#only to wake up and see my queue empty

[emsgwenstan]

I need you when I sleep.

Larissa Weems x fem reader. (Angst)

Words: idk like less than 1k? It’s short and sweet.

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of blood and abuse

Note: I really couldn’t be bothered to continue, kinda angsty. (Italics are for the nightmare.)

———

They were taking her, I don’t know who, I don’t know where, but what I did know is that whoever they are dragged Larissa away and they were going to hurt her. I couldn’t move, practically paralysed, I could only scream out to her, I could only plead for them to take me and let her free, but nothing I did could stop the inevitable.

I don’t understand what they want with her, hasn’t she suffered enough? It feels the same as when I found her lying on the cold stone almost lifeless after laurels attack.

I couldn’t bear to have her taken away from me again, the rage accumulated in my veins seemed to take its toll as I retracted enough to completely rip out of their grasp and one by one I slaughtered every one of them with my bare hands, ripping, pulling, scratching and gouging, yet when I ran to her she wasn’t getting any closer, she was so close but not enough for my reach.

Hoards of people came to drag us further apart and I wasn’t strong enough to fight against them all, so slowly, ever so painfully, I watched as they beat her and ripped at her clothes, I saw the way her blood trickled down her face and blemished her porcelain skin. I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat was raw and stinging. The light and the string of life was barely hanging on by a thread as I saw her tired body no longer struggling.

———

Larissa paced back towards her quarters after sneaking down to the staff room to nick a tea bag and make a hot tea for herself, the insomnia finding hilarity in her drowsy state, she sat in the room scrolling through her phone until the cup was empty, then headed back to her quarters.

However the halls weren’t very quiet for 2:30 in the morning. She could hear yelling that became screaming quickly in the span of 30 seconds, she started to walk faster than turned jogging to the noise, she realised that it was coming from my room, she rapidly knocked on the door but with no answer or pause in the distress she pulled out her keys fumbling to find the master that opens all the doors.

Finally she found it slotting it in the key hole and ripping open the door, the room was dimly lit by a singe candle and the red alarm clocks numbers, she could see my thrashing silhouette in the sheets of my bed and ran to sit on the side of my mattress, Larissa grabbed my sheets and pulled them away for better access. “Shhh darling, you’re alright, come on wake up sweetheart.” She said trying to coax me out of the state. She dragged my body to lay in her lap and gently shake me awake. “No don’t!” I yelled. “Wake up honey! Come on.” She demanded. “Don’t hurt her please!” I screamed. “WAKE UP!” She yelled.

A gasp filled my lungs finally being jerked away from the terror, I looked up to see Larissa’s troubled expression, my body was shaking and exhausted. “Rissa, you’re alright…” I hummed my eyelids blinking slowly. “I’m ok? Y/n…?” Larissa curled her knees up, sat on her hip and elbow peering down at me concerned stroking the sweaty hair from my forehead. “Oh thank goodness.” I sniffed, tears rolling down to temples and into my hair. “You can’t leave me again, you can’t die.” I mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m right here I’m not going anywhere, it was just a very bad dream.” She said cupping my cheek.

After a few minutes I had fallen back to sleep, this was Larissa’s queue to carefully hop off the bed and fetch a cool washcloth from my ensuite to pat down my hot sweat ridden face, neck and shoulders. Gently she folded the cloth and wiped carefully until I lulled awake again. “Please don’t leave.” I whispered with my eyes peeling open just a fraction. “I’m not going anywhere darling.” She lowly spoke back, with my eyes closed again and my hand wrapped around her wrist I said. “I love you, Larissa.” Her eyes widen slightly and her movements are relinquished. Before she could respond I was asleep again.

Larissa discarded the cloth, toed off her flats and removed her floor length robe to get in the bed with me. She didn’t care about keeping her propriety, she didn’t even think twice about how inappropriate it is to share a bed with her employee, because that’s not what I was to her, since the day of her near death Larissa vowed to herself that she would not push me or others away to keep her feelings safe, because if she had in fact died that night what would she have to show for it, no family, no lover, just a home and position she’d leave behind.

Comfortably rested in the sheets Larissa pulls my body closer to hers and ever so softly, she lifts my head to remove the hair from my neck tossing it up against the pillow and guide my neck into the inside of her bicep. Her brows are deeply creased due to the concern, but the longer she looks at my sleeping form it softens, her tense muscles relax, her mind slowly coming to ease. “I love you too, my sweet darling girl.” She whispered, hesitantly she placed a light kiss to my cheek, then finally falling asleep herself.

———

As I rolled over, I noticed that I could feel a dip in the mattress and warmth radiating from right beside me, Larissa. My heart starts racing at the prospect of the woman I love in my bed, asleep in all her glory, my eyes meet her glistening porcelain skin thats illuminated by the streak of sunlight casting over her face from the unclosed curtains. She’s bare of any make up, her usual blood red lips are a soft pink, the scar more evident and more beautiful that wonderfully taints her soft feature, her eyelashes a light blonde completely contrasting to the cobalt blue eyeliner and mascara.

In a moment of confusion I found myself staring at her so intensely that I hadn’t realised she had woken, her eyes fluttering open adjusting to the bright light. “Morning sweetheart.” She said, her voice is deep and laced with sleep, I could feel it vibrate from her chest. “Hi…” I said softly. “Are you feeling alright?” She asked shifting her head out of the sun and onto the pillow I occupied. “I’m fine… what exactly are you doing here?” I asked sheepishly. “You don’t remember?” She asked, her brows furrowing. “I’m afraid not.” I mumbled. Larissa took a big inhale of breath through her nose and stretched her long limbs, as she did so the strap of her silky tan nightgown slipped down her shoulder.

“Early this morning, you were screaming. You had a nightmare and I came in to wake you, it was quite terrifying, I thought you wouldn’t wake… but, you asked me to stay.” She said, her reasons seemed valid, it’s easy to believe the nightmare part especially. “I don’t remember it-… wait.” The memory of the nightmare hit me like a bus, I hadn’t realised I’d been screaming in reality. “Yes, yeah I do actually, it was me and you-… it was awful.” I huffed, I extended my hand and pulled up her strap as if were stoping me from focusing. “I apologise, for the noise, particularly things I might have said… what else did I say?” I asked, pulling the braid from behind her shoulder to trace the pattern in her hair, unconsciously not seeing how intimate this is.

“A few things… you asked for me not to leave you, you were worried I was going to die… tell me, how long have you been having these nightmares?” She asked, tucking the hair in my eyes behind my ear, away from my face. “Since you were attacked. I’ve never been able to get the picture out of my head.” I said. “What do you mean? you saw me?” She asked confused. “Who do you think found you Larissa?” I asked looking directly into her eyes. “I took you to the hospital, I stayed with you every night, every morning, every waking moment of every day, I couldn’t bear for you to be or feel alone.” I said slightly ashamed of how invasive it sounds. “You what?” She asked propping herself on her elbow. “I’m sorry… I was just worried sick, I thought that… never mind.” I said sitting up letting the blanket fall down onto my lap as I covered my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes until I could see kaleidoscopic patterns.

A silence filled the air until it was broken by a whisper. “You said something else last night.” I removed my hand and rapidly blinked for my eyes to readjust. “What?” I asked matching her tone. “You said…” she started, sitting up to be face to face with me. “That you love me… Is that true?” She asked with hopeful eyes. “Yes.” I responded without hesitation. “I thought I would never have been able to tell you that… that I love you, that’s why I was so afraid when you were almost taken away from me… I understand that you don’t feel the same but there’s no sense in denying it, because I do, I love you, so much, and I’m constantly in torment when I sleep because I’m so scared you won’t be with me anymore.” I breathed starting to cry.

Larissa had tears rolling down her cheeks before I finished the statement, she didn’t respond with words, but I knew I was wrong by saying she didn’t feel the same when she took my face in her hands and kissed me gently. “I love you.” She whispered on my lips. “I love you.” She said again. “I need you too.” She said with her lips pressed to mine. Her hands traveled into my hair and my own raised to her neck. Everything felt like it was falling into place.

@sabraaabra @barbarasstar @readingtheentrails

[alexcutecolly]

The Tenor

Greatly inspired by that anon asking about preds putting on a musical number before eating their prey, I wrote this short story!

Warnings: some cursing, fearplay, unwilling g/t vore, uncaring pred.

Mainly NSFW vore accounts DNI!!

Words: ~2.1k

°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

Your head feels heavy as you start regaining consciousness, your vision all blurred and confusing before your eyes focus on your surroundings.

“Mhhh?”

W…where am I?

It looks like you’re in the backstage of a massive theater. No kidding, every single equipment around you is gigantic compared to your size. The curtains are still closed, and the dark engulfs everything. The only exception being a single, big reflector casting its beacon of light before you.

Looking down, you realize you’re all tied up to a chair of your own scale.

“Uh???” You can’t move an inch, and any attempt at budging is vain; plus you can feel the ropes almost digging into your sitting form.

W… what happened? I was waiting in a queue to buy a ticket for Mr. Biggs’ next performance-

“Is… anyone there?” you call out, your voice resounding in the seemingly empty room.

“Oh! There you are! It took you longer that I thought to wake up!” a booming voice breaks the eerie silence, coming from above but behind you.

“U-uh?”

This voice-

“The Titanic Tenor…? Mr. … Mr. Biggs? Is… Is that you?”

He chuckles, moving from his previous position to face you.

“That is me indeed~”

“Mr. Biggs, w-what’s going on? Is… is this a joke?” you ask him, doing your best not to make a puppy-eyed face as you look straight at him.

“Oh, not at all! You see… you’ve been randomly picked for an unique, extraordinary event involving the one and only me!” he exclaims, putting his arms out with theatrical emphasis.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Ooookaaaay…? Aaaaand… Why does it require me to be bound to a chair, in dim light, in the backstage?” you question him, wriggling a bit in place.

“Oh it’s rather simple.” He grins menacingly.

“I’ll give you 60 seconds to escape. If you don’t make it, I’m going to eat you. How’s that sound?”

“W-WHAT-“

“I won’t repeat myself. The ropes are tight. I’m just sure you’ll come up with something” he says, keeping the same excited grin.

“But- this is absurd!!”

“Oh yeah it is! Absurd, that I haven’t done this before!”

You gulp nervously.

“And in the meantime, allow me to perform a cavatina dedicated to your despair only. It should last for the perfect amount of time as well.”

“B-but wait! Why do you want to eat me? I’m just a random spectator from your usual audience! Also… Aren’t tenors supposed to play the heroes, the good guys in operas? Not that we’re in a play right now but-“

“First of all. Although you’re technically right, there are some interesting exceptions in 19th century plays where the tenor plays the bad guy, and the main male protagonist/hero is played by a baritone. Just check out Giuseppe Verdi’s ‘Rigoletto’, so you’ll know what I’m talking about” he responds, moving his hand in the air as to shoo your doubts away.

“And for the reason why I’m so eager to make a meal out of you… Why can’t I? Shouldn’t I enjoy a snack every once in a while?”

“You can’t be serious-“

“Ta-ta, less complaining and more working on those ropes, or the only symphony you’re going to be listening to in a minute will be my belly’s. C’mon, the play is starting!”

“Just wait-!”

“Oooooh~ oh my dear preeeeey~

You should’ve walked awayyyy~

From the moment you feeelt

Your impending dooooom~”

The giant tenor is ignoring you now, his back turned to you as he starts to sing his malicious song.

Great, just great. You sigh.

So you begin wriggling and struggling, with your hands doing their best to release your wrists first.

Shit, he wasn’t lying about the ropes being tight, you think with a grunt.

“… And whaaaaat

are you going to doooo

once you’re all settleeed

inside my guuuut~… ”

Ugh, shut up.

His eyes meet yours, when he turns around as he continues with his mocking cavatina. He licks his lips for just a moment, causing you to flinch and look away from him.

Clenching your teeth, you feel a small wind of relief when you finally manage to untie one of the knots. The ropes feel a little loosened now. You don’t stop, and keep insisting on the other knots. Thankfully, it seems there’s only one remaining.

“… 20 seconds… is all that’s leeeeft~

Before you’re plunged

Down into my chest~…”

You curse under your breath, your sore fingers now attempting to undo what remains of the thread binding you to the chair. It’s all been wrapped around you, which makes it even harder to make it come off.

Eventually, you pull the rope and it finally releases you from your sitting position, and that’s when you toss it away and run for your life.

But that’s when you realize…

Wait… I’m not on the ground! He placed me on a fucking table!! Or… Is it a… stage?

“Was… was there not an escape route the entire time?” you ask yourself, horrified at coming at your conclusion.

“Nonono, there has to be one-”

“Oh my dear prey~

Your time is uuup~

And now you will be

Miiiiiine~”

He lets out the last word with a nice, prolonged High C before approaching, rubbing his hands together at your sight.

“Wait, nonono, I refuse to be eaten!” you say, standing up to him with your fists clenched.

“Oh c’mon sweetheart, you’ve had your chance. Now, give up and accept it.”

“’My chance’ your ass, you’ve tricked me! You made me believe I could run away in safety, but… How was I supposed to get down from here?” With a stern look you point at the edge of the table, which is at least 3 feet in giant size.

The tenor sighs. “Gorgeous. The actors aren’t supposed to leave the stage until the curtains are pulled! Don’t you know that?”

“B-but… we’re not in a play right now.”

“Says who?” the opera singer asks rhetorically, grinning from ear to ear.

!!!!

“Y-you didn’t correct me before! When I said the same thing!”

“I didn’t, yeah. Aren’t you happy, though? You’ve been promoted from mere spectator to main acting role!”

“A-as if this is what I was waiting in line for! I’m- I’m done with your stupid game!”

“Oh yeah sure, feel free to complain to the big boss if you’d like, then! And that is…”

He does a little twirl, turning around before doing a theatrical pose with his arms stretched out wide.

“ME!”

“…”

You have nothing else to say. The situation is already crazy enough for your understanding. Plus it feels so demeaning, it’s like your mind is detaching itself from your body.

“Anyhow, I hope you’ll behave now. Because…”

He leans forward with the usual wicked smile plastered on his face. You instinctively take a step back in fear, looking up to the famished giant.

“You’re going to be the spotlight of my lunch.”

You shake your head. “N-no please! Have mercy!!”

“And I will! Plus it’s not like you’re going to die, you silly goose!” he says loudly, reaching out towards you with his large hand.

You almost dodge his fingers, but they manage to grab the back of your jacket at the very last second. And so you’re lifted up in the air, wriggling in the caging fist of your captor.

“Ha-have you taken into account the fact that maybe I just don’t want to be eaten by you?” you wheeze out as you attempt to free yourself from his grip.

“Oh, I have. I just decided not to care.”

He raises you above his head, his lips slowly parting to reveal the teeth and the inside of the maw.

You shake your head again, as to wake yourself up from this terrible dream. But when reality sinks in, all left for you to do is a desperate attempt at reaching for the fingers that are holding you up in the air.

Though Mr. Biggs doesn’t waste any more time, and he drops you right into the wide, very welcoming opening below.

Letting out a scream, you land right onto his spongy tongue. Covered in saliva already, you cough and immediately try to slip away towards the front, but the giant keeps you in place by pressing you even more into his taste buds with his index.

“MMMMMM!!~” the tenor hums loudly, rubbing your body up and down to get more and more of your peculiar flavor. And you must taste amazing, because more and more pools of saliva are accumulating fast all around you.

After a while though, he retracts the finger to close his mouth and seal you inside. As soon as the light goes out, the muscle underneath you pins you to the palate, unperturbed by your struggling; and as if it wasn’t enough, it brushes against you tirelessly to gather even more of your taste.

In the end, there’s nothing that doesn’t make you feel like you’re being sucked onto like a tiny piece of candy.

On the outside, the giant can barely contain his appetite. Oh, to have a feisty snack like you before any of his shows!

Once he’s grown tired of having you stuck to the roof of his mouth, he starts swirling you around, moving you from cheek to cheek. His continued humming makes the whole damp cave vibrate, which you’d find even soothing in a totally different situation. And it only gets worse when he picks up the snarky song he was singing before, his purring another way to taunt his poor victim.

Having fun with your part, morsel? I can keep going for as much as I like-

All of a sudden the alarm on Mr. Biggs’ watch goes off, reminding him of the incoming performance.

Humpf. Nevermind, I guess. Almost forgot about that, he huffs, quite annoyed to interrupt his vicious snacking.

Welp. Every story must come to an end, sooner or later, after all. What really matters is enjoying the ride, right~?

And that’s when he begins to tilt his head back.

In the inside of his maw everything shifts incredibly fast. Not that it has was all peaceful up until this moment, but if you were laying horizontally on his tongue just a few seconds ago, now you’re sliding straight towards a new dark chasm- his throat.

“N-no, wait!! D-don’t swallow!!” you shout, wiggling and doing the best way you can to hold onto something- anything-, that prevents you from falling into the bottomless pit in the back.

But with all the fleshy interiors coated in saliva, your hands hopelessness slip, slip and slip. So you what you actually manage to accomplish, is to just stare as you pass through the hellish gate and go down the hatch.

*GLK~*

The tenor gently presses his big hand to his neck as he feels you travel down, deeper and deeper inside of him until you disappear behind his collarbone.

“Mmmmm, I needed that~ some entertainment before the great show, you know?” he speaks, as if you could actually listen to him.

The descend towards his stomach is tight. So so tight. It’s giving you claustrophobia. The heat is unbearable, and you’re not even in the main chamber yet. His heart is hammering somewhere very close to you, undeterred to your despair. And when you’re finally released in the stomach, it feels like your troubles are over for the moment.

If Mr. Biggs is true to his word, you’re going to be safe. For a while, at least.

…

Hopefully.

“Aaaah~ That hit the spot~” Mr. Biggs sighs, feeling your small but filling presence inside his belly. He smirks at your puny wriggling, rubbing your spot with more glee than annoyance.

“Mmmmm, don’t be shy and struggle more if you’d like~” he says, poking his middle again in hope to get more active reactions from you.

“In the meantime, the rest of the audience is waiting for me for the real play! Make yourself at home, you’re definitely not coming out for the next few hours~” he says, chuckling to himself.

Before going back to his dressing room though, he gathers the tiny chair and the discarded thread from the stage - more like a table to him - ‘borrowed’ from the non-giant singers and musicians. Thankfully nobody has walked in during the events that have just transpired, or that’d have been pretty weird - if not embarrassing - to explain.

Oh well, you think, getting more comfortable as you crawl up to the nearest stomach wall to lay against it. Your eyes growing heavier from exhaustion and the excruciating warmth.

At least I’ve got front row seats to a free performance.

[oddygaul]

Avatar: The Way of Water

You know, not that I have any particular faith that this series will make anything of it, but The Way of Water actually raises some interesting questions about the way consciousness and the transfer of self work in the Avatar universe.

My first watch, I treated Recom Quaritch as just an excuse to bring back the most charismatic antagonist the series had – that he was more or less the same one-dimensional character as before, with a quick handwave for how his return was possible. But they’re honestly doing more than that with his writing. This isn’t Quaritch back from the dead with a new lease on life; his “I am not that man” speech to Spider is not a shirking of responsibility, and his iconic skull crushing scene is not an uncaring show of stoicism. 

Recom Quaritch is terrified. 

When he sees Neytiri’s arrows, he is experiencing primal fear. When he sees Spider, left behind alone on an alien world, he regrets the callousness of his former self. He sees where Quaritch’s bravado led him, sees what the end result of his mistakes was, and decides to firmly reject that he’s the same person as the original. He has Quaritch’s memories in his mind, but he doesn’t feel they belong to him. When he crushes Quaritch’s skull, it represents a refusal to honor the man the RDA assumes him to be: Recom Quaritch is his own man, and he will make his own choices about his future.

I always appreciate it when sci-fi takes this approach towards ‘revival’ via a backed-up consciousness. A lot of my favorites explore its implications – the Culture books, for example, dive deep into the drawbacks of a backup-based system – but all too often, they’re glossed over and treated as a magical solution to death and danger.

I don’t care how thorough and precise your backup is, unless there’s some instantaneous, streaming consciousness-transferring device, if you die and your backup is placed in a new body, that is NOT you. Sure, to everyone else, it might as well be: as far as they can tell, you look and act the same as you always have. But YOU, your stream of consciousness, your awareness, the ongoing perception of the world that defines your life – that has ended, and no amount of backups can bring that back. It only makes sense that the revived’s sense of personhood might be drastically different.

It’s an interesting pivot, because the original Avatar sorta takes for granted the functionally seamless transfer of consciousness used in the Avatar system. Via the link unit, one’s mind can be ping-ponged back and forth between a human and Na’vi body as much as you want, in real-time, with only the sensation of waking up from a nap to show anything changed. Jake’s permanent transfer into his Na’vi body at the end works the same way, just using a big tree instead of the science tube: he simply closes his eyes as a human, and wakes up in his new body like nothing ever happened. The societal implications of this technology are staggering – people could functionally live forever by growing new bodies and instantly transferring over, for example – but it's used only as a plot contrivance.

That is to say, the first Avatar is fully disinterested in exploring the potential nuance of these ideas, and much more focused on really hammering home its comparisons between technology and the natural world; they want you to be thinking about the contrast between the Na’vi queues and the human link units, not some fiddly philosophical quandary. Still, now that The Way of Water has raised these questions, it would be cool if the future sequels – maybe the one set on Earth? – dig a little more into the horror inherent in recreating the minds of the dead.

Being in this headspace for this watch also made me realize how fucked it is to have an Avatar after the human it’s based on has died. In The Way of Water, we see Grace’s Avatar body, and it’s… well, it’s still there. It’s alive, submerged, and kicking… just with no mind inside, empty, a bespoke vessel made for one soul that just doesn’t exist anymore. Brutal.

—

Other thoughts:

The first Avatar relies on its adventure setpieces – Jake’s first bond with the ikran, the montages of running through Pandora by night – more than its action setpieces, which themselves are like, aight. Way of Water’s action, by contrast, legit kicks fucking ass start to finish. Consider:

-the slow-mo train derailing -the Metkayina ducking in and out of the water to avoid gunfire then leaping out to spear RDA chumps -the speedboats, crab mechs, and assault subs, all of which are infinitely more fun than Avatar’s clunky mechs, and the spectacular flips they do as they bounce across the surface of the ocean to explode on nearby rocks -the big whale doing straight-up Action Hero shit -Neytiri shooting a guy through another guy

Seriously, it’s killer. As someone that considers themselves fairly weary of fight scenes these days – so much of it is just noise with no art – I remain impressed after a rewatch.

[kxxkiecxre]

ʚ✟⃛ɞ LANGUAGE || J.J.K ʚ✟⃛ɞ

PAIRING: Jungkook X reader.

SUMMARY: forgive and forget… with a little dick on the side of course to make up for it.

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, a lot of titty talk, a lot of hickeys, Jungkook has a big dick 🫣, so much kissing, Yeji is literally in the other room???, overstimulation cause purrrr, biting… I think that’s it? Lol

GENRE: best friends brother au.

Unedited because I bitch couldn’t be bothered… tbf tho I did edit a small bit but I hate editing so 🤭

WC: 5.3k

PREVIOUSLY… NEXT…

JUST LIKE many other people that surrounded you at the shop, you were tired, aching and internally screaming as you approached the lengthy queue, hoping to god another till opens up so you can get out of here as fast as possible and get home take a shower and sleep.

It’s been quite in the recent five months that you’ve last spoken to Jungkook, and like any good friends you and Yeji still hang out and talk. Which proved to be a little harder at first then you expected, but to your luck Jungkook has left for a match in America a couple days ago, so you and Yeji get to finally have a much needed sleepover at her place.

Rolling your neck around and trying your best to not fall asleep in the middle of the shop. As if to wake you up, a shopping cart bumps into you, and you whip around to look at the culprit, only to find two tiny hands holding onto the bar.

“Oh sorry!” The kid mumbles cutely, a floppy mess of hair on top of his head.

“Where’s your dad handsome?” You questioned, finally meeting the babies eyes, warm gentle and sweet.

“He said he’ll be back in two seconds” he smiled cutely, “and I’m five today!”

“Oh wow you’re five? Well happy birthday buddy” you smile just as you see his dad, a drop dead gorgeous man, approach.

“Thank you” he chuckles happily.

“I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t cause too much trouble” his dad, a tall beautiful Angel apologies.

Almost like you’re in a trance you softly say, “he’s a sweet kid, I don’t think you have to worry about him causing trouble”.

“Dad, can I ask her name?” The kid asks as his dad lifts him up in his arms.

“Well that depends if the lady will tell you her name.” He shrugs chuckling.

“I’m Y/N, what about you?”

“My name is roowon and this is my dad Seokjin!” He announces proudly.

“Nice to meet you guys!” You coo at him as he gives the sweetest smile to you.

Within small talk you exchanged numbers with Seokjin, promising to have dinner together as soon as both of your schedules clear up. And however much you may like about Seokjin, whose divorced from his wife for a year now, you can’t seem to stop thinking about someone who wasn’t even yours in the first place or the pain that comes with it.

Finding comfort in the warmth of your house did very little, and as much as you like the taste of your favourite wine, you know it won’t suffice the emptiness within you. Not even in a million years, but it does the job of keeping you calm.

However it doesn’t stop you from calling Jimin, and don’t get it wrong the sex is amazing, and Jimin is great. He’s apologised for what went down, and choosing pleasure over pain was too good to let go. You’re not one to hold grudges anyway, you’d rather forgive and forget.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what you needed, what you craved for. It wasn’t what you knew would settle the pain. And you felt awful about it, because Jimin was more than understanding as he laid beside you. Any woman would be lucky to have him, he’s a great person. The perfect guy even. The thing about you though, is you don’t fancy perfect. You like the waves that come with life, you adapted to that life. It’s all you know, since forever.

And life is just that, wavy, rocky and unsettled. But it’s comforting, it’s home. And Jimin… Jimin deserves better than that, he deserved someone as loving and perfect like him. He’s an Angel, an Angel you haven’t yet grown to appreciate. Which is ridiculous. Laughable. Stupid, even. Because any other sensible woman would ground him, marry him in a heart beat, and perhaps in another life you could see yourself with him. Having a family and a loving home, but at this moment? I’m this life? You don’t even know what the true meaning of a loving home is. You just don’t.

You’ve never had the comfort of your mothers embrace, or the comfort of your fathers protection. You’ve only ever had yourself. When you were little you’d cry yourself to sleep, you’d hug your own little body and comfort yourself the way your parents couldn’t. You didn’t have anyone to care for you, to worry about your late returns home on a night out. Your parents didn’t even have your number saved in their phone. They just didn’t care.

From a young age, you learned to fend for yourself. Cook, clean, and eventually make money to afford the things you needed, the things your own parents couldn’t provide.

The only thing you do remember, is the beatings, the way your skin would burn with every slap, whip and hit. The way you eventually stopped crying for them to stop, or the way your teenage self would wash away the blood or cover up the bruises. You knew all about that. You knew all too well how the rage in your fathers eyes was the only sense of comfort or attention you’ve ever gotten from him, the way your mother would grab onto your skin and dig her nails in, the way she’d scream and insult you and wish upon your death, that was the only touch of ‘love’ you’ve ever expected from her, the only attention you’ve ever received from them was just that, abuse. Neglect and pain.

Feeling loved, cared about and needed was more than welcome, but it was also more than strange. So maybe it wasn’t understandable, why you’d get slightly uncomfortable when someone would show you love, or kindness, and why you pushed away the people closest to you when they cared and worried about you because you never actually knew what it was before, so you weren’t used to it, so you pushed them away.

It’s bizarre how you want to love someone, to care and worry about them, yet don’t know how to feel about that being returned to you. You don’t know.

You carry the scars well though, they’re fairly easy to cover up and pretend like you’ve had the most general upbringing known to humanity. It’s, amazing.

Tiredness takes over you, and you finally fall asleep. Jimin watched the calmness on your face, covering you with the blanket more and exhaling. He knew about everything, he knew. He’s seen it too, maybe that’s why he knows you so well, he kisses your forehead before leaving your apartment and leaving a note.

The difficulty of waking up in the morning never gets easier, especially when you expected a warm body next to you, except to find it empty and cold. Confusion taking over your face as you roll out of bed, throwing on whatever first lands in your hands.

Your concern gets even worse when you notice the small letter on your kitchen counter, labelled Jimin.

You know better than to continue wasting time, I know you can never love me the way I’ve loved you for years, but within these years, I’ve learned that our souls are intertwined anyway, because I know exactly what you need, what you crave and what hurts you. I know it all in an instant. It’s almost like my body needs it too, and right the second I met him, I knew. I knew you were madly in love with him, I knew then, I had no chance. So within my frustration, I drank, far too much and let my mouth run. I am sorry. I know I apologised already, but I truly am sorry. You didn’t deserve it. I’ll move on eventually, I’ll learn to love someone else, like I’ve learned to keep your eyes staring into mine somewhere In the back of my mind, like I’ve learned to desensitise the scent of your hair away from my senses, or the need to feel your soft skin against my fingers. I’ve learned to love you from a distance, to care and appreciate you as much as I can because I knew that eventually, you’d fell in love with someone, that someone not being me was hard to accept at first, but it got easier. But stop the pettiness, fix the mess and go to him, you deserve love. You deserve to be happy, so be just that.

Happy,

Jimin.

That was absolutely not what you expected first thing in the morning, or the tears in your eyes. Or the guilt your body felt knowing you were unintentionally hurting Jimin. You wish it was easier. Easier to learn to love someone you don’t crave in that way. Easier to make yourself fall in love with someone who deserves you. You wish it was easy.

But nothing in life comes easy.

No, every step and breathe you take comes with effort. With every take want and need, you have to give. For the basic essentials and human life, you have to work. All day, all night, all life. Eternally. Everything has to be earned, because nothing. Absolutely nothing, comes free.

Work. Most of the time you hate it, but recently, it’s become your favourite place. You can take your mind off of everything going on in your life, invoke your mind with something else other than him. The person who so cruelly cut a hole in your heart and stole it, put it in his pocket and let it rot. How inhumane.

The bustle of the busy streets of Seoul always comforted you in some type of way. The many lights and many different people, styles and aesthetics made you feel alive, safe and not alone in this big city. It was easy to lose yourself once you were in it, but living here for half your life proved to help you out in some way.

“Mr. Kim wants you in his office.. pronto” Hoseok hands you your coffee, clicking number 9 on the elevator and you roll your eyes.

“I swear to almighty Jesus if he just wants to stare at me for five minutes and then ask me to order him lunch I will literally murder him with my hands” you grumble, obviously not amused.

“I don’t think that’s it…” he mumbles.

Sighing you walk out in a rush once the elevator dings, nodding a thank you to Hobi for getting you the much needed coffee. Preparing yourself for anything and everything outside of Kim’s office you finally enter the door, where he stands in almighty glory, looking good as ever.

“Y/N, please take a seat” he says, and you do, sitting in front of his desk and reading the name tag ‘CEO Kim Taehyung’ in pure awkwardness as he stares at you and then a letter.

“You need a break,” he takes a sip of his coffee as if the words he just said hurt him deeply, “take it and go before I throw a fit”

Shocked and taken a back you begin to protest, “hold on, Taehyung, no”.

“It’s Mr.Kim at work dumbass, now go before I literally slap you”

“But-“

“No but’s, unless we are talking about the other type of butts” he smirks chuckling.

“Tae are you pulling a prank on me?”

“Y/NNNAAAH, be professional and call me Mr.Kim” he whines dramatically.

“Shut up before I kick you in the balls,” you grumble, “why?”

“Because you’ve worked hard and as your only other male best friend aside from Hoseok, I am adamant on you getting a break before the bags under your eyes sue me”

“Oh don’t be dramatic,” you stand from your chair scoffing, “I’m fine, now let me get back to work”

“No can do workacholic,” he sets his mug on the table, “it’s home or the security guard will kick you out… or I’ll fire you.”

Shocked and gasping quite dramatically you say, “you would never.”

“Wanna find out?” He continues threatening.

“Kim Taehyung wait till I tell your father how manipulative you are” you practically growl at him as he pushes you other the door, and before he can take his hand away from your shoulder you bite him as hard as you can.

Flinching and gasping he looks flabbergasted as you straighten your back and sway your hips on the way out, “you are insane Y/N, INSANE” he yells after you.

At the elevator, once again, you ponder what to do now. Work was like your best distraction every since everything went down, Tae did a good job helping you mould yourself together and not to mention how considerate and sweet he was during that time. Taehyung’s wife was just a replica of him, except even better because she was a woman, and understood certain matters better than him.

Regardless, you sighed, opening your messages app and clicking onto Seokjin’s contact, messaging him a short “hey, off work for a couple days, want to have dinner soon?” And locked your phone again when the elevator reached third floor.

“Jung Hoseok, you dirty little cheating work husband, I will grab your balls and tie them in a knot the next time you choose to lie to me” you squint your eyes at him as you sit at the edge of his desk, watching as he gulps a little.

“I can explain,” he offers.

“No need, tell Yoongs to leave me a free space in a couple days hmm?”

“Can’t you ring him yourself-“

“He’s your roommate Jung, please he’ll listen to you more because you’re like number one best friends brothers thingy” you sigh rolling your neck around to release the gas that’s stuck.

“You’re so sly sometimes babe” he kissed his teeth as he leaned back into his chair.

“Mmm wonder where I got that from huh?”

Rolling his eyes with a small chuckle, he runs a hand through his dark hair, “you’re lucky I love you”

“On the contrary, you’re lucky I love you” you smiled.

“Besides, why do you need yoongi?”

Silence, dead silence fell into the atmosphere and Hobi figured you out in less than three seconds, “really?”

You nodded, biting your lip “a tattoo? I mean are you sure? Like that’s permanent?”

“Hoseok I know what a tattoo is” you dead pan, “I’ve been thinking of getting one for awhile anyway…”

His eyes turn worried for a minute, as he very gently speaks, “and you’re not just acting out because of you know….. Jungkook?”

Blinking you scoff, “you’re threading on thin ice Jung,” you get off his desk, leaning over him as you stare him dead in the eyes, face too close for comfort, “no man could make me do anything.”

Once you’re a safe distance from him, he lets out a breath shuddering a little, “do you forget I am a man sometimes?”

“No,” you smile sweetly, “I love watching you squirm because of me babe”

“I’m gonna divorce you”

“Awe too bad love, work couples can’t divorce.”

“Aren’t you suppose to be going home? Should I get Taehyung?”

Mouth falling open your eyes turn into slits and Hoseok prepares himself for the mouth full he’s about to get, “I will bite you and him. I won’t hesitate Jung Hoseok, besides keep messing with me and I’ll quit, no more seeing me no more free coffee and homemade lunch bitch” you walk away with a scoff.

Hoseok rushes towards you, desperately trying to catch up, “please not the homemade lunch,”

“Pfft, good luck sucker, he’s given me a week off” you stick your tongue out like a child once the elevator dings and the doors close.

“I’ve got both because I didn’t know what to choose” you mutter cutely as you set the wine and grocery bag on the counter.

Yeji stands beside you, eyes big and bright and expression that of a mellow kitten, like a child whose sipped on the most heavenly hot chocolate, “I missed you.”

Your heart skips a beat, internally beating yourself up for neglecting her during this whole thing. You awe as you hug her tightly, the smell of her strawberry shampoo never changing, “I’ve missed you too Ji.”

“I’m sorry, he can be an asshole sometimes but he shouldn’t be able to get between us” she mutters into your hair.

Your chest tightens as you hear her sniffle, she didn’t deserve this. You shouldn’t of done this to her, made her suffer with you. You’ve been a bad friend and you can recognise that, and you feel like utter shit about it because Yeji is priceless, she’s a diamond in disguise.

“I am so so sorry Yeji, I shouldn’t have let him get between us.”

The rest of the night was spent eating junk food and consuming an unhealthy amount of wine. As SpongeBob plays in the background and you apply the tiger sheet face mask on Yejis face you begin to tell her about Seokjin and Roowon.

“Was he good looking?”

“Oh ‘Ji,” you sigh heavily, “if you’ve only seen him, he’s like an Angel. God he’s gorgeous”

“Yah thats not fair! I wanna see him now”

“I’ll try sneak a picture of him when I’ll see him for dinner?”

Just as you say that, the sound of the hallway door dinging interrupts you, and both you and Yeji exchange looks of concern.

“Ji? I’m home, I hope you have no guy over because I’ll kick him out” the sound of his voice shakes everything inside of you. Everything becomes unstable like a poorly structured building during an earthquake.

Yeji looks at you sorrowfully, “yeah im here”

“The match got rescheduled so I thought I’d surprise you,” his voice faded it out as you didn’t dare to look his way, instead choosing to look at the wooden floor as your knees raised more inward towards to your chest, as if to protect your heart.

The silence was deafening, excruciating as all three of you didn’t know what to say, and you closed your eyes briefly as you cleared your throat, “I, Um, I can go?”

“No” Yeji immediately calls out, her voice, although not loud, seemed to echo off the walls as if even the furniture in the apartment froze in place, speechless.

“I’ll stay out the way don’t worry Ji” he mutters, pecking her head quickly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Yeji looked at you full of guilt, beginning to apologise but you stopped her, “it’s not your fault, plus we’re adults Ji, we can stay in the same room without hurting each other I promise. You’ve nothing to worry about, I’m okay.”

“I didn’t know he was going to be back” she continues, full of guilt.

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s okay. He’s your brother, besides, it’s not like I hate him. I still love him Ji, he was my best friend, that’ll never go away”.

For the rest of Jungkooks evening, all he had heard was your laughter. It rang through his body like an electric shock and he regretted everything. He hated himself for letting this drag on for this long, he hated that he couldn’t be there with you, laughing and sharing jokes like usually.

He drowned himself in everything possible to avoid hearing the conversation about a guy you met and how amazing he was, he worked, listened to music, texted his friends. But nothing worked.

And as the night died down and the house was consumed with silence. He laid on his bed, reminiscing the moments were he was your best friend. He remembered the time you went strawberry picking, you were dressed in the cutest outfit imaginable, a faded pink and white checkered dress, with pink wellies. Hair tied back in a bun with a strawberry claw clip.

He remembered how you shared the entire summer together, how he thought you to swim and how excited you were to be able to go to the depths of the ocean with him. How in love he was with you in the moment, the way your big surprised eyes stared into his as he dived underneath the water and came back up behind you, the way you’d call him Kookie in the times you needed him the most.

He remembers how you hate thunderstorms. How he spent the entire night with you on your couch, letting you cuddle into him and falling asleep in his lap.

It exactly that he regrets.

He regrets that he ruined the way you felt comfortable and safe around him and now he fears you’ll never be like that again.

For what seems like hours, Jungkook tosses and turns in his bed. Huffing in slight annoyance that his brain won’t shut off. Leaving his room in a haste he enters the kitchen, stilling for a moment as he sees you sat on the kitchen island, legs kicking back and forth as if you’re in deep thought.

He felt creepy standing there watching you eat your favourite cherry chocolates, the ones that had liquor inside. He remembers how much you love them.

He couldn’t go back to his room now, that’d be too awkward, especially since you’ve locked eyes with him for a mere second through the glass of the cupboards. He cleared his throat gently, going to the fridge to get his favourite whiskey, he could feel your presence behind him and he knew you were looking but you were stubborn.

You would not be the first one to say a word, he knows that, which is why he reaches for a second glass and fills both of them, turning to you with sad eyes, his hand extends toward you, holding the glass of whiskey outward, not thinking much you take it from him, throwing the liquid to the back of your throat and sighing. He does the same.

“I’m,” he clears his tight voice, “I’m sorry”.

You say nothing, biting your lip as he continues on, “I was out of line for the things I said. I’m aware, but I couldn’t help but feel protective. I’m sorry.”

“I was only angry because I have begged you to not get disqualified because of me, but you did that despite all of my begging” you whispered, barely audible and staring ahead as he looked at the side of your face.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows the lump in his throat, “I really am”.

“I know” is all you say. Not really giving him much aside from pushing the box of chocolate towards him.

“I miss you,” he mutters, “I miss having you in my life”.

Finally, as if your heart couldn’t take it, you look right into his eyes and he swears his knees buckle a little, despite your eyes looking a little sad, you smile gently at him, “I miss you too”.

“I never meant to say all those things, god Y/N, if I could go back in time” he closes his eyes. You pull on his shirt, pulling him between your legs as you hug him.

“Well you can’t,” you muffle in his chest as his arms tighten around you, “but, you can make it up to me?”.

You feel him nod as he not so sneakily sniffs your scent, “you can take Yeji out tomorrow, spend some quality time with her. She’s worried about you Kook, she needs her brother, she needs just a little bit of your time”.

He hugs you tighter, kissing your head, “I promise I will”.

You pull away, smiling gently at him as you peck his cheek, “good”.

You don’t know wether it was the buzz from the whiskey and alcohol infused chocolates, but whatever it was, it made your eyes drop to his lips. God he looked so good, hair messy and his sleeve on display. Fuck was he beautiful.

Almost like he could smell your slightly horny phase, he leans in deeper, eyes darkened a deep shade and his hand innocently laid on your waist, “you ok?” He asks.

Asshole, “yeah” your voice came out a little breathy within your whisper, and your entire aura soaked Jungkook in shudders. The way you were sat, legs spread to accommodate him between them, white shirt doing absolutely nothing to cover your perky pierced nipples.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and neither could you.

Looking into his eyes, your lips separated, inviting him in as your noses ever so gently brushed against each other, his hooded gaze solemnly fixated on your lips, and yours on his eyes, “what are you doing to me y/n” his voice husky, whispering in your ear.

“Kiss me Jungkook” your breathing got heavier and so has his, and he shook his head gently, scoffing in denial as your lips brushed past each other.

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck,” you gasped, as he licked your earlobe, what a fucking tease, “yes Jungkook”.

Not wasting anymore time he attached his lips on yours, moving them in rhythm as he basically abused the flesh, barely giving you any time to catch your breath as he switched his head from side to side, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you in closer, you could feel yourself growing wet, soaking your panties as you grabbed onto his shirt, nails digging into his skin as your hands travelled to his back, within pulling each other closer neither of you realised how close you have gotten, too immersed in the smacking of your lips as your core rubbed against his, hard and poking through his tracksuits.

You moaned right into his mouth and he swallowed it up, fuck he’d do anything for you. He’s dreamt of feeling your lips on his for years. His mouth travelled from your swollen lips to your neck, “fuck take my shirt of Kook”.

He could nut right there as you gave him all these orders, but he listened, slipping your shirt off to find your perky tits so ready for his mouth, he laid you back against the cool counter his mouth never giving up his abuse on your skin, marking nipping anywhere possible but the neck, he couldn’t be bothered to explain to his sister. He sucked bruises onto your boobs, hearing your quiet moans as he took one nipple into his mouth, twirling the pink nub with his tongue, before moving onto the other, but not before biting each nipple gently, the cold that was left on your nipples after his warm mouth worked you up even more as he trailed his kisses down your stomach, to your hips, once again sucking biting and bruising, fuck he loved your skin.

“Take your shirt of” you mumble quietly, taking your tits in your hands and rubbing the nipples in small circles, fuck he did not expect to ever see you like this. Sprawled out on his kitchen island, hands on your boobs and your panties sporting a wet patch on your clothed pussy telling him just how turned on your are right now. Shit.

His mouth latched onto your thighs before moving onto your clothes pussy, smothering his face in the warmth of it as you gasped quite loudly, smacking your hand on your mouth to keep quiet. Fuck. His tongue ran a strip from the bottom to the top, the fact that the only material keeping his tongue from touching you directly was your underwear was driving you insane.

“Kook fuck me already”

“I don’t have a condom” he said against you.

“Fuck im clean and on the pill”

“I’m clean too”

Without any more words, he helped you up, taking your panties to the side and taking his grey sweats down his legs. Fuck. His dick was hot, long and thick, tip red and oozing precum.

Fucking hell.

He ran his tip up and down your pussy, collecting your arousal before he eased gently inside you. Letting you adjust to him. You could feel him everywhere, his throbbing tip kissing your cervix as he bottomed out. And fuck were you so full, so deliciously full of him. With the way you relaxed he knew you were ready, slowly and carefully moving in and out, his hand found purchase on your shoulder, pushing you down gently as he watched the way your tits bounced slowly.

The way you moaned so quietly and the way your chest heaved, fuck you were absolutely ravishing to watch. Your skin was marked by his lips everywhere, stomach littered in bruises, hips and tits too, everywhere but your neck and it looked so inviting right now, begging for him to give it the same attention, and before he could think straight, he went for it, nipping at the skin of your neck as his body leaned fully into yours, before you could even take a breath he picked up the pace, smacking his hips lewdly into yours, his balls slapping of your ass as the noise bounced around the room. The sound your lips made as your lips connected once again adding to the mix.

It was hot, it was wet and it was loud. But it felt amazing, it felt too good to stop. The way he ramming into, hitting all the right spots as you mewled underneath him, the knot in your stomach tightening at the feel of his tip abusing your cervix, but before you could release he sat you up, edging your ass to almost be off the counter before he gripped onto it and hammered himself into you, the only rational part of you hid your face in his neck, moaning as he fucked right into you, he tugged onto your hair as he leaned his forehead into yours, both of you watching the way his dick disappeared into your swollen cunt, and then it hit you, like a ton of bricks, you clenched around him, your legs twitching slightly as you came around him, your orgasm hurting in all the right ways like if you were electrocuted, you could feel it from your toes to your head.

He was close behind, his hips stilling as his dick throbbed, twitching the slightest bit before he coated your walls white. Leaning against your palms on the counter you tried catching your breath again, and before you could say anything, he was on his knees, his mouth latching onto your clit as you yelped, sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“Kook I can’t”

“Yes you can baby,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by your pussy, “for me”

Groaning you gasped as he sucked onto your clit, twirling your sensitive nub with his tongue as he eased his finger into you, hooking it up and fucking you slowly.

The mix of mouth and finger was intoxicating the way he was making out with your pussy was sinful but you couldn’t get enough, especially not when your legs shook, your eyes teared up and his hands soothed your legs, he switched his finger and tongue, fucking you slowly with his warm tongue and drawing figure eights onto your clit and fuck you couldn’t take it.

Slapping down your hand on the counter you moaned his name as you came for the second time this night, legs shaking and chest heaving as he stood up, kissing your lower belly before he grinned above you.

“What do you say for round three in the bathroom?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A/N: part three? I mean they haven’t resolved much except for some steamy sex? 🤭

MASTERLIST

NO REPOSTING, EDITING, TRANSLATION OR COPYING OF ANY OF MY WORKS!

[suratan-zir]

all kinds of trigger warnings

I'm not okay. Last night, as I was trying to fall asleep, the thought of my hometown crossed my mind for a split second, a mere moment, and I teared up. It wasn't even a complete thought, just a blurry image. I didn't cry, only a couple tears that I quickly wiped away, but it's strange. It's not a good town, never was, even back then, but now it's ten times worse obviously. It's theirs now, I will most likely never see it again, not that there's anything to see there.

I'm not allowed to be sick of the war, as I'm not the one fighting in the trenches. So I'm sick of life instead, as I am indeed alive and have been for some time. I can't take any more losses. I know there are people who lost so much more than I did, yet they keep on going. But I genuenly can't lose anymore. And it makes everything too precious. When your entire world shrinks, fits into one person sleeping next to you, in one place with a leaking roof and creaky floor, in one moment of stillness. I can't bare the thought of losing it. I can't live in this all-consuming fear of losing it all any longer. And I know I'm going to lose.

I had exactly one happy year in my life. Well, it's only happy in retrospective. When I was 17-18, moved away from my absolutely horrible family, met my future husband and moved in with him. We were very poor, we fought all the time in those early years, and that was the year my bipolar disorder manifested in full strenght. The same age as my father's. But I was studying in the uni I loved, I wasn't bullied at school for the first time in my life, I had good grades and was making friends. Then 2014 came. Russians came to my city in tanks, their favorite vehicle when visiting Ukraine. It was a scary year of artillery, empty streets and store shelves, duct tape on window panes, queues for humanitarian aid food packages, sandwiches with catfood-like pate from said food packages for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Russians of course took over my uni along with everything else. And every night falling asleep to the sounds of their tanks and APCs (they moved them at night), I dreamed that these were Ukrainian tanks coming to free us. But it never was.

And despite it getting better on a surface level, it only gets worse. We're not so poor anymore, we don't fight with my husband, I accepted my mental illness and sort of made peace with it. And I was almost the happiest person on Earth for a couple of months when I moved from Donetsk, and Russia hadn't invaded us yet. I had future ahead of me, I made plans, I thought my life had just begun after all. I can't keep losing and I can't keep making it worse. In my teenage years I dealt with having a terrible family by finding even more terrible and abusive person and clinging to him for over ten years. I got so hurt by my closest friend that I never made a single close friend again. I found my husband and now can't even kill myself because I can't do that to him. Now I have something - someone - to lose. I should've end it way back when I had nothing and no one. I can't live with this fear, it's unbearable. I want it to end. I want to either wake up and realize that this war was just a nightmare, or not wake up at all.

please donate to the Ukrainian army using one of the links in my pinned post. just please, even a single penny, just do this

[stellasmessyworld]

CHAPTER 1: Unexpected encounters

You study law at the Dragonstone University. How will your life change when your roommate’s attractive brother starts studying at the same university.

Enemies to Lovers. Modern au. Aemond Targaryen x Y/N.

~i do not own any these characters it’s just a fanfiction~

It’s 8am when you wake up and check your phone. Initially, you just stare at the screen but then you realise that your classes start in half an hour. This realisation prompts you jump out of the bed. You get out of the room and find your way to the bathroom but as you try to open the door, you hear a voice saying “Occupied!”. The voice belonged to your roommate and best friend since the beginning of your freshman year- Heleana Targaryen.

You met accidentally on the campus and started talking. After a few weeks she proposed you move in with her. The spacious apartment offered a welcome escape from your crowded dorm. The room you got at Heleana’s (now also your) apartment was nice with a big closet. The issue was that there was only one bathroom and at this moment when you needed it most, it was occupied. You couldn’t blame Heleana, she probably thought you already left for classes earlier.

Unable to access the bathroom, you decide to at least get some breakfast. You head to the kitchen to grab a bowl and fill it with cereal and milk, as you quickly empty it while scrolling through your phone. Just as you finish your cereal the bathroom door opens, revealing Hel in with a towel over her head.

“Good morning, babes” she greets you as she dries off her hair with the dampened towel.

“Hi Hel”, you reply “it could’ve been a good day if my alarm could finally wake me up one of these days”.

“Oh no, you overslept again?” she asked genuinely concerned.

“Yep” you confirm, emphasising the “P”.

“What class do you have now?” she asks. “Constitutional Law, so if i don’t get there in ten minutes the professor will kill me.” I stand up from the kitchen chair and make my way to the now free bathroom. “You know i can always talk with him, right? He is my grandfather after all.”

“It’s alright, Hel. I know professor Hightower is your grandfather but i don’t want to be treated differently just because of my friendship with you. I’ll manage to get there on time somehow. Thank you tho.” you tell her from the bathroom actually content that she wants to help in her own way. You brush your teeth quickly as you get yourself ready to leave. When you finish doing a quick makeup, you decide that you’re all ready to walk out. “Bye, Hel. See ya in the evening.” “Have a nice day, babes” she replies as you smile at her and close the door behind yourself.

The way to the Dragonstone University wasn’t long because you live literally next to the campus. You get there at 8:26am which spares you 4 minutes to get some coffee before the class. “How nice…” you think.

There is just one person before you in the queue to the café, and it’s the person you wouldn’t think you would see today.

Aemond Targaryen - Heleana’s younger brother, also majoring in Law. You were surpised to see him because it was already the second term of the freshman year and you hadn’t seen him even once at the University. The last time you saw him was actually the time you met him. It was when he visited you and Heleana at the flat. You were living there for 2 weeks at that moment. Heleana introduced the two of you and you exchanged typical small talk, until he excused himself to the bathroom and you had to leave for class.

It was a bit weird to you, to see him at your University, because the last time you talked about him with Heleana she mentioned he is studying at the Kingslanding University and definitely not here.

It wasn’t anything terrible that he was here. He is very intelligent, eloquent and um well…attractive. You couldn’t lie to yourself that he wasn’t good looking, as he was standing before you in his black jeans, a green cashmere-looking sweater that probably cost a fortune. His long hair tied in a bun. He was wearing a couple of silver rings on his fingers and ~oh his fingers~ were they nice?…

And then there is you, sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, quick messy makeup and a bit of tangled hair and your head. Snapping back to reality you decide to run away and skip coffee because you don’t want him to see you look like this. As you turn around to quickly leave you hear a voice that makes you jump.

“Yn, hi!” It’s Jace Velaryon standing in front of you he’s Hel’s nephew. “How many of her family members study or teach here?” you think to yourself. “Hi Jace, how are you?” you reply not to be considered mean as he hugs you tightly. Suddenly he tenses and you already know what’s his reason of sudden stress. It’s the silver-haired man you were trying to run away from. “Hello, nephew” you hear his deep voice. “Aemond”, Heleana’s cousin replies still a bit tense. Then Aemond’s eye lands on you. “Yn, i thought i would see you here”. You shiver at his words. Did he think about you? you were asking yourself so many questions but then you decided to reply to him. “Good to see you, Aemond” you give him a soft smile. And he looks at you for a couple of seconds too long…

Thank you for reading… It’s my first fic on tumblr so if you have any advise for me i would be thankful. Love u all. <3

credits: pattern banners by @cafekitsune and the graphic of the title was made by Image Creator from Microsoft Bing.

[prince-toffee]

Green Copper Flame

"Hey what's up Marines, it's ya girl Marine The Raccoon back at it again with another video! Last time we tried Magnesium, in this video we're gonna try out Copper, and see what colour the flame is."

---

The video sharply cut to the footage of Blaze asleep and snoring in her royal bed, her hair a mess, one strand even making its way into the cat's wide open mouth. Marine approached quietly, a finger against her lips, gesturing to the phone camera to be quiet as if speaking to the audience. The young racoon knew that her mentor's super-senses were unparalleled, she could hear a heart beat miles away and tell you who it belonged to. The fact that she hadn't slept for the two previous days due to mountains of paperwork helped the sly gremlin to move undetected. The fact that she managed to get this far was a miracle, opening the door to Blaze's room, sneaking in, unheard of. Mari stepped lightly on her toes. One hand holding the phone trying to hold everything in frame, the other holding a cylindrical container already unscrewed. And poured the contents of the container onto Blaze's head; a dark bronze powder, copper powder to be exact.

Just then Marine froze, a noise emanated from the cat, she was stiring up. Groggy, Blaze half opened one eye to investigate and found her easily-excitable apprentice's big ol' eyes glaring at her. "Wha-" Before the Princess could fully regain consciousness Marine enacted her contingency plan.

"Wake up sleepy head! It's-- uh-- your Birthday! Happy Birthday!!"

"...Today's not my b--"

Just then something else stirred around and up, hidden under the bed covers Marine hadn't noticed when she snuck in - The covers were pushed back and Silver's head popped out, also only half-conscious, with dark eyes bags and a bonette holding his quills. "Who's Birthday is it?" He asked still asleep.

Marine covered her mouth with her hand instinctively trying to hid her huge Chris Pratt Parks'n'Rec Pikachu face. But no such luck, she burst out cackling. Blaze suddenly became aware of the camera and the fact that she was being recorded. Her pupils dilated, oh no. If the puplic saw this. "MAH-REEN!!!" The young racoon sprinted away.

---

Footage cut to later, Marine sat at dinner table with view of Blaze annoyed, rummaging through her royal handbag. "I spilled lipstick in your Valentino bag."

"YOU SPILLED--UWA!?GHWAH!?AGAW?!!HA-- LISPSTICK IN MY VALENTINO WHITE BAG!?!?!!!??!!" Blaze roared in fury, in pure rage. Right on queue, as a physical manifestation of her emotions flames burst up from Blaze's head, ponytail, and shoulders. Marine burst out laughing again, so hard that she actually fell off her chair, and began to roll on the floor. It took Blaze a second to release, she turned to look at the closest mirror and there it was; her head, burning a green copper flame.

---

The shower head was on, the ponytail hairband was discarded off somewhere, Silver had emptied an entire lavender scented shampoo bottle onto Blaze's head, and was in the midst of massaging slash rubbing it into the Princess' hair. Blaze had stuck her head into the shower stream once more scrubbing it again and again.

"I think that's it." He said.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I think you burned most of it off... And we're out of shampoo."

"Which one was it?"

"The ugh--" Squint, "Lavender. Ouff, I need glasses." He moved his pointing finger and a towel journeyed across the bathroom into Blaze's hands coated in green aura. Blaze dried her head best she could and hanged the towel on her shoulders. "At least you smell nice now." He remarked trying to find a 'silver' lining.

She sighed, "You always take her side." She sounded unamused.

"That's why I'm her favourite." He kissed her on the forehead.

[amesvertes]

FANTASIES OF A LOVED ONE. neteyam

warnings: angst/semi-fluff/no use of y/n/death/implications of fem!reader

summary: in which you have a tough time coming to terms with the loss of your mate.

a/n: i'm sorry y'all ;-;

"this is not healthy-"

you yank your arm back from neytiri, hissing at her words. "no, i am going to see my mate."

"sweetheart, neteyam is de-" she tries to reason with you once again, eyes shining faintly wit the threat of tears. "waiting for me. neteyam is waiting for me." you cut her off, voice ice cold as you turn away from her, storming out of the marui.

so many emotions invade your mind; anger, frustration, sadness.

jake says you are going through something people on earth would call 'the five stages of grief.' but that is not true, you can't grieve for someone who is not gone.

to you it may seem that way but to your friends, your family, you are driving yourself into madness. hanging onto the tearing thread that is your mate's spirit. it's self destructive to say the least. sure you get to see him, but at what cost?

you spend time in an imaginary world, a temporary imaginary world, just to have to wake up again. just to have to face an empty marui, alone in the morning all over again? just to have to cook a meal, alone in your empty marui again, knowing you're only cooking for one person?

deep down, you know it's pathetic. but you can't help it, you can't help holding onto the fantasies your mind creates; fantasies of a loved one.

the journey to the metkayina spirit tree is a desperate one as you will your ilu to swim faster.

you barely have time to take in what used to be the beautiful scenery of the marine life as you ride past. it is still beautiful, but not as beautiful as it used to be without another pair of eyes accompanying your own.

your heart rate picks up as soon as you arrive at the glowing tree and you hop off your ilu, swimming closer to the large tree.

you hastily grab the braid surrounding your queue, extending it before you even reach the vines of the tree.

a sigh leaves your plump lips as you close your eyes and hover in front of your usual vine, one that goes deeper into the tree, allowing you the comfort of seclusion.

your tendrils connect to it causing a shiver to run across your spine.

when you open your eyes again you are met with the roof of your marui.

it must be mid morning, judging by the strength of the sun. a sudden sense of urgency causes you to bolt upright. you're late for the hunting party, for the second time this month.

a groan of frustration leaves your throat as you lay back once again, rolling over.

"is something wrong?"

there it is, the only voice on pandora that is able to soothe your aching soul. neteyam sully's voice.

you prop yourself up on your elbows with a smile, staring lovingly at your mate. "you made me late, again." you try to hide your smile, failing miserably when neteyam tackles you back onto the surface of the hammock.

you laugh when he pouts down at you, "you don't want to spend the day with your loving," he pauses to kiss your cheek, "strong," another kiss to your collarbone, "sexy," you laugh as he moves to kiss your ear, "amazing mate?" now he attacks your face and tickles your sides, causing loud laughs and snorts to leave your throat.

you wrestle with him in the hammock, giggling each time you hiss at each other teasingly.

this constant movement leads to the hammock swinging this way and that, causing a euphoric dizziness to cloud your senses as you finally climb on top of the blue na'vi.

"i win, you skxawng." you laugh out, staring down at neteyam's handsome face. his bright yellow eyes bore into yours as he wraps his arms around your waist.

a small sadness creeps up your neck as you continue to gaze down at him and you feel a tear run down your cheek.

neteyam frowns, cupping your cheek softly. "what's wrong? why are you crying?"

you sniff and shake your head, smiling at him in awe, "i'm just happy to see you."

"i'm happy to see you too."

this is the sadness of it; in reality you are not laying in a hammock, exchanging sweet nothings with your lover. you are alone, hanging onto fantasies of a loved one.

© amesvertes 2023

[geekyglimpses-nest]

8. In the Wake of Silence

Warnings: +18 minor don't interact, slow burn, graphic language, humor, sexual content, physical trauma, blood (gore), bodies/corpses, death, drug use, guns, murder (atempted), PTSD, violence, english is not my first language.

Summary: Delaney wrestles with an overwhelming sense of loss, navigating through a labyrinth of memories and emotions. As she grapple with the void left behind, the journey reveals unexpected facets of love, grief, and resilience. The haunting silence of her surroundings serves as both a reminder of what was lost and a canvas for the painful yet beautiful process of healing.

Word Count: 4,750 words. (25 min) It's a big boooy

Notes at the end of the chapter

2 weeks later…

“You just need to sign your discharge papers, a few tests and then you can go,” the nurse says with a short smile and hands me the papers and a pen to sign them. I quickly sign them and hand them back to her. As if on cue, another nurse comes in with a wheelchair. I’m about to protest, but she stops me

“I know you don’t like the wheelchair, but it’s for your own good to not force yourself yet. Remember, you were hit by a car and had a severe concussion, so let’s not test our chances. I promise you won’t have to use it to walk after all those tests. Besides, you seem to have recovered rather quickly by the looks of it. Faster than others, at least.”

I have to admit that my side hurts, nothing serious, but if I breathe too fast or move the wrong way, I get dizzy, so I take it slow. I carefully get out of bed and the two nurses watch me closely: “I need to use the toilet” They take as a signal to leave me alone for a few minutes and once again I’m alone in the room. I walk as steadily as I can because my mind tricks my body into thinking that it can walk faster than it actually can. Only when I notice a certain blurring in my vision do I start walking slowly and in baby steps again. As I enter the bathroom, I close the door and I notice that behind it there is a full-length mirror. I examine myself. My hair is dry and a mess. I am paler, my lips are colorless and one corner of them is bruised and purple. One side of my face is bruised from the blow I took when I fell to the ground. The bruises are yellow and green near my eyes. My eyes seem bigger. The emptiness I see in my eyes sometimes scares me. I close my eyes as the pain runs through my body.

Something inside me is broken. Everything inside me is broken.

I leave the bathroom and one of the nurses is already waiting for me with the wheelchair.

The hospitals are emptier than usual, half their capacity. There aren’t as many staff as usual either. As a result, administrative matters are dealt more quickly, test results come back faster, the queues outside the pharmacies are shorter and there is enough medicine for everyone who needs it. The waiting rooms are emptier and, as far as I know, the consultations are quicker. You no longer have to wait up to an hour or more or lie dying to be seen by a doctor.

There are more people in the hospital chapel. Twice as many candles are lit. The crying and sobs are more audible. The queue for the blood tests is right next to it, so I have nothing else to listen to. A man is preaching at the front of the mass. I can’t tell if he’s a priest or not, he wears normal clothes, jeans, a T-shirt and dirty shoes.

“The sacred scriptures spoke of this moment. The day when only those who have accepted Jesus in their hearts and souls will go to his side. Now we go through more trials and tribulations to be given the chance to join the Lord alongside our loved ones. But we must repent, cleanse our souls, ask the Lord for forgiveness and accept Him into our lives. Follow this book as our guide as we wait for our destiny,” the man shouts and the crowd whispers amen. Sobs and quiet weeping dominate the atmosphere in the chapel. On their knees, they whisper passages from the Bible.

“You’re next, hon” says the nurse and squeezes my shoulder. I clasp my hand tighter around the bracelet and leave imprints in my palm.

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

A cold, sinking feeling washes over me as I open the door. The house is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses on your eardrums. It’s deafening — no paws against the wooden floor, no barking, no warm kiss of greeting or “How was your day?”. The emptiness feels like a physical presence, heavy and oppressive. The smell of fresh cut flowers is now replaced by the foul odor throughout the house.

It’s cold, too cold. I shiver.

I put my bag down on the counter and sigh. My body feels weaker now that I’m here. All the mentalization I had practiced for this moment is gone now, too many feelings are blossoming inside me at once, it’s overwhelming. My vision is blurred by the tears I’m holding back, the lump in my throat feels like a stranglehold, I close my eyes and swallow with difficulty. But the sour taste in my mouth is more present than ever. The knot in my stomach is unmistakable. I run to the sink and throw up. When I’m done, I take a glass of water, hoping it will help me calm down. A tear falls into the glass of water, followed by two more. I splash water on my face, the cold feeling is a relief for my heated skin and I breathe a sigh of relief.

My phone rings and I answer it without seeing who it is.

“Hey, I heard you got out of the hospital.” Arturo’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. “How are you, kiddo?” He pauses, waiting for my answer, giving me a chance to gather my thoughts.

“Arturo” I whisper in acknowledgment. I dry my face with a towel: “Yeah, I just got home. The doctors say I can continue my recovery at home now, the tests were fine”

“That’s good news, I should come over. You know, I make a mean chicken soup. Family recipe,” he says hopefully, hesitating a little. I can tell by the hesitation in his voice that he doesn’t know how to treat me. What should I say? I almost get the feeling that he’s not asking if he can come over, rather like he has to come over.

“Arturo. I’ll be fine,” I say as I sit down on the sofa. I hold Layla’s favorite pillow close to my chest.

“Please, I promised her I’d take care of you”

The lump in my throat makes itself felt again.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” I say and hang up quickly without waiting for his answer.

I go up the stairs to our room to take a shower. But again I stop. Her things are still the way she left them. Every single corner of this house is filled with her presence. Everywhere I look is a painful reminder of what is no longer there. What I will no longer have. Of what I held in my hands and slipped away without me even realizing it. No warning. Just gone. I stumble into my studio, each step heavy with the weight of memories. My gaze falls on an empty plastic box in the corner. The room feels colder as I pick it up, its emptiness a stark contrast to the fullness of my grief.

Back in our room, I pause at the threshold, the scent of her perfume still in the air, a ghost of her presence.

I can see her fresh out of the shower, spraying her favorite perfume. The one she makes herself from the flowers she finds in the woods behind the house. It’s citrusy and fresh. Mandarin, juniper berries, basil, aniseed, cypress and sandalwood. A subtle reminder of the warm days of winter.

I start collecting her belongings, each piece a painful reminder of a lost life. Her favorite sweater, still soft and warm, goes into the box. Tears cloud my vision as I fold it neatly and my fingers linger on the fabric. Anger and sorrow churn inside me as I haphazardly toss her belongings into the box.

In my rage I drop something and hear it fall to the ground. When I turn around, my old Bible is lying on the floor, open, and I pick it up. I read the passage in front of me.

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Genesis 3:19”

The words blur through my tears. A raging, flaming pain fills my chest, and my body trembles under the weight of the pain. I hurl the Bible across the room, the sharp thud of the spine against the window echoing in the silence. It lands with its pages open, a physical manifestation of my fractured heart. The box, now filled with fragments of her, is hastily shoved under the bed, hidden but never forgotten. I sit on the edge of the bed and breathe intermittently. The box underneath contains pieces of our life together, a Pandora’s box of memories. I know that hiding it won’t erase the pain, but maybe, just maybe, it will help me carry on.

And for now, it’s enough.

I used to not pay attention when people said the world was ending, because for me it had often ended many times before and started again the next morning. But now. It feels different. Almost irreversible.

I take a shower. The warm water burns my skin. Normally I would make the water colder, but the sting in my burning skin seems to be the only thing I feel apart from tiredness. I am as careful as I can be because my skin is covered in bruises of all sizes and colors, ranging from yellow to green to purple and red. A reminder that, unlike the other half of the universe, I’m still alive. Stepping out of the shower, I head for the closet and as soon as the doors are open, her scent hits my nose again, this time even more aggressively. My fingers run through the fabrics of Layla’s clothes, I pick up one of her oversize sweaters and gray loose pants, her clothes calming something inside me. I take her perfume and spray it on her clothes.

My eyes feel heavy, I crawl into bed and as soon as my head is on Layla’s pillow, I fall asleep. Lately, I’ve found sleep as an escape, because I’m not actually dead, but I’m not awake either. It’s like I’m dead without the commitment. An open relationship with death. Death with benefits.

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

The sun has set, casting the bedroom into darkness. I rise and make my way to the living room, where I spot a figure engrossed in a book on the couch.

“How long have you been here?” I inquire, rubbing my face. He shuts the book, rises, and faces me.

“Not too long, actually. The soup is still warm if you’re interested. My grandmother used to swear by its ability to solve any problem,” he remarks.

His words irk me slightly, but I sense no malice in his intent. He’s attempting to lighten the mood.

“I’m not sure it can fix this particular problem” I respond.

Arturo heads to the kitchen, ladles out a bowl of steaming chicken soup, and places it on the counter. Leaning against it, he waits for me to take a seat. I approach the high chair and sit down. The aroma of the soup warms something deep within me, like a soothing balm for my troubled soul. Taking a sip, it feels as though I’m being embraced. Only Mrs. Durmaz and Layla had ever cooked for me with such love. Not even my mother. She would feed me only upon request, often too intoxicated to do it herself, leaving me to scavenge for food. My father would berate her for it. Arturo reaches for my hand beside the bowl and gives it a gentle squeeze. The unexpected touch causes me to freeze and tense up. A wave of shivers courses through me. I usually dislike physical contact, but in this moment, I yearn for it. I want to be held so tight so I won’t break, but I’m too afraid to ask. I meet his gaze.

Do I look like that too? Tired, dark circles under my eyes, swollen face, sloping shoulders. Empty. Tears appear, so I lower my eyes to the bowl of hot soup. He squeezes my hand again.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? It cleanses the soul,” he says with a weak smile.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop once it starts, and then I’ll become useless,” I whisper as I take another spoonful of the soup.

“No one would blame you. I feel useless myself.”

“You’re not useless, you’re here even though I said I was okay.”

“But you’re not. No one is. I can see it in your eyes. With the little time we have spent together, I’ve come to the conclusion that when something bad happens, you stay quiet, while a war happens within you. I promised Ayliz I’d take care of you, but I’m not doing this just because of that. Despite what you might think of me, I care for you.”

“Why?” I say with a broken tone.

“Because I loved…” he interrupts himself, I look at him. “I love Ayliz, and every time she called you, I could see how much she cared and loved you, and I can also tell how much you care and love her too, despite your efforts to hide it. She never told me who you were actually to her; she always referred to you as the daughter life gave her, a second chance.” I wince at that, I close my eyes. She was that for me too, a second chance. She made me realize that no matter how broken I was, I was worth being taken care of. “I know how you feel about me and Ayliz. But I swear to you, Delaney, I love her. I’ve never felt anything like this for anyone before her. I was happy with her, and she was happy with me, and I know the age difference between us could be a reason for you to believe I wasn’t serious about her, and to be honest, I thought that too. I thought, what the heck? It could be interesting. I never counted on falling in love with her.” He pulls a black velvet box from his jeans pocket and puts it between us. “The day that…” he interrupts himself more emotion clear in his voice “I had a special dinner for her planned, I was gonna ask her to marry me” he opens the box and gives it to me. A gold 14 karat ring with a sapphire that shifts between verdant hues, flanked by incandescent burst of luminous, star-like diamonds

“The day…” he interrupts himself, more emotion evident in his voice “I had a special dinner planned for her. I was going to ask her to marry me” He opens the box and hands it to me. A gold 14 karat ring with a sapphire that shifts between verdant hues, flanked by an incandescent burst of luminous, star-like diamonds.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper as I gaze at it. He smiles.

“I made it for her,” My eyes widen. He chuckles, “You didn’t know I was a jeweler. I own a small jewelry shop in Manhattan, a family business that has been in my family since 1936. That’s actually how I met Ayliz. I would return to D.C. to visit family and sell at a farmers market. I do it every year, attending the Capital Harvest on the Plaza to sell some of our most precious pieces and donate the proceeds to charity, supporting orphaned children and humanitarian causes. She approached me because she needed some personal jewelry pieces cleaned and repaired. I informed her that I needed to take them to the shop as I lacked all the necessary tools for the repairs. I began visiting D.C. more frequently after meeting her. I would come up with various excuses to continue visiting. And then the dates began. By the second or third date, I knew I was captivated. Her soul was pure and genuine, her age did not dictate how vibrantly she lived her life. Despite the hardships she endured before arriving here, it only fueled her passion for life. The opinions or comments of others never deterred her from pursuing her passions.”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur without meeting his gaze, speaking so softly that I’m unsure if he heard me. Too ashamed.

“What for?” he asks

“Misjudging you. I just thought you were too young for her. Thought you were just there for a story to tell your friends later on. That you just wanted to use her or manipulate her into what you wanted. I didn’t want you to hurt her. I’m very protective of her. She’s all I had left. I was rude to you so many times and you never once answered to my provocations, you were always a gentleman with me. I never stopped to actually get to know you… ”

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

I knock on the door and wait for it to open, I’m expecting Mrs. Durmaz on the other side, but I’m surprised to see Arturo smiling gently at me.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here” I say bothered

“Ayliz told me you were coming for dinner and invited me to stay” he says, inviting me in and asking for my coat, I give it to him “She’s finishing getting ready, she’ll be out any minute” He walks in front of me and knocks on Mrs. Durmaz bedroom door “Mi amor, Delaney is here” He smiles to me once more and tells me to get comfortable. I walk around the apartment and I see the place is filled with more stuff that definitely doesn’t belong to Mrs. Durmaz, I frown at the acoustic guitar next to her sofa.

“I moved in last week” I quickly turn to him, surprised and he’s extends a glass of wine to me

“What? She didn’t tell me you were moving in” I take the wine and drink a big gulp, he’s still in front of me. I clear my throat “Arturo can I ask you a question?” He smiles and nods “What do you want from her? Money, her insurance, her retirement money, what?”

He cleans his throat and laughs “I have no need for money Delaney, I am very well with the money I make from my business” I laugh

“And what business is that huh? Robbing money from older women?”He appears irritated by my statement. It seems like he is on the verge of breaking and revealing his true self. “What is your true motive for being here? Just looking for a funny anecdote to share with your friends?” he sighs and shakes his head.

“I knew you would be hard to convince. I was forewarned about it. But, believe it or not, Delaney, I am genuinely committed to my relationship with Ayliz. I have no ulterior motives except to ensure her happiness, just as she brings me joy,” I chuckle.

“Well, I think you’ll need a more compelling narrative than that,” I retort.

“Delaney, that’s enough,” Mrs. Durmaz interjects from behind me, causing me to shrink. “Stop this pointless interrogation. Sit down, and let’s enjoy a pleasant dinner. I spent hours preparing it,” she urges. I take a deep breath, turning to him one last time as I finish my wine. “Now, Delaney!”

Throughout the rest of the dinner, I observe him closely. He cracks jokes, but I remain stoic. I grunt in response to his questions, and under Mrs. Durmaz’s watchful eye, I reluctantly engage in conversation. I make snide remarks to elicit a negative reaction, but he skillfully avoids confrontation with me. There’s a certain expression on his face, as if he hangs onto every word Mrs. Durmaz utters, his demeanor completely attuned to her, laughing at her stories. I notice a few subtle touches exchanged between them, which he discreetly keeps, and she simply smiles in return. Their chemistry is undeniable.

Mrs. Durmaz has a penchant for storytelling, even if the tales aren’t her own. She narrates with such elegance, flair, and wit that it’s impossible not to be captivated by her vivid descriptions and attention to detail. The way she brings stories to life makes you feel like you’re right there with her, experiencing everything she describes. She’s making every effort to ease the tension on my end. By the end of the dinner, all I desire is to make a swift exit.

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

I whisper to Mrs. Durmaz, “I don’t like him.” as I’m putting on my coat to leave. Arturo is just behind us washing the dishes, like an angel.

“I honestly couldn’t care less, dear. I love him, and that should be enough. But I also care about you, and you’re putting me in a difficult situation.”

“Alright… but if he hurts you, I swear I will hurt him so badly.” I’m about to leave, but I turn to her again, “What is it that you see in this guy?”

“My ex-husband. He was my only experience of love. We both knew why we got married. I needed an escape from Turkey, and he needed a wife to be freed from his family so he could live far away from them. It wasn’t love at first sight or young love. It was convenient. Our marriage always felt like that. Convenient, cold, distant. Yet he was always there. We would travel together, but it felt like doing it solo. I craved romance, passion, understanding. Connection. His family situation and relations ruined him; he held grudges. So he became harder on himself every day until he died. My mother died too young, so my dad would speak of her so highly, but I never really knew her. All I knew was how in love he was with her, even after she had passed and until his last breath. I wanted to experience that someday. But the years had passed between us, and I’d already given up on experiencing that. And then he died, and I thought, well, maybe I’m too old to find that now.” She turns to Arturo, “And then I met Arturo, and he’s giving me that and so much more. And I’m too old to let that one pass. I don’t want to die without experiencing something like that.”

She looks at me and grabs my chin, “You don’t understand it. And that’s okay. You will, I’m sure of it. I don’t need you to understand it. All I need is you by my side. Okay?” I nod.

“I’m… just worried about you,” I say.

“Thank you dear” she says as she kisses me on the cheek and smiles at me. “But that won’t be necessary, I have a very good feeling about him. There are no men like him left anymore out there and I plan to keep this one for a loooong time. I just hope you get to find someone like that too. I hope you get to be with someone who is a home and an adventure. A soul who calms you and drives you wild. Once you do, you too won’t let them go so easily. Trust me”

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

“I understand why you did it” he says “That’s how you show love to the people you care for. We all have different languages of love. Yours is different, it took me a minute to understand it but once I cracked it I could see why you treated me the way you did, I don’t justify it because c’mon it was a bit too aggressive and harsh” we laugh “but I get it”

I frown “I miss her so much,” I whisper, my voice finally cracking. Each word feels like a shard of glass in my throat. My body shakes uncontrollably, and tears blur my vision. Arturo walks over, his steps slow and deliberate. He wraps his arms around me, his embrace warm and steady.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I miss her a lot too.”

“How are you suppose to survive when someone so important just… stops existing” I say trembling each word “I never said goodbye to her. Or thank you”

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

3 years later…

♪Sunlight (Orchestra Version) - Max Richter♪

As humans, we tend to perceive ourselves as superior to our actual status. Ego and power lead us to believe we are invincible and beyond reach. However, unforeseen and uncontrollable events can shatter this illusion.

Prior to Layla and Mrs. Durmaz, my deepest affection and love was reserved for astronomy. Now, I have lost both, rendering life devoid of meaning.

Astronomy revealed our insignificance in the grand scheme of nature and instilled humility like nothing else could. I was captivated by astrophysics because it stirred my soul to gaze above me, shut my eyes, and journey from this planet to another. It instilled hope within me. Hope that we are not alone, that there exist celestial bodies and galaxies waiting to be unveiled. Perhaps, while we endure hardships, there are beings thriving in their own systems and societies. Claudius Ptolemy, the Alexandrian astronomer, once expressed how he followed the countless stars in their celestial dance, feeling as though his feet no longer touched the ground, ascending to Zeus himself to partake in ambrosia, the food of the gods.

Peering through a telescope, I could empathize with that sentiment. Ascending to an unfamiliar world, a mix of fear and excitement enveloping me as I gazed upon the undiscovered. Tears welled up at the sight of the radiant universes amidst the vast darkness of space. For me, nothing compared to the beauty of observing and studying our universe. Immersing myself in the tranquil harmony of the cosmos by closing my eyes allowed me to concentrate. It dawned on me that our universe was just one of many precious gems. And now, they have all vanished. I have shed all my tears; only anger remains.

As I peer through my telescope in the backyard, I am overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness. I feel insignificant, helpless, and useless in the face of the suffering of many in my universe. When loneliness crept in, stargazing used to offer solace, reminding me that my problems were surmountable. It provided comfort and reassurance that I was not alone. But now, all I feel is a void filled with unanswered questions. The universe is a rebel, constantly changing and evolving, often faster than we can comprehend. It owes us no explanation. It is not the universe that is in pain; it is us. Who are we to alter something that may have been destined to occur?

In the midst of winter, ill-prepared and shivering from the snow seeping into my shoes and soaking my socks, I retrieve the telescope from the backyard and shield it on the porch. As I trudge towards the front door to collect the mail I have been avoiding

“Dr. Kingsley?” says the voice of a woman behind me. With a handful of letters and a box in my grasp, I freeze. No one but a few people know where I live, the house is far from town so this person is here for a reason, knows my name and where I live. Her presence is unsettling. “I’m not a threat. My name is agent Taylor Reid, I emailed you a couple days a go” She explains

I sigh, annoyed by the intrusion, I bristle, anticipating unwanted company. Great, now there gonna come to stalk me at my house “I told you I wasn’t interested in dealing with any of you. Please leave immediately, you’re invading private property.”

“I’m sorry doctor, but I’m not leaving unless I’ve spoken with you” Her tone, though polite, leaves little room for argument. I sigh heavily. Maybe If I listen to whatever she has to say she’ll go and not come back. I’ll let her talk and then I’ll make sure she and other to come know I’m not interested in their offers, not now, not ever.

“You have 10 minutes to talk. Come inside.”

I open the door, and she follows behind. “Shoes off,” I say. She complies and removes her coat. Walking towards the chimney, I switch it on and adjust the house’s temperature.

“Coffee?” I offer

“Black, please,” she replies, gazing out the large living room window. “Lovely house,” she remarks, peering through the window. I grunt“You must be good to have a house like this”

I hand her a cup of coffee, and she takes a seat on the couch. “I’d like to think so, at least that’s what my bills suggest,” she chuckles, silently seeking permission to sit, to which I nod.

“Your time is still ticking,” I remind her, glancing at the kitchen clock. She clears her throat and places her cup on the coffee table.

“I’ll be direct if you don’t mind,” I cross my arms. “Doctor, as mentioned in my email, we need your assistance. We’re desperate. Your research is crucial to bringing everyone back. Both my supervisor and I have reviewed it personally. Your research is the most logical and promising option. Other studies are too risky and lack any guarantee.” I want to mention that mine isn’t guaranteed either, but I opt to stay silent. “The director is prepared to fulfill any requests you have to lead the team.”

“And like I said in the email, the research isn’t solely mine, so I’m not inclined to continue without the other doctor involved.”

“Dr. Elodie Wallace, yes. We’re aware she was blipped. Don’t you think she would want you to continue her work? The credit would go to both of you. It’s my understanding that Dr. Wallace left behind a mother and girlfriend behind. This kind of recognition could be what her family needs.” I laugh bitterly

These fucking people excel at manipulation. S.H.I.E.L.D, HYDRA, S.W.O.R.D are all equally conniving and power-hungry individuals. They are willing to go to any lengths to emerge victorious in a conflict, regardless of the consequences.

“I said no. That research won’t continue without Dr. Wallace actively participating in it. Besides the research does not offer any solutions to rectify this situation.”

“But it has the potential to. That’s why we are proposing the opportunity for you to establish your own team with complete access to contacts, resources, and funding. The government is prepared to contribute.”

“The research is still in progress, it is not prepared for government funding or yours, for that matter.”

Reid appears to be on the verge of giving up. I can almost see her resolve crumbling, wanting to present more arguments, but she simply sighs. After finishing her coffee, she rises from her seat, retrieves a card from her jacket, and hands it to me. I accept it and leave it on the table.

“If the research were to come to fruition and you need help, reach out to us. The offer will still stand. We’d be willing to move your team here, to Enumclaw. It’s a lovely residence, it would be a shame to lose it.” Her smile fails to conceal the underlying threat. Placing her cup on the kitchen counter, she proceeds to put on her shoes and coat. “Have a good day, Dr. Kingsley,” she says before leaving. As I approach the door, I observe her entering a black SUV that soon drives away.

I turn around, and my heart sinks, my breath catches. The Winter Soldier materializes in the same spot where she was seated. He gazes out at the forest beyond the windows, then steps closer, hands clasped behind his back, motionless. I am frozen, unable to move. He pivots and strides towards me, my breath quickens, until he stands directly in front of me. I have to raise my eyes in order to see him. The only sound is our breathing, I watch as he extends his metal arm to grasp mine, causing me to flinch away. When I reopen my eyes, he is no longer present.

I breathe again.

I grab my car keys and rush out. The engine roars to life as I speed towards the lab. My mind races, thoughts jumbled and frantic. Paranoia compels me to constantly check the rearview mirror to ensure no one is following me. The lab is quiet. I take a deep breath, letting the silence wash over me. Slowly, I gather my thoughts, the cool air calming my frantic mind.

I make a call.

“Ron,” I say

Previous chapter | Series Masterlist | Next chapter

Notes: Here we have the next chapter, sorry to not have been able to update more last month but it was a very crazy month honestly. BUUUUT this one is long to make up for my absence. UPDATE: For those who might be interested, I have uploded the casting for Agent of Battle, The Hunting Secrets. Other than that, please remember to interact with the story if you like it, I'd love to read your thoughts about the series and this chapter. Comment, like and share it.

Missed you, geekyglimpses-nest out. 👋🏽

[thecaitychronicles]

Home for the Holidays

Finally, I embark on the long adventure back to Germany for the holidays. It has been four years since my last visit, so screw the travel anxiety- I’m going home!

I get to the airport and immediately start shaking knowing I’ll be cramped in a confined space for a long period of time.

Seat 32G. Let’s see just how uncomfortable this 11hr flight will be. I go to the desk and ask if I’ll be positioned by a window, aisle, or between two unhygienic nomads who won’t give up the arm rests. The attendant responds “it’s a middle seat.” Aw HAYEL nah, not today. I politely request to look up any other options. Alas! There is one more aisle seat available.

Luck seems to be in my corner, but I should ease the remaining anxiety with a beer. And perhaps a second.

I board the flight and arrive at my seat. Well what’s this?! A muthafuqin baby! It really is just my luck that switching to a more favorable seat would lead me to spend hours next to a dairy-smelling motza ball with exceptional vocal range who enjoys sharing its snacks by throwing them in my lap. And quite a coincidence that the infant’s name was “Kaiet” considering the only thing I wanted to say was “cállate” each time it tried to compete for American Idol.

Now to be fair, this was a pretty good baby. It slept most of the flight and only serenaded a few times throughout the flight. But it kept staring at me, and I don’t care for that shit.

Finally, my spaceship from San Diego to Munich lands. As I wander though the airport towards my connecting flight’s gate, passing those who forgot what walking is and screaming mothers declaring their child has to tinkle, I get a text message:

“Your flight is cancelled. We will be in touch shortly with a solution.”

Fucking wonderful.

I see a queue forming in front of the Lufthansa service desk near baggage claim, and a silly thought popped into my head. “Perhaps they can provide service.” LOL!

I am advised to go upstairs where I can get a train ticket from Munich to Stuttgart that Lufthansa will *reimburse.

We’re at line #2 now. Once at the desk, I am informed I’m in the wrong spot. Line #3 I pay for two tickets- one to an obscure Munich train station and another to Stuttgart. I arrive at the obscure station to find my second train situated next to a line-turn-mob around a hefty, bald character. After being pushed and interrupted by about six people, I assertively ask “excuse me, do you speak English, please?” Hefty, bald character replies with a stare (again- I don’t care for that shit). I repeat myself. Another stare. At this point I just state my issue in hopes a helpful response will present itself in verbal form from the hefty, bald man. Verbal response? Yes. Helpful? Nope. I am now to get another ticket to go back to Munich’s main station and ask for assistance there.

Now if we recall from the beginning of the story- my adventure begins in San Diego, meaning while I have a jacket ready to layer up, my leggings are not made of Thomas Burberry’s wind and weather resistant gabardine. This is important to note because line #4 is 60 people long in an outdoor train station. My anemic ass is cold as fuck and my knees are chattering.

After about 30 minutes, I make it to the desk where I plead with the employee who looked to be about 16 due to the video game-induced dead eyes and lack of skincare routine. He wakes up just enough to switch my train ticket to a non-stop ICE train that will take me to Stuttgart in about three hours. Bless you greasy, dead-eyed boy!

I board the train and I follow the masses forward in a failed search of empty seating which comes to a halt while in the dining car. We find that we are delayed an hour… in a sardine can so packed only standing is an option. Cool.

After a few stops, I spy a table opening up. I am now accompanied by a polite, aged-Matt Damon, German lad who watched my shit while I rushed to grab a beer. I take one sip followed by an audible sigh and am shoved to the window by an old couple flanking mine and Matt Damon’s table. While my German is beyond out of practice, the elderly’s sentiment was basically “ooo look, 4 inches of free space on this bench, lets occupy it aggressively to the point these other passengers uncomfortably shuffle against the window.” Mr. Damon and I comply, but not without a shared “we have a mutual enemy now” look. Now if I am to deal with potent old people breath for 2 hours, I’m gonna need another beer.

My eyes are making me mad at this point so I ask Sir Matt to wake me at my stop. While trusting a stranger to not tamper with your stuff while sleeping is probably ill-advised, I would have needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open at this point. Hours later, I feel a nudge followed by a friendly “we’re here!” I thank the Bourne Identity actor, and go on my merry way.

I see Poppy and Mutina, garbed in their Target brand nanopuffs I gifted them two years prior and tackle them each with a hug. I’m home!

Home sure, but don’t you worry, dear reader, the saga does not end there. Turns out, while I went on a detour, my bag had done the same. I go online to file a lost luggage report for my floral, neon orange L.L.Bean duffle bag (hard to miss, Lufthansa!). Fingers and toes are crossed at this point that my bag is found prior to us leaving for Italy in two days. But we all remember the kinda luck I have, right?

Dad lovingly drove me to a prestigious shopping outlet (the PX) to acquire at least enough pieces to fashion 7 outfits for our trip. If anyone knows the PX, they also know the options there are, well, subpar at best. But dammit I got a fashion degree for a reason!! Pair a few classic staples with a tapered pant here, a puffy sleeve there, all in this season’s color pallet, and we got the full runway show!

On day 5 without luggage, I lose hope that anyone actually works at the airport. I figure I’ll just have to search myself once we return to Germany.

Mom gets a phone call- an eager German lady excitedly announcing the discovery of my bag as though she should be praised with the highest honor. No bitch. I wore PX clothes for two weeks!

I retrieve my bag from the airport and open it to ensure no Christmas present has broken. While relieved that the ramen bowls are intact, I find that the apparel contents are soaked and smell like an old storage unit. Seriously?! (Bless laundry and Dad for doing it!)

*I send my email to Lufthansa customer service explaining both the cost of the train ticket to Stuttgart and the expenses necessary to not wander naked for two weeks need to be reimbursed.

The response I got was not favorable. Apparently because the second flight was cancelled due to “eXtReMe WeAtHeR” that was out of Lufthansa’s control, I will not be getting a refund for the train ticket.

Stay tuned for my upcoming edit on whether or not my Karen voice is successful in getting my clothing reimbursed.

[moreidsdaughter]

I posted 3,625 times in 2022

869 posts created (24%)

2,756 posts reblogged (76%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lavendersnow

@moreidsdaughter

@meganskane

@wenclair

@thaliaisalesbian

I tagged 1,280 of my posts in 2022

#hey look i can queue - 284 posts

#criminal minds - 115 posts

#cm - 77 posts

#figure skating - 60 posts

#asks - 50 posts

#fic rec - 49 posts

#euphoria spoilers - 46 posts

#spencer reid - 44 posts

#euphoria - 43 posts

#emily prentiss - 43 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#it’s an interesting choice because it takes place in modern day. i wonder if the film would have felt different if it was in color?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

yes, i’m crying to matilda by harry styles

171 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

#4

how he handles you on your period

rafe cameron x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: menstration and rafe being a comical genius...

a/n: feel like dropping something spontaneously lmao… also, this is not proofread

notes: also, keep in mind they live in an apartment together not the house.

you're staying the night at rafe's apartment for the first time and of course something has to happen..

when you wake up the next morning, you wake up to an empty bed without rafe in site. however, the smell of eggs and toast lingers in the air.

you get up slowly on to feel an ache in you abdomen. normally, this means, but it can't be right?

you look down onto the bed and well...

shit.

blood. on. his. sheets.

"he's definitely not gonna like that." you whisper with worry. how can i fix this? you quickly start taking the sheets off the bed.

just as you’re done taking the sheets off, rafe yells "baby? you comin? come on i made eggs and toast.”

“yeah, coming!” you yelled, trying to hurry up and bring the sheets to the washer… you creep down the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound.

“baby. what are you doing?”

“holy shit, rafe you scared me!” you yelp.

“well what do you have to be scared about beautiful?” he says, with a smile growing onto his warm face.

ok guys, we all know rafe is no genius.. he only knows what periods are because he lives in a house with three women.

anyways, so when he sees the dull red stain on the sheet he knows and like the gentleman he is, he takes them.

“oh no no no, baby you shouldn’t take those.” you say with a tinge of embarrassment laced in your tone.

“baby it’s okay… go into my bathroom and look in the left cabinet under the sink. everything you need should be there. i’m gonna take these downstairs, you’re gonna clean yourself up, sit that pretty butt down in bed, and let me take care of you.” rafe says, his slight smirk growing into a smile.

you’re shocked, when did he have the time to do this? “hey since when do you keep period stuff in you’re bathroom?” you ask, confusion evident on your blushing face.

“well… i mean ever since i started dating you, i just thought that i should keep stuff like that around. i want you to be comfortable at all times around me sweetheart.”

and this was the moment you knew that rafe cameron was something special… you extend your arms out and wrap them around him, giving him the hardest squeeze you could while moving your face into the crook of his neck.

“love you rafey.” you whisper.

“i love you too, now get your pretty ass in bed right now.” he laughs, placing a kiss on your temple and giving a quick swat to your bum.

tagging (for exposure): @benedictsmuse @raeganstyles @c4m3ron @thatfangirl42

362 notes - Posted July 14, 2022

#3

moreidsdaughter’s 800 follower fic recommendations part 2

this part is all for the other fandoms i follow/pay attention to!! again i wanna bring light to content creators, especially writers, so let’s get on with this shindig!!

harry potter

the golden era

draco malfoy:

my sunshine - @mellifluousart

meet my parents - @mellifluousart

rain and sun - @mellifluousart

Rainfall - @sapphicwhxre

sweater weather - @elysianrogers

in his eyes - @dracosaurusrex

Bookworms - @dracosaurusrex

theodore nott:

as the world caves in - @kpostedsum

teddy’s girl - @cobrakaisb

baby - @cobrakaisb

harry potter:

girls like her - @sapphicwhxre

love language - @drayart

in a mood for shopping - @leydileyla

hermione granger:

dating hermione as a slytherin - @sapphicwhxre

morning melodies - @sapphicwhxre

the lighting era

remus lupin:

i love you so - @saintlike78

first date - @drayart

sweater  - @earlgreydream

dating remus lupin - @earlgreydream

sweet comfort - @heloisedaphnebrightmore

See the full post

465 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

#2

moreidsdaughter 800 follower fic rec list part 1!!!

hi guys! this will be the first part of the celebration for 800 of you beautiful people! the reason why i chose to do a list is because i think that creators and writers in fandoms deserve more light! making this list is a reminder to you and i to support the people that make this community so so special!! thank you to these writers for bettering the cm, harry potter, and a few other fandoms!!

criminal minds:

emily prentiss:

bait babes - @ssa-sugar-tits

physical comfort - @mrvltwimagines

intro - @ssajemilyprentiss

cramps and wine - @lesssermatters

baby, you’re my new years’ eve - @spencers-renaissance

carolina masterlist - @stxrrywildflower

spencer reid:

love and audible - @agentsoftie

early stages - @leahseclipse

cramps - @stxrrywildflower

you don’t need to prove yourself to me - @fredweaslcy

call it what you want - @alltooreid

never forget - @reidslibrarybook

do the stars gaze back? - @fiftyshadesofspencerreid

just your average rainy - @shemarmooresfedora

angelic in my clothes - @wonderlandhatter

secret girlfriend - @reids-rendering-reality

dandelions - @luvspence

wardrobe malfunctions - @luvspence

sage-coloured glasses - @sunlitspence

a shared heart - @sunlitspence

little sister - @stxrrywildflower

spencer x influencer!reader - @rigatonireid

advil - @reidsnose

luke alvez:

perfect for me - @thelukealvez

See the full post

513 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

because the last post is out of date, reblog if you’re in the criminal minds community in 2022!

650 notes - Posted January 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[pointreyesjournal]

The Amnesiac : ep25

The People's Republic of Macchiato

Tuesday

River gently bites my lip to wake me. The only thing I see as I wake is the faintest glimmer of light in her eyes as she turns her nibble into a kiss. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you at the coffee shop when you wake up” she whispers and then disappears into the darkness of the early morning. I glance at my watch. 5:30am is says. I disappear under the duvet for another three hours, then program my autopilot toward the coffee shop.

The knock on Henrik’s door went unanswered, but I find him in the coffee shop seated at the good table near the window. He waves to get my attention while I’m standing in the queue, and tips his mug toward me to show me that it’s nearly empty and motions for me to order him another one. I nod affirmatively.

A new girl is taking drink orders this morning, so I ask for my usual quad shot whole milk latte, plus a whole milk cappuccino, then stuff my credit card into the machine. When she asks me for a name on the order I tell her “Jack Kerouac” and she makes me spell out “Kerouac.” River is watching silently and gives me a wry smile as I begin to recite “K. E. R. O. U…”

—

“Pull up a chair” Henrik tells me as I approach the table. It’s an odd suggestion since he’s sitting alone with am empty chair across from him. I haven’t even begun to mentally process his request when I hear the latch on the bathroom door unlock and Emma steps out. “Floody!” she exclaims as she wraps her arms around me. “Have you recovered from your hero dose of mushrooms?” she asks before plopping her butt down in the seat across from Henrik.

I don’t even bother responding. Instead I commandeer an empty seat from the next table and sit down. River delivers the drinks to the table rather than suffer the indignity of shouting out “Jack Kerouac, your drinks are ready” to the entire coffee shop. As she is setting my drink on the table she brushes her fingers across the back of my neck. It is a surreptitious hello and good morning that goes completely unnoticed by the other patrons, but sends goosebumps racing down my spine.

“Settle this argument for us Floody” Emma asks. “Henrik says that the best businesses are benevolent dictatorships. I say that all organizations should be democratic.”

“What the hell prompted this conversation?”

“Emma thinks that her and her colleagues should have more of a say in how this place is run, and how the earnings are distributed” says Henrik.

“The owners are paying us minimum wage plus tips, and we’re just barely getting by on two jobs, but they just bought themselves a camper van” Emma protests.

“So, you’re saying they’re paying themselves too much, and not enough to the team?”

“Yes. If you study world history, you’ll know that America is the best country because we’re the only ones with democracy, and if democracy works for government it should work for business.” says Emma.

“And all dictatorships are bad?”

“Yes.” Emma says.

“Why?”

“Because in a dictatorship if the dictator doesn’t like you, he can just throw you in jail.”

“For no reason?”

“Yes!”

“But Emma, in a business, the owner doesn’t have any power over you. They can’t just throw you in jail or publicly execute you. You can just quit and walk away with zero consequences.”

“Yeah, okay, I see what you’re saying, but I still think we should have more of a say around here.”

“Well, there are really two ways to solve this problem Emma. You could be like Che Guevara and demand that power be transferred to the people through some sort of Marxist regime. And we all know how that turned out …”

“Yes, very well.” says Emma.

“No. Very badly. Or secondly, you and your colleagues could organize a labor union, engage in collective bargaining and threaten to walk out, forcing the owners to capitulate.”

“I would never do that. Union workers are lazy.”

“Well, I think those are your only two options Emma.”

“Well Floody, you clearly don’t know anything about business.”

[ncrosha]

Again there is silence as Beast speaks. A different sort of silence. Josh takes every insult into himself and allows it to slide off, either believing it as truth or simply no longer caring. Insulting David is another matter. The change in expression is subtle, just the slightest angling of the brows.

But the air of the room tells a far different story.

It's the calm before the storm. The heavy scent of ozone, a sudden silence, hair suddenly rising for attention as particles become charged... and animal instincts become aware that something far greater than any predator is standing before them.

Joshua Foley is a god among men. Whether he wants to be or not. He knows this, has perhaps always known this.

"Oh my God," he says, the calm finally cracking. "Dude, just shut up."

Yet he lacks the eloquence of one.

"We bring Quentin back because he asks to be brought back. Anyone who want to be removed from the queue is allowed their rest," he starts again, no calmer. The accusation wriggles under his skin, leaving nothing but burning resentment in its wake. "The Five exist to give a second chance to everyone whose lives were cut short. But it's rich, hearing you say any of that shit, considering only one of us in this room doesn't get a choice on whether or not we come back. One of us came back clawing our way out of the goddamn ground. And maybe that wouldn't have happened if they'd had a bumbling do-gooder to looking out for them, but they were too fucked up from what the other guys did to trust they wouldn't be used up again."

The air thickens. Twisting, reeking of death. Becoming even more suffocating. Death and disease, life and longeivity. One cup pouring into the other. He is the beginning and the end. If one looks close enough they may see the flames of the phoenix burning white-hot in those empty eyes.

"I am so tired of all of you talking at me, down to me, like I'm not the reason you even made it this far. I gave everything I had to keep what little we had left alive - being forced to give more, and more, and more until I had nothing left. And I was left on the goddamn floor when I wasn't of any more use." Josh gestures sharply to the man before him. "And I only came back because I thought it was different. That'd it'd be - that you were different! That you actually cared about us! All of us! Because all the rest of them give a shit about is keeping themselves and each other alive, even if they won't admit it!"

He catches himself, his voice raising. The growing hysteria. One hand comes up to the side of his head as he forces calm. Manually altering his own brain chemistry so this doesn't go how it used to go.

It takes only a second. He takes a shuddering breath and turns on his heel.

"...I'm sorry that they left you as alone as they left me, Professor... I'm sorry what it did to you." He pauses in the doorway. "But if the cost of Krakoa is our souls, then we're out. We already did what we came here to do. Complain to the Quiet Council, I don't give a shit."

The comment about not knowing Josh anymore goes unheeded, that unnatural lack of reaction in Beast's face at such a firm severing of ties, of knowledge, made to stand out all the more by what comes after it - a smile as he shakes his head. A nasty, vindictive, cruel smile, the only kind he knows anymore, but a smile nonetheless.

"Prodigy? Really? Oh, that really is too funny . . . intelligence is more than rote recitation of facts and knowledge. Intelligence is a thought process. Intelligence is an instinct, an ability to connect fact to fact, thought to thought, supposition to supposition - a spark, that turns the simple knowing of something, into being able to actually do something with that knowledge. Something Prodigy lacks. Has lacked, will always lack. Perhaps you think that's unkind? What does your fraud friend do with all that knowledge?"

He lets the question hang in the air for a moment.

"He's on clean up duty. He pokes about in bodies that are so unimportant that Krakoa isn't even sure if they're dead or not, because nobody cares. The smallest of pictures, the smallest of messes on aisle five. He, like you, has never amounted to anything. Smartest living mutant. How warped your perspective is."

Again, the retreat back into placidity. It's becoming clearer and clearer to Josh that all it takes is a prod in a sensitive spot - of which there appear to be many - and months, years, decades worth of rotten, fetid feelings rise like a spitting cobra out of the Beast's mouth. Does he believe any of it? Does it matter? Everyone had already made up their mind about him long before they had set foot on Krakoa. He knows they have. He could see it in their eyes, the night of the celebrations, the way they'd looked at him, refused to sit with him, distanced themselves from him.

Deserter. Mad scientist. Hypocrite. Unstable. Reckless. Irresponsible. Deranged. Self-aggrandising. Assimilationist. Turncoat.

Monster.

Well, if that was what everyone he'd ever known and worked with and protected and dedicated his life and time and heart to thought he was, then that was what he was. Clearly.

Who was he to swim against the current?

"I am Kid Omega's director, not his psychologist. If he has problems that you believe are manifesting in suicidal tendencies, then talk to someone who can help him, but, seeing as you will resurrect him regardless of what he does, it simply isn't my problem. You will not allow him to remain dead to try and teach him a lesson or punish him, and so my operative remains on the board. That's all that matters. A death wish only matters to people who can permanently die."

The callousness might well strike a whole new layer of offence in Josh, one he might not have even known he possessed, but that thought? That's one the Beast has been holding on to for some time now. One that's contributed to his - state.

The thought that death has no meaning for them anymore.

There are no consequences for their actions. Life only has meaning so long as it is finite, so long as it has a set beginning, middle and end. A defined arc. All of this, everything that Elixir and the Five do, spits in the face of that arc.

Beast could reach up and break his own neck, right now, and it wouldn't matter. He would just come back. How could that not affect his decision making? Life had used to hold so much meaning for him. He'd broken time and space itself to try and get through to Cyclops once, all because he had refused to cross that line, to hurt and kill him - and now, it didn't matter.

He could have done it, and it wouldn't have mattered. It was all pointless. Everything he'd ever done was pointless. It was a waste of time, it was a waste. The Legacy Virus. The Decimation. Mutant utopia. Everything he'd ever worked to fix had remained broken, and then fixed itself without him, or a solution had come along later that had rendered the moralising agony of choice moot.

He'd never contributed anything, in the long run. It was always the men of action that got them through. Cyclops and Wolverine had paved the way, shown him the error of his ways with their X-Forces. Show him how real mutant leaders kept mutantkind alive.

Which made this his chance. His chance to atone.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. He feels feverish. Frenzied. He pushes it down, compartmentalises, twists himself into knots, tries to suffocate the feelings. There's no place for them now.

And yet, a glimmer still peeks out through his eyes. A spot of very human, very pale blue, visible in the sickly gold of his animal gaze. A wallowing misery escapes him for half a second, granting Josh a glimpse at something in Beast that would chill him. Hopelessness. Despair. Hysteria. Self-loathing. The look of a cornered, frightened animal.

"I'm already alone. Everyone else has already left." He glances away for a moment, at a seat that hasn't been filled at the X-Force table for some time now. Jean Grey's seat.

When he looks back, the placidity is back. The mask. The performance. It's quite good, really. He always has been good at affectation.

"I exist now as a necessary evil, because you all ran out of time and patience for the bungling do-gooder. And quite right that you did. He was inadequate for the task, and tiresome to boot."

And then, of all things, Beast makes a show of checking his watch.

"If you aren't going to fulfil the request, you may leave. A formal complaint will be filed with the Quiet Council, and they can debate it amongst themselves. I will continue to file requests as and when I see fit, and you can do your duty, or you can shirk it. Either way, I see no reason to prolong this pointless discussion. Good day."

[safetypads]

On souls games

Picture by proyectodocumenta.cl

Introduction: This was a small blogpost/rant I wrote in july of 2022 trying to make sense of my experience with Elden Ring.

I like souls games. I’ve thought they’re great ever since I saw a random dude play a deprived build in a department store somewhere around 2015. Having only barely scraped the huge cultural footprint these games had already left on our gamer hivemind through memes and casual but over excited reviews from my friends, I knew these games were good, I knew it without even having tried them. Hell, the fact that I hadn’t tried them was only because they seemed too good for me, or too hard, but whatever, the ethos of souls games seemed to be that hard equals good, and these games smelled like concrete. My first attempt at actually playing one of these games was with Dark Souls 2. I was living with a group of roomies I barely knew, I had recently dyed my hair green and I also had recently started taking hormones. I was on my way up, feeling unbeatable, so I tried my hands at these seemingly unreachable goals of playing some of these games. And, well, Souls 2 was the cheapest one. By then, I knew that the whole point of these games was struggling, a concept I quite enjoy in art, but decidedly avoid in real life. I had interiorized that it was all about doing those stupid dances to avoid the swomps and the doinks just so that you could be the one swomping and doinking the bad guys after you. I also knew these games had some insane story that boiled down to, well, greed bad -I agree-. I had seen the amiibos, I had glimpsed at the unknown in the form of youtube lore analysis thumbnails and, as stated before, I had acknowledged the memes. But then again, none of this mattered to me when I entered one of the very first areas of Dark Souls 2, Heide's Tower of Flame, a place that I could only describe as ominous. The floating staircases, the music, the lighting and the vast emptiness of the background of clouds transported me to somewhere I have been before, once in dreams but many, many times in video games, a headspace, if you will, that feels as alien as homely and as tangible as otherworldly, a place I still don’t know what to call, but that I feel like I’ve felt enough for it to be describable. I think it has something to do with the same feelings that churches give you. My first instance of this feeling must have been when I was a kid. I was raised catholic and I would have a hard time arguing I’m not anymore. Still, I used to get super bored at mass, so, as a distraction mechanism, I’d  try to check how much time was left of the ceremony by learning each bit of it and how much they usually took. Still, I’d also fall semi-asleep a lot of times, times in which I would just stare at the ceiling of the chapel we usually went to and absorb the magnitude of the painted stars and the holy images. It was a blue and purple mass of eternity that hung right above me. I’d try to channel this same feeling when I would be falling asleep on the backseat of my dad’s car at night, trying to capture a vivid image of the place I was then and then focus on the seats, avoiding the ride completely, making the act of travel some kind of mystic ritual in my head. On christmas nights it would be extra special, cause I could stare at the chapel ceiling while also being in this state of sleepiness. It was magical. I’d think of the gates of heaven, the loooong queue to get in, the intensity of a land that could be eternal and unknowable. Who cares if god exists, who cares about reality, when the unknown makes me this happy. But then again the unknown was also scary. A few years older I’d hack my Wii and install free roaming mods for Super Smash Bros Brawl, so that I could take back the camera and see where exactly the world ended. Seeing an ever expanding black maze that these characters couldn’t escape. It would make me cry. It was a similar reaction to when I was even younger, and I would wake up anxious as hell after dreaming of constantly growing shapes, triangles that didn’t feel safe to stand on, expansive squares that would imprison me. I’d wake up sweaty and distressed and then stayed up for hours.Recently I had this feeling again playing Elden Ring. It was at the point in the game when you go through the Siofa River Elevator and you see the underground sky, when you gaze into the infinite potential of this underground world that seems to be huge and unreachable but that you als know is just a space inside a bigger world, where you come from. I don’t think Elden Ring is a perfect game, I’d struggle to call it great, but for some few moments it took me back to that thrill, to the fear and solemnity of the eternal.

[chaosmagicss]

love in the dark (wanda maximoff x reader)

synopsis: your plan is simple; get through your senior year and make it to college with minimal fuss. what you aren't expecting is the spanner in the works that is wanda maximoff and her stupidly kissable lips.

series warnings: high school au (everyone is 18), secret relationship, jealousy, allusions to and brief mentions of smut, fluff, angst

chapter warnings: first time (mostly), bottom!wanda, it’s getting angsty besties <3

words: 5.8k

a/n: this is a little late, sorry bout that - had a pretty tiring week and forgot to queue it lmfao. but alas.... aha... the beginning of the end... :D

part one | part two | part four | part five

Ding.

You groan at the interrupting, burying your face against the pillow in an attempt to hide from the light coming in from the window.

Ding.

You huff, reaching blindly towards your bedside table in search of your phone. It goes off again before you can find it, and you squint against the brightness of the screen as you read the notifications.

I’m sorry for last night

I was a mess

You rub your eyes, sitting up in bed and scooting until your back finds the headboard.

it’s alright, don’t apologise

how are you feeling?

Hungover. Head hurts like crazy

There’s a few seconds of a typing bubble, and then…

Wish you were here to kiss it better :(

You huff a laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up for no real reason.

smooth.

I know I am ;)

You roll your eyes at your girlfriend’s antics, that dopey grin still on your face.

let me know if you need anything, ok?

Wanda sends a heart emoji back, and you sigh softly, dropping your phone beside you and climbing out of bed, heading towards the shower. Some twenty minutes later, you make your way downstairs for breakfast - or, well, lunch, really. You aren’t expecting to find Iryna Maximoff unpacking the dishwasher, and it takes you a moment to unscramble your sleepy brain.

“Morning, love. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You blink, shaking your head. “No,” you say. “You didn't. I - I didn’t know you were… isn’t it your day off?”

The woman smiles almost sheepishly. “Technically, yes. But your mother mentioned she was doing a double shift – I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Especially because you dropped my kids home last night.”

You swallow thickly, reaching for the fruit bowl if only to make sure Iryna doesn’t catch your cheeks flushing in that way they always do whenever she mentions Wanda. “Oh, that’s okay. It’s not like I was gonna let ‘em walk home at that hour.”

“Still,” Iryna says gently. “I need to find some way to thank you.”

You smile, hopping up onto the counter. “You could thank me by actually taking your day off,” you say cheekily, and Iryna clicks her tongue, shooting you a look as she closes the now-empty dishwasher. “Really, Mrs Maximoff. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got something for dinner?”

A nod. “There’s stuff for pasta in the fridge. Or I can order takeout.”

She twists her lips, then sighs a little. “Alright. But you’ll let me know if you have any problems?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles again. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it. See you Tuesday.”

“Bye.”

The front door clicks shut, and you let out a relieved breath. The tightness in your chest doesn’t quite alleviate, and you recognise the feeling as guilt. Lying sucks. Especially to someone as kind and sweet as Iryna is. Even if you might not be so fond of her readiness to send her daughter halfway across the globe, you have a deep respect for her; for any of her flaws, Iryna Maximoff’s heart is with her children, her sole focus on ensuring they have a good future. You can’t fault her for that.

All that respect for the woman doesn’t help with the guilt that lying to her makes you feel. Sometimes, you think about how it would be if she knew how you felt about her daughter; if things were different, maybe she would’ve welcomed you with open arms. Wanda already insists that she adores you, and the notion of it warms your chest. But recently, all that warmth finds itself overrun by the heavy feeling of shame, and you hate it.

For the millionth time, you wish things were different.

-

The next few days are uneventful. School, stealing moments with Wanda, home. School, Wanda, training, home. So on and so forth. Until Thursday, second period: biology.

When the teacher announces a project to be done in pairs, you immediately turn to Carol. Until, of course, she starts rattling off pairs almost at random. Carol mutters a damn it, banging her head into the table, and you laugh a little in amusement until, “Okay, Jarvis with Carol, Wanda with Y/N. Y/N and Jarvis swap seats.”

You don’t hear Carol’s tiny groan of disappointment over the eye contact you make with Wanda, both of you doing your best not to let your excitement show on your faces. You force your eyes away from her to start gathering your stuff, cautious not to look too desperate. You’re about to stand when Carol nudges you, and you shoot her a look before she points over to Wanda.

Or so you think.

Jarvis is leaning over, that ‘charming’ grin on his face. “Y/N, how about we swap partners?”

Your eyes flick to Wanda, her jaw tight, eyebrows cinched just enough that you can tell she’s disappointed. Your stomach twists uncomfortably when you realise that Jarvis probably thinks it’s because she’s not partnered with him. You swallow thickly, start to stammer through a response.

“I, um…”

“No swapping!” the teacher announces, a general response to the various frustrated grumbles across the room. You watch Wanda smother a smile, give Jarvis a tightlipped one of your own.

“Sorry, Jarvis,” you say, pushing to stand. You look over at Carol, drop your voice to a whisper. “Good luck.”

She cracks a grin, leaning on her first in faux excitement. “What ever do you mean, I’m absolutely thrilled!”

You huff a laugh and step past Jarvis as he moves towards your own desk, sitting down beside Wanda. Her attempt to smother her smile fails as you meet her eyes, and your whole chest warms in response. She clears her throat, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the grin on her face.

“Okay,” she chokes out, clearing her throat again. “What do you - we should probably get a start on this.”

“Okay,” you say softly, mostly to yourself.

By the end of the lesson, you’ve made casual plans to meet at Wanda’s house after school to keep working on the project, and it’s the only thing you can think about for the rest of the day. You’re zoning out of the conversation at lunch, your eyes glancing in Wanda’s direction every time her pretty laugh echoes across the room, and each time your eyes meet you have to look away just so you don’t blush in the middle of the cafeteria. You’re prodding pointlessly at your lunch with your fork when Carol kicks you in the shin, hard.

“Ow!” you say loudly, head whipping up and meeting Carol’s easy grin.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding it, “you were on another planet.”

“Right, sorry,” you reply, pushing a hand back through your hair. “What were we talking about?”

Val catches your attention, so you miss the half-second glance Carol shoots in Wanda’s direction and the way her face twists together in thoughtfulness.

-

You knock on the door to the Maximoff residence at 7:03pm, and your heartbeat is pounding against your ribs uncomfortably fast for the 38 seconds it takes for the door to open. The smile drops from your face when you’re met with Pietro instead of Wanda, and you shift awkwardly on your feet as he watches you with an almost amused expression.

“Hi,” you say as he leans against the doorway.

“Hey,” he replies.

You clear your throat. “Um, is - is Wanda home?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a loud, “Pietro, did you open the fucking door?”

He grins, looking a little caught, as Wanda appears beside him suddenly, roughly shoving at him to try and get him to move. He relents a few steps, enough for Wanda to step in his place and turn to smile at you.

“Hi, sorry,” she says, and then she reaches for your arm to tug you inside. The touch shoots shivers up your arm, makes your chest tight with panic at the audience. Sure, it’s just her brother, but still. Wanda turns to Pietro as she drags you further into the house, snapping at him in Sokovian. He fires right back at her, seemingly getting a kick out of pissing her off, and you can’t help the grin that pulls at your lips when you notice the frustrated flush making the tips of her ears red.

“Mudak!” Wanda says as you reach the top of the stairs, guiding you into her room. “Good-bye!”

You huff a laugh when she closes the door and lets out a sigh, the tension visibly draining from her shoulders.

“That was colourful,” you comment. Wanda shoots you a look. Or, at least, she tries to - her lips tick up into a smile. “What was that about?”

“He’s just - being annoying,” she says, waving a hand, and you smother a smile as you nod, putting your bag down on her bed. You pull out your laptop and all the other things you need for the assignment, but when you start to walk Wanda through your plan, turning to look at her, she pounces on you.

You hum in surprise against her mouth as she pushes at your shoulders to make you sit on the bed before sliding into your lap, kissing you in a way that’s thoroughly distracting.

“Mm,” you say against her lips, “Wanda, we gotta—” She sucks at your lip. “Baby, we really gotta do this assignment—”

“Let’s just do this all night,” she husks, mouth working hotly along your jaw. “Pietro’s going out. We’ve got the house to ourselves.”

Your huff of laughter turns into something closer to a soft moan when she nips at your earlobe. “Wanda.”

She leans back at your stern tone, pouting adorably. You grin at her, reaching up to press your thumb against her frown for a second.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say on a chuckle. The pout falters, lips curling up again despite her best efforts. “Y’know Miss Clarke hates late hand-ins. We won’t finish it if we don’t start now.”

She sucks her teeth, hands sliding around to the nape of your neck so she can fiddle with the baby hairs there. “We have tomorrow, and all weekend,” she frowns.

“No, we don’t. I have plans with Carol tomorrow night, and you’ve got that—”

“Dinner on Sunday,” she groans, leaning forward to bury her face in the crook of your neck. You hum, stroke a hand up and down her back, smiling when she sighs contently against you. She leans back after a second, pecking your cheek and then your lips. “Okay. Let’s get this stupid assignment done.”

You squeeze her waist, kissing her chastely.

“That’s my girl.”

For Wanda’s sake, you pretend not to notice the way her cheeks go pink.

Wanda works dutifully for three and a half hours. She gives up sometime around 10:30, and you can feel her eyes burning into the side of your face as she lays on her tummy, chin propped up on her hands as she watches you where you sit at her desk.

“Baby?”

You hum distractedly, eyes focused on this last paragraph of the essay. Once you get this done, all that’s left is the conclusion. You vaguely hear the bed shift, and only a moment later, lithe arms wrap around your shoulders from behind, and she leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m bored.”

“We’re almost done, Wanda,” you reply, tipping your head back to look at her. She smiles down at you, kissing you chastely. You can practically hear her pout as you look back to the computer screen, rubbing at your sort of sore eyes. “Twenty more minutes, okay?”

“Just have a quick break,” Wanda says. “Let’s just go get some fresh air. Give your eyes a rest.”

And, okay, that does sound nice. Still, you know you should probably just crank it out and be done with it. As if Wanda can hear your thought process, she presses another kiss to your hair.

“Won’t be long, baby, I promise.”

You grumble softly, unable to deny her anything. “Okay,” you sigh, but you can’t help but grin when she squeals excitedly and tugs you to your feet, taking your hand as she leads you to the door.

“What about our shoes?” you ask.

“Don’t need ‘em,” she throws over her shoulder, and even if it’s a little odd, you choose to ignore it in favour of keeping her hand in yours. Wanda pulls you outside, her feet slowing as she leans into your side and walks you towards the pool, only stopping when you’re right at the edge. There are only a few leaves floating around in the otherwise clean pool, and you find yourself mesmerised by the movement of the water.

There’s only a month until prom, and then exams and then graduation and then college. There’s an unspoken uncertainty hanging between you and Wanda and just what your relationship is going to be like when you go off to college, or if there will even be one. There’s the off chance that you get into MIT and Wanda goes to New York instead of  moving halfway around the world, and if that happens maybe you could go long-distance if the two of you stop hiding, but thinking about all the variables for too long makes you a little dizzy.

You don’t want to lose this, lose her. Even if it’s been hanging on by a thread since the day it started, you can’t help but think getting away from this town is going to be a sort of fresh start for the two of you. As naive and childish as it is, you can’t help but hope for it.

You can picture it so clearly - you both go to college only an hour’s flight away from each other, visit each other on the long weekends and the holidays and during the breaks, and then maybe you’ll move to New York and you’ll move into some shitty studio apartment and get a cat and make a space that’s yours.

But that life doesn’t involve Jarvis Stark or the plan that Wanda’s father has lain out so clearly or the secrecy and the hiding.

It’s unrealistic, and the smarter part of you knows that.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Wanda gently urges you to face her, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “What’re you thinkin’ so hard about, baby?”

You manage a teasing smile. “All the work we still gotta do,” you reply. Wanda rolls her eyes, winds her arms around your neck, and leans in close enough that her lips brush against yours when she speaks.

“Anyone ever told you you’re an overachiever?”

You fake an affronted noise, leaning back to look at her properly. She grins cheekily up at you. “Says you, Miss Straight A’s.”

“I actually have a B+ in calculus,” she retorts, and you huff a laugh, leaning in close again.

“My little nerd,” you murmur, and Wanda giggles as you kiss her. It starts off soft and sweet, but when she bites down on your lip, you pull back and ignore her pout of protest, dropping a few kisses to her cheeks. “You’re too distracting for your own good, you know that?”

She just hums, and then her face pulls together in almost concern. “Are you hot? I’m feeling kind of hot.”

You frown. “No…?”

“No, I think you are.”

Your confusion only grows. “Is this some sort of innuendo I don’t get—?”

You’re cut off by your own yelp when Wanda shoves you into the pool. Suddenly, it makes plenty sense why she’d told you not to bother with your shoes. You’re just glad you don’t have your phone on you. You break the surface to find Wanda doubled over in laughter, and it’s hard to stay mad at her when she’s full-belly laughing.

“You asshole!” you laugh, holding on to the edge as she presses a hand to her tummy, trying to get ahold of herself. “Was this your plan the whole time?”

She giggles, nodding, and you shake your head in disbelief. Before you can pull yourself out of the water, however, she’s leaping in as well. You splash water at her when she comes to the surface, and she giggles relentlessly as she pushes forward until she can reach you, gripping onto your shoulders and wrapping her legs around your waist.

All your previous worries are thrown right out the window as you struggle to kiss her between your laughter, your hands low on her waist as you hold her in the water.

After you shiver ten minutes later, Wanda leads you back into the house and fetches two towels. She kisses your cheek once you’ve wrapped yourself up and murmurs about getting you into a set of dry clothes before grabbing your hand and tugging you into her bedroom. You wait patiently as she rummages through her wardrobe for clothes, handing you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt once she’s found them.

You quickly change into the dry clothes as she searches for her own, and when Wanda turns to look at you as you’re tugging the shirt over her head, you catch her eyes lingering on your revealed skin before she snaps them up. She blushes intensely when you give her a knowing smirk, quickly looking away and turning to put her set of clothes on her bed.

“Are the - are the clothes okay?” she asks, her voice a little strained. You do your best to stop the smile from growing.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’d say goodbye to these sweatpants, if I were you. They’re quite comfortable.”

Wanda huffs, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at your comment. “Buy your own,” she shoots back, and you simply hum in response, caught on the way the bedside lamp is painting her face. It’s probably a silly thing to get rendered speechless by, but you can’t help it; Wanda is almost painfully beautiful.

Her hands freeze at the hem of her shirt when she realises you’re still watching her, and she clears her throat, raising her eyebrows pointedly when you meet her gaze.

“Oh, right, yeah.”

You turn around and close your eyes for good measure, doing your best to get the heavy beating of your heart back in control as the sound of Wanda pulling her shirt over her head finds you.

But then, “Y/N?”

Her voice is soft and shy, and has your heart fluttering.

“Yeah?”

There’s a long, heavy beat of silence. And then, “Turn around?”

With your heart still pounding solidly against your ribcage, you do so. Wanda exhales shakily as your eyes find her standing in her black lace bra, her shirt twisting anxiously between her fingers. You fight to keep your eyes on her face, but it proves difficult and you can feel your face warming.

Even in the low light in the room, you can see the faint blush taking over Wanda’s cheeks, too. With a deep breath, you step over to her, eyes on hers.

She bites into her lip as you reach her, one hand lifting to brush damp strands of hair away from her eyes and the other gingerly finding her waist. Her shirt flutters to the ground between your feet as her hands slide up onto your shoulders, and ever so slowly, you lean in.

Wanda gasps softly when your lips find hers, pressing delicately. It’s not your first kiss by any means, but there’s something different thrumming in the air around you, something much more intense. There’s a tension in your lower tummy, warmth pooling throughout your whole body, and the feel of Wanda’s soft skin beneath your fingertips is doing nothing to cool you down.

When you pull back for air, Wanda trails after you, curling a hand around the nape of your neck to tug you back in, kissing you with more certainty now. She steps towards the bed, licking at your bottom lip and dragging a groan out of you. Carefully, you guide her onto her back, settling between her legs and propping yourself up on your elbows.

Her breath catches when you meet her eyes, searching her face for any sign that she wants to stop. Long eyelashes flutter as a tiny smile curls up one corner of her mouth, her hand shifting so she can trace the line of your cheekbones, then over the bow of your lips.

She blushes when you kiss the pads of her fingertips. “Hi,” she whispers.

“Hey,” you murmur back. “You okay? You wanna keep going?”

She nods, licks her bottom lip. “I just… I’ve never done this before,” she admits shyly.

You swallow hard. “Neither,” you reply. “We… we’ll take it slow, okay?” She nods, pulls you down so that she can kiss you, slow and deep, and it makes your head spin. When you need to breathe, you trail your kisses along her jaw and down her throat, and Wanda gasps when you nip at her pulse point.

Her hands tug at your shirt. “Off?” she asks in a murmur. “Wanna feel you.”

You push up onto your knees just long enough to do as much, your whole body lighting up when Wanda hooks her legs over your hips to press you closer to her as you kiss. She hums appreciatively as her nails drag feather-light lines over your back, her other hand gently fisting into the back of your hair.

Your hips jolt at the subtle tug, a soft groan slipping out of your lips, and Wanda moans at the movement, her thighs tightening their hold.

“More,” Wanda gasps, rocking her hips up in a desperate search for that friction again, and your whole body runs hot. You lean back to look at her as you press your hips down again, and you can’t help but smile when she whines softly. “Please.”

It’s almost a whimper, and the sound makes something in you click. You swallow hard, eyes trained on her face. Her cheeks are thoroughly flushed and her pupils are blown wide as she gazes up at you, desperation written all over her face. Biting into your lip, you push off of her again to help her tug her shorts down her legs. Her breathing roughens with each inch of revealed skin, and you find yourself hesitating once her shorts are discarded and she’s left in just her panties and bra in front of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, breathless, and Wanda’s cheeks flush further, a shy smile tugging at her mouth.

Wanda licks her lip as she pushes to sit, eyes on yours as she twists a hand behind her back to undo the clip on her bra. As the fabric falls away, you feel your mouth go dry. You lift your eyes back to her face in an attempt to be respectful, and Wanda smiles softly, sitting up further to kiss you. She pulls you down as she settles onto her back again, tugging you flush against her, and god.

“I want you to touch me,” she murmurs against your lips, each word sending a chill down your spine. “Can you do that, please, baby?”

You manage a nod, brushing your lips along her jaw and down her throat, heart pounding as Wanda guides your hand between your bodies. You can’t help yourself when your palm brushes over her chest; you squeeze one of her breasts, revelling in the way Wanda gasps sharply and arches into the touch, moaning quietly when you swipe your thumb over her hardened nipple.

Lifting your head to kiss her, slow and deep, you trail your hand lower, and as you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, pulling away from her mouth to watch her eyes flutter and her mouth fall open on a silent moan, you know with terrifyingly startling clarity that you love her.

Sometime later, after Wanda has fallen asleep on your chest with your fingers stroking through her hair, you gently shift her off you and onto the mattress. She stirs with a soft groan, but sighs and falls back asleep when you smooth a hand over her back. As quietly as you can, you get back into your clothes.

When you lean over to kiss her hair, she wakes, fingers catching in your borrowed hoodie.

“Where’re you going?” she asks, eyes still shut and her lips pulled down in a pout.

“Home,” you whisper, grabbing her hand and lacing your fingers. Wanda squeezes weakly, whines out in protest.

“Stay, baby, please,” she mumbles. Your heart somehow swoops and leaps at the same time, and you sigh softly, bringing her hand to your lips to press a gentle kiss against the back of it.

“I can’t, sweetheart. Pietro’s gonna be home tonight.”

She grumbles, tugs roughly on your hand, and you huff a laugh as you stumble forwards, just barely catching yourself before you collapse on top of her. You drop kisses over her cheek and her hair, catching her lips when she turns her face.

You pull away before she can grab at you, because you know you won’t leave if she gets you back in the bed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Wanda,” you say softly. She hums, eyes fluttering again with the effort of opening them, but she can’t quite manage. You smile a little, gently running your fingers through her hair, and with a heavy sigh, she falls back asleep.

You practically tiptoe out of the room, closing the door as softly as possible, and as you’re making your way down the stairs you hear a loud thud from downstairs that gives you a heart attack and a half.

You half consider running back into Wanda’s room until you hear a soft, “Mudak.” Your heart calms immediately. It’s just Pietro.

Rounding the bottom of the stairs to move into the kitchen, you cautiously peer around the corner. Pietro is on the floor, picking up escaped blueberries and stuffing them back into their little container, muttering to himself in Sokovian.

“Pietro?” His head whips up, and he looks shocked for a moment before he grins. “Hey, man. You okay?”

“I—” He snorts. “I dropped the blueberries.”

You huff a laugh, stepping past the mess to grab a handful of paper towels. Pietro moves back as you crouch down, muttering a thank you as you start to clean up the mess.

“Where’s Wanda?” he asks, words slurring.

“Asleep,” you reply. He hums, fumbling for a glass of water. He’s quiet until you’re putting the used paper towels in the bin.

“I think she likes you,” he says. Your blood runs cold, and you turn to look at him, schooling your face into one of confusion opposed to fear. He grins. “Like, like-like. Hasn’t said anythin’, but… twins know stuff, y’know.”

You hum, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Isn’t she with Jarvis?”

The reaction isn’t one you’d expected; Pietro groans loudly, clearly frustrated. “Jarvis,” he repeats. “Fuckin’ asshole. Hate that guy. You are so much cooler than Jarvis.”

You can’t help but smile, but then Pietro straightens up and when he goes to take a step, he trips over nothing. He chuckles as he catches himself on the bench. “Oops.”

“I think you should get to bed,” you say carefully.

“Too far,” he says, but he puts an arm around your shoulders when you tug him upright again, an arm around his waist. “Gonna sleep on the couch.”

“Alright, couch it is.” You help him stumble to the couch, dropping him down awkwardly with a soft groan. He groans, too, but immediately starts to settle onto his back. “You’re heavier than you look.”

He grins. “‘s all the muscle,” he slurs.

You shake your head in disbelief as you laugh. “Goodnight, Pietro.”

-

“God, it’s like, if you’re a snob, at least be aware that you’re a snob, you know? Have some dignity. Like, at least Stark knows he’s a prick. It’s part of his charm.”

You huff a laugh at Carol’s millionth complaint about Jarvis and his stupid accent, only half listening as you stare up at the ceiling, last night’s events still spinning around in your brain. The sight of Wanda flushed and wanting below you is seared into the back of your brain like a brand, her soft moans as she fell apart on your fingers bouncing around in your head on an endless loop.

But then there’s today; the way she hardly looked at you, leaning into Jarvis’ side when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders on the way to class, the smile she’d given him when he kissed her on the cheek.

“How was your night?” Carol says after a beat, turning to look at you. You shrug, fight the blush you can feel creeping up your neck. This is your least favourite part; lying to your best friend about it all. There’s another pause, and you can feel Carol’s eyes on you. “You and Wanda take advantage of the empty house?”

Your neck almost snaps, you look at her so quick. “What’s that ‘sposed to mean?”

Carol just grins, turning away. “Well, if there was any doubt before…”

“I don’t, I mean—” You huff out a flustered breath. “Carol, what—?”

“You’ve been sneakin’ around with Wanda Maximoff,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“I—” You let out a laugh, stammering. “I am - no I have not!”

Carol laughs, clearly amused by your failing attempts to cover your ass, and you can feel your face growing hot. She raises her eyebrows expectedly as you stumble over your words, and after about eleven seconds of fumbling, you just let out a heavy groan, rolling onto your stomach to bury your face against the mattress.

“Fuck,” you mutter out in defeat, and your best friend is on you in a second.

She shoves at your back as she practically squeals in joy. “Are you serious? I was only, like, 95% sure! When did it start? No, better question, how did it start? Did she, like, initiate it? There’s no way you did; you’re too much of a pussy to make the first move ever.”

“Hey!” you scoff in indignation, lifting your head and shoving Carol away. She topples off the bed, but is back in an instant, totally undeterred by the fall.

“Dude, I didn’t even know she was into girls,” she says, face flushed from excitement. “I, okay, I had my suspicions, but I never - and definitely not with you.” She ignores your offended scoff, smiling. “Tell me how it happened, please.”

“I—” You huff, hiding your face in your hands again. “She just - she came over to drop off some paprikash her mum had made, and then she kissed me and then asked me not to tell anyone but then she found me at school and said she… couldn’t stop thinking about me.” Your cheeks burn red as your best friend’s grin widens. “She asked me to kiss her and then… we were… together.”

Carol hums. “And you’ve been keeping it a secret this whole time?”

You nod, eyes on the ceiling again. “Yup. But she’s practically betrothed to Jarvis; her parents have this whole plan. So she can’t tell anyone.”

You fail to keep the bitterness out of your tone, and Carol frowns in concern.

“Are you, like, okay with that?”

The words hit you rather hard. It’s the first time anyone’s ever asked how you feel about you and Wanda’s… arrangement, so it’s sort of also the first time you’ve ever really had to think about it. No, is your first thought. And then your second, Not at all.

You swallow thickly, closing your eyes to stave off the burning of tears. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “It was sort of fun at first, but now I just… I dunno, just wish things weren’t so…” You gesture vaguely with your hands, and Carol twists her lips. “Complicated.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

You shrug. “No.”

“You probably should.”

“Yeah, probably.” You sigh. “I don’t - I don’t know. I don’t want to screw anything up, you know? Like, the good outweighs the bad. I like her. Really like her. I know that’s probably not good ‘cause she might be moving to England, but I just…”

Carol sighs when you trail off. “Dude, you should really talk to her.”

You sigh through your nose. “Yeah, I will,” you say absently. “Whatever. Don’t wanna think about it right now. Let’s watch a movie.”

You get up before Carol can protest, moving up the bed to settle against the headboard.

Two hours later, she’s snoring beside you. As you reach over to turn off the television so you can get some sleep yourself, your phone rings, Wanda’s contact glaring back at you. You half consider not picking up. If she asked you about it, you could always say you were asleep. You watch your phone ring, your thoughts conflicting until you grunt unhappily and reach for the device, answering the call right before the last ring.

“Hey,” you say quietly, eyes closing as drowsiness pulls at you again.

“I’m sorry about today,” is what she says in response.

It wakes you up almost immediately, and you sigh quietly as you roll onto your back, rubbing at your eyes. “It’s okay,” you say softly.

“No, it’s not.” Her voice shakes, and worry tugs on your heart. “It was - so shitty. I freaked out on you. I’m sorry.” For a few moments, there’s silence, and then Wanda sighs quietly. “I missed you, you know.”

The tightness in your chest loosens a little at the shyness in her voice. “I missed you too.”

Another beat. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” you say gently. “No, I’m not. Just…” You rub a hand over your face, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue: You hurt my feelings. It proves impossible to get them out, so instead you settle for, “I’m not angry with you.”

She exhales again. “Are you… is your mom working tomorrow?” she asks. “Can I come over? We can have a movie day?”

Part of you wants to say no, even though your mother is working, and the realisation makes your heart hurt. You must be quiet for too long, because Wanda says your name in this little, confused voice.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Sorry, I’m just - half asleep. Uh…” You rub at your eyes again. “Yes, mom’s working. I’ve just gotta do groceries tomorrow, but after that I’m free.”

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Text me, and I’ll come over? We can have dinner together.”

“That sounds good,” you say softly. “Night, Wanda.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

The line goes dead, and you take a deep breath, heart aching in your chest.

[haikyuuhoo]

oh how I wish I had a haikyuu boy to cuddle with after spending hours sitting at my desk and doing homework. queue brainrot:

Kita would rub your back just right when you climb into his arms. He’s happy to see you finally coming to bed, baby was trying to stay awake hoping he’d see you before he fell asleep. He saw you working when he got home, knew it was gonna be one of those nights, brought you dinner and let you work and everything. And you finally come into the bedroom looking exhausted, you crawl right into his arms and tuck your head under his chin. He knows the feeling, presses kisses to the crown of your head and lets his hand travel along your back, soothing you to sleep.

Kuroo would notice that you’ve been at your desk for hours and would finally pull you away. You’re in a rolling office chair and he literally tugs it through the apartment because you haven’t listened to him for the last three hours while he’s been trying to get you to take a break. Tells you that you can only go back to work after you watch one episode of New Girl with him--they’re short, it’s not a long time commitment, you can get back to work after you relax--he does a good job at convincing you. You don’t go back to work though, falling asleep on his chest on the couch not even halfway through the first episode.

Atsumu’s so whiny. He was at practice all day and all he wants now is to relax with you, but you keep brushing him off, something about “just twenty more minutes, ‘tsum.” Just wants to hold you, so he settles for sitting by you and watching you work, nearly falling asleep on your shoulder, but he’s so cute with the way he asks questions about the topics you’re working on, trying to stay awake so you can go to bed together. When he finally starts to doze off is when you get up to coax him to bed, and he convinces you to stay with him--not like you could really leave though with the way he holds you against his chest.

Oikawa would rest his chin on your shoulder when he passes your desk, watching you work every so often. Asks “what’re you working on now?” and lingers for a few minutes before heading off to do his own thing again. His “visits” get longer and longer though, and before you know it he’s coaxing you out of your chair. “You’re still working on that? I need your help picking a show to watch.” “Are you hungry? Come see what we have for dinner, I’ll make you something.” “You finished? I’ll do the dishes, but then I need you to look at this outfit I picked out for tomorrow.” Once he gets you out of the chair to see what he’d picked for an event he had to go to, though, you don’t make it out of the bedroom, your exhaustion finally catching up to you, and Oikawa smiles, making a whole show of tucking you in and kissing your head and doing your skincare for you while you snuggle into the covers.

And god forbid you’re pulling an all nighter and Kenma notices he’s heading to bed before you. It’s not unusual for the lights to be out when he goes to bed, so he doesn’t turn them on as he heads to the bathroom to get ready to go to sleep because he doesn’t want to wake you. But when he pulls back the covers, about to get in and pull you to his chest so he can fall asleep, he notices the bed’s empty. Gets the cutest little frown on his face when he goes out to where you’re working and sees you with your lamp on, hunched over a book. You look up when you notice him, and he’s wearing plaid pajama pants and an old volleyball t-shirt, and you realize it must be late. “Hey, I’m almost done, I’ll be in in a bit,” you say and give him a tired smile. But he doesn’t leave, comes over muttering sleepily about how you need to make sure you get enough rest, the hypocrite. And because you’re tired too, you let him drag you to bed; he barely lets you change into your pajamas before he’s coaxing you under the covers and falling asleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow.