code locked door. The gated community you became apart of was quiet, nothing like Hell’s Kitchen’s screams and blood soaked drains.

Shaking off your umbrella in the foyer with a flash of a smile to the security at the front desk, he was tentative but only there for the money.

Getting into the lift, the elevator operator gave you a smile. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” You said back.

“Awfully humid today.”

You nodded. “Better warm than cold and wet.”

“I’ll take anything but snow.”

You smiled again as the lift dinged on your floor. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Have a good night.”

You said the same and moved for your apartment door. You stared at the frame.

The door had been unlocked and left ajar. You clenched your jaw, peering down the hallway, and back to the door. The first person you would call is your father to send someone, but you could take things into your own hands.

You were a spitting image of your ruthless father. He raised you.

You reached into your bag, hand wrapped around the handle of your concealed gun before gently pushing the door in. You stepped aside. Staring into the darkness, you entered and shut the door behind you.

De-robing all the items that would clink or make noise, you were left in your shirt and pants, shoes by the door. You inched carefully, pieing corners like you’d been taught.

Coming to the doorway of the kitchen to your left, you cleared the far wall before the click of a light in the living room made you turn abruptly to it. You inched towards the living room, completely ignoring the rest of the apartment now.

As you cleared your room slowly—you stared at a man in the chair by the window, his hand hovering where he’d pulled the swinging light chain.

Your heart thudded even louder when the foreign face wasn’t foreign. You knew him.

But it didn’t mean you could lower your gun.

“Late night?” He asked.

You noticed he helped himself to your bar stash. The bottle of your favorite whiskey sat before him, his cup in the other hand. You kept at a distance. “What’re you doing here?”

He smacked his lips as he took a sip, thinning his lips before speaking again. “Came to see an old friend.”

“We’re not friends.” You growled.

He met your glare. It was painted in unrequited, painful color. “Put the gun down.” He said softly. “Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You began to wonder how he even got into your apartment. He’d have to get past the front desk security guard and the elevator operator. Several cameras would light up in alarm to who he was—and no one could forget a face like that. “What are you doing here, Frank?”

Frank took another sip of his drink before setting it down on the coaster, like you’d drilled through him to do, and you watched as he slouched further in the chair to get comfortable.

A dangerous man didn’t have to fear death—death should fear the fearless man.

“I needed to talk to you.” He said.

“A call would’ve been better-“

“You wouldn’t have picked up if you knew it was me.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t.”

He sighed and glanced at the gun in your hand. “You gonna shoot me?”

“Thinking about it.”

“Would be hell of a cleaning bill to get the blood off these rugs.” He commented. “But daddy’s got hush money so you’ll be just fine.”

You clenched your jaw. “If you’re here about my father, talk to him. I moved so I could get away from that business.”

“But you know everything that still goes on inside.”

“Is that why you’re here? To get information about my father’s business?” You scoffed. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

“Maybe I have.” He said wryly. “Maybe I lost it awhile ago.”

“You wasted your time coming here. I’ve got nothing for you.” You shook your head at him, and watched him pick up the whiskey bottle to pour himself another glass.

He eyed you from over the rim of the glass, never letting his eyes falter.

“Finished?” You asked.

Frank came to his feet slowly, weary of the gun in your hands and your ability to make him bleed willingly. “If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me.” He stood a little closer, not within lunging distance but towering over you now.

“Get out of my house.”

He put his arms out, giving you a clear shot at all of his body. “Come on.”

“Frank.” You warned.

“Come on.” He beckoned you forward. “Put the gun down and face me for real.”

Oh you could go a few rounds on that pretty face of his out of pure rage. You felt it bubbling under the surface. He’d left his mark on your life, and took a chunk of you when he dropped out of it.

Frank took a sip of his whiskey before putting it down on the table, no coaster this time, and took a single step in your direction.

You squeezed the handle, cocking lever initiated, and hovered on the hot trigger. “Frank.” You shouted in warning.

He put one hand up in surrender—but it wasn’t. He snatched the slide of your gun, peeling it out of your grip in a single disarming move and you reacted out of instinct. Your palm connected with his cheek and stung on immediate impact.

He stumbled into the back of the couch.

You stood boiling in anger as he collected himself. The boxer had taken punches and gun butts to the face, but the swing of your slap hurt with the right force behind it.

He rubbed his face momentarily before deconstructing your gun into three main parts; popping out the magazine and emptying the window, he put them on the couch.

“Alright.” Frank huffed. “Come on.” He gestured to himself again. “Hit me again.”

“Fuck you Frank.”

“Do it.” He took a step towards you again, arms at his sides. “Give me all you’ve got.”

He got a slap to the opposite cheek then, but he immediately ate the pain and went towards you again. You shoved your hands into his chest to back him up, but he was a moving force. It was making your heart race as he stepped into your personal space.

It started to scare you.

You attempted to shove him away again and he smacked your hands off of his chest, ducking, and snatching the back of your thighs. You went over his shoulder and he didn’t have a problem as you kicked and hit him.

“Put me the fuck down Frank!” You growled. You sunk your teeth into his hip and he flinched, giving an audible groan of pain as he dropped you over the back of the couch.

“Sit.” He demanded as he came around the front.

You sat up and stuck your feet on the ground so quickly that Frank put a heavy hand on your collar, borderline dangerous on your throat, to keep you down.

He took a seat on the table in front of you. His knees on the outside of yours forced yours to touch. He leaned forward on his thighs. “Now we’re gonna have a talk. Just you and me.”

“I don’t give a shit what you have to say about anything.” You shook your head. “I’m not going to help you.”

“Then I’ll be the bigger person for you.” Frank watched the rekindled urge in your eyes to smack the fuck out of him to those words, and he wouldn’t stop it if you did. “We don’t have to be on good terms to talk about business. But I want to make things right.”

You scoffed, looking away from him.

“Don’t you want me to say you were right? That you told me so?”

“Go fuck yourself.” You shook your head. “You’re an insensitive and pathetic person who uses people.”

“When did I use you?”

You stared at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me? You used me the whole time just to get closer to my father’s business to make right of your own fucked ledger.”

“Your father’s business caused people’s lives. People I knew.”

“So deal with him.” You shoved his chest and he budged slightly. “Get off of me.”

“Sit down.” He pressed his hands into the tops of your thighs.

You smacked him again. “Get your hands off of me.”

Frank grunted and grit his teeth to ease the lingering pain. He sniffled and met your eyes again. “You sit, we talk. That’s the deal.”

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

“And you’re hurt.”

“My father was right about men like you.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice began etching in anger.

“Yeah. All you are is a dog. All you do is piss and shit wherever you go, you tear up everything in your path when you’re bored, and you bite the hand that has always fed and been nice to you. I offered you my home and my life—you spit in my face.” You let another hit land on his face.

This time with foresight of it coming, he could clench his jaw and shut his eyes. He still shook the pain off. “I guess I was just desperate then. Humping the first leg I saw.”

You smacked him harder to that comment, catching his eardrum as well.

He lowered his head as the ringing blinded his senses. “You know what? I was selfish.” Frank stated. “I saw something pretty and knew it was bad for me. Knew it wouldn’t digest well, and I still wanted it. It got stuck in my teeth, made me sick to my stomach, and I still ate that shit up.” He met your eyes. “The only reason why I left it behind was because it didn’t deserve being chewed out by me.”

You furrowed your brow with fiery edges of anger still lingering. You watched him clench his jaw, cheeks red with irritation then meet your eyes. You lifted your hand again.

He shut his eyes to brace for impact. He waited—but it didn’t come. He looked at you.

You dropped your hand into your lap, shaking your head. “I’m not going to fall for your bullshit again, Frank. My father knows about the shit you’ve done. He’s got a price on your head. When he finds out what you’re doing here, he’ll tear Hell’s Kitchen apart to grab you.”

“Maybe he’s my last fight.” He said. “Better pack one hell of a punch if he’s going to take me out. But I doubt he has half of a swing like you.”

You stared at his flicker of a glance, and the smirk that flirted on his lips. You looked away, half tempted to give into his charm out of pettiness. “Why are you here, Frank?” You asked again.

This time he was quiet. His abrasiveness had ebbed away. He was soft and gentle, his fingertips just teased at the sides of your thighs. But it could be covered up as him rested his elbows on his knees which touched yours.

“I saw this thing that reminded me of you.” He mumbled. “You see—it was a bouquet on display. I remember this woman who I was sleeping with drove me up a goddamn wall about how she wanted a bouquet of flowers every single week.”

You stared as his warmth bled into yours. He peeled his way into your heart, lighting candles along the darkened defenses to let in the light.

“And I don’t know why, but the moment I started getting better was when I was in the chaos beside her.” He said. “I hate her. So much. Because she’s the best thing that I’ve had in a long time wrapped in thorns.”

“Frank.” You sighed. “Just go back home. I’m exhausted. I can’t deal with another anything to do with you.”

He let his hands fully clasp the top of your thighs now, not dangerously high but still intimate. “Words won’t make this easier, and they don’t mean anything to you coming from me.” He said.

You rolled your eyes at the ceiling but only to hold back the urge to start crying.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. I betrayed you, broke your truth. But I didn’t use you.” He defended.

You furrowed your brow, defensiveness returning.

“What I felt, what we had, that was real.”

“Don’t bullshit me right now, Frank—“

“I’m not.”

You shut up.

“The reason I started talking to you is because I thought you were the prettiest woman in the room. You made me so goddamn nervous.” He chuckled.

You scoffed, a smile flashing briefly before it was covered by hurt again.

“I don’t expect forgiveness. But I needed you to know that I cared about you, as much as you cared for me. Or maybe you didn’t.” He shrugged and took a breath. “Maybe we both did each other dirty.”

You met his eyes for a brief second and it was the worst you could’ve done. He was frowning like a puppy dog left out of the room for bedtime. You looked away again. “I didn’t ever do you dirty.”

“I distinctly remember someone cheating at Baccarat but I could be mistaken—“

You shoved his chest, only this time it was out of playful annoyance.

Frank chuckled and returned to your bubble. He kept his eyes on your face, now light with relief. He sighed softly. “You look good.”

“Don’t start.”

“I can’t compliment you anymore?” He reached for his glass, filling it again a bit more this time. He returned to looking at you.

“We’re not in the same boat as last time.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t see you as you are.”

You shook your head. “Frank. Don’t play with me right now.”

“I won’t.” He lowered his glass. “But if you asked me to pick back up every piece of where we left off, I’d do it.”

You stared at him from over the rim of his glass. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Change of scenery would do me good.” He lowered his glass. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve lost it.”

“Maybe I have.” Frank rested his half full glass on his thigh before you took it from his hand.

You brought the glass to your lips and downed the rest, leaning forward to put it on the table beside Frank—your breath mingled dangerously with his as you stood a hair’s width from his lips.

Frank licked his lips and you could feel the heat from it. His hands gently squeezed your thighs. “Maybe I should stay the night. Traffic’s bad.” He lied.

“Over my dead body—“

Frank carted his fingers through your hair before tugging you forward to mesh his lips with yours. He instantly knew the crevices of your mouth as he lapped in, painting your tongue with his. He gave hungry grunts, pushing your knees up and over his thighs so you straddled him as he leaned into the couch. His knees met the floor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming as he wrapped his arms around your lower back. Bringing your pelvis to his stomach, he wedged you into the corner of the couch before leaving wet kisses down your chin to your neck. His hands never ceasing as they dragged down your sides to your thighs again, squeezing them into his waist.

As he suckled on your neck, you grinded your needy clothed cunt into his body. He returned with languished grinds.

Moaning softly as he teethed your throat and dragged his hands under your shirt, he mouthed along your jaw. “Can I?” He asked, gently tugging on your belt loops.

You met his eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

He nodded as he grasped your face sweetly to kiss away the doubt. “I want you, sweet girl.”

You sighed into his mouth as he unbuttoned your pants, and you helped him by lifting your hips. He dragged your pants off and kissed along your belly to your thighs. Biting and squeezing your hips, he progressed down your leg to your feet. He kissed your ankles and returned.

He dragged his hands along your underwear middle seam to your awaiting and heat-radiating cunt. He applied gentle pressure with his thumb before kissing your thighs again, he dragged his tongue up and over the fabric of your underwear. He gripped the edge, glancing at your impatient gaze, and pulled it aside.

He groaned. “Just as pretty as when I left it.” Frank wasted no time living up to his munch legacy. He was all tongue and lips.

He latched his lips around your clit, using his thumbs to peel you open, and ruthlessly rock his tongue against you.

You bit your bottom lip, writhing against his face, and gripped the hair on the top of his hair as you moaned. You hadn’t felt this good in a long time, since Frank essentially broke up with you. You arched your back, spreading your legs further across the couch as he hummed against you.

“Frank—“ you whimpered and gasped.

He massaged his thumb against your wet clit as he spoke between your pleasing sobs. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” You clenched a hand on his assaulting forearm, holding tight, and writhing away from the faster pace of his fingers. “Slow down—“

“When it tastes this good, I can’t help myself.” He returned his tongue to your clit, instead stuffing a finger into your sopping wet cunt too easily and rubbed your walls.

You felt your orgasm approaching. “Frank—Frank—“ you warned.

“Yeah,” he smirked before tormenting your clit roughly between strong sucks. “That’s it. Come for me, sweet girl.” He hummed. “Give it to me. I want it. All of it.”

You sobbed in pleasure, trying to get a grip on your self composure but this man’s secret power was sucking your pussy to high heavens. If he could’ve been between your legs for days on end just eating you out—he would.

You threatened to close your thighs around his head but he peeled it off with one hand, holding your thigh up to your belly as he continued fucking his fingers into you. He curled them up against you, and your legs were shaking before your orgasm even washed over you.

You came through gasping and Frank shoving and licking his tongue into your wetness. He clasped the back of both knees, pushing them up, and shoved his tongue inside where his fingers were just warming.

You held the back of Frank’s head. You hissed and wriggled on your back when he returned sharp sucks on your clit. “Frank. It’s too much—Frank!”

He hooked your thighs over his shoulders and hummed with every pull of his tongue, dragging a mini-orgasm out of you. You convulsed as Frank collected his breath.

You shut your eyes as you felt him lean back and return. The cool ring of the bottom of the whiskey bottle touched your stomach. You looked up.

He’s swapped the cup for drinking out of the bottom of the bottle.

You reached up to take it, sitting up on your elbow, and handing it back.

He took a swig after you, and set it back on the table behind him.

Your eyes dragged down from his cunt glossed mouth to his obvious erection.

His eyes panned from your erect nipples to your soaking cunt.

The both of you looked at each other at the exact same time.

When he reached for his belt and button, you pulled your shirt off your body. He got his pants down when you threw your bra aside, and he said nothing when you turned on your knees over the back of the couch. He stood, wedging his knees behind yours, and pushed you forward with a hand on the back of your neck.

You felt his cockhead tease at your slit, dragging as he rubbed softly between your legs. You arched your back but he refused to stick it in you yet.

Frank fit himself over your back, gripping the edge of the couch like you were. He gasped and grunted into your ear, kissing and biting your soft shoulders as he reached down to take his cock in hand. He purposely dragged his head over your sensitive clit.

You whimpered, thrusting your hips back when he dragged forward. “For fuck’s sake.” You grunted in annoyance.

He laughed handsomely into your neck. “I want to enjoy this moment. Why rush?”

“If you don’t put it in me right now, I’ll scream.” You threatened, and he knew you were good on your promises.

“Go ahead.” Frank pressed his cock to your soaked cunt, finally pushing in. “Scream.”

You felt your lungs expand with a deep breath before his hand smacked over your parted lips. You let out a wanton scream against his palm as he pushed further in, cutting the pleasure with his girthy cock. His lips pressed into your temple as he sat flush, grinding softly against your ass just to torment you, you thought.

You sobbed into his palm when he pulled out and shoved back in.

Clenching onto the edge of the couch, Frank started an immediate brutal pace that signaled he was already too pent up to last. Your walls gushing around him, sucking him back in every thrust, and tightening when he pulled just until his tip was kissing you—pure agony,

You arched your back when he began blistering thrusts. Moaning and gasping, you felt his body against every part of your back as he pulled you up on your knees.

Frank reached down between your legs to rub at your clit, looking over your shoulder to your tits. “You’re good at fucking taking it, huh? Practically sucking me back in every time. Shit.” He laughed weakly, gasping between every thrust. His hand slid off your mouth to your throat, just holding your head back on his shoulder. He mouthed at your ear. “God. I miss this.”

His fingers slowed but kept a tight pressure to your clit.

You sobbed in agony, fucking back every time he thrust forward. “God. Frank.” You uttered.

His hand tangled in your hair, pushing you back onto the couch. “I’m not leaving you again.” He punched into your cunt with longing desperation. “You’re all mine.”

You nodded viciously under his palm, gripping the couch so hard you might crack the frame. “Yes. Yes. Yesyesyesyes.” You felt a hot wave wash over you as your orgasm crashed in; eyes shutting, mouth parted, breath caught in your lungs.

“Fuck—me.” Frank groaned as his cock twitched and squeezed dry in your cunt. He rocked his hips gently, face meshed into your neck, and took deep stabilizing breaths. His hands followed over the couch edge until they found yours blindly, entwining absently.

You sunk into the couch cushions with Frank, hands tangled on the couch edge still. Nothing but heavy breaths for a long while.

Frank was the first to move, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before sitting up with one hand on the curve of your waist. It followed up the side of your face, brushing aside hair from your eyes.

You blinked at him from the corner of your eyes.

“I’ll change the lock in the morning. You really need a better one. For a big boss man’s kid, you’re real clueless.”

You rolled your eyes, hiking up to your hands and knees again. You’d heard this too many times before.

But Frank’s hand on your jaw brought your attention to him. Leaning over your left side, he stared into your eyes. “I meant it. When I said I’m sticking around. You’re mine.”

You glanced between his sincere eyes before gently nodding.

He sunk into your back once again, holding your jaw and wrapping the other arm around your waist with a deep, satisfied smirk. “My sweet girl.”

Fic Masterlist

[luceracastro]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

𝐄𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐜 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Bayona believes his shy niece just needs to be surrounded by people close to her age, so he allows her to come along for the filming of his next big movie and one of his actors become taken with the young girl

Warnings: this fic will have warnings as the chapters go, this is an age gap relationship

You were always quiet, shy, and not really put out there since you were consumed with the fear of being humiliated, being shy was what mostly stopped you from common life experiences.

It was why your mom was pushing you at the moment to travel with your uncle, “Amor sería algo bueno para ti, estarías con gente cerca a tu edad” she said and you shook you head “no mami, la verdad no me convence” you sighed

Ever since this whole shy thing got into you, you had gained a handful of activities such as art, whether it was painting or sketching, reading, baking, even needle work which you took the time to learn just to distract you from the real world

You were a college student and focused on school as well so it wasn’t a huge problem when school work and class filled your schedule, “como sabes que no vas a disfrutar esto?” She asked and you gave her a look “mami, yo no conozco a nadie de ahí como voy a nomas llegar?” You asked

She chuckled “amor te juro que esto sería algo muy bueno para ti” she promised and you sighed “bueno bueno nomas una semana y regreso” you said with a slight warning edge in your tone “si corazón si! Deja llamo a tu tío!” You mom had a skip in her step as she went to grab her phone

You knitted your brows in confusion and turned back to the cookies you were baking, there you realized maybe she was right.

You were seated on the plane with your eyes glued to your book and AirPods in your ears, a tactic to keep anyone from speaking to you, you were making way to Spain where filming would take place

Now you were stuck in the airport waiting for your uncle to come and get you, you sat inside of the airports coffee shop drinking a latte and listening to music, you now kinda felt homesick, missed your mom and home

Hands on your shoulders startled you but you calmed down once you saw your uncle standing behind you with a delighted smile on his face, you paused your music and stood up “Tío” you smiled giving him a hug “hola amor como estas?”

“Bien, y tu?” You asked “muy bien, pero vamos amor porque quiero que conoces a todos!” He sounded quite excited for you to meet them, way more excited than you that’s for sure.

He had gotten you both down to where the entire casts was staying, their home for a few months, the hotel was huge and it was also a bit intimidating, how many people stayed here? How long? Would you have to interact with any of them?

Your uncle has someone take care of bringing your bags up but in the meanwhile he led you up the elevator, down the hall and looking at the many numbers of the various doors until you both reached the right one “aquí” he sighed satisfied and scanned the keycard before swinging open the door

“Esto sería tu hogar por unos meses” you cringed a bit at that, you knew you would go home in a week, “esta bien tío,” he nodded “bueno vamos a que conoces a los actores” you gave a protesting look and he chuckled a humorous smile on his lips “vamos” he said with a slight demanding edge in his voice and you sighed following after him

“Este es el lobby privado donde pueden estar juntos y convivir” he showed you a private lobby which was filled with many people, you froze up but tried to keep calm “Chicos!” His voice caught the attention of everyone then their eyes landed on you

“Ven, quiero que conozcan a una persona muy importante” they all walked over and stood in front of you and your uncle “Ella es T/n, mi sobrina y ella nos va a acompañar en esta rodaje” he said and they all smiled at you which you returned to not be rude

“Y espero que todos se comporten bien con ella” he warned almost making you want to run back to your room, it wasn’t their job to take care of you “Si como no” a certain tall guy was the first to answer “Ah perfecto, Mira el es Enzo” he came forward and your breath caught in your throat “Hola” his voice was sweet and not very intimidating “Hola” you let out a small sigh of relief

“Bueno los dejo” you uncle was quick to leave and you looked back to see them all coming towards you “Hola, me llamo Fran” his hand extended towards you and you took it, he looked nice, like the sun in a way, very sunshine like “me llamo Juani, como era que te llamabas?” You forced yourself to speak “T/n”

He nodded “bonito nombre” you smiled shyly “gracias” you were slightly overwhelmed but tried to stay calm, plus they all seemed nice enough, after they all introduced themselves to you, you thought you could sneak off but a hand grabbed yours, you turned to see Alfonsina

“Ven siéntate con nosotros,” you could not say no to the kind girl “bueno, si esta bien” she led you to sit on a couch right in between her and Enzo, “entonces donde creciste?” Alfonsina asked and you looked at her “Barcelona, España Barcelona” you answered and she nodded “y tu?” You managed to ask “Montevideo” she answered and you nodded “escuche que Uruguay es muy lindo” you said and she nodded

“Lo es” you nodded “y tu estudias?” You did actually “Si,” she smiled “Que bueno, y que es lo que estudias?” She asked “estudio biología” she nodded “Que bueno, y vas en persona o lo estas haciendo en línea?” At the time you were doing it online especially since you were here and not where your college was

“Por ahora hago en línea” she nodded “y que te gusta hacer en tu tiempo libre?” She then asked “bueno me gusta hacer arte como pintar, dibujar y también me gusta leer y escuchar música” you felt like she was doing all the talking “y a ti, que te gusta hacer?” You asked “bueno me la paso en el teatro pero también me agrada leer, estar en la música o salir con amigas”

You and Alfonsina passed time just talking and you began to let loose and open up to her, she was really nice and sweet, she was patient and understanding of why you even took a while to start engaging into the conversation

You finally were able to get back to your hotel room and you were proud to have actually been able to hold a conversation with someone, a knock on your door did slightly startle you, walking over and opening it you didn’t expect to find Enzo standing there

“Hola linda” he smiled, you stood like a deer caught in the headlights “Hola” you saw your phone in his hands “lo dejaste en el lobby” he handed it to you and you nodded a small smile on your lips “gracias, de verdad” he nodded “Nada que agradecer linda, vas a desayunar con nosotros mañana verdad?” He asked and your confused face gave away that you had no idea what he was talking about

“En el Lobby nos sirven la comidas y me gustaría si tú nos acompañarás para el desayuno” he said and you nodded, it was all you could do “Si, si como no” you chuckled and he did the same nodding “bueno linda buenas noches, descansa bien” you nodded “tu también, buenas noches

He walked down the hall and you closed the door, you looked down at your almost dead phone and sighed. “Oye la sobrina de Bayona está hermosa” Simón said and Enzo looked over at him “si esta hermosa, pero con respecto es la sobrina” he nudged Simon making Matias and Pipe chuckle

“Oye pero porque crees que ella vino al rodaje?” Pipe asked and Alfonsina sighed “se ve un poco tímida y penosa, pero es muy linda a lo mejor tiene que ver con eso” she shrugged “bueno a lo mejor”

“Le dije que debe de desayunar con nosotros mañana” Enzo said “Buen idea” Matías agreed. They all retreaded to their rooms after their smoke break.

A/n: So not a lot in this chapter but more will come I promise my loves! Also I hope you all enjoy this part and likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated but not required my babies just as long as you enjoy the read, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Taglist: @creative-heart @espinasrubi @castawaycherry @madame-fear @luv4fati

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 07: Reach Out

Canon-compliant (queerplatonic/romantic)

CWs: None

Alastor has never been the best at making unprompted romantic overtures, nor recognizing when one should be made. However, whenever Angel Dust ends up stuck at VoxTek overnight, Alastor always makes sure to let him know that he’s on his mind.

Word count: 636

•••

“That fine little ditty was It Don’t Mean A Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing) by Duke Ellington and his eponymous orchestra, such an instant success when it first rolled out of Harlem in 1932 that the Mills Brothers, the Boswell Sisters, and Roger Wolfe Kahn all had their own versions slapped on a platter before the year was even out!”

The screams of the radio chorus howled and cried beneath Alastor’s words as he leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk and microphone staff in hand. Every radio in Hell was on, whether their owners wanted them to be or not, and Alastor’s smile widened as he imagined Sinners and Hellborn all across the Ring either reveling in the music he played or desperately covering their ears in an attempt to block out the wails of those more damned than they were themselves.

Behind him, he heard the tiny patter of feet rushing about, and he turned a little to watch as Niffty dusted off one of his tables. She had insisted she needed occasional access to his tower to clean, and no matter how many times he said he didn’t need it, he had known from the start it was a losing battle. She had, at least, agreed to only come up here while he was working. “Ah, Niffty, darling!” Alastor chirped into the microphone; she turned to him with one wide eye and scurried over. “The Hazbin Hotel’s delightful hospitality manager is here in the studio with me. Anything you’d care to say to the listeners at home and abroad?”

Niffty nodded, grinning, and leaned up as Alastor put the microphone near to her. “Kono bangumi wa, goran no sponsa no teikyou de okurishimasu!” she chirped.

Alastor pulled his microphone back up. “I have no idea what that means, folks, but judging by her expression, I’m sure it’s hilarious!” Cackling, Niffty ran off again, returning to her cleaning.

Alastor reached out to remove the record from the turntable and replace it, his eyes moving to the window, where he could see the far distant lights of VoxTek Tower glowing against the bloody darkness of the night sky. He could imagine Angel Dust now: possibly between takes or even on a rest between films, back in his dressing room and touching up his appearance. Angel had once told him that he kept a radio in his dressing room specifically for nights when he worked during Alastor’s show.

“I like still gettin’ to hear a bit of your show even at work,” Angel had said one evening while they were curled up together listening to Cab Calloway and drinking the rest of the wine from the dinner the spider had made. Alastor had reminded him that he’d said, once, he didn’t even listen to the radio. “I didn’t. I do now.”

Alastor smiled as he put another record on the turntable, poising the needle and raising his microphone. “And now, let’s have a change of pace, shall we? This one goes out to a sweet little daisy in a garden of thorns; remember, my dear, that it will all end soon, and I’m waiting for you to come home. This is April Showers by B.G. DeSylva and Louis Silvers, recorded by Al Jolson almost a decade after his performance in Bombo.”

Alastor dropped the needle and sat back as music filled the studio again, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. He let his head fall back and imagined Angel dancing to the tune, wondering if it would help him get through his shift under Valentino’s heel. He sincerely hoped it would.

I’m going to break that contract for you, sha… but until that day comes, I will always have music in my soul that sings just for you.

•••

Niffty’s line is the phrase “this program is brought to you by the following sponsors” that starts so many Japanese television programs (like every single anime). It’s basically the Japanese equivalent of the “and viewers like you” PBS line.

[rrenzwrld]

secreto de amor VII

chapter 7! read chapter 6 here

“y/n~i need to talk to you.”

“you always need to talk to me. talk to your other friends.”

“don’t get smart with me. i just wanted to remind you about the business trip i’m going on. i leave next wednesday.” jean worked with a company that providing them with relaxing trips out of the country twice a year because they know how taxing the job can be.

“where you going this time?”

“it’s actually a cruise, going to the bahamas. i’ll be gone for two weeks tho, much longer than last time.”

“two weeks??” that caught your attention. you were used to jean and his trips but you’ve never been left alone for two weeks.

“i figured you don’t need a babysitter because you’re 18 but some people will swing by to check on you.”

“you tell—“

“yes i told mom and dad. they’ll come check on you and if you get scared just stay over there.”

“anything else i need to know?”

“nope, think that’s all. love you!” jean closed the door behind him. although it was only tuesday and he had about a week to prepare, it shouldn’t worry him about leaving you. he knew that you were a good kid, you don’t cause trouble , and you’re practically already independent apart from you living with him. so he didn’t know why he was feeling weird about all of this.

later on that day, you called tia to have your daily conversation and some interesting things were brought up.

“you said he said what now?”

“just reposting tweets n shit and relationships, talkin bout some ‘i’ll take my old bitch over a new bitch any day’” the dude in question was your ex you dated for two years until he cheated. he was your first and last boyfriend and luckily you hadn’t lost your virginity to him or else you’d be going mad even now.

“a weirdo for real. remind me why you follow him again?”

she shrugged. “to be nosy. give us something to talk about.”

“valid.”

“your brother still going on the trip thingy?”

“yeah, why?”

“just asking. don’t he always go around the same time?”

“yeah but i didn’t think you were paying attention. he’s gonna be gone for two weeks this time.”

“two weeks?? oh you’ll be dead before he gets back.”

“don’t say that! i can handle myself fine for two weeks.”

“you don’t even sound like you believe yourself. but look at the bright side,” you rolled your eyes as you already knew what would come next. “connie can come over without any interruptions and he’ll stay and keep you company, and then~” tia started clapping her hands and moaning.

you laughed. “i fucking hate you. i don’t even think about him like that, he 22.”

“so? older dick be the best dick.”

“i’m gonna hang up on you.”

“it’s okay if you wanna hang up on me to call your man.”

“i don’t have a man.”

“sure..”

next wednesday rolled around quicker than you thought and it didn’t seem real to you up until you saw your brother all packed up in suit and tie.

“why you dressed up? i thought you were going on the trip to relax.”

“there’s a meeting right before we board the plane.” you nodded as you watched your brother put on his dress shoes. “are you sure you’ll be okay? you’ll call or text if you need anything right?”

“yes, i’ll be okay. just have fun.”

“i already called everyone to let them know so some one would be there everyday to check on you. and don’t throw any parties or anything while i’m gone.”

“i’ll try not to.” you joked. but he knew you weren’t like that. the most you’d probably do is have tia sleep over or something and just the two of you do stupid shit in the comfort of your own home.

“well,” he started as you helped him load the last of his things in his car. “i love you, i’ll be back in two weeks. i’ll call and text everyday, just don’t die on me.” he laughed while he pulled you into a tight embrace

“i won’t die, promise.”

after the both of you struggled to let go, you bid him a formal farewell as you watched him back out the parking lot, “love you too, be safe!”

after all that, it was weird having the place to yourself but you’d just operate how you would normally do. the only difference was that jean wasn’t present and you had to get used to that. but as he said, over the two weeks, people came to check on you every day.

you had visits from your older stepbrother elliot snd his girlfriend, your mom, your stepdad, and even your biological dad who really just started speaking to you after your mom remarried. but family wasn’t the only people who were there for you. you had visits from sasha who you’d hang out with from time to time, and sleepovers with your friend tia. but one person you really should’ve saw coming was connie. but you didn’t know how you felt just yet.

“y/n~” you heard connie call out to you from your room but he stopped in the doorway when he made it. “your brother told me to—“

“check up on me?”

“yeah, but.. a little more than that.”

“what?”

“he gave me a key, see?” he held it up proudly but you were shocked and maybe a bit upset.

“when did he give you a key? and why?” connie walked into your room and sat at the chair by your desk.

“he wants me to check on you

everyday—“

“people do that already.”

“yeah but he wants me to check on you everyday.. for multiple times a day.”

“so i don’t have a choice.. but to see you everyday?”

“multiple times a day, yes.” he smiles. “but that makes it easier for us to get to know each other.”

“don’t you have things to do? like work or..?”

“yeah but i’ll just come here after.” you rolled your eyes. although jean suspected that connie was trying something with you, he still trusted connie to keep you safe if anything else.

“whatever.” you went back to whatever you were doing.

“right,” connie stood up to walk out the room. “and imma need your number or something.”

“to track me?”

“no, just to keep in contact with you. weirdo.” he laughed. you were the weirdo? you ended up putting your number in his phone and he put his number in yours. “i turned locations on by the way. i’ll be back, bye!” he left before you could even get on him about it.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 17: Sally

three times rielle has cried. rielle POV & character study. appearances by rielle's father, ystride de caulignont, sidurgu, and fray. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: teen 2200 words. ao3 link content warning: mentions & brief descriptions of child abuse.

The girl raises the doll high in the air, her little round fingers holding it suspended by its arms on either side.

A pastel green dress, like hers. Buttons for eyes. Yarn for hair. An endlessly toothy smile.

She smiles back and giggles. The doll’s head flops to the side, staring at her with the same joy she had when she unwrapped her only moments before. But time goes quickly for a child this young, and there is a difference between then and now. Before and after.

Before, she was perched on the windowsill of her bedroom, having pulled herself up onto the place Mama forbid her to go. She knows she could get in trouble for it—already she flinches inside just thinking about it, imagining Mama’s tall shadow on the wall, the way her face twists when she yells, how cold her fingers are when she grabs her and puts her back in her place—but some days she doesn’t care. No matter how many times Mama has said the windowsill is dangerous, that she could fall and hurt herself, the girl still climbs on it when no one is looking.

There is a world outside, a world far more interesting than the wooden toy blocks on her floor or the pages of a little book of King Thordan and his knights twelve with their glittering armour and golden lances. A world of wide green fields and clear blue skies and little pink and yellow blossoms that float in the wind. Sometimes she thinks she can see dragons dancing round the mountaintops, magical and bright. She pointed to them once, and Mama batted her hand away, telling her she should not look for such things. Dragons are a omen of the evil that lurks in near their home.

But Papa doesn’t mind. He lets her look out the window all she wants. Sometimes he sits on the sill and holds her in his lap, letting her scrunch up her face and press it to the glass. He tells her stories of dragons and Elezen long ago, before there was such a thing as war. Before there was such a thing as the evil in the woods and the secret things that go bump in the night.

That’s where she was when Papa came to visit. He sat with her by the windowsill, a sad look on his face, his hands clasped behind his back. Why did he look so sad? She can’t remember the last time she heard Papa laugh, save for these small moments when he comes to visit. He’s gone most of the time. He has a duty to Halone and to House Caulignont, you see.

“Rielle,” he said. “Sweetheart. Come away from the window.”

It’s different when he says it.

She did as he asked and waited patiently, sitting on a little stool by the hearth with her hands clasped in her lap. That’s when he gave her the box. Small, simple, wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes lit up and she could not hold back her gasp. Mama has given her gifts before—a pretty dress whose hem is now ruined (her fault, she stained it with mud), a locket with flowers engraved upon it (lost in the snow when its chain broke), a book of devotional prayers (Mama doesn’t know she moves the bookmark every day)—but not like this. She tore through the wrapping eagerly and found the doll within, smiling that joyful smile up at her.

Which brings her to now. After.

The girl swings her legs back and forth as she holds the doll, taking in her beautiful hair and her beautiful eyes and her beautiful smile. A friend, perhaps—a perfect friend for a lonely girl has little else than the warmth of her father’s fairy tales and dreams, and the cold of her mother’s pious devotion.

“What are you going to call her?” Count Caulignont asks, resting his forearms against his knees as he watches his treasured daughter with a distant smile. “All little girls need names.”

“I’m not a little girl!”

He chuckles at her fierceness. “Very well, I stand corrected. Not little. But your friend there still needs a name.”

She stares up at her father with wide, shining eyes, and grins. The name comes to her immediately and she declares it loud and proud, hugging the doll tight.

There is no more windowsill to get her in trouble. No more glass to press her face against. No more mountains or clear skies or green fields or dragons.  

And no more Papa.

That all disappeared after the sky bled red and the moon came tumbling down and an everlasting snow swept over Coerthas.

Some days she lies on her cot and bundles her blanket together and hugs it. She’s cold and shivering without it, goosepimples breaking out all over beneath her threadbare dress, but at least she can pretend there is someone else here with her. At least she can pretend she still has a friend.

The doll isn’t here anymore. Mama took it from her, a punishment for not reading her prayerbook. She finally saw through the trick with the bookmark after all these years, even though the girl has read it out of want for something to do. But it doesn’t matter how many hymns to Halone she can recite or how well she can retell the tale of King Thordan and his knights, no amount of prayer can burn a heretic’s blood from her veins. Mama was so angry that day. The doll was tucked between the girl’s arms. She seized it and pulled, expecting it to come freely, but the girl could not let go.

Her friend’s head tore clean off, stuffing falling limply to the cold stone floor in puffs like snow.

The girl wailed in the aftermath, eyes shining with tears.

“Look what you’ve done, Rielle,” Mama said, her lip curling with disgust. “Don’t cry. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just given it to me. Now who’s going to put it back together? It’s ruined.”

But the girl could only cry.

And Ystride de Caulignont sighed, exhausted by her little girl, and walked away, heels treading across the doll’s ruined remains. She slammed the door behind her and left without another word, her voice later echoing down the long stairwell to the cells as she complained to a guard about the weeping child.

The remains are still here. Bits of cloth and stuffing stuck between the flagstones, unravelled yarn twisted around her bedpost, broken buttons rolled int the corners of the cell. Sometimes the rats pick away at it, stealing another bit to carry back to their nests. She’s seen it before, at night, their yellow eyes glowing in the dark when she jolts awake. They stare at her, as if surprised they are caught in the act, then squeak squeak squeak as they scutter away across the floor.  

She knows what happened to her only friend.

She can only wonder what happened to her father. She understands more as she gets older, from conversations between the guards when they think she can’t hear her. Heretics and dragons and something in her blood. Something in her father’s blood. Some days she finds herself praying—not to Halone, but to whatever else is out there—that it will awaken and she will burst forth from this tower and tear it down.

Papa wouldn’t like that. He didn’t like violence, he didn’t like fighting. His face was too kind for that. He was a knight and he performed his duties well, right up until the day he never came back.

Was it the sky that killed him? That awful, awful day of the moon? Or did Ystride kill him, too? Pop his head clean off and leave him for the rats? She hates that she can imagine it so well, blood and all.

It’s the nightmare that haunts her when she’s asleep and shivering, when she should be dreaming of those pink and yellow blossoms she never got to see up close.

“Godsdammit, Fray, where do you think we’re going to get the gil for this?”

“A problem for later. This is a problem for now.”

“It’s only a problem because you’ve developed a frivolous streak. What happened to frugal living?”

“Call it living a little. Besides, frugality is something only Temple Knights care about, Sid. I never thought you’d be one to pick up their habits.”

“Bloody hells—”

Fray laughs and adjusts his helmet, striding faster down the street. Sidurgu curses again and stomps after him, his hulking form cutting a swath through the crowd. Not that there’s much of a crowd here. The village is small, nestled on the border between Coerthas and the Dravanian Forelands, far enough down the slope to escape the snows. She’s not sure if it even has a name. Fray and Sidurgu stand out among the locals, but no one pays attention to her. She fades into the background, unnoticed. She can pick the pink and yellow flowers from the terracotta planters without anyone yelling at her. Steal an apple from a vendor’s table. Nick a bracelet from a merchant.

“…say what you want, but she needs something.”

“She doesn’t need a doll, she’s too old for things like that.”

“How would you know what she needs? Have you ever been a little girl, Sidurgu? No? Thought not. You’re far too spikey for that. Besides, I have it on good authority that it’s not only little girls. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we all carried a stuffed animal or two well into our adult lives.”

She makes a face. I’m not little, she wants to say, but when do adults ever listen to her.

Sidurgu, meanwhile, grumbles under his breath and reaches around his horns to scratch the back of his neck. Strange to think that she was afraid of him at first. She had never seen an Au Ra before. But no matter what some Ishgardians think, he isn’t the one who is part dragon.

She’s not so sure about herself some days.

“…gods bloody well dammit—”

“Must you swear so much? Children have ears, you know.”

“And children are smarter than you think, Fray, little cursing won’t hurt her.” He sighs and shakes his head, passing a hand across his face. “Let’s split up. We’re getting nowhere.”

The girl watches as her guardians part ways, disappearing through the crowd, each assuming that she is following the other without checking. She would call them dunderheads if she could get away with it, but for now she errs on the side of caution. As nice as they have been—swearing and all—she doesn’t know them and they don’t know her. She’s simply a girl in a tower, imprisoned by monsters and rescued by knights.

Papa told her a fairy tale like that long ago.

For now, she perches on the edge of a bridge, swinging her feet back and forth as she watches the river rush below. The sun beats down, warming her neck, and the warm air is pleasant on her face. She clasps the bracelet around her wrist and dumps the flowers in her lap, poking through them as she takes a big bite out of the stolen apple. It’s sweet and juicy, far better than anything she has tasted in a long time.

“Rielle!”

She finishes her apple and tosses it away, watching it plunk into the rippling water.

“Rielle!”  

She swings her legs and plucks at a flower, pulling it apart. She scatters the blossoms into the air and watches them soar.

“RIELLE!”

The girl startles, looking up as Sidurgu runs down the bridge, armour clanking frightfully with every step. He’s gasping by the time he reaches her, either with relief or panting for breath or both.

“Bloody hells,” he rasps. “Please say something before you disappear like that.”

She blinks and rises to her feet, brushing down the front of her dress. “I thought it was all right,” she says. “You and Fray weren’t far.”

“I know, but…” He trails off, an anxious look crossing his face. “Tell us next time. Please.”  

She nods. She can do that. “What’s that behind your back?” she asks, pointing.

“I, uh…” He pauses. “It was Fray’s idea… well, mine, too. But…”

“What?”

He exhales a breath and kneels down, lowering his towering height so they can see each other eye to eye. “We thought you might like something,” he says gruffly. “A friend to keep you company on the road, wherever we might find ourselves.”

She nods again.

“I, uh… Here.” He removes the object from behind his back and presses it into her hands. Not wrapped this time. The eyes are different. The hair, too. But the smile is the same. “The woman told me its name is Sally, but I suppose you can call it whatever you like—”

The familiar name hits her like a lightning strike. With a sob, Rielle takes the doll and crushes it to her chest, hugging it as if she will never let go.

[waterlilyspad]

The Horseman's bride. chapter 1 (part 1) Calm before the storm.

I figured it out :) horary! Happy Dia De Los Muertos btw you guys!

No warnings only wholesome stuff this time.

“Stop it!” You laugh as you push away fromJason, your best friend, “No no! I need to get the perfect shot so stay still!” He laughs as he points the camera to your nose, you pout as he hits record. “You’re a piece of work alright, maybe I should be filming you.” You tease as he zooms out, you kick your sneakers as you walk down the hallway, your heels kicking into the plastic tile of the highschool floor as Jason films from behind. “Well I have to keep going, don’t move too much or else it’s gonna hurt more.” He says in a playful tone as you pause, you turn around and your sneakers squeak on the floor as you face him. “What did you say?” You ask with dread watching him as he holds the camera in front of his face. “You nearly twisted your ankle all the way round, poor thing.” He says as you march up to him something isn’t right. Approaching him you yank the camera from his face, a now headless Jason stares you on. “Now hold still.” He says with two voices overlapping, you stumble back in your dream, the tiles giving out from beneath you as you fall screaming into a dark pit, you're rudely awoken by fear.

 “AHHH!” You scream looking up only to see a man looming over you, flying out of the sheets, your arm swings to punch only to fly at nothing. The person next to you backs up with their hands up in caution. “Ahh…Oh my god, oh my god it didn’t land, It didn’t land!” You say before exclaiming, your head swings to your right as you see the headless rider from earlier now standing next to your bed his hands are up and splayed open as he speaks “Breathe, I’m not going to hurt you.” He assures as you start to feel unwell just looking at his cauterized neck peg. There really is nothing there. Not to mention that jack o lantern from earlier is now missing. He really is something, just the full body of a man without a head.

Your eyes scan him top to bottom, he’s wearing a worn tunic, the long sleeves rolled up and held in place by two pins, his arms littered with scratch marks and scars, he has high waisted brown pants held up by two gold buttons and a leather belt not of this era. Slow your eyes travel from his shoulder to across the room, your environment is warm, the morning light glowing off the old rustic shuttered windows tinted with fog and worn from the centuries, there’s a blend of wood and brick, and everything from the wooden furniture to the appliances like the stove and fireplace all seem small and quaint, it’s a kind of peace that the world has long since lost, and a treasure trove of the old, this is a very old cottage. The place manages to retain heat pretty well and thank goodness it’s usually cold this time of year. Your eyes track around the small house before landing on your sheets, scanning down and noticing the bandages lying on

the bed next to your bandaged foot, it’s been wrapped pretty well however it’s radiating with pain and it dawns on you as you lift the covers, you’ve twisted it pretty badly and the rider was in the midsts of setting your almost sideways facing foot. “Ohhh goodddd ohhh..” You groan looking away, you've always been squeamish when it comes to bodily harm so you're trying your best not to freak out, not to mention the pinnacle of body horror is standing right next to you. Slowly your eyes peep open as you look away from your foot. “W-were you helping me? With my ankle?.” You asked as the rider stayed where he was. “Yes I was, and I swear mam, I’m almost done, this won’t take much longer if you let me work on you.” He replies as you take a moment, looking over his hands, they look calloused and worn, he probably knows what he’s doing. “Okay...but I better not see you doing any funny business, or else.” You warn, even though you’re lying straight through your teeth, you know nothing about self defense, but you probably know how to kick a man in the crotch so maybe there’s some truth to your threat. “You have my word.” He says before walking to the foot of the cot and kneeling down. You refuse to look as he lifts your achilles heel gently, you then begin to hear the sound of wood clacking. “What are you?!” You say looking over as he holds some wooden sticks. “Brace for your ankle, now settle down dear and breathe.” He says as you cover your eyes, your pulse quickens as pressure around your leg grows, he’s tightly wrapping the brace, you breathe in and out with your mouth and nose, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, a headless body is just wrapping my very twisted ankle it’s fine it’s it’s fine! “It’s done.” He says standing next to you as you peek from between your fingers, the brace is secured and it isn’t as tight as your mind was telling you, and you give your leg a couple of small movements, not one inch of pain comes to you. Looking up at him you give a weary smile. “Thanks..” You say nervously as he replies “Your welcome.” 

You tap your fingers on the pillow in your lap as the rider cooks you a meal on the stove, as you watch a million questions fly through your head. Where are we? What year is it again? What was all of that from last night? Am I alive or not? You're itching to get some answers, it’s driving you nuts. “So.” You say out loud purposely looking off in the distance to avoid eye contact? Maybe his eyes are invisible. “What’s uh your name?” The rider’s body slightly turns as he lets out a chuckle. “Easy my name is…” He says before going silent, you sit there as he fails to complete the answer. “Is?” You ask as he remains quiet. “Hell…What is my name?” He says lowly as your jaw drops. “How old are you?! All of this I mean; you are from the colonial days or something right?” You ask in surprise “Yes I am, the year was 1775 when I died and-” He explained as you interjected “All that time what that like 200 years is! And you don’t remember your name?!” You exclaim as the rider turns his entire body. “I…Hell I guess not.” He answers as the room goes silent, your face is painted with bemusement, the guy can kill anything and command the demons of the forest, but not remember his own name, okay. “Okay next question, you said you died in 1774 but if the revolution was in 1776 doesn’t that make you the…The guy from the myth?” You ask as he asks “Pardon?” He asks back, “yeah, the headless horseman, you’ve got his ax and everything? You chop people’s heads off if they don’t behave on Halloween or something and disappear in the morning.” You explain as he stands silently. “Would you like me to burn your oatmeal?” He replies, turning back to the stove as you exclaim. “No! Wait, is that what you're making?! Please don’t I love oatmeal!” You beg as he laughs pouring the oatmeal into a bowl on the table. He lifts the wooden tray and brings the dish to you. “Now sit up and try not to spill any of it.” He says lowering the breakfast onto the pillow on your lap, it looks

amazing, apple slices with oatmeal. “Don’t suppose you have any sugar?” You ask as he walks back to the kitchen returning with a jar. “No sugar but I do have honey.” He says as you beam, “I love honey!” You say with enthusiasm opening the lid and spooning the glowing honey into your bowl of warm hot cereal. “Yeah I loved it too.” He says with a sigh as you pause mid bite. “Whah.” You mouth as he laughs, “Right, why would I make food if I can’t eat any of it? Well I make food for my neighbors, it’s how I keep a good rapport with the community ‘round here.” He explains as you eat another spoonful and gulp to ask another question. “That’s sweet, who are your neighbors? Wait no, hold on, am I dead or alive? Where are we? When are we?” You ask as he pulls up a small rickety chair. “Well you see I didn’t wanna tell you until you were finished but yes you're alive but you're also dead.” He explains as you look on with confusion. “Uhm okay? Did that guy get me last night or?” The rider answers almost immediately. “Audrey May you are between life and death, you are neither alive or dead, what you are now is your very soul, last night around sundown I have reason to believe your body was taken possession by a vengeful spirit, I don’t know who they are but I have a few good guesses, that “man” that chased you last night was a wraith who appeared to you as your greatest fear. What matters is that I help you back to health, we get “Married in 3 days on halloween when the barrier between earth and the inbetween open, and I help you back to your body and bring back whatever spirit has hold of you now. You may ask your questions at this time.” He says as you sit completely still trying to process all of that information as oatmeal falls off your spoon and back into the bowl. “Ah…Hold on…So someone else is in my body.” You ask “Yes.” He replies, “Currently they are inhabiting your body, what they could be planning or doing is a complete mystery but rest assured Dullahans like me have one goal.” He explains as you learn. “Yeah and that is?” You ask as he explains “To send wayward spirits to their eternal rest.” He says in a low tone as you gulp, he’s not going to send YOU to rest is he? Well he just said something about getting married so…Now hold on. “Oh my god, wait! What the fuck was this all about?!” You yell flying your hand up to his face, a ring made of crystal gleams on your finger as he sighs. “Yes, if I hadn’t taken claim of you those other creatures would have, that’s why it’s not safe for you anywhere until the day of halloween when we marry, we’ll “Elope” after the ceremony and only then will I join you outside where we’ll find your culprit.” He explains as you give hima look. “Fine I’ll play your game, but don’t think for a second I’m just gonna magically be your cute and quirky fiance, I barely know you or anything that’s going on.” You say as he crosses his large arms. “we are friends here to help-…Well I would say eachother but mostly me. So again no funny business, do we have a deal?” You say as you hold out your right hand. “Yes, we have a deal.” He laughs, extending his right hand to shake yours. As the two of you shake your eyes, catch something fluttering through the wooden beams on the ceiling. “Oh god what’s that?!” You ask about sinking into the bed.

[tarttheart]

PRECIOUS LOVE: CHAPTER 1 - JAMIE TARTT x YOU

summary: you finally tell someone.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: language, mention of pregnancy loss

-

chapter 1: my own worst enemy

It was a cold, wet spring morning in March. It was the annual day of grieving. You always took the day off work to give yourself time to sit at home and wallow. Thankfully, it fell on a weekend this year so you were free to be miserable all in your lonesome.

Or, at least you had planned to until the EPL fixtures messed up your plans.

Man City was coming down to London for a match. De Bryune was not playing. God forbid, not with his injury but he was more than happy to be around to provide some moral support. However, given he did not actually have a game to play, he found a nice gap in his schedule to catch up.

When he first told you, your mouth went instantly dry. He had been so excited, there was no way you could sour his mood by declining the invitation to hang out. But, you also knew your gig was up. You had managed to keep a somewhat neutral line of communication and not give anything away while you were away. There was no way you would be able to keep that up face-to-face. Especially not on the one day every year you had to be completely vulnerable with yourself.

You heard the buzzer and inhaled deeply, summoning whatever strength you had to at least keep up some facade for the next hour or so.

You opened the door to a beyond excited De Bryune. It was infectious and you could not help but smile back as he pulled you into the biggest hug, swinging you around. You squealed in response and laughed as he replaced you on the ground.

“Took you forever to find your way back. Did you get lost?” He joked, as he shrugged off his outerwear.

“Work was always busy,” you reasoned calmly. It was only a half lie. It had genuinely gotten hectic as you slowly climbed the corporate ladder. Too hectic for a trip back to England? Probably not. Afterall, you had managed multiple trips around Australia and Asia. But, it was as good an excuse as any.

“How is it being back? How have you been?”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged a response as you popped into your kitchen.

“Tea?” you offered, not really waiting for a response as you popped two mugs on the countertop and threw a teabag into each.

De Bryune looked at you funnily as he took a seat at your tiny dining table.

“Who sent you flowers?” Kevin asked conversationally upon spying the fresh bouquet in the corner of your kitchen.

“No one, I bought them,” you responded hesitantly.

“Oh, who are you giving them to?”

“N-no one.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow, “but you don’t buy flowers for yourself. You said before that it was sad and pathetic.”

Shoot, you forgot you had said that to him once. What he did not know was that you indulged in flowers once a year as a remembrance gift to Lemy.

You spun round, frown set firmly on your face as you replied a little defensively, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Kevin laughed, raising his hands as if he was surrendering, “yes, yes, everyone changes. You’ve become prickly,” he commented and you looked up, a little put upon at being called out.

“Am I?” you asked, trying to cover over it before asking, “How is Michele? How is everything at home?”

“Good, good. She says hi. Everyone at home is wondering when you’ll come visit. Mason and Rome want to show you their new baby brother.”

“Mmhmmm,” you paled a little at the mention of his kids. You should have known there was no way this man would not mention his clan but the last thing you needed right now was any reminders of children. Or, specifically the baby you did not have.

You turned away, busying yourself with brewing the tea. De Bryune cocked his head at your odd behaviour and waited for you to join him at the table before continuing the conversation.

“So?”

“So?” you repeated.

“How’s work been?”

You quietly sighed with relief that Kevin had moved onto what felt like a ‘safe’ topic, “good, good. Busy but good. There is so much to do now and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. Like, I’m supposed to be making some of these decisions and I don’t want to.”

You laughed a little as did he, glad to see some life in you. There was a long lull and De Bryune was slightly unsettled by how little you had to say. The friend he had would have wanted to know what every player had been up to and how they were. The friend he had would have asked about the match today. The friend he had would have asked for a detailed rundown of everything the children had been up to but there was a tension in the air that was palpable and told him that none of these topics were safe for you.

“What’s going on?” He tried again as you fidgeted endlessly with your mug.

“Nothing,” you responded, furrowing your brows. You looked up at De Bryune, stubbornly trying to prove your point but it only proved his when he saw how dull your eyes were. You looked like a shell of your warm and vibrant self.

“What?”

Oops. He might have said that last but out loud.

“You just look like a shell of yourself. What is going on?”

“Nothing,” you answered again, unconvincingly.

“Why do you keep lying to me?”

“I’m no—“ you started but De Bryune’s stern look stopped you mid-sentence.

“I’ve known you since you were 9. Why do you think I wouldn’t know? You sound like you’re lying to stay out of trouble but you’re not in trouble? Not with me, at least. You know, I’m always here for you, to help you. And if not me, you can also lean on Michele.”

You opened your mouth and then closed it again because you could not find the right words. So many years of running, so much time spent alienating them and here Kevin was treating you with such grace and love. You did not deserve this. You hung your head and you could hear him shuffle.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’ll get out of your hair if that’s what you need right now.”

You felt your lower jaw slacken. It was not that you wanted to push him away, you just found it easier than talking. But if not now with Kevin, when would you ever be ready to talk?

“I was pregnant,” you mumbled quietly to yourself, more as practice at sounding the words out than anything else. The words felt weird coming from your mouth.

“What?” Kevin asked. Maybe he heard wrong.

You looked up, tears in your eyes as you repeated yourself. Your voice was shaky but the words were clear as day when you spoke, “I was pregnant.”

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