#reading All of our demise sorry

[godofstupidsentences]

Very very niche but Reid MacTavish is actually so Albus Severus Potter coded

[x-ladydisdain-x]

Poly Styrene and I would have had some good conversations

[spdrvyn]

unofficial sequel to mr. spider and his journalist

MIGUEL GIVES READER THE 'SPIDER-MAN' KISS — short blurb! i've been so preoccupied with school that i have so many drafts, but this idea crossed my mind a lot so enjoy :3<

"You really need to stop calling this a date. Me saving your sorry ass from nasty republicans does not qualify as a date."

"Maybe, but you're holding me in your arms right now. You're quite the romantic after all, Miguel."

Despite your teasing, Miguel refuses to loosen his grip on you. He only puts you down when you reach the small balcony of your flat, he hangs upside down from the meager ceiling above, and you chuckle. You can tell that he's frowning even with the mask on, it only gets funnier when he actually takes it off.

"I'm serious," he sighs. It looks painful to do so from the angle he's at. "You need to start being more careful. You're on thin ice with the public right now, you might want to consider hiring an actual bodyguard."

"But I already have an actual bodyguard," you mock his tone. The icey cold air that blasts when he glares at you probably says that there's no room to push his buttons anymore. "I am being careful, I wouldn't do something like that on purpose, but..."

"But?"

"I missed you," your hands delicately cup his cheeks, and you fruitlessly fix his dark hair out of his face. "You have unfortunately given me a taste of a life outside of my work and now I'm addicted to it. How could you do this to me?"

With the constant tension in Miguel's features, it was easy to tell when he got taken aback by something. Maybe you've just known him for that long that it's become light work, but you adored how all the sharp edges and lines practically smoothed over.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, delicately. "I missed you too. I'm just scared for you a lot of the time, both of our jobs are dangerous, we tend to cross paths in public a lot, it's—"

Before he can continue any further, you lean forward and capture his mouth in a tender kiss. It's enough to untangle the knots in his body, any more and the claws on his feet could detach from the ceiling.

If he wasn't already dizzy from the blood circulating to his head, he is now. He's looking at you upside down, but you're still beautiful. Stupidly so.

"I love you." His cheeks grow warm under your hands, and you smile as you continue. "You excite me in ways that my work never could, I like sneaking around with you, I like the danger of being with you because I love you, but I want us to exist outside of that too. You're amazing, and I want to know more about you as Miguel."

Your knack at journalism has (to his demise) given you a silver tongue, the confession rolls off of it like you were reading a script, so full of vigor and sincerity.

Miguel is too dizzy to be comprehensive, so he leans in again, and again, and again. Until he's stolen both of your breaths away, because that's the least he can do to repay you for stealing his heart first. Only then, does he whisper:

"I love you too."

[turcott3]

the set up

cole caufield x fem! reader

warnings?: alcohol, cursing, kissing, smut, unprotected sex, public sex

masterlist

-

“truth.” you spoke aloud. you were at emma’s bachelorette party, one day before the rehearsal and you were all drunk playing truth or dare like teenagers.

“i know you have a crush on one of the players, who is it?” she asks inquisitively.

“well i’ve always had a little crush on caufield.” you reply with a shrug and a light smile on your face.

“oh really?” emma giggles.

“yeah, i mean he’s just so happy all the time and he’s really handsome, how could i not like him?” you reply taking another sip of your drink.

“i mean yall would be cute honestly.” she continues, texting someone quickly on her phone.

“who ya texting?” steph asks her next to you.

“just brendan, making sure he’s not blackout drunk, you know.” she laughs, knowing the boys were also having their party today.

“oh also, i’ll have your bridesmaid and groomsmen pairings done in the morning.” emma speaks up shutting her phone off. the rest of the night was spent partying, thinking in the back of your mind that you had just admitted your crush on cole to your best friend.

-

“hello?” you groaned into the phone, a call from emma waking you up.

“did you see my text?”

“no i just woke up, i need ibuprofen before i stare at a bright screen.” you laugh lightly.

“oh did i wake you? i’m so sorry.”

“no no it’s fine, i needed to get up, ill read it in a sec.” you reply.

“okay thanks, see you in a few hours y/n!” she says.

“bye love.” you reply, ending the call and getting up, digging for your pills. you popped two before opening your phone back up to read her text. as you ran across your name you almost choked on your drink.

“cole?” you question starkly, eventually leading to a sigh.

“of course i’m with him.” you groan, now feeling pressure to look flawless to maybe impress him. you knew that you’d found him attractive for a while but you had zero clue how he felt toward you.

after many hours of getting ready and making sure your rehearsal dress was perfectly wrinkle-less, you finally were able to leave your hotel room and make your way to the rehearsal venue.

“y/n!” emma yells as you step through the door, running up to hug you.

“hope you enjoy your pairing, yall two are sitting over there for dinner.” she winks pulling away.

“you’re stressing me girl.” you laugh nervously, sitting at the small two top table by yourself. much to your demise, you didn’t get much time to prepare as cole walked into the room a mere 5 minutes later, finding his way to his seat.

“how’ve you been? i haven’t seen you in a while.” cole asks smiling.

“oh i’ve been great, how about you?” you ask, picking at your manicure.

“better now that i’m here.” he replies, turning to face the couple as they were about to speak, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“hey guys so, before we get to eating dinner i just wanted to go over like the order of how everything’s gonna go just so we’re all prepared for tomorrow. and i won’t be mad that it’s not perfect, it’s not supposed to be. but if we don’t have any fun whatsoever, then we’ve failed our mission of being ‘the gallaghers’ so let’s hope we can do that at least.” emma spoke loudly amongst the room. she spoke for a few minutes just running through the order of how everyone is gonna walk out, you and cole being the third “couple”.

“and one last thing, i’m not making you guys sit at separate tables, i sat you with your pairing just because i didn’t like how it looked on the seating chart so, basically you’re attached at the hip all night. sorry.” she laughs, you knew she was particular in not wanting the wedding to be old school and formal.

“you think you got that all down?” you ask, trying to make it seem like you weren’t anxious, and it was starting to work. your nerves were beginning to ease as your anxiety seemed to remember that cole wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“i think i do. and we’re about to practice so that’ll be the test.”

“i’m nervous for tomorrow though.”

“whys that?” he asks, taking a bite of the plate that was sat in front of him.

“what if i like trip on my dress or like sneeze. i’m just scared ill ruin it.” you admit.

“it’ll be fine, you’re just over thinking it.” he replies and you nod knowing he’s right.

“that reception is gonna make it worth it though.” you giggle.

“oh absolutely, that’s gonna be the best part.” he replies

“and you’ll dance with me right?” he asks, with a hopeful smile on his face.

“oh um,” you pause finishing the sip you were about to take, “yeah of course i will.”

“great, i was hoping you would.”

-

you’d spent a vast majority of the night getting to know cole, which you loved doing. he’s an easy going guy who’s very sweet and respectful, which you adored. you went to bed tonight pondering on what the day would bring the two of you. you could feel the flirting between the two of you all evening.

the next morning, you woke up feeling refreshed. you went over the details of the wedding in your head over and over until you didn’t miss a word. you grabbed onto your garment and makeup bag and fled the room, rushing to be by your best friends side as she got ready for her big day.

“so you nervous?” you ask.

“girl no, i already know im saying yes.” she laughs as she sits in the chair being dolled up by her make up artist.

“oh that’s good.” you replied unpacking your things beginning to get yourself ready with the girls. the time came quickly. it seemed like minutes passed by between the time you finished your hair to the time you were stood with the guy you’ve had a crush on for a year.

“you okay? you’re fidgety.” cole asks quietly.

“oh uh, yeah i’m okay. just nervous.” you say, his hand then softly rubbing up and down your back.

“don’t be nervous, you’re gonna be great. if you trip ill catch you. i’m here.” he replies reassuringly as you flash him a weak smile.

“thank you.”

“of course, and you look beautiful by the way.” he says before locking arms with you, prepared to walk down the aisle. you made it down without any trips and appreciated cole going the extra mile to help you up a couple of stairs. you all stood on your respective sides, admiring the couple between you, sharing occasional glances with cole from across the altar. selfishly, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and how kind he was to you just moments prior.

-

the reception started about 30 minutes ago and you’re already 3 wine glasses deep with cole. you’d been dancing for a while and finally made your way back to the table, still littered with the others. you both had grown to be decently drunk and were getting touchy with cole, which is something you wouldn’t DARE to have done about 45 minutes ago.

“cole is need to pee, will you come with me and hold my dress?” you ask, sporting proud puppy dog eyes.

“yes, come on.” he replies standing up reaching his hand out to you, you found your way to the, luckily, single stall restroom. you locked the door quickly and turn to face him.

“i actually don’t have to pee.”

“i know.”

“you do?”

“yes, you’ve been making it obvious.” he giggles.

“what do you mean obvio-“ you start and are cut off by his lips harshly on yours, but in a way you enjoy. it was a quick change in environment, the fun had subsided and all you wanted to know was how he felt buried deep inside you. you felt yourself grow wet at his hands grazing down your back and onto your ass. his lips trailed to your neck, nipping and sucking on the skin before returning back to your lips after a long moment.

“i don’t wanna ruin your make u-“ he starts.

“shut up and fuck me caufield.” you reply interrupting him, a skill you’d both acquired in the last two minutes. cutting him off. a look of shock briefly flashes across his face before a smirk takes over.

“are you sure?” he asks, his hands placed on your waist.

“what do you mean? did you not hear me?”

“no i mean are you sure you wanna do it here?”

“yes, i want you right fucking now cole, and maybe again later when you’re staying in my room with me.” you reply and he smirks, turning you around and bending you over the sink. he assists you in pulling the short train on youryour long skirt over your ass, pushing your soaked lace thong to the side.

“so wet already?” he asks dragging a quick finger through your soaked core.

“mhm.” you reply biting your lip. you looked down at his pants in the mirror as he quickly unbuttoned his dress pants, rubbing himself hard very quickly. you bit your lip as you watched him line his hard cock up with your entrance.

“nuh uh, eyes up here.” he says using his hand to push your chin back up, locking eyes with him as he ran his leaning tip through your wet folds.

“cole we have to be fast.” you complain, as if you weren’t enjoying the teasing. a sigh of relief left your mouth as he buried himself deep inside you, his tip brushing your g-spot instantly, your eyes rolling back.

“oh fuck.” you whimper, realizing you are in a very public place and have to make sure you keep your voice down. you mentally acknowledge the fact that you have no choice but to be fast in this moment, wanting to get the job done quickly. in thinking, you fucked yourself back onto him, colliding in the middle.

“god fuck-“ he grunts, placing his hands firmly on your ass cheeks, thrusting quickly, letting the fabric of your dress muffle the sound of your skin clapping.

“you’re so tight y/n.” he says, almost speeding up his already decent pace.

“oh my god cole, that’s it right there.” you whisper, tears forming in your eyes as you collapsed further over the sink. gently, he wrapped his arm around your chest pulling you up, deepening the angle of his thrusts, hitting your g-spot right on the head with each thrust.

“fucking god, i’m gonna cum.” you whine, a tear slipping from your eye.

“come on baby, cum for me. i will too yeah?” he asks with eyebrows raised in the mirror and you nod as the knot unravels in your stomach, shockwaves shooting through your body rapidly as he filled you to the brim with his milky climax, fucking you all the way through both of your highs.

“i can’t believe we just did that.” you sighed out, catching your breath.

“me either.” he chuckles behind you, pulling out slowly.

“oh fuck, here, stay right there.” he says observing the mess he made between your legs. he grabs a few sheets of toilet paper, carefully wiping you clean, tossing them in the toilet and pulling your panties back over your core.

“my eyes.” you groan looking in the mirror.

“let me see.” he replies and you turn around. he licks his fingers to fix the smudges under your eyes and around your lips, dabbing the sweat off your forehead with a paper towel.

“do i look okay?” you ask, pulling the dress back down.

“just as gorgeous as before.” he replies, readjusting his pants, making sure everything’s in straight.

“okay you ready?” he asks holding onto the door knob.

“wait hold on, can i ask you something?”

“yeah of course.”

“will you come stay with me tonight? like in my room?” you ask boldly, the buzz beginning to wear off.

“if that’s okay, yes of course i will.”

“it’s more then okay.” you smile lightly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

“good, then i can fuck you right.” he mumbles on your lips, kissing you again.

“woah fuck y/n i’m sorry.” he says as you pull away.

“what what’s wrong?” you reply nervously and he turns you by your hips to the mirror, using his hand to turn your head to the side, exposing the dark hickey he left on your neck.

“honestly, it’s fine, really.”

“are you sure?”

“yes cole it’s fine, and besides you’ll be littered in them tomorrow morning.” you wink, kissing him one last time as you turn the doorknob. he grabs your short dress train of the floor, carrying it as you walked out of the bathroom. you hear a chuckle a few feet away from you, realizing nick was standing there and definitely watched the two of you enter the bathroom.

“emma!” you shout as cole lets go of your dress, taking your hand as you jogged over toward her.

“we’ve been looking for you.” emma replies with a smirk on her face.

“oh uh, i just had to go to the bathroom and there was a line.”

“yep mhm, a line.” she laughs, turning your chin to the side, high fiving her husband.

“what?” you ask.

“bitch, what do you mean what? yall just fucked in true bathroom at my wedding and now you’re holding hands. oh brendan we have outdone ourselves.”

“what?”

“girl, i put you with him so that THIS would happen. nick was our spy, great help.”

“you wanted us to fuck at your we-“

“well that isn’t EXACTLY what we had in mind, i was thinking like a kiss during a slow dance on the floor but this? this is fucking gold.” she laughs hugging you, as you stood confused as ever.

“so this was a set up?” you scoff.

“well, yes.” brendon pokes in.

“thanks gally.” cole laughs, a soft hand wrapping around your hip.

“now yall go have fun.” emma says waving the two of you off.

-

“what a night.” you sigh, collapsing into your bed, cole right beside you.

“yes for real, we really got set up.”

“i’m not mad about it.” you reply.

“me either, i’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“why didn’t you, i’ve had a crush on you for like a year.” you laugh.

“yeah well, now we fucked in a bathroom at a wedding, i’d say that is quite the stride.” he smiles widely at you.

“i’m fucking exhausted. i would totally love to stay up and fuck all night but i feel like maybe we should sleep it off and then maybeeeeeeee fuck all morning?” you giggle.

“whatever you want baby.” he smiles, his thumb grazing over your cheek lightly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips

“god you make it so hard not to just wanna fuck you like a damn bunny right fucking now.” you say and he busts out laughing.

“let’s go to sleep, come on love.” he says tucking the two of you under the covers.

“we can fuck like bunnies in the morning okay?”

“okay.” you pout, poking your bottom lip out.

“goodnight pretty girl.” he says softly.

“good night pretty boy.” you smile as he presses a light kiss to your nose.

-

[weirdsht]

What if i have an idea and it's orv's "incarnation kim dokja will be killed at the hands of the person he loves most" BUT it's reader and cale

May Our Fates Intertwine Once More - Cale/Reader

notes: 1. Anon I'm sorry for taking so long to write your req; and 2. I'm sorry to everyone who saw the small preview I posted before and thought it was fluff.

tags: fluff, no gender specified for reader, novel spoiler (sealed god's test), hurt no comfort, angst, death, canon divergence from 620

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

One moment you were next to Cale then the next second you’re standing in the middle of an unknown place with this weird half-transparent blue screen in front of you.

[Quest List:]

[1. Pass the tutorial

2. Launch a widescale attack on the safe zones during the eclipse 

3. Die after fighting a magnificent battle at the hands of the person who loves you the most]

“What the fuck…”

You cursed as you read what the screen says. You tried to see if you could touch it but something else popped up as soon as your finger made contact with it.

[WARNING!! WARNING!!]

[All injuries sustained in this body will be mirrored in your real body!]

“This isn’t my real body? But it looks the same.”

It really does. The only thing that has changed is your clothes. You’re wearing something that fits the image of a deity.

Still confused, you look around you. There’s nothing you recognized. But it does look like you’re somewhere abandoned.

[A message has arrived! Tap here to read!]

You tapped the new overlay that popped up and it instantly brought you to the message.

[Are you enjoying your lover’s original world?]

The anonymous message said. Immediately, you had an inkling as to who it could be.

“What the fuck? You must be that stupid god presence we felt back there.”

[Such brash words while talking to a god… Anyway, are you aware of where your lover is?]

“His around here too right? What the hell did you do to him?”

[Nothing much. His just under my test to overcome his despair. I’m waiting for him to be consumed by it so he can take my hand.]

“Knowing Cale, I'm sure he’ll overcome it. He’d rather die than work with you.”

[That’s where you come in dear.]

You feel like you can hear the god’s vile laughter even through the screen. But you wondered how you’d help meet Cale’s demise. Unless a demon possesses you to the point where you can’t control yourself, you won't do it.

Then it dawned on you.

The mission.

[3. Die after fighting a magnificent battle at the hands of the person who loves you the most]

“HAHAHAHAHAHA! You’re quite witty, aren’t you? On the bright side, I found out Cale loves me the most thanks to you.”

[It’s great, isn’t it? If you don’t do your missions you’ll be stuck here forever. If you do them you’ll die. Whatever you do you love must say goodbye. An instant recipe for despair.]

“We’ll see about that. You might be underestimating me too much.”

You pointed your middle finger towards the screen with messages before closing it.

Getting past the tutorial was easy. Turns out you have an inventory that contains countless supplies of food and other necessities. You also have the ability to summon monsters.

The same monsters your lover told you he fought in his previous life before becoming Cale Henituse.

“Ho? This is interesting. It feels like I’m playing a game of some sort.”

You said no one in particular as you read the descriptions of the monsters at your disposal. You spend the whole day navigating the screen that calls itself the “status window”. According to it, you have the whole day free today as the eclipse will happen tomorrow.

As you take yourself on a tour of your inventory one particular item catches your attention.

[Sword of Liubi Duplicate]

It was your sword. Well, a duplicate of it. It was given to you by Cale after you first met. Clicking on the sword, you read what properties would its copy have.

[A sword replicated from your world. It’s strong, probably one of the strongest swords on Earth 2 despite being nerfed. However, since it’s a duplicate it will only have half of its original prowess. It is still a remarkable weapon nonetheless.]

Some of the terms used like “nerfed” you don’t understand as they don’t exist in your world. But it still gave you a general idea as to what the status of your sword is.

Well, it’s better than nothing.

Plus you think the only time you’d have to use it is when you fight Cale so it’s better that it’s not as strong as before.

“Either way I die huh…”

You mumbled as you stared up at the ceiling of the abandoned house you found. Usually, a person would not be able to stay in such a place so leisurely. However, since the monsters won’t touch you it's a different story.

“What am I getting sad for? I was supposed to die way back! I’m just fulfilling it now…”

It’s the truth. If it wasn’t for your lover and his friends you would’ve died a long time ago. You guess someone bound to die early will die early.

You dismissed the thoughts of your death out of your head. Instead, you focused your energy on thinking about how you would get Cale to fight you so he could complete his mission.

With those thoughts in mind, you slowly fell asleep. 

“Okay, this is kind of fun… but I feel bad since Cale and the others are fighting the things I summoned.”

You’re on top of a building. A good distance away from Cale– no Kim Rok Soo’s safe zone but still near enough to be able to observe what’s happening.

“Is that Choi Han? At first I felt bad for them, but now I feel bad for myself. They’ll finish my babies in no time!”

Observing Choi Han and the others fighting, you kept summoning more monsters. The monsters you summon are regulated by the status window but you still find some joy in doing it.

It is getting tiring though.

You can’t believe you have to keep doing this for 24 hours straight. You’re not even getting paid…

[Alert!]

[One (1) of your “Grade 1 Taster Monsters” have broken from the pack]

[Alert!]

[Two (2) of your “Grade 1 Taster Monsters” have broken from the pack]

“What the hell? I swear my dearest must have an ancient power that allows him to gather powerful beings. His even stealing away my babies.”

You huffed in frustration as you watched two of your summons go over to Kim Rok Soo’s side.

“Isn’t this whole thing too good for me though? Everything I need to survive is free… And summoning monsters doesn’t cost anything.”

[It's the least I could do for someone bound to die either way]

That pesky god messaged you again.

“Well look at you being Mr. Nice. Are you flirting with me? Sorry, I’m taken.”

For emphasis, you brought up your ring finger that contained your engagement ring. As if flipping the god off.

[Blasphemous as ever. It tempts me to take you as one of my children. Too bad you won’t be able to take in the despair that comes as a price.]

“Yeah yeah. Just shut up. It’s not like I have any plans teaming up with a god.”

Sealed God shut up and you lived the next days in peace.

You have the monsters at your disposal that can do whatever you need them to do. And you have no quest assigned to you aside from that dying one. Your mind has also been at ease as you have a general plan as to how you’ll get your love to fight you one-on-one.

[New Mission Alert!]

[Summon one (1) Electric Eel in Gwangalli Beach]

Gwangalli Beach where is that? You have absolutely no idea. In fact, you’re tired of your status window acting as if you were from this world.

“I’m sure the monster will know where it is…”

Convincing yourself that your summons will know where it is you summoned a flying monster to take you to that place.

Luckily, your assumption was correct. In no time you were where you need to be.

“Status window summon one Electric Eel… Who named this thing? I mean it’s a snake that will be summoned from the sea, and has electricity as one of its powers. But Electric Eel? Seriously?”

After bashing the monster’s name a little, you summoned it.

“I’m sure you already know what to do…”

You mumbled to the monster before going away to hide before someone saw you.

All that’s left for you to do is watch and wait for your entrance.

3 days. That’s how many days it took for them to defeat the Electric Eel.

While everyone was doing that you were watching on top of the building. Your robed dress flows freely in the wind as you do so. There were a lot of instances you wanted to intervene. Wanted to go help the love of your life and the man you considered your brother.

But alas you couldn’t.

The status window with only one quest left reminded you of that every time.

[Are you ready for the final act?]

Sealed God messaged you again. As if laughing at your inevitable demise.

“Just watch my performance. It’ll be spectacular.”

For a moment you were tempted to curse him out as you usually would. However, you decided that if you’re gonna go out today, you’re going out with grace and elegance. It's only fitting as the fiance of a duke’s son.

[Player _____ will be killed at the hands of the person that loves them the most]

[The last arc of the game…]

[Starts Now]

Ignoring the status window, you ride the flying monster waiting for you. It’s the same monster that brought you to the beach before.

“I worked so hard just for you to defeat my baby.”

You gently spoke as you gracefully descended from the monster's back and onto the dead Electric Eel. 

“...That’s your baby?”

Kim Rok Soo mumbled quite mournfully. He was supposed to be your baby after all.

“Wait how are you even here?”

He asked. Looking at you curiously. 

“Oh, I’m the one summoning all the monsters you’ve been fighting. Was it fun? Ah, don’t ask me where they come from though. I have no idea where they came from. I can only summon them.”

You spoke as if there was nothing wrong. As if you guys aren't standing on the opposite sides of the battlefield.

“_____-nim…”

Choi Han, the man you have come to consider your brother, slowly called out to you.

“What are you doing?”

He asks, not minding the whispers from the people around you three.

“So that’s what happened to my Dark Tiger… Asking permission to borrow my things would have been appreciated, Your Highness.”

You addressed Alberu first before answering the swordmaster’s question.

“Don’t you still get it? Every play must end with the hero defeating the evil mastermind! And you Kim Rok Soo…”

The sword you summoned on the way here pointed towards your lover.

“You shall be the one who strikes the final blow.”

Kim Rok Soo’s brain connected the pieces. You smile while observing him. And that smile pissed him off.

Because you were smiling as if everything was okay.

As if you hadn’t just announced your death.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll be stuck here and die. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

“So I just have to kill you here?”

‘And then you’ll return to my arms in our world?’

You knew the silent question that lingered in the commander’s reddish-brown eyes.

“Yes.”

Yet you ignored it. Letting him believe that everything will be fine. That you will only die in this world. That nothing will happen to you in your world and all shall be well.

It was for his own good.

The only way for him to not fall into despair once more.

Drawing your sword once again, you beckoned for your lover to fight you.

“Everyone else stay back. I’ll summon another unranked monster if you interfere.”

“Follow what they say and just watch.”

You and Kim Rok Soo said before your powers clashed with each other.

Lightning after lightning struck you. However, your sword blocked most of them. Dodging the ones you couldn’t block.

When it was your turn to attack, you struck your sword towards Cale. Each slash either landed on the Indestructible Shield or was blocked by the Fire of Destruction.

“Your sword is stronger than this. I did not give you such a flimsy thing.”

Cale spoke as you failed to cut through his shield once more.

“Don’t worry this isn’t the one you gave– Ugh!”

A lightning struck you. Cale used it as an opportunity to land more hits.

“I was talking you know? You’re as rude as ever. Anyway, this one is a duplicate.”

Your sword managed to land a cut on the commander’s arm. Everyone else watched the two of you. People who don’t know you were wondering how can the two of you fight while bantering as if your lives aren’t on the line.

But not everyone in the audience didn’t know you. Two people in there knew you very well. 

“I’m going back first. Something about this feels off.”

Alberu told Choi Han who was gripping his scabbard tightly.

“His Majesty is going first?”

“Seems like it.”

You can Cale continued talking as you fight. It reminded you of the small talks he would engage you in as you train.

It reminded you that this is probably the last time you will be able to talk to him like this.

“Ow! That hurts you know!”

A particular attack from the Sky Eating Water rendered you unable to pick up the sword. Cale took this as an opportunity to hold you down using the trees summoned earlier to fight the Electric Eel.

You watch as Cale turns off his Sound of the Wind. He walks towards you at a leisurely pace, picking up your sword on the way. 

“I’m sorry.”

He said and you noticed his hand tremble ever so slightly.

“Don’t be. I’m happy that it’s you. Do you want to know what’s the prerequisite of my death?”

Cale did not answer but you said it anyway.

“I shall die by the hands of the one that loves me the most. That’s what it said.”

The commander’s eyes shook along with his hand.

“That’s why I’m glad…”

Blood spilt from your mouth as your sword stabbed your heart. From the corner of your eye, you could see Choi Han running towards where you are.

“_____-nim!”

Your brother called out to you as Cale let go of his control on the trees in favour of holding you instead. 

There’s still blood spilling from your mouth but that didn’t stop you from smiling at him. Your smile was weak and tired, but it was the best you could do at the moment.

“I’m fine…”

You assured Cale squeezing your hand.

“I’ll be waiting for you in our world. So don’t be sad okay? Remember you have to overcome despair.”

“Promise?”

Cale asked you as he cradled your body in his chest.

“I promise.”

You left out the part that you’ll probably be dead or dying when he sees you. 

Weakly, but full of determination you raised your left hand to link your pinkies together. The diamond in your engagement ring shone as you did. Meanwhile, your right hand is being held by Choi Han.

They said that your life will flash in your eyes at your last moments. No such thing happened to you. But you did remember a conversation that you and your lover had prior to this whole thing.

“So you’re birthday is on November 8th? Why are you only telling me this now? There’s so little time to prepare a gift for you!”

“What are you talking about it’s still so far away?”

“No, it’s not! It’s not enough time for me to prepare the perfect gift for you.”

That’s right, today is November 8 in this world. It’s Cale’s birthday…

“In Raon’s castle… My gift is there. He should know about it…”

“You can just give it to me yourself when we get back.”

Cale answered and you almost laughed at his cluelessness.

“...Happy birthday my love. May you always find happiness.”

Those were your last words before you took your last breath. Before your body slowly turned into dust in Cale’s hold.

But Cale wasn’t in despair even as you die.

He may be sad, but he wasn’t in despair.

It was because he was holding onto your words that you’d meet him back home.

That’s how Cale was able to pass the Sealed God’s test.

But why…

“MOVE ASIDE, LET PENDRICK AND SAINT-NIM HANDLE IT!”

Why was the first thing he heard as soon as he came back Alberu’s shouting when he was supposed to be in his castle making preparations?

“CALL FOR MORE HEALERS WE’RE LOSING _____-NIM!”

“_____ wake up. Please wake up.”

Alberu and Raon’s voice rang on his head. 

At that moment. Rosalyn and Eruhaben noticed that he was back. They quickly greeted him before calling over Raon and Sherrit to remove the barrier that surrounded him.

“What’s happening?”

Cale asks as he enters the room where the shouts are coming from.

The sight made him stop in his tracks.

Laying on a grass bed that’s similar to where he was just a few minutes ago was his lover. His fiance.

They were lying there. Bleeding.

On the heart.

Exactly where Cale had stabbed them back on Earth.

A realisation dawned on him at the moment.

You just promised that you would meet him back home.

You did not promise that you would meet him alive.

Cale, the fool, had only assumed you would.

[meldingintheunderdark]

I wish the ultimatum was implemented and not limited to the Rite of Thorns and its other conditions.

Whenever the ultimatum is mentioned, especially on reddit or youtube, it's always about Minthara, rational and diplomatic, whereas Halsin is aggressive and cruel. Pure logic versus messy emotions. Some opinions are also based on Halsin supposedly being a raging drow racist (no).

Why would Halsin not be emotional though? It's about the horrible loss of the refugees, his druids, his animals and his Grove. It's about being a prisoner at the mercy of Minthara and the goblins. Who wouldn't be furious? Even without the Rite of Thorns, Halsin's anger would be warranted. Minthara shows no remorse whatsoever because, in her opinion, the Absolute forced her hand. Moreover, Minthara is also very emotional when she points out what Lolth and the Absolute cult did to her. They're simply expressing their emotions differently.

I'm persuaded some opinions I've read are undoubtedly skewed by the idea that logic is more valid than emotions. This archaic belief is still used to this day to silence the voices of marginalized groups, to disregard their righteous anger. Minthara, who appears calm and factual, seemingly has the upper hand over Halsin, who's emotional and stating his boundaries without compromise. If Minthara was the one outwardly emotional, I bet players would tend to think she's hysterical. Because she adopts an overvalued attitude too often demanded to make any dissident voice palatable, in control of her feelings and body language, she's right. And the big man mentioning his trauma, clearly emotional? He has no argument whatsoever. He's aggressive, he's unforgiving, so he's OOC. Are we talking about the same character? Halsin, who has just lost everything and everyone? Halsin, who's still not without sympathy? Halsin, who loathes to put the ultimatum to the PC? Halsin, who still thanks the PC and hopes to be proven wrong if he has to leave? Halsin is forgiving, but he isn't a forgiving idiot. Minthara is still a sadist. She isn't sorry. She hasn't changed. Why would he forgive her? Hence his "a viper cannot escape its true nature" statement.

People complain Halsin is bland, yet they can't tolerate his outbursts.

One is unrepentant and wants the destruction of the cult at all costs. One values life and fights to save Faerûn even if his demise is the sole outcome. Minthara is a skilled cutthroat. Halsin is self-sacrificing to a fault. The scene is so good. Two different individuals who will never see eye to eye. They're each other's antithesis. Their values are irreconcilable.

Minthara and Halsin are both extremely emotional and their arguments reflect their respective states of mind. Choosing Minthara or Halsin tells more about our own morals (or our character's) than their logic, or lack thereof. So disappointed the ultimatum will never be canon.

[icaruspendragon]

im sorry to ask but i dont know what else to do—how did you do it how did you dig yourself out because it feels like i am choking on dirt and people keep shoveling it onto me and i miss her so much and i dont know how to make this feeling stop. she was my best friend. ive never lived in a world without her before. how did you do it. how are you doing it

grief is so hard and so heavy when we first meet it. it feels like all our arms will ever hold for the rest of forever. and it is, in a sense. once we pick it up, we never really set it down. not fully.

and I don't think it gets lighter, I think we somehow, impossibly, get stronger.

there's lots of metaphors for grief. that's one of them. another one I like to use is that it feels like you're in the grave with them. like lazarus. like yourself. waiting for someone to raise you from the dead. to raise you both.

I've learned a lot about crawling out of the grave. more than I would have ever wanted to learn. like how emptiness is actually quite heavy. or how to pretend like you feel half-alive. but I think the most important thing I've learned is that somedays, we inexplicably end up back in it. and that sucks.

because we just spent months clawing our way through the bugs and the earth. because our soldier-hands have finally breached the surface. because the sun is finally caressing our hell-fresh faces. because for the first time in months we feel like we can finally breath. and then, suddenly, we're right back in the terrible thick of it.

those days make it feel like I'm sisyphus and grave dirt is my rock. or like I'm prometheus and the darkness is my eagle.

but then it's tuesday.

which is to say my brother died on my 25th birthday, a monday. and that day is now a memory that's fuzzy around the edges. single snapshots I know are connected, but I couldn't tell you how. I remember my mother standing in my bedroom and tears and family and phone calls and cleaning my living room because I didn't know what to do with my hands. I remember going to my grandmothers and my phone vibrating off the table and leaving to go get coffee because I couldn't sit still. I remember joking, trying to joke. trying to do whatever I could to make sense of that impossible day. I remember checking my phone and reading and rereading the messages, a mixed bag of congratulations for surviving another year and condolences that my brother didn't, I remember not knowing how to respond to any of them. so I didn't. I remember being surrounded by so many people doing nothing but extending love and kindness to me and never feeling more alone. the world was ending and I was alone. I thought that day would go on forever.

but it didn't.

it ended, as all things do. monday was over and my first day as an only child was done.

and suddenly it was tuesday. and everything was different but also exactly the same.

it was tuesday and my brother was dead. I was so heavy when I woke up that first tuesday. so heavy and confused. I thought the world had ended. it surely felt like it had. but it hadn't. because the world couldn't have ended on monday.

not if it was tuesday.

it was tuesday and my brother was dead but the world wasn't ending. monday should have been our demise, but it wasn't. and it hasn't. and it won't. because just as sure as we have mondays, we'll always have tuesdays.

that's something I've taken a strange comfort in, knowing that we'll always have tuesdays.

the feeling never stops. but I think that's okay. because you're only feeling that way because there was love first. and as much as what I felt on that first tuesday hurts, as much as it suffocates, as much as it consumes, I'd take the hurt and the suffocation and the consumption because the love I felt first will always, always be worth it.

tuesdays will always be worth it.

like yeah, if I loved less, it wouldn't hurt this bad. but I don't want to live in a world where I have to love less. where I was loved less.

I'll take the pain. I'll take the grave days. I'll take the rock. I'll take the eagle. I'll take apocalyptic, earthshaking mondays. I'll take every last wretched bit because goddamn what a miracle it is to love so bad it hurts this big.

I hold that love, his love for me and my love for him, a love that's now become our love in the cage of my ribs while I'm in the cage of the grave. and I dig.

it's monday and I dig.

I dig.

and then tuesday comes.

[certified-sleep-deprived]

◇Agatha Harkness x Ink Demon! Reader P2◇

Warnings: mentions of death, drowning in ink, violence, slight choking (not in a kinky way), PSTD, mentions of torture, reader gets the shit end of the stick

Part 1 here

You have been living in Agatha's home for a couple weeks now, and she's done everything in her will to make you feel at home. She's gotten you to open up a little bit, but not as much to the point where you've told her why you are the way you are. You weren't born like this, obviously; but, the memory of it all is too painful to speak of, and you wake up every night from the same nightmare, which is that of how you came to be like this.

You would always catch yourself before you went into a scream after waking up, as to not wake Agatha.

Speaking of Agatha, she always let you take her bed, and she would do everything for you, while balancing practicing her spells.

She was very open with you from the beginning, knowing you wouldn't judge as you had no position to either way, and you wouldn't even if you were "normal". She showed you some spells, and even let you practice to see if your condition granted you magic abilities; but they seemed very weak, and it was a touchy subject for you, so she left it alone and just left you to observe.

While your ankle was healing, she wouldn't let you our of bed unless it was to go to the bathroom, but even then she was nearby if you needed anything. You found it weird, thinking she was into you, but you chalked it up to your tiny crush on her messing with you. There was no way she could love someone like you, or could she?

She was able to manipulate the ink over your eyes enough to the point where you could see, like actually see. It improved your demeanor, as you weren't constantly blinded anymore.

Overall, she was very attentive to you the past few weeks, and you loved it. The feeling of getting touched in a non-harmful way was something you were getting used to, but it felt nice to have someone touch you and not be hurt for once.

There was a couple times where you had fallen asleep in her lap as she read one of her spell books, practicing her magic, and she didn't seem bothered. If anything, she encouraged it.

She was touch starved herself, so she was relishing in every moment she had that involved coming in contact with you, and before she realized it, she was developing a crush.

At first, she wanted to push it to the backburner, but as you started warming up to her and started to break through to her soft side, she knew she was fucked.

She would constantly find herself staring at you while you were turned away. She didn't care how you looked, if you looked like the Spawn of Satan or if you looked like a zombified one-footed Cary Elwes. No matter what, she definitely cared for you in a way beyond the way she does for most.

Currently, your in the nightly nightmare, again. Only this time, you found yourself violently turning in the bed, whimpering and muttering in your sleep. You felt as if you were reliving the memory instead of standing by in it from an ominescent point of view.

Agatha heard your soft voice echo through the door as she walked past it to go brush her teeth for the night, and she was concerned, so she opened the door, only to be met with your flailing form. She panicked, so she rushed to your side and tried waking you up out of your dream.

As she was doing this, the dream shifted to your demise. A slow, agonizing demise.

You shot up from the bed in a blood curdling scream, and in your blind moment of vulnerability, you grabbed Agatha by the throat, seeing her as a threat.

It was only when she choked in surprise, did you let her go with a horrified look on your face.

You backed away to the edge of the bed as she turned to approach you.

"Oh god. Oh god! No, I'm so sorry. Please, don't hate me I didn't mean it!" You desperately sob, thinking she would kill you or throw you out. But, she simply shook her head and scooted next to you, placing her hand on your arm in an attempt to ground you.

You looked into her eyes as she turned on the lamp, snuggling into her when she wrapped her arms around you in a protective embrace.

After calming down some, you speak up. "I suppose I should tell you everything, why I'm like this."

You take a deep breath after hearing her tell you to go on, and you begin your story.

"I was a normal human. Well, normal as one can be these days" you chuckle. "It was my... twenty-fourth? Maybe twenty-third... yeah, twenty-third birthday, when a couple of my friends suggested that for my birthday we should check out an abandoned animation studio from the 30's. Like the naiive fool I was, I agreed. We all split up to search the place to see if we could find any memorabilia, because why not."

Your voice trembles during the time you speak, and you feel her rubbing your arm in a comforting manner, letting you know it's okay. You let out a shaky exhale before continuing,

"I was alerted to the sound of danger when I heard one of my friends let out the most horrifying scream I've heard in my life. I was scared shitless. When I went to go investigate the noise, I was hit on the back of the head, hard, and I was knocked out. When I woke up, I was in a glass box, with no way out, and there was a man in the room who introduced himself as 'Joey Drew', although I know that wasn't really his name." You tame another pause before going on.

"He explained how I would serve as his last test for the night, and when I inquired what the hell he meant, two goopey ink creatures grabbed my arms and held me down. I looked at their faces and I saw how much they resembled my friends. When I asked what the hell he did, he simply said trying to bring cartoons to life, and that was his goal then with me. My blood ran cold, and before I could speak again, the box started to fill with ink, and the two creatures that were my friends kept holding me down. I tried fighting to swim up, but once I was submerged in the ink, my lungs were filling up, and I was suffocating. I couldn't breathe, and it was so painful, oh god!"

You sobbed out the last part, your hand clawing at your chest as if you were feeling it over again. Agatha brushed some hair out of your face to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Go on only if you feel comfortable, bunny."

The pet name made you feel butterflies. But you nodded and took a few moments before continuing.

"When I gained consciousness next, I was shackled, and I couldn't see. I felt around my body and found my whole appearance had changed. I wiped some ink from my eyes and found a mirror in front of me, showing me the beast I had becomed. I screamed in agony as the pain came rushing back, and that's when 'Joey' came in the room, smirking at himself at his handy work. He mocked me, tortured me, mindfucked me. He left me in that room for five years, until a few weeks ago when I escaped and ran right into your fence. That would place me at about twenty-eight now." You breathed the last part with a chuckle.

"I was rarely fed and hydrated, and he kept trying to shape me into his twisted image of his ideal cartoon character. I was supposed to resemble a character he created, named 'Bendy', but I came out all deformed and barely resembling him at all. I'm so glad to have run into you, Agatha. You saved my life without even knowing it."

I finish my story with a smile as I look in her alluring, baby blue eyes. And those same eyes stare down at me with so much adoration and love, they looked so soft compared to the hard outside she showed to everyone else.

Before you knew it, her lips were on yours in a tender kiss, with her arms pulling you slightly closer as a hand came to rest on your cheek.

When you both pulled away, all you can manage to say is "why". She smiles at your uncertainty, and she answers in the way you've always wanted to hear someone speak of you,

"Because I don't care for your looks. I don't care if your a fucked up version of a cartoon character. I love you for who you are, not your appearance. I love the way you can make me soft in an instant, or keep me in a calm state. I love you for you, bunny".

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you threw your head in her neck, sobbing muffled "I love you too"s. She traced her fingers up and down one of your horns, soothing you as you shook in her arms.

It was probably at least half an hour of staying like this, sobbing, until you calmed down and your sobbing ceased. Once it did, Agatha gently cupped your face in her hands, looking into your eyes as she spoke once more,

"I will help you find a way to reverse what that asshole did to you. Seeing you in so much pain breaks my heart, and I want to help you in every way I possibly can. You just say the word, and my wish is your command".

Her words almost put you in a sobbing fit again, but you were too tired and all your tears have been cried, so you simply reply to her before falling asleep,

"I will follow you to the end of the earth and back if it means I am able to be with you, Agatha Harkness. I love you so much."

The rest of the night was spent holding eachother in the other's embrace, gentle kisses shared between the two of you.

[1d1195]

Love and Dryer Sheets - Extra I

Read Love and Dryer Sheets here | ~1.5k words

Warnings: none; fluff (maybe a tiny bit of angst but nothing major)

Summary: Harry and Miss Sunshine are picking Niall up from the airport and Harry is freaking out.

Harry thought there was nothing cuter than how bubbly she was at the airport. The way she was practically bouncing with excitement to see her best friend. Of course, Harry had met Niall the one time back in the laundry room and spoken with him several times over the last several months while she was present.

But as excited as she was, Harry was nervous.

While he thought Niall was somewhat over Harry’s unfortunate first kiss with her, he wasn’t convinced that he had fully forgiven Harry. Honestly, he couldn’t blame him. After all she had been through between her family and her ex, Harry felt just as protective of her heart. It was a tricky start to their relationship, and he was forever grateful to her for being so forgiving.

Harry wasn’t happy. Then he met her, and he was.

It was simple and complicated, and he wasn’t sure he could ever explain it fully to someone who wasn’t her as they would never experience it firsthand. “You’re going to squeeze my fingers clean off, Munchkin,” she gave his hand a gentle squeeze as they waited patiently by baggage claim for Niall to arrive.

Harry dropped the pressure but didn’t let go. He was surprised he could muster enough of a hold on it without it slipping right out. He was so nervous his hand was slick with sweat in hers. “Sorry, Sunshine,” he murmured.

“Are you nervous?” She asked blinking up at him. Those pretty eyes analyzing him immediately. “It’s just Niall.”

“I don’t think Niall has fully forgiven me,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing to forgive. It hurt at the time, but it’s over and it’s better,” she squeezed his hand comfortingly. The bustle of people greeting loved ones overpowered most of Harry’s thoughts, but his conscience was happy to remind him that he was the worst.

Maybe Niall will kill you. Harry swore his conscience was actually an entirely separate entity of his mind and was looking forward to Harry’s demise.

His heart didn’t have a response that had anything to do with Niall. Can you be quiet? She’s holding our hand!

Harry wrapped his arm around her and brought her closer to his side so he could kiss the top of her head. “It is better, hmm?” he hummed.

She smiled. The voice of her heart was practically asleep, warmth surrounding it, as it snuggled into Harry’s embrace. The voice in her head was just as quiet, used to Harry’s affection, but almost as stunned by it the first time he kissed her. Harry felt her phone vibrate against him as he held her. It felt sinful for her to move from his side even the little bit that she did, but he let her of course. Watched her bring the phone to her ear. “Hey Ni,” she smiled. She listened carefully and started searching around for her friend. Harry glanced around too, the nerves eating at him more ferociously. “I don’t see you,” she frowned. “Do you see him—? I could just leave you here, Niall Horan. I was kind enough to drag myself and Harry out to get you at this ungodly hour.” Harry smirked and put a hand on her back and pointed across the room to where Niall arrived with his bag in tow. She bolted without warning, Harry chuckled as he followed her.

Niall rubbed her back soothingly and kissed her cheek as she reached him. Her arms around his neck and he mumbled something in her ear for just her. “There’s no place like home, huh, princess,” he winked at her. She rolled her eyes but ignored him all the same. He turned to Harry. “Harry,” he nodded and held his hand out for a handshake.

Harry took it and firmly shook it. Somehow it was twenty times worse than meeting her parents. “Niall,” he answered. Right as Niall released his hand, he punched Harry’s stomach. Hard.

“NIALL!” She gasped as Harry leaned forward, the wind knocked out of him, as he groaned at the impact. She put a hand on his back as he crunched inward.

Harry swore the voice in his head was laughing.

“Sorry, I had to get that out of my system,” Niall shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing the handle of his bag and waited for Harry to disagree or get himself together.

“S’okay,” Harry groaned. “Deserved it,” he mumbled.

“Oh my God, Niall, that was ridiculous!”

“No,” Harry grunted, stood straighter as the immediate pain subsided. He shook his head. “He’s right, I deserved it. S’okay, love,” he assured her. She rolled her eyes.

“There is something wrong with both of you.”

“S’a guy thing,” he promised and grabbed her hand, twined their fingers together. Honestly, if that was all Niall needed to do to forgive him, that was well worth it. There was no Sunshine without Niall’s approval. No days of watching The Wizard of Oz. He didn’t foresee a future Halloween where she, himself, and their future children dressed as the people of Oz and trick-or-treated with their little dog Toto. So, if Niall needed to get that out of his system, Harry was for it.

Plus, Harry felt like it was good retribution for making her cry.

“Ready?” Niall asked casually and she rolled her eyes squeezing Harry’s hand as Niall walked toward the exit.

“Are you okay?” She asked gently.

“M’fine, kitten. Promise. S’well worth it,” he winked at her and kissed her forehead as he tugged her after her friend.

*

When she met Harry, he was angry. So angry she thought it was his whole personality. But over the year of knowing him, she was utterly surprised to find out what a softie he was. He was snuggly—unbelievably so. His body was wrapped around hers like she was a tree, and he was a vine. His breath was warm on her neck, the steady rise and fall of his breathing was comforting and made her sleepy but part of her didn’t want to drift off. She was enjoying how peaceful this moment was. There was no rhyme or reason as to where they ended up sleeping on any given night. There was one week about a month ago that Harry all but moved into her place. Brought his laundry to fold while she read on the sofa and that was where he stayed until his clothes ran out. Sometimes she pressed her button on the elevator, sometimes Harry’s. It was without thought but it was natural. Completely. His place was just as much hers as it was his.

She wondered if her parents ever had this. Maybe that was why it was so odd to her. It was unfortunate, but she knew that she never had it in her last relationship. “S’matter, Sunshine?” Harry’s groggy, sleepy voice was one of her favorite sounds.

“Nothing,” she leaned toward him, kissed his forehead. “Nothing at all, Munchkin.”

He must have been tired because he didn’t respond, and she thought if he were a little more awake, he would have questioned her more. But he had had a long week and picking Niall up only added to his exhaustion. A quiet groan escaped his lips as he stretched suddenly, and he sat up a little straighter against the headboard and his pillows. Then he flicked on the bedside lamp casting him in a warm glow. He squinted against the light, his face drawn and tired, but he looked ready to talk anyway.

“Harry,” she hummed gently and stroked her fingertips softly along the stubble on his cheek. “S’late and you’re tired.”

“M’fine, kitten. S’matter? What’s going on in your pretty little head?” His voice was still groggy but she knew he wouldn’t sleep until she told him.

There was a pause. “You like snuggling.”

“I do,” he replied with a firm nod. “S’it too much?” He asked.

She shook her head quickly. “No, not at all. It’s...” she sighed. “It’s nice. I... I never had that.”

He turned on his side, draped an arm over her waist and brought her closer to his chest. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Good,” he mumbled.

She smiled. “Good?”

He nodded. “All mine,” he murmured, kissed her forehead. She giggled silently against his chest and inhaled the scent of his cologne. It was so intoxicating, so warm. I wanna be closer. Her heart nearly cried.

We physically cannot be closer. Her brain reasoned.

Her heart didn’t like that answer. “Wish I could be closer,” he mumbled squeezing her gently in attempt to actually get closer. It soothed her heart slightly. Her conscience, if it had the ability to roll its eyes, it would have.

Ridiculous. But she couldn’t help but notice how the voice’s sarcastic tone was the slightest bit appeased by the closeness of Harry.

“I love you,” Harry murmured.

Smiling, against his skin, she kissed the base of his throat and nodded. “I love you,” she whispered back.

--

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[crazyk-imagine]

The Letters of my Demise

Pairing: Regulus Black x Witch!Reader

Characters: Regulus Black, Witch!reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, character death, secrets, mention of marriage and eloping, reader likes doing non magical things, Regulus like learning new things, Regulus tries for the reader, Regulus is a secret poet, quick sad read, don't know where this came from

Word Count: 846

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hum as you enter your apartment, closing the door behind you.

You open your mouth to call out for Regulus but remember he's out for the evening and hasn't given you a time frame of when he’d be back either.

The kitchen seems quieter without him here, not that he was the best chef out there but you cheer him on for trying his best.

You smile, knowing that tomorrow you'll be enjoying dinner together again.

The ring on your chest feels hotter, you reach for the chain and carefully pull it out from its hiding spot. The gem shining under the moonlight.

You smile as it reminds you of how he wanted to elope (shocking you when he said it).

-

“I don’t want to share you with anyone, is that so bad?” He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear.

You shake your head, unable to hide your smile. “I never said that but, darling,” you sigh.

“There has to be at least a few people you’d want to invite even if we did a small ceremony.”

He shakes his head, “you are the only person I need.”

“Lus,” you huff.

“Tell me, what can I say to convince you into agreeing?”

You roll your eyes, “you’re not supposed to try and convince me of anything.”

You grab his hand, “but I don’t want you to regret this if we decide to elope.”

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his other arm wrapping around your waist. “I could never regret you, you are- you are my beating heart. I don’t see myself regretting marrying you, the only thing I do see is,” he leans in closer, whispering into your ear. “Not marrying you now would tear my soul apart. I want you to be mine, share a name with you and not just my body.”

Your jaw drops, feeling as if you can’t breathe. “Lus, do you even know what you’re saying?”

He nods and pulls away, raising your hand as if he’s sealing a deal with you.

Your eyes drift to the sparkling gem that wasn’t on your finger before.

“What do you say?”

-

“I wanted to run."

Your fingers grip the paper, crinkling the edges of the page.

"I wanted so badly to run away and never look back but... if you’re reading this. I am gone. I’m sorry my beating heart, I’m sorry for not fulfilling our promise. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me. This is not how I wanted to live my life, you have to understand that."

You suck in a painful breath, your heart tightens as if it’s being crushed.

You can’t breathe the air- the one good thing you had in your life during this horrid war, gone.

“I- I didn’t tell you the truth of what I’ve been working on because I didn’t want you to be in danger, more than you already are.”

The rest of the page is torn, you couldn’t care less.

You crumple the letter in your hand, unable to endure the pain in your chest.

You close your eyes and reach for your necklace, fiddling with the ring, holding onto some hope that you'd be able to bring him back.

You can’t- you don't know how to be alone. You haven't been alone since you were a child.

How are you to cope?

How are you going to be able to take care of the house?

What of his family elf?

All these questions fly around your mind, causing you to lose control.

You don’t know how to live without him, when you got upset or hurt he was always, always by your side but now… this time, he is the cause of your pain.

You cover your mouth, wanting to hold yourself together and not lose yourself as you wallow and begin grieving him but… what are you to do when the man you’ve loved for so long, wrote you a letter only for it to be torn and full of the- the things he hid to protect you.

You toss the letter aside and cover your face; it’s as if you can’t breathe.

The air from your lungs has been taken and you can’t get focus.

The warmth of the ring on your chest fills you with a bittersweet feeling; Regulus always meant it when he said you were his beating heart, close to where your ring lies is your broken heart as he’s with you now.

You remove the necklace from you and gently kiss it.

-

He watches you, the way you grieve him and try to live your life with- without him.

He couldn’t bear to leave you alone even when he knew he should have, call him selfish but there wasn’t any way he could leave you truly alone.

Even if you couldn’t see him, it brought him some comfort knowing you hoped he was still around, watching over you. 

[hoseoksluna]

SMOKE, iii. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook, bespectacled girl)

genre: angst

word count: 10.3k

summary: everything that has begun hurts. 

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: heavy yoongi angst, a rundown of the smut from the previous chapter (oral sex, humping, making out), importance of consent, hearing voices, anxiety, borderline thoughts of not wanting to be here in this world, covid and the pandemic, anger, hyyh yoonkook, yoonkook smoke together.

note: i'm sorry for this chapter. :( i will make it better, i promise. as much as it was pain to write the rundown, i still think it's beautiful and so vital to this story. i hope my babies enjoy it. luv yah. <3

side note: i recommend reading smoke 2 before this chapter, so you don’t forget about anything! i didn’t use much detain in the rundown, the chapter would’ve had 20k words if i did. 😔✋🏻

I don’t believe in God, but I prayed to something bigger than me when our chauffeur drove us through the rain.

I’ve known the man for years and I would drift through my precious slumber whenever he would get behind the wheel and not awaken. And as much as I trusted him, I didn’t trust the damned, despicable rainfall that seems to be infested in my life like liquid anthropoids. 

And as much as he meandered through the streets with utmost care and slowness, my muscles tensed and wouldn’t let up, my internal pleading words to someone up above coiled, choked out and strained. What’s worse, I feared she, the kitty girl, would stray away into her pain in all that quietness and melancholy that the condition of the weather emitted, and her bodily need to vomit would bash against the shattered pieces of my heart until only dusky powder remained. 

I folded her into my pathetic prayer. 

Seeing her so lost, unknowing of where she is and what is happening, seeing her eyes so absorbed in the nightmare she was facing, so awfully unfocused, then looking at me with such veneration once I cupped some cold water and let it drip down her noble spine—my heart failed and tore apart in two, her plea not to tell Jungkook severing it into smithereens. 

I would do anything for her, anything she’d ask. 

And I did. 

The car stopped at her apartment building, and it wasn’t until then that my muscles dissolved into a state of calmness that allowed me to breathe evenly. 

We didn’t crash. 

No vehicle appeared in front of ours. 

No muscle tear. 

My consciousness ceased being one of such smothering vigilance, melting into inquisitiveness about her energy and how she was feeling, into a territory that is ruled by her bergamot and mandarin perfume, by her beauty and dangerous femininity laced with girlish shyness that twists my stomach into knots. Thankfully, the downpour crept out of my solid and unyielding atmosphere and I felt the clouds part. 

The moonlight sliced through me when she asked me to come up. 

I didn’t hesitate. 

Tranquility surged through me, passing into me by those moonbeams. 

I glanced up at the moon when I held her purse up in the air for her, at a comfortable level for her arms as she rummaged through it. Once I heard the clanging of her keys, I looked down—meeting the same face that those clouds above revealed. Little moon kitty girl. 

But she wouldn’t connect her eyes to mine and my own mistake from earlier poked at my heart, her fear of me my everlasting demise. 

I was willing to do anything in effort to erase it from her body, never to be found again. Smooth out what I’d molded in her, reconstruct it into something new, mild and mellow. 

She held the door open for me and I perceived she had the power to pump blood into that wretched flesh of mine and deflate it all the same. It sparked something within me that I didn’t know how to identify. Something way beyond respect, enfolded with care, despite the fact I just met her. 

Fate has been too, too merciful to me—and I wasn’t sure if I should trust it. Sun-mi wouldn’t speak to me, still, even when I would call out to her.

Only radio silence echoed back to me. 

What was difficult to wrap my head around was the fact that I wasn’t reluctant to trust the kitty girl. It came to me with ease, filled up all parts of me that there simply wasn’t any space for any skepticism, nor for any ambivalence. If there was anything I was sure of, it was her. 

Me misjudging her in the beginning may have brought it about, but I firmly believe that it has now enclosed it with a protective layer of stability. One I hold dear to my heart and find myself headstrong about nurturing, protecting it further. 

She’s good. 

She’s the same as me. 

And she was wearing my sneakers.

It was all I could fixate upon as she led me through another door, out of which a high set of stairs emerged and by which she stopped. They suited her so well, downright belonged to her that I thought about letting her keep them. My heart swelled, making it difficult for me to breathe, and I went in first because I knew if I had the full package of her round femininity, her spine and the sneakers in front of my eyes, I would’ve collapsed and broken my neck. 

And I didn’t want to regard her like that. Especially not when I’d attached myself to Sun-mi. 

Even when she was lifeless, voiceless, seemingly not with me at all. 

And yet, whatever it was in me that asked for the kitty girl, didn’t leave me be until I checked, multiple times, if she was with me. If her heels weren’t slipping out of my shoes, or if the laces weren’t unraveling. If she wasn’t drifting away from me. 

She wasn’t. 

She was conscious, attentive to me and flushed under her black dress. 

My hands itched, remembering the feel of her icy cold skin warming up to me as she came to her senses. The memory engraved itself into the lines of my palm and I saw it, the film of it, all over again, when I looked down at my hand, full of pins and needles. 

It went away when I propped it on the wall while taking my shoes off, watching her small feet emerge out of the spaciousness of the sneakers. She blushed and wouldn’t reciprocate my gaze, her flush shooting to the apples of her cheek that only grew upwards to her temples like the prettiest of wild roses. Without a word, I followed her further into her apartment and I thought about how I’d follow her anywhere she went. 

Her living room was a place of utmost, ivory rest—as if she was inspired by the heaven she must be often visiting in her dreams. White walls, white couch, pristine lilies and undying vines of greenery lining each corner alongside a drapery of twinkling bulbs of lights. When she switched them on, I found myself in the middle of her personal heaven, considered it haven and I didn’t wish to leave. 

I didn’t know why she invited me upstairs and the only reason that came to my mind was one I wasn’t allowing to consume my weakened heart. 

I was willing to stay, even if she possibly needed a person to be present with her. Even if she needed to go non-verbal in the other room while I would bask in the purity of her eternal personality sunk in every detail of her apartment. I yearned to sit on her couch and take it in. Take in the perfume of her lilies, the soft and mellow mellowness of the lights that were so reminiscent of the core of those flowers. Her magazines and her books. Her cooking utensils and the reality show programs that must be burned into her TV. 

I yearned to sit and breathe her in. 

And I did when she poured me a glass of cold water and we drank it, wordlessly. She went to cleanse herself off the nightmare that had clung to her so vividly and deftly and I sat down in the middle of her plushy couch, her squishy pillows supporting my back. I ran my fingers through the different fabrics of those small cushions of hers, her blanket. Felt as though I was touching her, knowing she would repose her body using those objects of softness and something of great importance and emotional value, that I wasn’t really ready for, clove to my bones. 

I longed to be her object of softness, snoozing and idleness. I pitied her for going through something so pernicious, especially in front of Hobi. Especially in front of such a stranger like me. 

I didn’t understand how those tender feelings towards her infiltrated my lungs when I didn’t breathe enough of her air. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to feel towards a girl, not when I still had my tendencies to attach myself to my Sun-mi. I had tried to date after her, but I never developed feelings for the other person, not even a hint of them. I was indifferent to their personal stories as they were to mine, which made me realize in the long run that people in the current dating scene do not search for a long-term connection. The only connection they seek is the physical one and I regretted, for quite some time, for moving on the traditional way. Sun-mi was a treasure of gold and I was a fool for touching girls with gold-powdered hands. 

They condemned it and I was pushed towards a death of loneliness. 

Sitting here, listening to the murmur of her shower, abusing her special beige blanket with my gold-stained fingers, I wondered about her view on modern relationships. Was she the casual type and was I doomed? Or was she a love-fool like me? 

A boom reverberated out far in the corridor, tugging me away from the false sanctuary of my high hopes. The kitty girl had flung open the door to her bathroom, but she didn’t walk out. My stomach zapped with the temptation of the reason that still crouched somewhere, tentatively, in my brain, one that I’m holding back with all my strength. But then the notion that she might have been feeling faint and needing my help crawled all over my scalp with icy legs and before I knew it, my feet paddled down that corridor. Somehow, they had the knowledge of where to go without a sliver of doubt. 

Like all my thoughts, the notion had been false. 

She was perfect and erotic in her night slip, cleansing her face off the last detail of her nightmare. My heart forgot all of its regulations when I regarded the end of her ebony dress, grazing just right the curves of her bum. My mouth parted and vehemently dried, another notion slipping in that only she could be the source of water that my throat miserably needed. 

And then she turned around, a glowing torch of all my desires, dressed in silk and lace that hardened me so painfully my knees nearly wobbled. The sheer fabric pressed against her feminine peaks, baring them to me, my freed heart whispering to me that she was fully naked underneath her nightwear for me—and that she wanted it that way, wanted my eyes to see it. 

My hands acted out of habit—unzipping my jacket to cover her. My hands that didn’t connect to my heart, nor my mind. My hands that seemed to have remembered my high hopes. The only smart part about me. 

But she disagreed with them, and her own threw my garment down to the damp floor. She might as well have stomped on it to crush them further because wherever she was placing me right now, she was ensnaring me in her danger. In her femininity, in her eroticism. But she didn’t realize that she was tormenting me, opening my high hopes wide, exposing them and scratching them raw. 

And by doing that, she was making me want to torment her with pleasure so great that she would submit to my traditional ways. To my golden powder that would eventually broaden the slits of her cat-like eyes. 

Jungkook’s voice rang through me, however. At the cusp of my decision to manipulate her right back by giving her precisely what she was pining for. 

He had warned me, with maximum carefulness that she didn’t hear, to not take advantage of her. Jealousy washed over me like a stream of iciness—that he knew something I didn’t, as if he truly knew what was going on in her head while I didn’t, and that he had claims on her and a certain possessiveness over her that I had no business being bothered by. But I could only nod as he poured that cyanide into my ear, held back as I was by outside forces. And it held me back now, forcing my hands behind my back, forcing me to rethink my decision. 

She grasped that force, though. Pressed herself against me. And I could feel the ropes of that translucent obstacle ripping apart in her hands as they wrapped around mine, unfurling them, inviting my decision to come forth all over again. The hardened peaks of her breasts provoked the fight occurring in me and I sensed myself losing, losing Jungkook’s warning in my body, losing his respect—and losing his love. 

The latter is what drove me to tell her the truth—tell her that Jungkook said no, divulging to her the picture of the mountain of respect I bore in my lungs for him, despite the fact I kept holding her delicate hands. And she responded with such a piquant wit that it quaked through that mountain, debris falling off, tumbling to my feet. 

Since when is Jungkook the boss of me?

The fight loosened with her words, but it brought about the awareness that while Jungkook wasn’t the boss of her, he had been—for the longest time—the boss of me. It dawned upon me, along with the notion that it didn’t have to be this way, so intensely that my grip flexed around her hands. And the feeling of ultimate liberation, scented by her raspberry body wash, descended upon me, hushing to me, ever so softly, that because she’s become a new character in this following chapter, I didn’t have to cling to Jungkook any longer. 

And I recognized that voice. 

It was my Sun-mi speaking to me, guiding me. 

And I tried, with all my might, to conceal the evidence of the relief and the dull elation surging through me due to the fuzzy impression she had given me—a headstart to my decision. But then she reminded me of the possessiveness Jungkook had over the kitty girl and she encouraged me to ask her about it. 

And I did. 

Sun-mi took my thumbs and brushed them over the girl’s nails, showing me how before letting me take over. And the way she reacted to the feeble touch, it made me see her in a slightly different light. 

She was dangerous and erotic, yes. But deep within, in the dust-suffused corners of her being, there dwelled an abandoned kitten. Starved—starved of touch, of love and care. With a hollow belly and a bony face. And it stared right back at me after it brushed its soot-stained features against my neck, asking for more with eyes that were no longer seductive, but sorrowful. 

She was a kitten I ached, ached to take care of. Adopt and bathe and feed. Make pretty and fill up with life, joy and colors of the rainbow of emotions she could meet and get to know with me. 

And Sun-mi validated these thoughts of mine, expanding that warm feeling in my gut until it reached my heart. 

My breath shivered. 

And Kitty, Kitty expanded her wit, hauling my decision forth—to the edge of reality, provoking me further, but I saw right through it. She wanted my care for a different reason, using the same manipulation technique, and Sun-mi nodded in me. 

Would I ask you to come upstairs if I were?

Sun-mi warned me a second before Kitty untangled her hand from my grip and went to feel up my groin. I caught it just in time, putting it back to my side, and her dolorous regret pierced through me; pierced through Sun-mi’s voice, shutting the half of her sentence that advised me to be cautious. I was struck by the realness of her contrition, maybe because it seemed like a mirror of mine—maybe because it shredded the intoxication of her eroticism and the kitten in her revealed herself, fully, to me. 

That naked kitten, belonging to me. 

And just like that, I was willing to give her what her body asked of me. If I was supposed to get to that kitten through the murky waters of her desire, then I was willing to get myself wet. Because if I was to reject her, she’d close up that corner of her and I would lose her. 

The real her. 

I unattached myself from Sun-mi. 

I reopened what I had closed. I echoed the words that her body provided me. 

Are you needy?

And it wasn’t just the outside shell of her that lit up. The kitten glimmered in the shadows, turning onto her back and exposing her belly to me. That was enough for me—to know that the inner her was listening to me—and so I repeated the question in her dumbstruck silence, focusing on the her that needed me, though differently, at that moment, calling her by her name. I allowed myself to be influenced by her allure, by her former manipulation—dipping my hands in her waters. And her continuous wit affected me, properly, for the first time. 

What would you do if I said I was? 

My brows twitched and so did my cock, her words letting in a whirlwind of ideas of what I would do to her. But when I enabled my body to act out however it wished, my legs wading in her desire, only one remained. 

I set my heart upon punishing her for what she did to herself. For the way she sabotaged herself by using the fading beauty of lust and neglected the real her, the poor kitten, in the process. For submitting to the society’s detestable ways, when she was more than deserving of love and respect. 

I craved to punish her for meandering through this world like I did, with multiple earth-shattering orgasms that would satisfy her enough to be herself, unabashedly. 

Even if it made me a hypocrite. 

I’d make you come so hard you wouldn’t have to touch yourself for days, I whispered to her, folding myself into the snugness that was created between us earlier in the venue, feeling her body tremble in my hands. And before I turned my rationality off all the way and submerged myself, fully, in her waters, I echoed to her the words that rushed through me. Is that what you want?

Did she want me to discipline her enough that she would come back to herself? 

Did she want me to help her? 

But she didn’t answer me. She didn’t give me her words. Only a carnal, maddened noise of agreement spilled out of her and bound me deeper to her. I willed someone up above, silently, to make her see through my words. I persisted, vocally, encouraging her to consent to me, but the more the seconds of our time drifted on, the more I began to fall under her spell. And the more she studied the shape of my lips in a way that no one had ever done in my life, not even Sun-mi, the more my body submitted to her. 

We collided in a mutual kiss. 

And she tasted like the unnamed thing I sought in all the vapid girls I had touched after Sun-mi. Like the fruits of curiosity; like the sap of humanness. I delved into her—felt her refreshing my throat, my stomach. And her influence sank one more layer below, rejuvenating my bones. 

It wasn’t merely a kiss. It was a final connection, and I wanted her. 

I wanted her, crucially. 

The kitten clawed at the walls of her being and I felt her, shushed her inertly—told her to stay patient for me because I needed to continue with my decision, with my plan. Needed to get to her. 

Needed the same things that the outer shell of her did—without having anyone to give it to me. 

Except her. 

But when I broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes, I detected a streak of sunlight protruding through the thick dust. Lily-white and impeccable, her seduction tearing at the seams. And when she began to ride my thigh, the pleasure she received from me ripped it apart, wholly. She plummeted, an inch below, and I swam in gladness, parting her waters with my arms. 

I still needed her consent, though, so I persevered. 

She wouldn’t listen to me, as wet as she was, and I yearned to take her chin and make her listen to me, but I respected her well enough to not do that. And I lost the timeline of my impending need of her consent to help her when her hair sailed upon the surface of her lustful waters. She rubbed her pussy so well against my thigh. I could hear the squelching noises of her flesh riding her dripping slick and I sailed with her. 

I lost my mind when she came against me, the frenzy bursting in all parts of me, and I no longer saw the real her and the cracked outer shell of her. 

I merely saw her. 

And she was beautiful. 

She wasn’t erotic, seductive, nor lustful. She didn’t personify a girlish sinfulness. She exuded a pristine beam of pinkish innocence, laced with a love so great that it thrummed within my chest. My morals, my decisions, my ways and thoughts blurred and blended into my desire to have her. 

Just her. 

Her vulgarities and praises for me spilled out of her like her slick and it hydrated me, gave me a long, brisk sip of life and I was dumbstruck, mirroring her. She was unbound in her release and I wished I could cup that euphoric freedom and pour it down her throat in social events when she would need it the most, a little sugary drink of courage that would untie her from anxiety. Her beauty bloomed in front of my eyes and I couldn’t avert my gaze away from her. 

It was physically impossible within the bond that pulled me closer and closer towards her. 

And when she came back to me, dazed from the high of her vital orgasm, I couldn’t help but to be inspired by that stream of liberation. Just like she praised me, I praised her. It was important to me that she knew of what happened to her when she burst in her pretty release. 

It aroused me deeper, the words I uttered her way. And the way she blushed, the way she smiled—I knew right then and there that she threw a rope around me, ensnaring me to her for all eternity. 

And I was delighted. 

That’s the most I’ve heard from you all night. You’re alive when you come. Raw and articulate. No shyness to you.

I caressed her extended claws.

And I want them dug deep in me. 

Despite my lost mind, I kept going, kept persisting, wondering at the words that dashed out of my mouth, the one that knew how to kiss her and coax out of her those sweetened, delicate noises of hers—and her following words. 

Neck. Nipple. Thigh. Cunt. 

I became aware, wholly, of the suppleness and softness of her body. Of the authenticity and authority that it held as I kissed and licked all of those tender, sensitive parts of her that she asked me to get to know my tongue. 

And I was doing just that. 

Learning the depth of her intellect as I closed my mouth over her clit, as I drank from her sopping heat that gave me the final notion of the night that I would never thirst again. Not if I had her legs over my shoulders. Not if I had her bent in half. 

Not if I had her asking for me, provoking me. 

I enjoyed it too much. Thought I’d never enjoyed something like that before. Her taste, the heady scent of her arousal that I desired to have under my nose at all times, her wetness dripping off my chin and landing just right on her bare, squished tummy. Her neediness, her courage and her bravery. I enjoyed it all so much that I forgot all about myself and my own needs, finding her lust more stimulating and gratifying than the thought of me getting anything in return. 

But all too soon, while I was holding her in such a vulnerable position, the spell withered. In a snap of one’s fingers. 

Mine. 

The final question, the only smart one within the heated realm of our frenzy, trickled down my chin along with her wetness and I gravitated back down to my lost rationality, to the disconsolate existence in this wretched world. Kitty rolled her eyes and I floated, like a pallid cloud, in and out of our lust. One foot there, the other in reality. 

You really want this?

She bounced for me, tugging on the rope she had wrapped around me. And I toppled, harder than I anticipated, when she murmured that she wanted me inside of her. I toppled forward into our aphrodisiac haven, but my foot stayed submerged in the mud of reason. 

You’re not getting it tonight. 

But the little minx liked that I had said that. Liked that I was such a fastidious giver—a man in charge of her that knew better. And I liked that she did. I liked the way she touched me. Her fingers heartened me. And when she poked her toe in my cheek, I blazed in such joy and passion that I gave in. 

I gave in, entirely, to her. 

I kissed her like I never kissed Sun-mi. Grabbed her by the back of her neck and smashed my mouth into hers, sucking on her lips so hard that my cock twitched and she moaned in response. Moaned so vivaciously that I sensed it taking roots in each corner of my body and soul. 

Kitty dragged me out of reason, sprawling me over her. I ground my hips against her pussy, meeting her little thrusts, and I found something beyond the principle of haven in that mutual collision. Something safer, something more solid. And despite the fact I had unattached myself from Sun-mi, she, somehow, thundered in me. Her jealousy contaminated me. I felt icy fingers hooking into the back of my shirt and yanking me away, sinking into my flesh. And right then and there, I almost yelped in pain. 

Sun-mi’s voice plagued me in antipathy.

Get away from her. 

Get away. Get away. Get away. 

Go now. 

She screeched those revolting words in me until her shrieking voice melted into a ringing that rid me of my hearing sense. But as ensnared as I was, I perceived that wasn’t my Sun-mi. That wasn’t her voice, for it wasn’t effulgent with her gentleness. It was something greatly sinister that had crawled upon me in my vulnerability, disguising itself as my precious girlfriend. Though as aware as I was of its trick, it wouldn’t let go. On the contrary, it rose in volume and intensity until it forced me to let out the rottenest words I could’ve ever given her. 

I can’t. 

But because of the bond between us, I was able to give her a tender kiss to make it better. And when she took it, she gave me the strength to fight. 

And so I did. 

I settled between her legs, but the worst thing that could’ve happened did come up for air between us. 

She saw through me. She was a witness to the demon’s psychological terror inflicted upon me and she respected it enough that she began to back away. 

I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t let the demon win. 

So I pushed her hands away that had gripped the silky fabric of her night dress and covered her from me, and I flipped the hem so hard I nearly ripped it. I couldn’t afford to have her close up on me—to not have her like this and the awareness of how important she had become for me in the little time we had together descended in the pit of my stomach. The thought of never having her close like this shook through my organs and I simply could not let that happen. 

I begged her. 

I begged her to let me forget about the enormous obstacle that hid within me and wished to draggle me through mud and shit just so I wouldn’t fall deeper into her. 

And when she allowed me, when she pinned her legs back the way I wanted them, and gave over that intimate part of her that I had discovered I needed in order to survive, I discerned that her willingness, her consent and her kindness was something that attenuated the voice of the demon in me. 

I submitted. 

And in total submission to her, I devoured her and finger-fucked her until she, seemingly, washed me clean of all my darkness, sprinkling me with her wetness. I would’ve continued had she not reached the fairyland of overstimulation. And all my false pretenses were revealed to me when she sat up and palmed my cock. 

I wasn’t washed clean. I wasn’t well. And I wasn’t strong enough to fight. 

My fear quaked in my bones while she was undoing the strings of my sweatpants and it was me who felt like vomiting at the thought of being on the receiving end. 

I grasped her hands, my vision clouded with my tears, and I could only shake my head ‘no’. I had pleaded with her to give me her words, yet I myself wasn’t able to do the same.

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. 

I crumbled and shrunk. Was smaller than the kitten inside her that meowed to me. Didn’t know whether to leave or to stay over, only that if I were to remain in the closeness of our lessening frenzy, something ugly would occur. I found myself in a state of mind where I needed to be taken care of, but letting her do it strengthened my fear. I needed Jungkook to come, but that meant he would get the wind of the fact that I betrayed him. 

I was paralyzed on the spot, with my cock hard and aching, and Kitty studied me as if she could read each and every horrendous line of the decadent poetry of my mental state. And then she tied back the strings of my sweatpants, careful not to touch my private parts, and folded her hands on her glistening thighs. 

“Can I make you something to eat?” she asked, her eyes as shiny as the traces of her arousal, round and softened, the slits wide and innocuous. So different from the way they looked when I first regarded them. 

The large, hot tear that plopped onto my cheek answered her for me. As if she called it out, my stomach grumbled. 

She rose on her bare, wobbly feet and pulled my head onto her lace-adorned bosom. Brushed a hand down my hair at a snail’s place like she internally knew that it wasn’t possible for me to linger in her tenderness, that once she reached the nape of my neck that I would withdraw. And she gave me a radiant smile once I did—as if I wasn’t vile, worthless and loathsome. 

Reassured me that it was okay like I deserved it. Like I deserved her. 

And while she made me ramen and boiled two eggs for me, the demon in me pressured me to leave without a word. Almost pushed my muscles into action, my legs to take a step back, but I resisted. I resisted with the little strength I had by crossing the distance, no longer watching her from the dark corner of her kitchen. I stood behind her, not holding her, not caressing her—because I couldn’t. I couldn’t draw closer. I couldn’t touch her in a non-sexual sphere because I feared what would have happened to my mind if I did. 

In spite of that, I said the words that she deserved to hear. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you what you want.” 

She turned her head and gazed up into my eyes. It was so intimate that I couldn’t understand how we ended up here, how we ended up acting like this when we knew each other for merely hours. I couldn’t understand why it felt the way it did when she was merely looking at me and I longed to scratch off the outer layer of our bond that it gained from our lust, that protected it so well that even I couldn’t erase it. 

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” 

I couldn’t say anything to that. My hands agreed with her, but my abused heart didn’t. I could only sit down at her table and eat the food she made me, thinking about how everything our bodies did was natural, yet those actions left an unnatural aftertaste within that the food couldn’t flavor differently. I existed in oxymorons with her, ones that I took to bed with her. 

And I held them instead of her. 

I awake with a jerk. 

With the brass, sharp and strange feeling that I did something wrong, that I made a mistake so enormous and calamitous that it will take a lifetime to pay its mending debt. With a long wave of Kitty’s turquoise strand loosely wrapped around my hand resting between the snugness of her pillow and mine. With her spine protruding towards me while she’s curled on her side. With a surplus of the dream I have emerged from as it drifts with me towards the bright light of consciousness, where I’d rather not be right now. 

And the memory of it opens against my eyelids when I close them. Her straddling me, her bouncing on my cock as her eyes flutter in the middle of her perfervid, red-hot orgasm that might as well have been mine. I sense her weight on me as if she wasn’t softly snoring beside me, but sitting on me with my length sheathed inside her to the hilt, shuddering and praising me, her breasts following the movement of her hips and—

I sit up and fist my hair, trying to breathe out evenly, but I fail. The damned air comes out in pathetic staccatos that permeate me with a zealous anger. And when I rip the covers off of me, I see that I was right. 

Her orgasm was mine. 

A large wet spot stains my boxers, the white fabric translucent due to the quantity of cum that oozed out of me in my sleep. It’s not sticky, nor is it dry, which means the dream caught up to me right before I woke up and came like a fucking teenager that has just discovered women. 

What makes this even worse is that I’m rock hard and so needy that I’m willing to wake her up and beg for her. Beg for her kindness. Beg for her softness. 

But I can’t. 

Anger and lust might lace well, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t use her when I know I have to keep my distance now and not allow us to step over the threshold of our desires. I should’ve listened to Jungkook and not let her shatter that mountain of respect for him, not let her set me free from my fixation on him. I should’ve stayed in the car and kept my promise to him that I would come back. 

I stand up to my feet and I detect the silky ghost of her dyed strand on my palm, the only singular softness I might ever feel for the rest of my life. And I wish it would end now, so I wouldn’t have to face her and the possible heartbreak I would clothe her in—and so I wouldn’t have to face Jungkook and clothe myself in regret and shame. 

I go and search for my Sun-mi as I walk over to the living room to put on my sweatpants from last night, but I stumble upon a dead end. The realization that I had been tricked by my demons for all these long years swathes me in iciness so cold that I shiver and my vision blurs. The realization that I’m all alone are the ropes that stifle my lungs and they swell against it, the flesh overspilling. I call out to her from within, a feeble high hope, and radio silence greets me upon this fine morning. 

The only honeyed good morning I’ll ever receive. 

I sniffle, willing the tears to fuck off because I’m exhausted of feeling so much, of being so vulnerable in this world that seems so be so set on destroying me. My girlfriend is dead. She’s not with me, nor will she ever be. She hasn’t been sending me guidance and fuzzy feelings. She’s buried six deep under and I dispersed the soil over her with the same hand I used to make another girl come, the same hand that still feels her hair like a knife I seem to be clutching, despite the excruciation I give myself, despite the blood that pours out and splatters on her stark white carpet. 

I sit on her couch and check the notifications on my phone. I have one text message from Jungkook and two missed calls from him. It’s so like him. Had it been any other member, the bar would’ve been spammed so much that I myself would have to get out of bed and silence it. 

I click on the message and read it, carefully. 

We need to talk in the morning. Coffeestand at 11 am

Fuck this shit. 

I check the time. It’s 10:20 am. I haven’t slept this long since the pandemic. Which reminds me that I haven’t been to that small coffee shop with him since before this fuckery ingrained itself in the face of this doomed world. Jungkook knows what I’ve done, but I don’t allow myself to feel. 

No regret. No shame. 

Nothing. 

I place my head in my hands and do some breathing exercises, anxiety invading my boundary and my decision to be numb. I fight, even though I’m so weary of it, and my mind spins. There’s not enough air in this room and when I go to look around to see if her AC is on, I find her standing by the doorframe of her bedroom. 

Puzzlement twists her puffy, morning features. The light glimmers in her eyes so glaringly that there’s simply no need for the sunlight right behind me that I now sense cradling my back. It has awoken hand in hand with her and I have to stop myself. 

No feeling. Numbness, only. 

I feel nothing towards her and I want nothing to do with her. 

Last night was a mistake. She was horny and I was lonely, vulnerable. There’s no bond between us. She’s merely Jungkook’s pretty friend. And I don’t see the starved, neglected kitten out in the open of her being, her former seductiveness a mat beneath her that she’s resting on, purring. She’s not lifting her small, bony head at my attention as I peer into her eyes and watch her tense features melt and relax under our spellbinding eye contact. 

And her words don’t affect me when she asks me if I’m okay. 

I don’t disintegrate when she walks towards me, her bare, sleep-kissed breasts bouncing underneath her pellucid, lacy night dress, ruining me, reminding all over again of the wet dream I had, of the way she pinched them right before I stirred awake. 

I stop her halfway with roughness that I regret as soon as it digorges out of my mouth and I wish, with all of my own godforsaken being, to take it back. 

“Can you, please, put something fucking on?” 

I palm my forehead, tearing my gaze away from her and the way her face falls, and when I run my hand down my eyes, I encounter the traces of my weakness still wet and very much visible to the naked eye on my cheeks. I’m hot all over, regretful, shameful and hateful of what I’ve become because I believe that, deep down, I’m not my anger. 

I may believe it faintly, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe it at all. 

I’m not my anger and I don’t treat people like this. I exude respect, self-control and kindness. 

This is not me. 

And yet I still act like this. I hurt and I’ve hurt the beautiful girl in front of me that I can no longer face. I grab my things and I walk over to her corridor, sliding my foot into my shoe while staring down, with even blurrier vision than before, the red Jordans I let her wear last night. 

“I have to go,” I mutter, willing my voice not to betray me, but to be smooth, steady and gentle—unlike me. Jungkook’s image flashes in my brain and how he must be already waiting for me in the coffee shop, as punctual as he is. And I don’t hurt just his friend further, I sink the knife I still clutch inside my heart so deep that I lose my life in front of her. “Do you have a spare mask?” 

She untangles one of her arms crossed over her breasts and rummages in a little, white, polyester box perched on her kitchen bar. Wraps that forearm tighter around her when she hands me a new, ivory mask without looking at me. 

I twist the knife deeper in my heart and I long to take her face in my hand, instead of the mask. Take her and kiss her for her kindness until she moans into my mouth like she did last night. 

But I don’t. 

I thank her for the mask and I leave. 

Jungkook is waiting for me outside the coffee shop with a pink umbrella. A tall Statue of Liberty dressed in black, holding up a torch of my failure. He reminds me so much of her that it might as well have been her, standing in his place. 

I had texted him that I was on my way, even though my doleful heart begged me to dial his number and vomit all of my feelings into his ear. Cleanse my guts of the regret that gorged on it. Despite the fact that’s not something I normally do. Jungkook is the one who does and I’m the one who listens, who fixes, who comforts.

I could never let him know that I’m the one who needs it now. 

It had rained softly when I stopped by my apartment to take a quick shower so I wouldn’t have faced him with cum stains on my sweatpants. Gooseflesh marred my skin when I walked through it with my head dipped low, the cloud my very contrition that poured down on me. I was shivering as the liquid anthropoids crawled upon my bare arms because I left my jacket on her bathroom floor. None of us went to wash up before bed. 

They seemed to have fucked off to another city, but once I went by foot to the coffee shop, they descended again. Taunted me. Obscured my tears from Jungkook who was as kind as her, running up to me once he saw me to shield me from the rain. 

No wonder they’re friends. 

I don’t greet him, nor do I listen to him tell me off for not bringing an umbrella. I focus on burying my feelings the way I buried my girlfriend, six feet deep, and the final sifting of the soil is the cigarette I wordlessly pull out of my pack. Jungkook blinks at me. 

Then, holds out a hand. 

No wonder he’s my brother. 

I give him one and light it up with my white lighter, studying the way his brown pools zero in on tip flaming up in a soft orange tint. And when those gentle eyes shift to mine, I feel like weeping all over again. 

He puffs the smoke out away from my face. I follow him, hiding my tears by flicking my gaze in another direction, sucking on the cigarette as I bring it to life and pocket my lighter. And as the fume blackens my treacherous lungs, I have to rub my eyes in order not to reveal my emotions to him. 

But Jungkook sees through me regardless of my efforts. 

“Start talking,” he encourages, crossing his arm over his chest like Kitty did and my heart pivots on its axis, slicing through my flesh. The smoke curls around us in the pink shadow of the umbrella. “We don’t have much time. We have to be back at the company in an hour. He wants to talk to us.” 

He doesn’t have to mention his name—I know full well who he speaks of. If the said person saw what we were doing, he’d have a stroke and it makes me suck on my cigarette harder. 

“About?” 

Jungkook sighs, takes a drag and puffs the smoke sideways through pursed lips, his eyes lost in the distance somewhere behind my legs. “He never said. Just acts all high and mighty. Demands our time when we need it to rest in order to give our best before the concert tonight. I’m sick of him.” 

I humorlessly chuckle because I don’t think I ever heard him admit something like this. Hobi and I, we have these discussions nearly on a daily basis, but Jungkook never had the guts to admit the unfair, inhumane way we’re treated by the company we keep alive and thriving. Not just for us, but for the other groups under the management.  

I take a little happy drag of the poison, feeling a little more at ease with him. Enough to dig up my feelings and stain his hands, so I wouldn’t feel so alone. 

And I do. 

I prepare it, my nails black and muddy. I dig out the regret over my words, the ache in my heart from the way Kitty’s face fell, the mental agony from the fact she may never want to see me again and that I may never see her—that she won’t come to the concert tonight. 

And in the silence, as I look at my dirtied hands, I get an eyeful of the way I’m holding not just the fragments of the earth, but of wildflowers. Wildflowers of her scent, the heady perfume of her arousal that I can still smell under my nose because I didn’t have the heart to wash that part of my face. It was all I had of her for the time being. Petals of her beauty, her giggles and her moans quiver in my palms and the memory of her poking me with her toe in my cheek resurfaces in my mind. I smile so vivaciously that it hurts, though differently. I don’t regard it as sexual but as something innocently delicate, precious and endearing. And it deepens my regret that I spoke to her that way, that I made her feel ashamed of her breathtaking, picturesque body by lashing out my anger at her. 

It deepens it to the point that I lament it. And my smile falls—just like her face. 

Jungkook watches me. Has been watching me this whole time while I dipped inside myself. And he brings it back up, stubbing out his cigarette with his sneaker on the wet ground. I follow him—ready and not ready at the same time, but I feel vastly in me that I should tell him. And that he won’t ostracize me. 

���Let’s go inside so you can tell me.” 

I merely nod.

Jungkook takes the first step in front of me, keeping me shielded from the rain that begins to thicken. Maybe it grew tender from my memories—maybe it’s not as sinister when it comes to her. Maybe the rain can be mellow when she’s in my life. 

Except that she no longer is. I pushed her away. 

Under the roof of the coffee shop, Jungkook shakes the umbrella off of its sopping wetness and I can’t stand the sight of the rain. I walk inside, squeezing through him, mutter a quiet hello that the person behind the counter doesn’t hear. She’s tapping away her heart on the screen of her phone, her long nails clicking loudly, her round glasses pinched at the ball of her nose that fog up with each of her breaths due to her sagging mask. Tufts of hair spread out in all directions from her messy updo and she doesn’t lift her head at the sound of the bell ringing once Jungkook comes in. Her typing movements gain more speed and verve and I can’t help but to laugh to myself. She must be fighting someone on the other side—and I wish I could fight Kitty, just so I could talk to her. Just so I could still have her in my life. 

“What are you having?” Jungkook asks, a glistening puppy drifting his big pools on the menu suspended above the girl’s curled form. He doesn’t take the humid weather well. Invariably sweats like a dog. A cute puppy dog that never stinks. 

I was too busy being jealous of the girl possibly fighting her boyfriend to notice what she offered to make. I glance up, noticing the words are written in white chalk and some western options are embellished in a pretty cursive that must belong to her, which reminds me that one of our mutual friends worked here before the pandemic. I wonder if he’s still here or if someone else manages the place. There’s no way Beomseok was able to write in this pretty lettering. The man has problems with Hangul and to this day I don’t understand how he graduated with honors. 

Kudos to him. 

I reread the options and find only coffees with so much milk to make you sick for days. The only strong coffee is an Americano, but I need something stronger. 

“Don’t they have anything with whiskey in it?”

Both heads turn simultaneously in my direction and I laugh, dryly. The girl’s thumb hover in the air before she blinks, flings her phone to the surface of the counter and stands up, drawing close to us. 

Jungkook elbows me. “It’s 11 am.” 

“If we have a meeting after this, I need the whole bottle.” 

He laughs through his nose. “Fair enough.” Pivots to the girl, leaning his elbow on the counter and fixes his mask. “One americano for me. Do you, guys, still do flavor shots?” 

The girl taps in his order and only looks at him with her eyes while her chin keeps facing the monitor. “The times have changed but our brand coffees haven’t. What flavor shot would that be?” 

Jungkook nearly springs into the air. I swore I could see his puppy tail wagging. “Banana, please.” 

I scoff. If I were to drink a banana-flavored americano, I would’ve spent my day on the toilet. Jungkook throws me a dirty look before he focuses on the girl again. I shake my head, smiling, lightweight. 

“Okay, so, one banana americano for me and one bland americano for the grumpy guy. I’ll be paying for both. Can we sit here or is this to go only?” 

She proceeds to tell him that the mandate is still rubbing its shit all over these walls, but since we’re the only ones here, we can sit with our masks down. Jungkook thanks her and leaves her a tip, asking her if Beomseok still comes around. My ears perk up. I would’ve loved to see the guy. 

“I had to take the shift for him this morning, actually. The poor guy has some kind of a stomach bug. Are you, guys, friends?”

Jungkook nods, but doesn’t say anything else, which I’m grateful for. Beomseok was my classmate, the only friend I had in Daegu before I moved to Seoul. He didn’t support my decision to leave everything behind, but we reconciled, years later, when he followed my footsteps and we met at this very coffee place that he rebuilt with his own hands. Helped out the ahjussi who owned it; sweated blood, sweat and tears. And when the old man died, he left it in Beokseok’s hands, legally. 

I sit by the front windowsill once Jungkook brings me my coffee and sets down his, the banana flavor sailing through my nostrils as I take off my mask. I make a face at the sweetened scent and Jungkook raises his eyebrows at me before he shakes his head in dismay. I take a sip of the dark liquid, basking in the warmth that clings to my bones. 

But when he mentions her name, I spit out the coffee that I had yet to swallow. 

“What?” I ask, embarrassed. I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence and my cheeks flush. Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles—his brows quirking as far as they can and I wish the ground would swallow me up. 

Choking at the sound of her name? What has happened to me? 

“I said—” His bunny smile forms and I know I’m fucked, knee-deep in a quicksand of shit. He won’t let me live it down. “That she loves this flavor as much as I do.” 

I run a hand down my face. Jungkook chuckles into the plastic of his drink, wiping down my coffee on his plain black sweatshirt. 

“Which reminds me that you have stuff to tell me.” 

Anxiety pinches my fingertips. I was ready—or half ready—outside when he loosened the tensity of the atmosphere. But after the way I embarrassed myself in front of him, I don’t think I’m capable of telling him how much I fucked up. 

I’d rather suffer in silence and on my own. 

I look over at the girl. She’s sat back down on her stool and she’s reading the messages, her thumb trembling in the air before it swipes up, the other one in her mouth, her teeth nibbling on her long nail. 

The way I caressed Kitty’s fingernails bolts through my vision and my throat dries. I’ve shifted to the point that I begin to miss her and like the girl’s thumb, my jaw shakes. I still it, I hide it by propping my fist against it. 

Jungkook stares me down, urging me with his eyes and it works on me. I work well under pressure and he knows this. That guy is a puppy-fox hybrid and I hate him as much as I love him. 

“I don’t know where to begin,” I admit, and it’s true. It’s as vulnerable as I was last night and I can’t grasp how that emotion still breathes in me. I’m hoping it disappears as soon as I let it out, disappears into Jungkook, where it will be safe and locked. 

Jungkook takes a long sip without taking his eyes off of me. Smacks his mouth right after. “Did you fuck her?” 

It’s me who raises their brows at the brazenness of the question and I wish it were as simple as that. I wish I had fucked her and left her while she slept. Ended the story like that without any strings attached—without any additional chapters. But what I feel for her, the bound that is irrevocably unrelenting between us, exceeds a saga. That exceeds this entire lifetime. And I can’t admit that to him. 

“No,” I mumble, unable to reciprocate the eye contact, unable to tell him what we did because I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to see her the way I did—let him in on her horniness. It was private and it was for me. I want to honor that and protect that privacy for her. It’s the only thing I can do now. The only right thing. My hands have gone mute. “But something did happen between us. I slept over and in the morning I fucked it up.” 

The vagueness of my words graces me with the fuzzy feelings I was used to before today, but I don’t trust them. I don’t fall for it—and my anxiety skyrockets, enough that a lump lodges in my throat. 

Jungkook doesn’t blink and I don’t wish to know what it means. “Fucked it up? How?” 

How do I tell him without spilling the entirety of me? Without disclosing that I coped with my girlfriend’s death by falsely believing that she was transcendently still with me, guiding me? 

No one can ever know that about me. Not even the being up above. 

“I wasn’t in the right mind to see her bare, so I had a go at her,” I mutter, my voice breaking and I take a sip to camouflage it, the warm liquid heating up the incoming of my past anger. “I regret it and I wish I could take it back.” I caress the fabric of the mask, crumpled on the wooden windowsill, and my lamentation blackens. “But she doesn’t wanna see me anymore.” 

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his pocket and places it beside his coffee. It startles me, but I concentrate my gaze on the only physical, tangible presence I have of her. 

“Did she tell you that?” 

Something opens within me, but once again I don’t trust it. 

“No.” 

“What makes you think she doesn’t wanna see you again?” 

I don’t answer, finding the question stupid. I toy with the ear strings of the mask, recollecting the way I did the same movement with her fingernails. And I don’t want to drink the coffee anymore. I don’t want to go to a work meeting—nor do I want to be here at this coffee shop. I don’t want to be anywhere; I don’t want to exist. 

Jungkook sighs. I still don’t look at him, gripping the string so hard against my knuckle that my thumb turns white. 

“You like her.” 

I do, but I don’t profess that, vocally. It’s pointless. As pointless as the course of my personal life. 

“Did you exchange numbers?” 

I shake my head ‘no’, the corners of my mouth naturally rounding in a frail pout. The thought of having her number and having the opportunity—

“If you see Yoongi sometime before work, make sure he’s well.” 

My head shoots up. Jungkook is bunny-smiling at his phone while holding his bizarre drink in his other hand. The remnants of my past anger magnetically affixes within me, creating a dynamic windstorm in me that really pushes me to lash out at him for taking the piss out of me like that. I grit my teeth, clench my fist, hold back with all my might that I feel my shoulder act up, paralyzing me with a pain that forces me back down until I curl in my seat—like that bespectacled girl. 

Defeated. 

“I can’t believe this is happening—”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my softness back for him. Clutch my shoulder while he’s distracted. “Don’t fuck with me, Jungkook-ah. I’m not in the mood.” 

He hums in question, flicking his eyes at me. Seeing the state of me, he grows serious and locks his phone, setting it down. “I told you not to touch her, did I not?” 

I open my mouth to say something, but I run on empty, closing it back down. This is the reaction I anticipated and now that it’s here, it feels right. It feels like I deserve it—like I deserve to be told off. So I listen, my knuckles against my mouth, and I stare, numbly, at him. 

“I shouldn’t have let you take her home in the first place. I knew this would happen. I saw the way she looked at you when I introduced her to you. She was in a trace, hyung. And when you were the one to tell me she felt sick, I knew this was bad news,” he breathes out, his shoulders as broad and menacing as his words, and my guard collapses. I know where he’s going with this and I brace myself against it, brace myself against the cold, hard truth that will sever me in half. But I’m wrong. What he says next is something I never expected to hear from him. “Having a go at her is the worst thing you could’ve done to her, but she’s strong. She’s the strongest person I know besides you—”

His voice recedes and the background of this brown coffee shop dissolves into a pitch blackness. I sit in the middle of a tunnel, beaten and overpowered, his silenced words driving past me like cars, and I can’t move. A myriad of scenarios that explain why she’s the strongest person he knows darts through my brain, connecting with the big question mark of why she evanesced in her body in Hobi’s presence. And the reason why Jungkook disapproves of us fluxes over me like those liquid fuckers. 

She was hurt, badly, in her last relationship. And it feels as though I’m back on my side, on the hard ground, while it pours, the lights of my scooter streaking through it. 

“—but she obviously cares for you, unlike the others. She wouldn’t text me that if she didn’t, so take her fucking number from me and fix this. Grow a pair.” 

I blink at him with fluid sight. Brown evaporates through the black. 

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

And all of a sudden, I’m aware of what I’m doing when I seize his phone. See for myself that he wasn’t fucking with me like I thought he was. And I copy her number into a new contact. 

My thumbs hover in the air—just like the girl’s behind me. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ second part here

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

*

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

[ikroah]

A girl can get somewhere in spite of stringy hair or even just a bit bowed at the knees if she can show a faultless…personality! —“Personality,” Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers (1946)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #26 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding V

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

ohhhhh my god why did i make this script so long my hand hurts this took forever aaaaagh

Welcome to the Lucky 38! This is a script that has remained basically the same for a long time but went through COUNTLESS extremely small rewrites over the course of production just to really nail Mr. House's dialogue. He's a long-winded guy, this whole issue is basically just him doing monologues, and I wanted to make sure it was all interesting and non-repetitive. I think I took out at least three uses of "merely" from the first draft.

One of the biggest production decisions of this issue was whether or not to cut the scene with Agnes and Cass and Victor, which immediately follows the end of the previous issue. The reason to include it was because it very necessarily established the change in location from the Vegas Strip to the Lucky 38 penthouse, which would have been jarring otherwise; the reason to exclude it was that it the issue was already extremely long and I thought opening right on Mr. House would have been more impactful. Ultimately, I did keep it, which was a good decision, but only because of the literally issue-saving idea to convey it as closed-circuit television footage instead of actual panels. Every single attempt at overlaying them with the lead-in to Mr. House was way too busy, but that idea really tied the page together like a nice rug.

And lastly, the framing device of the tarantula and the tarantula hawk was actually an extremely late addition to the comic. I had already finished the first three pages when I thought of it. My problem was that Mr. House's constant monologuing and Agnes' sad expressions got pretty repetitive. I needed something to break the action up while adding thematic heft and artistic variety. I've become a real enthusiast for wasps and tarantulas over the last couple months, so this one really was just a stroke of luck. It took only minimal revisions to make room for the framing device, with the most dramatic change being the complete replacement of the last page (which was originally just a splash page of the Lucky 38 in Vegas; bookending the first and last pages is so much better). So you see, the only reason for weaving a scene into this issue of a skittish desert-wanderer getting paralyzed and dragged toward a certain demise by a predator almost perfectly evolved to destroy it was just that I like bugs a lot. That's the only reason, yep.

Original Pencils:

Due to all of the photo-collage in the final version of the comic, there's a lot of panels and details that I (thankfully!) didn't have to draw myself. Sorry that the pencil isn't blue on the last three pages, I've been on the move for the holidays so they got scanned in grayscale by accident.

I did experiment with drawing the tarantula framing device myself, but ultimately went with the photo-collage method because the artistic juxtaposition actually made it much more readable when interspersed with the proceedings in the Lucky 38.

Transcript:

EXT. DESERT OUTSIDE OF NEW VEGAS. The city glitters in the distance, nestled between the shadows of mountains, with the spire of the LUCKY 38 towering above all else.

In the wilderness, a TARANTULA emerges from its burrow.

EXT. THE NEW VEGAS STRIP. On closed-circuit television monitors, a SECURITRON ROBOT approaches AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY, saying

VICTOR: Well howdy, partner! Fancy meetin' again here in Vegas!

CASS: What the fuck?

AGNES: Victor?

Unlike the usual police units, VICTOR's robotic "face" is that of a cowboy.

VICTOR: And heck, ya clean up nice! Sure lookin' a lot better now than when I rustled ya outta the bone orchard back in Goodsprings*--

CAP: *As was explained to Agnes way back in IKROAH #2. --Lou

VICTOR: --so how's about ol' Vic skips the rigamarole, huh? 'Fore all my yappin' makes ya want to go back, heh-heh-heh! I'm the welcome wagon, see. I'm to come and collect ya.

CASS: Agnes--

VICTOR: Boss wants t'see you, is what I'm sayin'.

AGNES: Boss?

VICTOR: Only of all of Vegas, friend!

CASS: Agnes.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA crawls beneath the starlight.

VICTOR: So why don't we mosey on over to the Lucky 38? And your good pal can come along, too!

CASS: I need to know what the fuck is going on, right now.

AGNES: I...I don't know.

VICTOR: And y'know, boss ain't ever let a soul inside before, least for not as long as I've been rollin' around on my spurs, so this ain't just an everyday social call, mind...

On the closed-circuit television monitors, VICTOR escorts AGNES and CASS to the entryway of the LUCKY 38.

VICTOR: ...but heck, I reckon ya'll oughta get along like franks on a fire! So come on! Lift's in the lobby here, and up to the top floor--and we can get the formalities out of the way before ya'll get [cut off]

INT. THE LUCKY 38 PENTHOUSE.

AGNES stands awestruck, looking upward, bathed in electronic green light. With horror, she ekes out a single question.

AGNES: ...what are you?

???: A "Hello" would have been preferable, but it'll take more than a crude faux pas to tarnish this moment. Who I am, Agnes--

What AGNES is looking at is a gigantic SUPERCOMPUTER and terminal, flanked by closed-circuit television monitors and guarded on both sides by SECURITRON police units. On the supercomputer's massive screen is the green-lit image of a face. The face

MR. HOUSE: --is ROBERT EDWIN HOUSE. The President, CEO, and sole proprietor of New Vegas--and more to the point, the intended recipient of a long delayed package.

AGNES: Oh, you...you mean the platinum chip?

MR. HOUSE: Correct. It's a...very precious artifact of the old world.

MR. HOUSE: My world, once.

In the back of the room, beyond AGNES, is an oil painting of MR. HOUSE, standing outside in front of what must have been a very large robot.

MR. HOUSE: In that world, I was the founder of RobCo Industries--a titan of innovation. We created a litany of robotic solutions for diverse markets, such as the Securitrons that you see here, and even a line of consumer-grade devices like the wrist-mounted Pip-Boy. But the platinum chip was, more than any other, my design. It was my vision.

MR. HOUSE: But it never left the factory in which it was originally made. Before it could even cool off from its assembly...we had the Great War. An international, thermonuclear bombardment of unimaginable power that annihilated the world in all of two hours.

MR. HOUSE: But not the entire world. Not Vegas. Not my Paradise. From my fortress of the Lucky 38, I saw to that. But as for the rest of the world, and my platinum chip--it took generations.

MR. HOUSE: First for the scarce remnants of humanity to crawl out from under their rocks, and for the world to at least resemble a functioning society again in which to do trade. And then for the work itself--of countless scavengers, treasure-seekers, and the like, all contracted to comb over the wreckage of Sunnyvale. It cost millions of caps, and later, New California dollars. And a not insignificant piece of my pre-war fortune as well. I, quite literally, moved mountains.

MR. HOUSE: I do not believe in providence, Agnes, but I do believe in destiny. How else to explain it? It was pristine when it was found. Neither the bombs nor the passage of time had so much as scuffed its sheen. But still...its value far transcended the mere market price of pure platinum.

MR. HOUSE: Amusingly, despite the discovery, I was still only as close to acquiring the chip as I had been originally in 2077. A final ordeal remained for me: how to ensure the safety of the platinum chip en route to its destination, from Sunnyvale to Vegas, without broadcasting its preciousness to thieves, armies, and raiders--or worse, to heavily armed fetishists for pre-war technology like the Brotherhood of Steel?

MR. HOUSE: Misdirection. Through a network of anonymous liaisons, I contracted the Mojave Express for a batch of deliveries, all superficially similar knick-knacks, to various intermediaries of myself. All but one of the orders were totally worthless decoys. But your identity as the carrier of the one genuine item was somehow compromised, leading to you getting attacked, and to the second disappearance of the chip.

MR. HOUSE: But look around you. Look where you are. You've made it, haven't you?

AGNES, still staring up at the visage of MR. HOUSE on-screen, doesn't respond. She frowns, nervous. The SECURITRONS guarding MR. HOUSE observe her stoically.

MR. HOUSE: Let me clarify: I had nothing to do with Benny's ambush. Heavens no! It goes completely against my interests. It would have been a perfectly quotidian day's work for you if not for his, and I stress, unexpected involvement. The platinum chip...belies its significance. For Benny to have not only discovered its delivery route but possibly enough of that significance to motivate such an act, this constituted a very troubling breach of my security. And I had been looking into it...but in a way, the issue seems to have resolved itself. Hm?

MR. HOUSE: A wild card. Now removed from the deck.

AGNES' gaze sinks to the floor.

MEANWHILE, a small shadow blots out the starlight in the desert outside of Vegas. It flies over the exploring TARANTULA.

AGNES looks back up at MR. HOUSE.

AGNES: I killed him.

HOUSE: So you did. I only wish that we could have spoken before you went rogue on my former protégé: if this story breaks, I can grant you amnesty, but not without controversy. And your infamy as an assassin could make our further arrangements quite difficult.

AGNES: Um...I didn't think there would be more to it than delivering the--

MR. HOUSE: Oh! Of course, of course! My apologies. Two hundred years of anticipation and yet I'm still getting ahead of myself. Well--would you mind? I've been waiting a long time for my mail.

The SECURITRON closest to AGNES wheels forward with its claw outstretched. AGNES reaches her fingers into a pocket beneath the belt of her dress to produce it: the PLATINUM CHIP. She holds it in her hand for a brief moment.

MEANWHILE, the shadow descends; the TARANTULA HAWK engages the TARANTULA.

AGNES relinquishes the PLATINUM CHIP to the SECURITRON.

MR. HOUSE: Thank you--it's a relief to pay for this chip for the final time.

The SECURITRON inserts the PLATINUM CHIP into a slot in MR. HOUSE'S supercomputer, feeding it into the drive with a CLIK.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA is fighting the TARANTULA HAWK.

From behind AGNES, another SECURITRON presents her with a stack of NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC DOLLARS, which she gingerly takes in her hand and looks over.

MR. HOUSE: And I trust that you're satisfied with the agreed-upon compensation from the delivery contract, yes?

AGNES: Yeah, it's...it's fine...I'll be going now. Thanks.

MR. HOUSE: Oh? But you've only just arrived. I insist that you make yourself at home.

SFX: KZZSZZZTTT

The faces on the screens of the SECURITRONS in MR. HOUSE'S penthouse suddenly change from policemen to soldiers. AGNES recoils and tries to step away.

AGNES: H-hey, uh--

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK pierces the underbelly of the TARANTULA with its stinger.

SECURITRONS surround AGNES.

MR. HOUSE: You are the first guest ever through the doors of the Lucky 38, you know. Nobody has so much as checked a coat inside since the war, so this meeting confers you a significant level of privilege...and inevitable celebrity. The people of Vegas have always gossiped, after all. Many have even clawed at the door desperately with dreams of being where you now stand. Surely you can comprehend how this compulsion to leave after such a deliberate and remarkable invitation risks considerable insult--to both myself and my citizenry? And very deliberate this invitation was. Don't you realize: if handing off my package was all for which you were needed, why wouldn't I have just had Victor relieve you of the chip outside? No, no, you see, as necessary as its acquisition was, the chip is ultimately just a key, for unlocking a new frontier...of possibilities.

MR. HOUSE: Possibilities for prosperity, peace, and technological advancement that haven't been seen in two hundred years. Possibilities greater than anything the New California Republic or Caesar's Legion could dream of, let alone achieve, by playing pretend in the clothes of their forebearers and convincing everyone else that it's statecraft. Possibilities--which if they key is turned by human hands--become certainties.

AGNES (a whisper): Are you not human?

MR. HOUSE: Don't let the video screens and computer terminals fool you: I am a living human. No less so than you. I just live with a particular set of, well...handicaps.

AGNES: You said you'd waited hundreds of years to--

MR. HOUSE: One could argue that the world has been waiting hundreds of years for this moment. Waiting for me. For the chip. For the long-dormant doors of the Lucky 38 to finally open, to a single and specially ordained individual: you, Agnes. And there are tremendous things waiting for us, waiting for us to accomplish them, together. I certainly couldn't do them with Benny. What do you say?

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA has become completely paralyzed by the TARANTULA HAWK'S venom. The TARANTULA HAWK seizes its prey.

AGNES: ...no.

MR. HOUSE: I'm sorry--"No?"

AGNES: Yes--I mean, no. No! I don't want to help you! I...

Tears well in AGNES' eye.

AGNES: ...I just want to go back home.

MR. HOUSE: ...I see. Hmm.

MR. HOUSE: How do I put this in a way you'll understand?

MR. HOUSE: The die is cast.

AGNES, crying, looks up at MR. HOUSE again. Fear bulges on her face.

MR. HOUSE: Throughout the long delivery of this chip, several precise plans and fortuitous coincidences have aligned in just such a way as to make you, you specifically at this exact juncture, an irreplaceable asset in the ongoing endeavor of this wounded world's recovery from otherwise hopeless ruin.

MR. HOUSE: Your cooperation going forward is not merely crucial to this endeavor's success, but it's utterly non-negotiable. Should you entertain the moral issue of what's at stake, it's obligatory, even. It's why your refusal comes as such a...genuine surprise. Can't you see?

MR. HOUSE: I'm not a fascist, Agnes--I would never force you. But given the circumstances, I'm entitled, wouldn't you agree, to at least a brief demonstration of my vision? The vision that the platinum chip promises? Victor has surely seen your companion to the presidential suite by now--my other Securitrons can escort you to the basement, where I'm sure you can make a...properly informed decision.

The SECURITRONS close in on AGNES, who screams in protest.

AGNES: No! I said no! I already delivered your chip, I--I killed Benny! I-- I-- ...what do you want with me!?

MR. HOUSE: Haven't you been listening? I want what's best for you--for us. I know it's a lot, but bear with me for one moment longer, and I can assure you--that this is the beginning of something very incredible.

MEANWHILE, the TARANTULA HAWK has dragged the paralyzed TARANTULA back to the entrance of its own burrow.

The TARANTULA HAWK shoves its helpless prey into the hole, and then crawls in after it.

The TARANTULA is not seen again.

[yinlikesbooksandtea]

青のすみか

Where Our Blue Is

“Satoru?”

You never thought you'd see him again after you graduated Tokyo Jujutsu High. Being a sorcerer wasn't for everyone and that was clear. Seeing your own best friend fall apart and drown in their depression spiraling from their past. It's hard not to leave with your own mental demise. Dead. Dead. Dead. People fall one by one, and you knew you'd be soon if you didn't leave.

3:38am

Oddly specific. I can't sleep. We all can't. The burdens of society and capitalism hanging over our shoulders. Being a teacher wasn't the easiest either. You may have left jujutsu society but being a kind person never really left your heart. A beer in one hand and a cigarette in another. You promised yourself, you'd never smoke yet here you were. A certain brown haired girl would have chuckled at you now. Sitting at your balcony smoking like your old friend would. A knock at your door surprised you. Instinctively your head turnt to the noise, your body freezing for a moment. Feet moving against the wooden tiles of the cheaply rented apartment. A shiver going down your spine at the thought of someone knocking at your door at midnight. Though a familiar mop of white hair catches your attention through the peephole. Blue eyes you'd never forget in a millennia looking right back at you. Like he knew you were there. The sound of the door knob twisted, before you knew it your hand had opened the door to greet your friend. An acquaintance you'd count now with so many years that past. Everything changed.

Yet it still felt the same.

The familiar white hair, vibrant blue eyes that sparkled like the sky, the intimidating aura that came with someone as tall and big as him. It was all the same but so different. The white bandages that used to be wrapped around his eyes no where to be seen. How can someone grow even taller after highschool? You wanted to ask by decided against it.

“Satoru?”

His name glides off your tongue the same as it used to. As easy as ever as if a decade hasn't past. You're no longer 18, but you're 28 now. Wrinkles and smile lines are a little more visible on each other's faces. But there's a certain beauty to it. You were alive and had the privilege to age. If only your dear old friends had the same. Maybe things would have been different. Satoru didn't look a day over 20. Still the same, handsome as ever a masculine aura that complimented him had grew as well. A bittersweet smile emerges on his face as he stands there. A hand tucked in his pockets as he bends downwards slightly so you can see him better in the dim light.

"Hey. It's been a while."

It's been a while indeed.

And suddenly you can't help but smile back at him either. Your head tilting to the side as you did so like the teenager you once were.

"I brought some sweets."

That handsome voice said. Of course you did. He loved sweets and something's never change do they? Even in the sadness of being an adult, a flower blooms in the harshest weather. A sweet smile finally blooming on that face that was ridden with sorrow. Your feet carrying your body, as you stepped aside to let him in. It seemed that spring has come once more. Your spring.

"Come in, Satoru. I'll make us tea."

"At 3am? We aren't gonna be able to sleep later."

"It's not like we plan to do we?"

I guess somethings never change.

We did meet again.

Like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy. Spilling through the gaps between my fingers.

-------------------------------------------

Hello it's been a while since I wrote something! I wrote this at 4 am so if there's some mistakes I'll check in the morning but honestly it's been a while since I felt like writing something. I got a little sad and wrote something a bit melancholic ish I guess. Highly highly recommend reading the lyrics of Where our blue is before you read this fic! Sorry it's a bit short and request are always open.

Anyways hope you guys like it :)

[thebramblewood]

Our girl coming in hot with the understatement of the century.

Previous / Next

Helena: [hisses in pain as hot water hits wounds] What the... There's no fucking way.

[investigating in mirror] Yep, this is not good. Not good at all.

Now, where did you come from? [picks up letter addressed with her name]

-

Dear Helena,

If you are reading this letter, I will admit I am relieved, though I cannot say for certain whether your survival is more blessing or curse. I know you must be confused. God only knows how much of the night you even remember.

My sister misled you about who and what we are, which was no accident on her part, even if the dreadful mistake that followed was. I can hardly cast stones for I did nothing to stop her and, in fact, committed an unforgivable sin myself in attempting to undo what she had done, though I very well knew it would turn you into a monster against your will.

I will put it to you bluntly: Lilith and I have been vampires for some 100 years, and faced with your otherwise certain demise, I chose to make you one too. You may not believe me. It will feel like a bad flu for a day or two; then it will feel like the heat of 1000 fires blazing inside.

You will desire answers. I compel you to seek them elsewhere. Lilith has her mind set on having you and, if she knows you are alive, will not take no for an answer. I can only deceive her so long, as vampires are inextricably tied to their creators. As surely as I will soon know your fate, so will she, for she is my maker and cannot keep out of my head.

I am truly sorry, though it must offer little consolation. You do not deserve this eternally damned existence, but you also did not deserve to die. You see the bind I was caught in. All I can do now is urge you to make the most of this truly terrible hand we have all been dealt.

Regretfully,

Caleb Vatore

-

Helena: Well, shit.

[chillypowder]

Rescued Hearts: A Second Chance at Love

Part 2

Pair: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: After 6 years of marriage, you've finally decided to end it half heartedly. So how did you end on the floor of your house that was once something you called home.

As I sat alone on the couch in our once-luxurious penthouse, the empty room seemed to echo with loneliness. The soft hum of the city outside was the only company I had, and it offered no solace. I had grown accustomed to these moments of solitude, moments when Bakugou Katsuki, my husband of six years, would once again prioritize his career as a pro hero over our relationship.

At first, his absences had stung, the broken promises a constant source of disappointment. But as time passed, I had learned to bury those feelings deep within me, like embers slowly fading into ashes. I had grown adept at putting on a brave face, hiding the hurt that gnawed at my heart each time he missed a date, a celebration, or simply a quiet evening together.

Unbeknownst to Bakugou, I had been carrying a secret that weighed heavier with each passing day. A secret that, in a cruel twist of fate, had driven a wedge between us even further. I had been diagnosed with leukemia, a merciless disease that had already claimed so much of my strength. After a grueling surgery, the doctors had delivered a grim prognosis - I had just a week left to live.

I couldn't bring myself to burden Bakugou with this devastating news. I understood the overwhelming stress and dedication he poured into his hero work. His days were filled with battles against villains, and his nights with endless paperwork and public appearances. How could I add to his burden with my own impending demise? Instead, I had decided on a different path, one that would ultimately make him resent me.

Tonight, as I waited for him once more, I contemplated divorce. It was a desperate attempt to push him away, to free him from the guilt and responsibility of a dying spouse. The courage to have this difficult conversation had taken time to gather, but I had resolved to go through with it.

Just as I steeled myself to face Bakugou and tell him that our marriage had become too painful to endure, a sharp, excruciating pain radiated through my chest. I gasped for breath, clutching at my heart, and then everything went dark.

Six long hours later, the weight of the door closing behind him alerted me to Bakugou's return. I wished I could see his face, explain everything to him, but I was trapped in this agonizing darkness, unable to move or speak.

Then, his voice, choked with panic and desperation, cut through the haze. "What the hell happened?!" he exclaimed, his footsteps racing toward me.

He found me, unconscious and unresponsive, lying on the couch where I had spent countless nights alone. Panic surged through him, and he fumbled for his phone, calling for an ambulance. But it was too late. I could feel my own consciousness slipping away, like grains of sand through my fingers.

As the paramedics rushed in, they tried to revive me, but I knew it was futile. My time had run out, and I had left this world with so much unsaid. I could hear Bakugou's voice, raw with anguish, begging me to hang on, but there was nothing I could do.

In those final moments, I wished I could have told him about my illness, about the love that had never waned despite the distance that had grown between us. I wished I could have told him how much I cherished the moments we had together, even if they were far too few.

And as the darkness closed in, I hoped that somehow, he would find a way to forgive himself, to understand that life had given us both a cruel hand, and that our love had endured through it all.

Note: I'm sorry I changed the original text from the idea to a more evolved version if you want to read the original idea I'll post it separately.

Once again. Sorry 😔