#reposting this cause it like. disappeared last night

[oldrudshore]

why does he do this

(S03,E05)

[ahqkas]

♯ CIGARETTES OUT THE WINDOW ; tate langdon

PAIRING! tate langdon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! a brown eyed boy with messy hair and pretty smile from the neighborhood offers to light up a cigarette for you

WORD COUNT! 2.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, heavy mention of cigarettes and smoking, mentions of reader struggling mentally, + lmk of more if found

NOTES! i need a pretty brown eyed boy with messy hair to light my cigarette for me . all the credits to the devider below belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IF CIGARETTES WERE SO BAD FOR YOU, WHY WERE YOU CRAVING THEM LIKE YOUR MOTHER'S TOUCH OR YOUR FATHER'S ATTENTION? How something so small, so seemingly insignificant, could wield such power over you? That finely cut paper filled with cured tobacco leaves caused serious damage to your physical health yet it improved the state of your mind.  

When you held it against your lips and took the first drag, it felt like the first breath you take after being underwater for too long. A rush of adrenaline along with relief, if only for a moment. The nicotine coursed through your veins, wrapping around your brain like the softest of dreams and you ached to reach for it again and again like a child for a hand that was never there. You knew it was killing you slowly, each inhale wrapping around your lungs as if shadow marred its very own presence and each exhale a reminder of the damage you were doing. 

The warnings were there, on every pack. 

It wasn't the act alone that hooked you so hard. The feeling of what the cigarette provided was the real deal. You lit up to quiet the voices in your mind, to numb the ache of loneliness, to dull the reminders of your repeating days. The bitterness of the tobacco, the way it scorched your throat and left a lingering taste on your tongue, was a small price to pay for the way it soothed your soul, however briefly. 

And it was brief — each cigarette only lasted a few minutes. But those minutes were precious. They were yours, and in a life where so much felt out of control, that small sense of ownership was everything. You were the one who decided when to light up, when to take that first drag, when to exhale and watch the smoke curl into the air, disappearing like the worries you wished would do the same.

The night was cool, the air heavy with the damp scent of earth and the faint aroma of wood smoke coming from your neighbor's chimney. It was one of those nights when you felt like your shoulders were loaded with such a burden that there was no way out. At least the night sky didn't disappoint with its beauty — millions, billions of stars were flickering upon the darkness, shining brighter with each passing minute. You sat on the porch steps of your new house, your knees drawn up to your chest and a cigarette dangling loosely between your fingers. 

You felt the coolness of the unlit cigarette against your fingertips, the promise it held lingering in the back of your mind. It was as if time had paused, the night holding its breath alongside you. You toyed with the idea, rolling the cigarette gently between your fingers, feeling the slight bumps of the packed tobacco inside. There was a certain comfort in just holding it — a familiarity, a sense of control over something so small. 

The porch light cast a soft, golden glow around your form, but beyond that, the yard was swallowed by shadows.  

Should you light it? The thought lingered, heavy and persistent, as you stared at the fragile cylinder in your hand. Your parents disapproved of their children smoking and the thoughts of disappointing them felt too heavy for you.  You brought the unlit cigarette to your lips, mind spinning with thoughts you couldn't quite grasp. Everything felt too much — too heavy, too overwhelming. You were suffocating under the weight of it all, and this cigarette, this tiny thing, felt like the only tether to the world you could control. The cool paper pressed against your teeth, offering a strange comfort. 

For a moment, you just held it there, as if the act of lighting it would be too final, too irreversible. The familiar scent of tobacco teased your senses, but something held you back. The night's stillness, the way the shadows seemed to reach out toward you, and the deep sense of unease that had settled in your chest all seemed to whisper, not yet. 

Then, the creak of the porch door behind you shattered the fragile silence. Your heart skipped a beat, fear spiking through you as you imagined your parents standing there, their disapproving eyes catching you in this vulnerable moment. Panic washed over you, the cigarette trembling slightly between your fingers as you fumbled with it, trying to keep the drug out of sight. You couldn't bear the thought of facing them, of explaining what you couldn't even fully understand yourself. 

But when you finally found the courage to turn around, it wasn't your parents. Relief flooded your system immediately as you saw Tate standing there, his figure half-illuminated by the porch light, half-swallowed by the darkness behind him. He always had a way of appearing just when you needed him, like a ghost materializing out of thin air.  Without a word, Tate slid down beside you, the movement smooth and quiet. The space between the two of you shrank until your shoulders brushed and his knee knocked into yours softly in greeting. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that made you yearn for the person's presence because you liked how they made you feel.

And Tate made you feel good in a way that was hard to put into words. It wasn't just his presence, though that alone was enough to soothe the twisted edges of your thoughts. It was the way he understood you without the need for explanations, the way he could step into your personal space and fill it with a quiet strength that seemed to steady everything around you. Tate made you feel good because with him, you felt whole, like all the broken parts of you could finally be mended. 

You kept your gaze ahead on the darkness of the yard, occasionally glancing at your hands, all while feeling the weight of the boy's eyes on you. He was watching you, or perhaps analyzing your actions, but the weight wasn't heavy. With him, everything seemed easy. 

He was the one to break the silence with his voice low, sounding like gravel sliding over stone. "You shouldn't smoke, you know. It's bad for you."

Huffing a soft, bitter laugh, the sound escaped your lips as a faint, misty cloud in the cool night air as your eyes flicked toward him, catching his gaze through the veil of your dark eyelashes. There was a hint of pure amusement in your expression. "It's pretty ironic coming from you," you murmured, voice laced with a touch of mockery. You looked down at the unlit cigarette, rolling it once more between your fingers.

"But it's not like it matters, right?" you continued, your tone shifting to something softer, almost wistful. "It's just . . . something to do."

You shrugged, the gesture small and almost unnoticable, as if trying to dismiss the meaning of what you had just said. But the words you wanted to say lingered in the air between you. It wasn't just about the cigarette — it was about the need to fill the void, to occupy the empty spaces that stretched out endlessly in your life. It was about finding something, anything, to hold onto when everything else felt so fragile.

Tate's brown irises flickered with something you couldn't quite place — a glimmer of understanding, maybe. It was as if he saw through your casual words, past the nonchalance you tried to project, and into the deeper, more vulnerable parts of you that you kept hidden from the entire world. 

He understood you as if you were two sides of the same coin.

The boy didn't say anything at first, just watched you with that steady, unreadable gaze that seemed to pull at the edges of your carefully constructed facade. Then, with a slow movement, Tate reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound breaking the quietness surrounding you. He withdrew a lighter, its polished metal surface catching the porch light for a split second, casting a brief flash of brightness that contrasted sharply with the darkness around you. The lighter was simple, a worn silver Zippo with a few scratches along its surface — evidence of years of use, of countless times it had been flicked open to ignite a flame. 

Tate's movements were smooth and practiced as he flicked the lighter open, the familiar click of the metal lid snapping back echoing softly in the still night air. The sound was almost comforting in its predictability, a stark difference to the unpredictability of your thoughts and emotions. A small flame grew to life, its warm, golden light flickering gently as it cast a soft glow on Tate's face, illuminating the chiseled lines of his jawline and nose, and the softer curve of his lips. His skin, usually pale, seemed to take on a warm hue in the firelight, adding a touch of color to the otherwise cool tones that seemed to follow him wherever he went. And his hair, a tousled mess of blond curls that framed his face, caught the light as well, the strands turning golden where the flame touched them, adding a softness to his otherwise sharp features. The way his hair fell, slightly over his forehead and around his ears, gave him a boyish look that contrasted with the haunted expression in his eyes, which made him seem both young and impossibly old at the same time.

You hesitated, eyes locked on the flame, mesmerized by its hypnotic dance. It was such a small thing, yet it held so much power — the power to transform, to ignite, to bring both comfort and destruction. You could feel the warmth radiating from it. Tate waited, patient and unwavering, for you to make a move. He wasn't pushing you to make a decision, wasn't trying to influence your choice. He was simply there, offering you the possibility. 

You brought the cigarette to rest between your lips, your hand steady despite the slight tremor in your stomach. Leaning in closer to the flame, you could feel the heat brushing against your cheeks, a whisper of warmth that contrasted sharply with the cool night air. The flame licked at your face, casting fleeting shadows across your features as you drew in a slow, deliberate breath, all while your eyes remained locked with the boy who seemed like he fell straight out of your dreams. 

The tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange, and for that brief moment, it felt as if the entire world had narrowed down to just that one glowing point. The burn of the tobacco was immediate, the familiar taste bitter and grounding, pulling you back from the despair. As you exhaled, a plume of smoke curled from your lips, twisting and swirling into the night air, hitting Tate's face. 

"Thanks," you murmured, with your voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

In response, Tate's lips curled into a charming grin, the kind that was disarmingly boyish and just a little crooked at the corners. The smile lit up his features just like the flame did, softening the intensity of his gaze and adding a glint of warmth to his doe eyes. It was the kind of smile that made you feel like, despite the darkness and everything else that loomed over your life, there was still something good in the world — something worth holding onto. 

The boy next to you leaned back, resting his elbows on the step behind him, his gaze lifting to the sky where the stars were hidden by a thick layer of dark clouds. "What's on your mind?" he asked the kind of question that didn't need an immediate answer.

He probably already knew what was swirling around in your head — Tate always seemed to know, like he had a sixth sense for the things you tried to keep buried. But still, he asked, giving you the space to say it out loud or let it hang there between the two of you, unspoken.

You sighed, nimble fingers absently rolling the cigarette between them. You tilted your head slightly, catching his profile against the dim light. You never really noticed before but, God, was he pretty. "You ever feel like you're just . . . stuck?" you began, voice soft, as if you were testing the waters. "Like no matter what you do, you're just going through the motions, waiting for something to change but not really believing it ever will?"

Tate's heart skipped a beat. You couldn't possibly know, and yet your question struck so close to the truth of his existence that it took him a moment to respond. He was stuck — stuck in this place, in this time, in this state of being. And you didn't know. You couldn't know. How could you?

For a second, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he only felt in your presence. He kept his gaze on the clouds, forcing himself to stay calm, to not let the surprise show in his expression. But his mind was racing, grappling with the irony of your words. You were searching for a way out of your own feeling of being stuck, while he was trapped in a far more literal sense, bound to this house with no escape. 

"Yeah," the boy finally said, his voice softer, almost hesitant, as if weighing the truth he couldn't fully share. "More often than I'd like to admit."

You didn't seem to notice the tension in his voice, the subtle shift in his demeanor. You just nodded, your own thoughts wrapped up in your struggles. "It's like the world's moving on without me, and I'm just . . . here. Stuck in the same place, doing the same things, feeling the same way."

Tate's heart ached with the weight of what he couldn't tell you, the truth that he was stuck in ways you couldn't imagine. But he kept his voice steady, warm. "You're not alone in that," he said, choosing his words carefully. "We're all trying to find our way, even when it feels impossible." He glanced at you, the weight of your words still hanging in the air, and before he could think twice, he reached out and took your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and reassuring, and he began to slowly rub his thumb over your knuckles in small, soothing circles. The roughness of his thumb contrasted with the softness of your skin.

His steady voice broke the silence with softness. "You know," he began, his tone imbued with sincerity, "I'd never let anybody or anything hurt you. Not while I'm here."

Your gaze remained fixed on your joined hands for a moment, absorbing the seriousness and sincerity of Tate's words. The promise in his voice, the gentle assurance of his touch, created a sense of warmth that made the rest of the world seem a little less scary.

Feeling a surge of gratitude and comfort, you shifted closer to him, leaning your head against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt felt warm against your cheek, and the subtle scent of him — something earthy and faintly comforting — surrounded you with a feeling of home. Tate was your safe place in this filthy and helpless world. 

His body tensed slightly at the unexpected touch, but he quickly relaxed, his arm instinctively moving to drape over your shoulders in a protective gesture. He could feel the gentle weight of your head resting there, and it brought a sense of closeness he hadn't fully realized he needed. The feeling of having you this close was unreal. 

Tate turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing against the top of your head. "You okay?"

You gave him a nod while your warm breath washed against his neck. "Yeah. I just needed this." 

The two of you stayed like that for a while as the world outside seemed to fade away. The night wrapped around you like a blanket, and for a brief, perfect moment, the worries and fears that had clouded your mind disappeared, replaced by the simple, profound comfort of being close to someone who wasn't afraid to show you just how deeply he cared.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Meeting the Parents | Jung Wooyoung

-> Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader -> Request: no. repost from my old account -> Synopsis: Wooyoung meets his girlfriends parents in an unexpected way. -> Warnings: slightly suggestive at the beginning but no smut. 16+ to be safe. -> Word Count: 559 -> Requests: Open.

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©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead.

Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

In only Wooyoung’s shirt from last night and a pair of underwear, Y/N stands at the kitchen sink, cleaning the dishes Woo used to make breakfast. She has ATEEZ’s latest album playing in the CD player hooked on the wall.   

Engrossed in IT’s You, she doesn’t know her boyfriend has come up behind her until she feels his arms wrap around her waist and his face nuzzles into the crook of her neck.  

“Do you want some help?” he softly asks before his lips gently brush against her smooth skin.   

“Nope,” you reply, a quiet huff leaving her lips as he reaches the spot below her ear that has her weak.   

Her mind goes blank as her body reacts Wooyoung’s light touches as the sneak under his shirt she’s wearing, and his teeth lightly scrap against the spot below her ear. Her head resting back against his shoulder, her body pushes up against his hands, her wet hands drop the dish she’s washing and grasp his hands over the shirt and moving them to where she wants them the most. Only Wooyoung has ever been able to make her body react the way it does when he touches her.   

Unable to hold back anymore, Wooyoung moves his hands to her hips and turns her around, crashing his lips to hers in a heated and bruising kiss. As her arms go around his neck, his hands slide down to her thighs. He lifts her as if she weighs nothing and sits her on the counter before his hands make their way back under the shirt.  

He breaks the kiss, to lift the shirt off Y/N but stops when a gasp comes from the entry way of Y/N’s small apartment. Eyes wide with shock, he quickly steps back from Y/N as she quickly jumps off the counter looking just as mortified and embarrassed as he does.   

Standing in the entry way, is Y/N’s parents looking as equally mortified as the young couple.   

“Appa, Eomma! What are you doing here?” Y/N questions them partly hidden behind her shirtless boyfriend, her face flushed red, unsure of what else to say or do.  

“Surprise?” her mother tries to exclaim with an enthusiastic tone, but it came out more like a question, and looking as if she doesn’t know what else to say.  

“This is uh... This is Wooyoung,” she awkwardly introduces her boyfriend.   

It’s the first time he’s meeting her parents in their six-month relationship. They had made plans earlier, but they always fell through. 

Wooyoung awkwardly bows to them still wanting to be as respectful as he can be. He was already nervous about meeting the two people who created the person he loves the most and plans to spend the rest of his life with. He never imagined he would be meeting them this way.  

Her parents bow back as Y/N introduces them to Wooyoung. The air around them grows even thicker with awkwardness until her mother’s giggling cuts through the tension.   

“I never thought I would be meeting my future son-in-law this way,” she chuckles, causing the younger couple to blush even more. “Go put some clothes on the both of you so we can give you a hug.”  

“Yes, ma’am,” Wooyoung bows once more before quickly disappearing back into Y/N’s bedroom.   

Y/N ignores her mother’s order and hugs her anyway. 

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[acewritesfics]

The Neighbour's Cat | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: from @rainydayteacups

Fic Type: Imagine

Warnings: Swearing. Fluff overload. Soft Tommy. I guess you could say pre-war Tommy but I didn’t really mention it.

Word Count: 1,564

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || TAG LIST SIGN-UP

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

“Did you hear that?” Ada asks after a loud thud came from out in the backyard.   

“It might be the neighbour's cat,” Y/N replies. The grey tabby is often in her small backyard, making himself comfortable in one of her flowerpots as he slept. She no longer had flowers growing in the one he took a liking too. “He often comes into the yard.”  

She goes to pour herself another glass of the wine that Polly had swiped from the Garrison when she sees movement outside the window. Recognising the familiar hair cut she stands up from the table. "I'll be right back. I need to make sure the cat hasn't gotten into anything it shouldn't have."  

"But it's dark outside, what could it possibly get into?" Ada whines, lifting her glass to her lips.  

"You'd be surprised," Y/N mumbles and makes her way to the back door and slips outside, looking into the darkness of the night for a person sneaking around the back of her home. "Tommy?" she whispers loudly unsure if it was him, she'd seen.   

As Tommy moves in front of her, a hand clasped gently over her mouth as he holds a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet.   

"Come with me," he speaks barely above a whisper, the hand covering her mouth moving to take her hand in his and leads her away from the back yard and into the street.  

“Tommy, I can’t just leave,” she protests but makes no real effort to break away from him and go back inside. “Where are the others?”  

“Back at the Garrison,” he informs her. “And who says we can’t sneak off to spend the night before our wedding together?” 

“It’s tradition,” she sighs knowing the women currently in her kitchen will have her head once they realize she’s disappeared.  

“Fuck tradition,” he scoffs as he slows his walk now that their getting further from the house. “Since when have we been ones to follow tradition, eh?” 

“I guess you have a point,” she smiles. 

“We’ll start our own tradition,” he announces, his voice echoing through the empty street as he walks ahead of her lighting his cigarette and turning to face her while walking backwards. “Our future generations will spend the eve of their wedding together instead of apart because we did it first.” 

Not realizing he’s about to step off the curb, he stumbles backwards causing Y/N to gasp as scrambles forward to try stop him from falling. He steadies himself before he can topple backwards. “I’m fine, love.” 

She shakes her head with a chuckle as his hands reach for her hips and pulls her closer. “So, what do you say?” 

“I say, I’m the luckiest woman in all of England, maybe even the whole world,” she smiles. “Let’s make our own traditions.” 

He smiles, kissing her, before taking her hand again and leading her further from her home. 

Arriving at Charlie’s Yard, Tommy helps her through the gate and towards the stables. Y/N looks around apprehensively, unsure if they should be there. It's been a long time since they snuck into the yard of the man who's like an uncle to the Shelby siblings. Last time they did it, they'd been caught. Charlie had almost fired Tommy from his job as punishment, but Tommy promised never to do it again. Until now.  

"Tom, are we allowed to be here?" she questions him, even though she has a feeling she already knows the answer as they walk into the makeshift stable.  

"I cleared it with Charlie," he informs her, surprising her a little. 

"But Charlie's at the Garrison with the rest of the blokes," she says, realization hitting her. "He was in on this plan of yours." 

"He tried to talk me out of it," he tells her.  

"But of course, Tommy Shelby gets his way," she teases. 

"I convinced you to marry me, didn't I?" he asks, a smug smile on his pouted lips.  

"It didn't take much convincing," she smiles.  

"We first met here," he reminds her. "You were tending to one of the horses Curly was working with." 

"Moonlight," she smiles remembering the day well.  

She came to Birmingham two years ago to visit her cousin, Curly, and look for work, having been fired from her last job for no good reason. Curly talked to Charlie about hiring her, claiming he needed a hand with the horses. Charlie hired her after Curly gave him his word about Y/N being a hard worker and almost as good with horses as he was.  

She was three days into her job when she crossed paths with Tommy. She was grooming Moonlight, a black stallion with a diamond shaped patch of white on his forehead. Moonlight just so happened to be one of the horses Tommy saved from a man who was about to put the beautiful boy down, because he was sick, and he couldn't afford to get him well again. Curly had nursed him back to health within a few weeks. Y/N had bonded with him so much that Tommy couldn't bring himself to find him a new home, instead keeping him as a gift for the woman he had fallen so quickly in love with. 

Those few weeks curly was nursing Moonlight back to health, Tommy spent pursuing Y/N, unable to get her from his mind. It took a month before she gave in to his advances and they've been together ever since. And Moonlight is now in a stable on a farm a friend owns, living his life to the fullest. Y/N is out there almost daily attending to him and taking him for rides. Tommy can't wait for the day when he can move Moonlight into their own stables, on property they owned, with as many horses as his wife wants. 

"The first time I saw you, I knew I had to have you in my life," he tells her. "You looked so beautiful, covered in dirt and grime, humming that tune as you ran a brush through Moonlight's mane. He seemed so calm and at peace that I felt it within myself."  

"Oh, Tommy," she coos softly, feeling her heart erupt with all the love she has for him. The fluttering feeling like a kaleidoscope of butterflies was inside her chest. She steps towards him, placing her hand on his face as she looks at him lovingly, her thumb stroking his well-defined cheek.  

"I've felt it ever since that moment," he says, his voice softer. "You bring peace to my chaotic life. It's one of the many reasons why I love you." 

"I love you," is all she's able to say before she pulls him in for passionate kiss, expressing all the love she has for the man who turned her life upside down in the best kind of way.  

Y/N startles awake the next morning when a loud noise comes from outside. Placing her hand on Tommy's bare shoulder, she gently shakes him awake, hearing the rattling of gates being opened.  

"Tommy, we need to leave," she tells him barely above a whisper. 

Groaning, his eyes flutter open and connect with Y/N's eyes. He smiles and reaches behind her head to pull her in for a morning kiss. His other hand travels up her thigh, plays with the hem of his shirt she's wearing before slipping under it to grab her hip to pull her closer.  

"Enough of that you two," The sound of Charlie's voice causes them to part. "You best get out of here before they send a search party. Can't be late to your own wedding." 

He walks away before they could say anything. Standing up, Y/N quickly dresses into her clothes from the previous day as Tommy takes back his shirt and coat.  

"I'll walk you home," he tells her as they leave the stable. They thank Charlie who waves them off with a shake of his head and tells them he'll see them at the ceremony. Hurrying home, Y/N holds onto Tommy's hand tightly, bracing herself for the lecture she's about to encounter.  

Standing on her front doorstep, she turns to face Tommy with a small smile on her lips. "I'm about to get my head bitten off by your aunt and our sisters but last night is worth every second of it."  

"I agree, my love," he smiles also. "I liked that tradition far better." 

"This coming from the man that said a fuck you to traditions," she teases.  

"To traditions that aren't ours," he corrects her.  

"You better get going before Polly sees you," she chuckles and pulls him in for one more kiss before they become man and wife. "I love you." 

"I love you too," he says pulling away from her and stepping back on to the footpath. "Don't be late," he tells her. 

"I'll be the one in white just in case you can't find me," she laughs. 

"I'll always be able to find you," he smiles and turns around, starting his walk to Arthur's house.  

As soon as she opens the door and heads inside, she gulps seeing Polly standing there with her hands on her hips and an angry look on her face. "And where the hell have you been?" 

"The neighbor's cat needed to see me," she replies slipping past her to go to the bathroom. 

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[kurishiri]

15.5 . . . “ the memory engraved in my body ”

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— 🍷 his side story, chapter 15. this is the one you need to reach alfons bond level 22+ with in order to purchase.

— cw: alcohol consumption.

Alfons: And to see you deceived just like that——I see you don’t really hold that thing called ‘love’ for me.

Kate: ...!!

I chose words that would purposely hurt.

Just like that, her eyes wavered, teary.

Kate: I... I really, truly—!

Alfons: Loved me? ...Or what, did you mean to say love?

I asked, a mocking tone in my voice, and her palms, which had pushed against my chest, gripped tightly at my shirt, causing it to wrinkle.

It would be nice were she to throw away these feelings she had toward me on her own volition, but——

(Reality just isn’t so nice, after all.)

Kate: Just why... would you do such a thing...?

K: Why do you have to reject me so much... just over me saying ‘I love you’?

Tears fell from her cheeks as she spoke from above.

They were very much like stars falling from the night — so pure, and so beautiful.

(——So much so, it’s like the moment I touched her, I would end up getting burned.)

Kate: Not once did I say we had to be official.

K: All I wanted was to like you, and be by your side… and yet…

Alfons: …Because I find it a nuisance.

A: The fact you had fallen for me, and the fact you like me even now... all of it.

I used those sharp words to deeply pierce through her heart.

Such words seemed like such a sin toward her straightforward feelings,

and, compared to her words, which so resembled pure stars, mine were akin to shattered glass sinking down the gutters of a back alley.

Alfons: All this was meant to be was an entertainment that lasts but a month, and then letting it end the same way.

Kate left the room, and when I descended the crumbling staircase,

The friend with a wound on his eye was standing at the entrance to the hidden, dilapidated room.

Man with a wound over his eye: To think you suddenly came in with a memo saying ‘Stay at the pub until I call you. If you come then, your drink’s on me’——

Man with a wound over his eye: I was wondering what in the world was going on.

Alfons: Hehe... thank you for your cooperation on that matter.

Man with a wound over his eye: If getting perfumed and greeting a lady when she woke up was all it took for some free booze, anyone would do it.

Man with a wound over his eye: So it was to get that ‘little robin’ to give up on you?

Man with a wound over his eye: You always up and run away, fading right out, so if she could make you go to this length, well what a lady she must be.

Alfons: Indeed, you can tell me that again.

I could dodge her at every turn, push her away, but she would still put her energy into her love without so much as getting discouraged,

so left with no other choice I threw away what little of a good heart I had left to break her to pieces.

(Unable to deceive herself into thinking this wasn’t love, but instead all a misunderstanding...)

(What a poor, darling little miss robin.)

Man with a wound over his eye: If you wanted me to make love to her for real, though, I would be fine with that too.

Alfons: Now that won’t do. I’ll have you know despite all appearances, I happen to be a gentleman who despises hurting women.

Man with a wound over his eye: ...I doubt that.

Alfons: Do you now?

Man with a wound over his eye: How would I know. Well, I’ll leave the payment to you.

My friend didn’t bother to seek the truth, instead leaving the conversation like that and disappeared into the night city while laughing.

——This pub was open 24 hours, so it was lively regardless of time.

Exchanging greetings with several acquaintances and taking a seat, the bar master lifted his brow, as though exasperated.

Bar master: And here I thought you wouldn’t come back til the morning. You’re back early, aren’t you?

Alfons: I so dearly missed seeing your face, you see.

Bar master: I’m anything but happy being missed by an arsehole. Pay up for that friend of yours.

Alfons: Goodness, so cold.

While making small talk, from the back of my mind, I remembered her, who had been sitting next to me just a few hours before.

—— Flashback ——

Kate: Alfons...

K: ...I won’t put the blame on you or anything else anymore...

K: So please, make love to me.

—— End flashback ——

—— Flashback ——

Kate: Just how bloody cruel can you get...!!

K: I don’t understand, why would you lie to me like this!? Help me understand...

—— End flashback ——

She did not say, ‘Why did you do such a cruel thing’——but rather, ‘Why did you say such a lie?’

From the start, she had seen through my lie that another man had made love to her.

(...Just where did I slip up?)

(I stayed silent... could it be body temperature? Or the shape of my body? The movements? Or smell?)

At the very least——even if she couldn’t see with her eyes, she was able to confirm that it was indeed me.

All that to say, there was no doubt that the memory of me had been engraved in her body.

Bar master: That’s a pretty long face.

Alfons: That it is, could I ask for your consolations?

Bar master: Of course, this is a shop to share such things. For a price, that is. What’ll it be?

Alfons: Quite stingy now, aren’t we... well then, I’ll have a sherry perhaps. Any type is fine.

Bar master: A sherry? Not every day you get that.

Alfons: ...Is that so?

Indeed, I felt that I normally didn’t drink sherry.

That said, I sought out the intoxication from the liquor, so I wasn’t so caught up on the type it was.

Yet the name had slipped so easily out of my mouth, I tilted my head as I took the glass filled with a dark mahogany color liquor.

The moment I took in that mellow, sweet scent though, I remembered.

(Ahh... this was the liquor that she had drunk this afternoon, isn’t it.)

—— Flashback ——

Kate: I... don’t like it... when others touch you...

K: ...Whatever, I know I’m... just like a kid t’you...

—— End flashback ——

(...Considering she was downing this sweet sherry, I would say her taste is like that of a kid’s.)

When my lips met with her, who was still blindfolded, her tongue did indeed have the sweet taste of the sherry.

But, for a reason beyond me, I felt that the kiss I shared with her was far sweeter than the liquor I was drinking now.

Alfons: ...Master, could you see if the carriage at the back of the shop is still there?

Bar master: What? Don’t go ordering the bar master around like that.

Alfons: I’ll get your mooost expensive liquor. In a bottle.

Bar master: ...How many?

Alfons: How does ten sound?

The bar master clicked his tongue and flipped a middle finger at me before leaving the back to the alleyway and coming back the next moment and shaking his head.

Bar master: It’s not here anymore.

Alfons: Is that so, then that’s a relief.

Bar master: Is it the lady who drank with you that went on the carriage?

Alfons: You’re quite in the know, aren’t you?

Bar master: Sending her back alone in the wee hours of evening, some sexyman you are.

Alfons: That’s just how it is.

Bar master: ...If you care about her enough to prepare a carriage, the least you could do is send her off.

Alfons: ‘Care,’ huh... I suppose.

A: I didn’t want to put her in any physical danger,

A: but I did need to instill so much shock in her that she would want to forget it all... so it was all a necessary measure.

Bar master: Not so sure what you’re getting at there, but what I do get is that you’re one hell of a shitty bastard.

Alfons: Ahha! I would expect nothing less from you, master, knowing me to the tee.

It took time for memories to fade.

That went for the memory of me engraved in her body... and the memory of her in mine.

But time seemed to have a knack for passing like it was melting away, unexpectedly so.

If she was going to go back to her uneventful, warm everyday life from long ago, then even more so.

Alfons: ...It would be great if you could find a man who can heal the wounds of a lost love and become happy.

Before I knew it, the glass in my hand was empty.

The sweet flavor of the sherry lingered on my tongue, staying there without fading away for eternity.

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[heartthrobin]

catch me if you can

hobie brown x female!reader

wc: 1k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a questionable attempt at british slang, Miles' pov (it makes sense i promise), established relationship, Miles is a little baby boy angel, implied chubby/thick reader, Miles' 'jealous of Hobie' dynamic

an: this idea popped into my brain as i was trying to sleep last night so here it is :) it's actually funny cause i'm a hobie brown girl first and human second but have been working on so much miguel content. go figure. remember to reblog and comment to support your favourite writers :) THIS IS A REPOST! i woke up this morning and the original post literally disappeared from my page :( sorry y'all

summary: you and Hobie are absolutely incorrigible.

Miles didn't like the sound of Hobie Brown.

and now that he's faced with the man in question, he doesn't particularly like the sight of him either.

the spider-society foyer is a menagerie of characters, different suits and capes and hairstyles and --horses? but Miles can't move his line of sight off Hobie's back where he just bumped his too tall frame against Gwen's much shorter one.

she stumbles sideways and laughs, and Miles wants to throw a fit right there.

Hobie stops walking. his figure tightens and his shoulders draw up.

Miles frowns in confusion and follows his gaze.

under the archway of the door towards where he assumes is this Tio Miguel's office stands some spider-women, three in varying outfits.

there's one in a forest green suit, your eyes have found Hobie's. they're wide, round in something Miles can place most akin to fear.

you're beautiful, he can tell that easily: all full-bodied around the edges and soft in the face.

you surprise him when you turn on your heel, running out only three wide steps before spitting out a web onto the nearest ledge of those that lingered above his head and hoisting yourself up.

the green suit blurs, swinging over hundreds of spider-people and you glance back over your shoulder in panic.

more surprising than that, Miles finds that Hobie is chasing you.

his long thin legs stride down the walkway, abandoning Gwen when he too sends a thick white web at a tall pillar and flies across the foyer. he sticks to another dais and climbs wildly along walls after your escaping figure.

Miles jaw is loose, face dripping in concern.

somewhere behind him Jessica sighs. "those two are incorrigible."

his head is flicking back and forth between his companions, unsure if he's the only one who can see what's unfolding. your figure is climbing desperately up the side of the wide window, you're fast but Hobie is gaining ground.

Gwen and Pavitr are walking still ahead of him, arms swinging by their sides. he steps quickly, eyes never leaving the chase in the air.

"is nobody seeing this?" Miles' hands motion up to the air, they're frantic. "Hobie is chasing s-some ... poor woman!"

glancing back over her shoulder, Gwen's eyes finding the two colourful blurs, she draws to a halt. "i guess we should wait for them. they're so annoying sometimes."

Pavitr's head lolls to the side, an endeared expression twisting into his face. "i think they're adorable."

your grunts can still be heard echoing down the chamber, Hobie's too. you yelp as Hobie just misses your leg, escaping his clutch by swinging low over a random spider's head. the spider grumbles up at you.

"he's ..." Miles shakes his head, fingertips twitching against his web shooter. "is nobody gonna help her? i-i'm gonna help--"

"help?" Gwen and Pavitr were looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

there's a sharp shriek from above, he finds you mid-air. a wide web has enclosed over your shoulders, locking your arms against your side and you're hoisted back against Hobie where he's perched along a wall.

Miles hand jumps up to web his way to you when Gwen's hand closes over his wrist. she just shakes her head at him. "chill, Miles."

he looks back up.

you crash against Hobie's chest with enough force to jostle him off the wall. your joined figures slide down the side of the wall to land a few feet from where Miles stands.

your shoulders are shaking. if you weren't so low on the ground, he might not have recognised that you were ... laughing?

"got'cha, luv."

Hobie's forehead meets yours gently. you wriggle in the webbing that's bound you.

"took you longer than this morning." your voice crumbles out between giggles.

a ring-clad hand finds your chin, tilting your face against his. you press up on tippy-toes, teetering like you're drunk with his kiss. Hobie's hand is creeping over your waist and dipping you backwards under the influence of his height.

"i mean, we've barely been gone a couple hours." Gwen mutters at the sight. Pavitr is holding his hands up to his chest and lets out a soft "they're so cute."

confusion is still tugging on Miles' mind but it's drowned by the waves of relief coursing like coffee down his gullet and warming his stomach.

"they ... they do this often?" he asks tentatively.

"every damn day."

his gaze flickers between Hobie and Gwen. "so they're ... dating?"

Pavitr nods. "Hobie doesn't like labels. but pretty much."

"so," he is feigning nonchalance as far as he can carry it. he speaks at Gwen. "you and him ... you're not--?"

she's affronted. "me and Hobie?"

Pavitr is laughing.

"no!" she clarifies, clearly put out. "that's so weird ..."

Miles is practically blind with relief.

you've clearly been detangled from Hobie's webs when you bounce over to where Miles is standing amongst the others.

"Gwendoline!" your voice is light and animated, you're panting slightly from your chase.

Gwen grumbles like she hates the name, but smiles sideways under the weight of your hand ruffling her hair. you bump into Pavitr's side and he greets too.

they smile like they love you.

your eyes find him. "you must be Miles!"

he discovers you're as keen on physical touch as your boyfriend, hoisting him tightly against your chest before pulling back: holding him at arm's length to examine him.

"you're taller than I thought you'd be."

"you should see mans fly, babe," Hobie's hands slink into his jacket pockets. Miles thinks he's referring to him. "wicked with the webs, i tell ya'."

he blushes at the compliment. you're smiling at him like you're proud. "oh, yeah? maybe boss will put us on a mission together and i can check these moves, hey Morales?"

Miles nods. "sure."

you let go of his shoulders, eyes finding your boyfriend's.

skipping ahead of the kids, your hand slips into Hobie's and he leans down to kiss your temple. "how was your day, rockstar?" he hears you ask.

Gwen slides in beside Miles. they start walking again and she smiles at him.

he returns it. ahead of him, you're teetering on your toes so you're walking completely pressed against the side of your boyfriend.

Miles finds that maybe he doesn't dislike Hobie as much as he thought.

-

comment and repost if you enjoyed <3

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[graveunderfloor]

Strangetown headcanonic shit

Cactus Carnival is the full name of the festival, which is celebrated annually in the middle of summer and is one of the most (if not the most) important local celebrations in Strangetown. The festival has a historical color, as it is primarily dedicated to the founding of the city. The aesthetics of the Wild West festival are natural. In my opinion, Stangetown is a relatively young town that has managed to remain inhabited so far, despite the fact that the root cause of its foundation dried up a long time ago.

The root cause is the discovery of a gold mine in these surroundings. I think it's logical that at first Strangetown was a mining town: the young settlement often suffered from attacks by robbers. But the founders, namely Paul Strange and the Florica family, entered into an agreement with the locals, who were supposed to help them survive criminals who blew up trains during a robbery. Thanks to this alliance, the attacks decreased, and then completely disappeared.

So how is the festival going?

The celebration lasts for 8 days, starting on the second Sunday in July and ending the next. On the first Sunday there is an opening, and on the last, respectively, a closing. Meanwhile, the people entertain themselves as much as possible. And funnily enough, Deadtree, which was previously a dead area, turns into an anthill. It is in the Deadtree that the main movement takes place. Hoot's Bar is a hot spot, this place is never as lively as in the festival. The Kain community benefits too. Sales of dairy products (and bovanomicon) are becoming unusually high, and Peta and Jimmy are trading at the fair. Only the library and the church remain more or less calm.

A variety of events are organized, from the traditional contest "The biggest cactus" to the banal radeo.

There is also some non-standard competition related to blowing up trains, but that's later.

Another tradition that is carefully observed: you are required to wear clothes associated with the wild West and that era – traditional Indian outfits, cowboy attire, etc.

Here's the Glasses Squad (Sony, Elijah and my protagonist) over a mug of nectar in the Night Howl and their sample costume concepts.

Officially, the festival lasts a week, but it's only official. A separate part is occupied by the preparation for the holiday itself, as well as the departure from it. So we can safely say: The Cactus Carnival haunts the townspeople for a whole month.

(Also today is my birthday. I will be happy if you repost my art that you like. My Telegram channel.)

[manicrouge]

Champagne Problems

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 07/02/24

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot). Also I would like to have all my work in one place rather than spread across other blogs to avoid confusion !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

[marvelmcumania]

You are my only love - Part 3

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader Summary: This life's fate wasn't meant for both of you but the next did!

Word Count: -

Setting: Modern World and The 80s

NOTE: Updates won't be frequent will be updated at any time English is not my first language Do not repost Feel free to reblog and let me know your thoughts

Warning: Creepy Boss

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Prev

"Why does this keep happening with me?" You mumbled on your way back home. How could this happen? Why did that man disappear suddenly whenever you tried to meet him the bad news is you didn't even know his name and the only thing you know is his face.

Searching his account over social media—nope, that was bad since this would be stalking, and you weren't a criminal. Taking a deep breath, you tried to cool your mind and looked up above the dark night sky, the stars shining brightly. You wished you could cross paths with him again properly next time.

You couldn't see him anywhere a few weeks later, as if the man had vanished out of thin air. Your workload has also increased since the day of your upcoming project work meeting. And day by day Rumlow would give you more work saying you know better which was weird cause they were equally talented but his sole focus was on you.

Whereas the nightmares were constant and more scary and more familiar faces it was blurry and that was another drawback Bruce still indulged in his research and Natalie was still trying to tell you about your past life which was a ridiculous theory.

Right now it was nighttime and everyone except you was doing their final check-up of the presentation when you felt someone's presence beside you but didn't turn your head knowing who it was.

"Ms L/N you didn't say where you went yesterday?"

"Had an important work sir"

He gave her a hum "And the work was rather important than this"

"Personal" You felt uncomfortable with these questions and weird of him to ask these questions "But the work is almost done so no worries"

He gave you a creepy smile and gave a pat on your shoulder "Good girl" That was weird Natasha across from you gave a questioning look to which you shook your head signaling not to worry.

It was the day of the meeting, and the office was in full buzz it was weird that the rival company Shield had all made their appearance and you would represent it You and Natasha were in the ladies' washroom pacing back and forth.

"You got this" She looked at you giving a smile.

"Yeah" Vigorously nodding your head "I got this But why did he choose me"You whined glancing at Natasha

"Cause you are his favorite employee"

"Yeah more like a creep" To which Natasha gave a hum.

"Come on the meeting will start at any minute" You both exited the washroom to be joined by all the Shield and Hydra sitting at their seats except for two empty seats and a man giving a worried glance to his boss.

"We are waiting for two of our boys and then we can start it." The man spoke who had an eyepatch on his eye.

"We can't Mr. Fury Y/N start the meeting" Rumlow ordered her and you walked to the front and took place as you started the meeting the front door burst open two men panting heavily.

"Sorry has it stated?" The man with brunette hair spoke and a blonde man appeared behind him Mr Fury shook his head and the two men stepped in taking their sits. You were shocked it was the same man you met in your nightmares and immediately vanished after the first meeting.

Someone cleared their throat it was your boss who had an unreadable expression "Yeah uhm welcome everyone-" you looked at the man who had his eyebrows furrowed and then back to Natasha who was coaxing you to speak suddenly the world around you started getting hotter the noise slowing down Natasha began to talk but you couldn't hear anything even Rumlos's voice unhearable all you could hear was the scream from your nightmare the faces and before you could continue everything went black

The last thing you see is Natasha and the mysterious man running towards you to catch you

Next

[ihatedtoadmit]

Violet-coloured lenses

pairing: Bang Chan x male!reader

genre: angst, fluff(?)

warnings: gore, mention of suicide

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Chan hides his feelings and he couldn't regret that decision any more.

a/n: This is a bit different, you'll see in what ways. Hopefully it doesn't confuse you guys.

A Guide to the AU, in case you are unfamiliar with it (it does spoil the surprise though).

↳ Main Masterlist

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not at all.

We were supposed to just meet up for a friendly lil café date, all to help him wind down after a long day at work. He’d said he was tired, but needed some advice on some projects and I just couldn’t say no. Our chats where we’d agreed on where to meet were colourful and energetic, full of our usual friendly banter and memes. I was made fun of, of course I was, unable to escape being called old even outside of my lively group. Yet, I didn’t mind it, enjoying the soft tingling nestling inside my chest way too much for me to put a stop to it. Besides, he just looked too happy as he teased me and my heart always ached at the mere thought of being the reason for the disappearance of his smile. 

Every little laughter of his caused my skin to tingle, the breath stilling inside my lungs and deciding to take residency in there forever. Each touch and brush of our skin only caused my feelings to bloom, as if that was even possible at that point. That was the effect he had on me, being the sole reason for the colours to appear in this bleak world, for music to sound wonderful and hold meaning.

But I didn’t mind any of those, truly I didn’t. Not his teasing, not how he called me his friend, none of them.

My only regret was staying silent, now forced to watch his once bright face be still and pale, only the constant beeping sound providing me some form of mocking solace.

Why couldn’t I just say those simple words out loud at last? 

It had all been planned out, our shared friends having helped me cook up a foolproof plan. But it wasn’t enough, me being the biggest fool of them all, ultimately forcing me to now sit beside his still form in an all too white room.

The moment I’d showed up to the birthday party, looking all sharp and neat -Changbin had made sure of that-, I just simply couldn’t do anything. The breath had stilled in my lungs as my palms had grown sweaty, and a small tremor had run through the entirety of my body as I no doubt looked like a man-turned-stone.

But how could I not?

The one I had grown so fond of over the course of a few months had looked absolutely breathtaking in those casual clothes of his, a soft smile decorating his rosy lips perfectly. There was a twinkle residing in those dark orbs, as if they were hiding something that resided deep inside, but I couldn’t make sense of it. I was much too enamoured as a quiet chuckle had left him, amused by whatever Jisung had said.

The urge to gulp became impossible to ignore much too soon, that itching feeling clawing at the back of my throat fiercely once more.

And as the day had gone by, my eyes glued to that one person only, that itching feeling had only grown into a suffocating urge to cough. It had been getting bad lately, petals only increasing in number. And I’d known if I had continued like this, that hidden affection would have been the cause for my own death.

Those thoughts caused me to let out a broken laugh as I sat beside his unmoving form, the situation much too ironic for me to not do so.

Because all of those words turned out to be true. My drowning love would lead me to my own demise, with me being much too stubborn to give it up even in such a dire situation. And worst of all, I was completely aware of that, much to everyone else’s demise.

Instead of confessing to the one my heart beat for, to the man these rooted feelings had blossomed for, I’d instead spent that night hunched over the toilet in my own residence, much too sick to stay at the party anymore, where he was at. Every single glance I’d stolen of him scorched me, just like how each spoken syllable directed at me caused my chest to constrict painfully, the roots squeezing the walls of my lungs together viciously.

I hadn’t been able to keep pretending to be his friend anymore that night, the action much too painful for me to bear any longer.

How I wish I had held out just a bit longer, until the words spilled out of my mouth in a flurry of violet petals as gentle as he was.

“Hey, Chan. How’re things going?” - Felix’s voice broke me out of my dark thoughts, granting me just a second to stop blaming myself for what had happened. “Stable, I guess. He’s breathing, but there are no signs of him waking up yet. Not a single one…” - the words that had left my mouth sounded utterly broken, a surprise Felix heard them at all.

He silently shuffled next to me after having placed a grocery bag on the nightstand, his hand squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. It was as if he was trying to glue my shattered pieces back together, no matter how bleak it all looked. That was the thing with Felix. He never gave up and stayed by our side, my side, even though I’ve been glued to this uncomfortable plastic chair for the past 8 days relentlessly, refusing to let sleep claim me in case anything were to happen.

Anything at all, just, please.

“It’ll be okay, mate, trust me on this one. He’s never been one to give things up easily, have some trust in him. He’ll come back to us, to you.” - he whispered back after a beat of silence, and something in those words just broke me inside. “...if what you say is true, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed, having overdosed on meds just to try and take his own life.” “I know, but–” “Lix, his life was apparently so miserable he’d turned to this desperate ‘solution’! We didn’t notice anything, nothing at all! He smiled the same, he laughed the same, he behaved the same. Like a perfect mask. And we, we weren’t able to notice it was there in the first place. We couldn’t help him… I couldn’t help him.” - with each sentence my lungs burned, the air between us cooling down as I silently wheezed there, hand nearly tearing my remaining hair out. “Hyung…” “Don’t hyung me, Lix. You know I’m right. Maybe if I’d confessed that day he wouldn’t be here now. I wouldn’t be here now, dying due to my own stupidity.”

The room became completely silent after that, only the constant beeping and my own raspy breaths filled the air. The hold on my shoulder turned tight, desperate, and I could only lower my head in shame. It wasn’t enough that I could have prevented this entire hospital visit, no, now I had to lash out at Felix who was only here to help. Because without his help, his constant and relentless support, I wouldn’t be here anymore. I was sure of it.

What a hyung I am…

That hold on my shoulder suddenly disappeared, only for my collar to be grabbed and tugged at, the chair loudly falling to the ground as I was harshly ripped out of it. Our eyes were on the same level now, his hold on my shirt so strong the fabric nearly tore in half.

There were tears in Felix’s eyes, even though he looked the angriest I had seen him in a good while.

“Listen here Chan hyung and listen well. I don’t care how you spend each day here, how I need to get you food for you to survive and literally shove it down your throat, but you stop blaming yourself for everything that happened right now! No, we don’t know if your confession would have helped, get that through your thick skull finally! It wasn’t your fault, okay? Because if we go by that logic, I’m also to blame, being his best friend and-...”

By the end the younger aussie’s voice had broken, his arms letting go of me as I just crumbled to the ground. I could only watch from below as crystal droplets had started cascading down his frail face, eyebags I had never noticed before only becoming more prominent. And that wasn’t the only thing that had finally registered in my selfish brain, far from it. The boy was merely a ghost of his former self, skin pale and clinging alarmingly close to his bones, as if he himself had refused to do the one thing he came to me every day for. His moves were different too, hesitant, as if he didn’t have enough energy to execute them properly.

How could I have been so blind before?

As Felix merely stood there, quiet sobs escaping his tiny form he had desperately tried to muffle behind his hands, something inside me snapped. Whatever it was, I had no clue, but there was now nothing more to hold me together, nor to stop the dams from breaking.

We both just sobbed there, unable to hold back those loud wails for seemingly eternity, emotions running much too high for any of us to stop.

Minutes must have passed before my breath stuttered, my entire throat feeling as if it was drenched in a sea of fire, its only purpose to drag me down into its dark depths and drown me there. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get any air into my lungs, the petals inside preventing it from happening. I could feel their soft surface clinging to the bloody walls of my organs, leaving no surface bare, like a roadblock on a busy driveway or a kaleidoscope of butterflies swarming to the sweetest of nectars. The world ceased to exist, only the suffocating urge to survive, to breathe, remained. I couldn’t feel anything, only the bitter taste of iron inside my mouth and the wet feeling as it dripped onto my hands amidst my desperate struggles to finally take a proper breath. It was impossible to tell what was happening anymore and soon my lungs gave up the near impossible fight, my body having lost its strength completely, unable to hold itself up anymore.

The last thing I remembered was the feeling of the small violets resting in my hands, bound together by that awfully deep shade of red.

READ FURTHER FOR HAPPY ENDING

-.-.-

I awoke to a deep pain that resided inside my skull, a groan escaping my dry lips as I was unable to hold it back. Even worse, harsh light assaulted my eyes the moment I’d opened them, causing a scowl to be etched deep into my face. I tried my best to block out the offensive brightness with my hands, but every move felt sluggish, as if I was underwater. It merely succeeded to confuse me, not a clue why I’d be in such a predicament.

Once I opened my eyes I only grew more alarmed, that familiar beeping now finally registering in my brain, its sped-up version heard crystal clear in my head at last.

Why was I in a hospital room?

Looking around didn’t help me at all, as the room was bare, save for a sleeping Minho by my side. His chin was tucked into his chest as he silently slept there, hands crossed and brows deeply furrowed. And as my eyes carefully roamed over his resting form, dread sat heavily into my stomach.

He looked just as bad as Felix did.

Minho might not have been as close to the one my heart blossomed for as Felix or Jisung was, but that didn’t mean this entire situation had no effect on him. Especially with how stubborn I’d been lately, the team’s supposed leader and the one they could turn to for advice.

I remember to this day how he’d stormed into the hospital room, distress clear on his face as he’d looked at me, Felix hot on his heels and out of breath. That was the day Minho’d learnt about my situation, the disease that ran inside my veins and slowly poisoned every inch of my lungs, my throat, in a morbidly beautiful way. The look he’d had in his eyes had nearly killed me, those glistening chocolate orbs wide with fear.

Fear of losing me, his only hyung.

It wasn’t rare for us to argue, especially me and Minho. There was a certain level of trust between us, the two oldest that made it easier to understand the other. But that day, he had raised his voice against me, demanding that I take the surgery and have those deadly flowers cut out.

And what have I done in return?

I argued back, as he’d never be able to understand my feelings. How would I ever be able to live without love in my life, without all those memories of the one I adored? I just couldn’t.

It had taken Felix for us to quiet down, my eyes unable to find Minho’s as his long hair had covered them. And so I had turned away, done with the conversation, when the quietest voice I had ever heard from him reached my ears. I had only believed that it had come from him because I had seen his lips moving, desperation clear in his entire body.

Minho had begged me to have the surgery.

Minho wasn’t a man who begged for anything. He was always strong, determined, ready with a plan to get what he wanted easily. But to see him in that state… I’d considered his request, even if only for a heartbeat or two. That, I couldn’t deny.

Despite all that, how intensely we had argued, he sat there in the corner of the room now, asleep as he no doubt stayed by my side for much too long. I couldn’t help but smile at that, warmth filling up my body.

Although that wasn’t the only thing that I’d felt, a vicious cough ripping itself out of my lungs as I heaved there, barely able to sit up and lean to the side to at least try and get into a more comfortable position. With each cough I could feel something tearing out of the tissue residing deep inside, petals and leaves freeing themselves first and being the messengers of its presence.

I had nearly given up when it had finally freed itself, a handful of violets now laying in my blood-covered hands, looking up at me with their splotches of colours.

“Good job Hyung, let me clean you up.”

I didn’t even notice Minho had been by my side this whole time, his warm hand leaving my back as he took the soiled flowers from my hands without hesitation, depositing them into a nearby bin. He was fast in cleaning his own hands before grabbing some wet wipes, motions gentle as he cleaned my hands silently.

When he turned my head up to clean the vermillion droplets residing on my chin, I could see how utterly defeated he looked. It was as if he had accepted the fate I had chosen, forced to witness my downfall as he could do nothing about it except watch from beside me.

It made my chest constrict painfully, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Just as I was about to reach out towards him, the door to my room bursted open violently, a distraught Felix standing there. He was panting hard, no word able to escape his exhausted form and we could only exchange a worried, yet confused glance with Minho at that.

What could have been so urgent?

Our silent question was answered soon enough, the words I was desperately hoping to hear finally hitting my ears and making me second-guess myself. Was I truly so far gone that I’d hallucinated it? Wouldn’t have been the first time after all, my wishes chasing me into brief nightmares even in my sleepless hours.

“He’s awake.” - Felix repeated himself, eyes solely on me and my frozen form.

It took me that second confirmation to realise I wasn’t hallucinating this time, my body springing into action. Minho wasn’t fast enough to catch me, my hands having already torn out the IV and other, different machines that were attached to my skin. I didn’t care about any of them, or how it stung to remain a few.

All that mattered was that he was awake, alive, and I could talk to him again.

Felix didn’t hesitate to scramble out of my way as I became a force to be reckoned with, unable to be stopped no matter what. Minho tried his best to try and do just that, or at least to slow me down, but I could care less about that at the moment.

It didn’t take long for me to find where he was, the door closed and waiting for me to open. Yet, as much power as I had so far, it all drained out of me at the thought of confronting him, of speaking the truth at last. It was as if my legs had rooted themselves into place, my entire body paralysed in fear.

All it took was Minho and Felix to gently push my back, silently beckoning me to finally take that step forward.

The door opened and there he sat in the bed, silently gazing out the window. He had lost some weight and his skin was now pale, yet he was still captivatingly beautiful in my tearful eyes.

My feet made a sound on the cold floor of the room as I made a few tentative steps. Our eyes met, those dark orbs I loved so much twinkling in delight and looking lively again, their glistening surface drawing me in. Tears carved their seemingly permanent way down my cheeks, my dimples coming out of their hiding places as I just stood there, taking it all in.

He moved before I could fully register it at all, his much taller, yet thinner form nearly knocking me down to the ground, were it not for the others. His hold on me was strong, desperate, as if he was trying to mould me into his own skin and I could only sob as he held me in his arms.

He was alive, his heart beating fast, his body warm and he was holding me tight, so, so tight I could feel my broken pieces being mended together.

As I just stood there, soaking in his warmth and sobbing into his chest, no doubt soaking his hospital gown, a quiet question hit my ears.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Channie?”

The sobs froze into my lungs, wet eyes now staring up at him as he drew me away so he could look at my face directly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you love me? That you were dying because of me?” - he asked once more, his voice so full of hurt I was ashamed of myself. “I-... I wanted to. But it was me who hurt myself, not you, never you! I’am dying due to my own stupidity.” - I replied, unable to meet his eyes.

His hands slid down from my shoulders, gently taking my own hands into their hold. It was as if he was handling something fragile, his touch featherlight and never too harsh. It made my skin tickle and flush, his care only causing my stomach to flip inside and turn on its own head.

“I never thought this would happen. That someone would have feelings towards me, of all people. So I’m sorry, so sorry that I never noticed. But… even if you won’t forgive me, can I hear it from you this time? That you love me?” - his question was equally gentle, his inability to see his own beauty cutting deep into my heart painfully.

I grasped his hands in return, determined to never let him go, even if only as friends. And with a deep breath, I answered his doubts.

“I love you. I love you so fiercely it nearly suffocates me, but I could care less. I’m in love with you, my dear butterfly.”

His eyes twinkled at my words, lips wobbling and glistening tears finally falling to the ground. I’d nearly feared he hated me so much my confession made him cry, but he spoke before I could, his hold on me tighter than ever.

“I love you too Chan. Please never doubt that, never again.”

I didn’t hesitate to hug him close immediately, the reality of his response not hitting me fully yet. Only after a minute did my brain register his words, a wide smile dancing on my lips as we sobbed in each other's holds, unwilling to let the other go.

I didn’t care how the others were now all there to witness us, hugging in tear-soaked hospital gowns. We were both happily in our own little world, inseparable from the other, soaking up each other’s presence and warmth we missed oh so much.

Taglist: @michelle4eve

[officialtayley]

So... Plot twist 

Hi everyone, is Emily/em/Sparks9397, make yourselves a snack this one’s long. 

I have a lot I'd like to say, but think a good place to start would be that yes, I’m very sorry for how this played out and for what I did, though, the pics were about as far as the lie went, guess doesn’t matter either way but yes, I am a lawyer, yes I live in Australia, yes that’s my dog, yes I have a boyfriend, etc. 

Honestly, I'm not mad at the anon in fact I was kinda expecting it? (someone was bound to get that’s not my pic), but you did caught me off guard last night and I panicked cause I thought better disappear and leave no trace behind, they all hate you anyways (you guys have been way too nice and fic gate is kinda funny), but I do like to twist the knife and did go back to it in the morning to check how badly i'd fucked up, is why i'm sending this.

if you want me to explain myself, well I was in a bad bad place last year when I started writing, the writing really help me through lots of stuff and for personal reasons i thought it was better not to add my pic, stupid me thought it was a good idea to share another person’s photo, who kinda looks like me if you want to believe that or not, but seems way happier, more stylish, more fun, etc and well you know how that ended... 

Was it necessary to keep posting more pics that weren’t mine, no obv not, yet believe it or not somehow in the past year my life got way better and I made it out of that dark place and was excited to share more of my life, my mistake to not just come clean instead of keep pretending I was someone else. 

Anyways, I could keep going with the apology but I don’t think it matters very much now, does it? 

So I’ll just use this time to say I'm realy really sorry Meike @paramorewillbelegends  and I’m really so so sorry Reese @dnd21, you both were really good friends to me and I'm so grateful to you both for being there for me when I had no one to talk to, sorry I couldn’t reciprocate and be a better friend to you. 

Ps. A03 was more leveled headed than myself during this time and though I deleted everything and didn’t have backup they sent me a copy of everything which I can repost if that’s what you want, but yeahh guess that's it for me, and thanks to Ash if you end up posting this (no pressure). 

i think your apology matters. you've obviously seen what i've said about what you did so i won't say anything more, but if you mean this then it's something people can forgive you for and move past.

i think it's better to do this than to do something drastic. as you can see, no one hates you, even any of us that may have sounded quite harsh, that's not hatred either. anyway, i appreciate that you sent this and i'm sure everyone else will appreciate it, especially your friends, so i'll post it because i think it's important and you didn't have to send it at all but you did, so again, i think it'll be very appreciated.

also you do whatever you feel is right with the fics. a lot of people may still want them but ultimately it's up to you and if you feel comfortable doing so.

[medicinal-doll]

Bedtime.

Title: Bedtime.

Daddy!Henry Cavill x little!reader

Words: 800.

Summary: You're throwing a tantrum because you're cranky cause you stayed up too late, but don't worry Henry will take care of you.

Warnings: ddlg dynamic,p in v sex,mention of choking/spanking,brat behavior,Dom/sub dynamic, degrading,daddy kink,pet names

A/N: Practicing getting better at writing smut and I couldn't find a ddlg bedtime for Henry with smut so here's this

*Please don't repost without permission If you use my writing as inspiration please ask first and credit me

.............

"No!" you scream as Henry holds you securely against his burly frame.Taking you from your pink playroom.

"Not a dolly princess.." you sniffle watching your toys and stuffies disappear from your view.

"Don' wanna go night night!"

You kick and scream, though your hits do no effective damage.

Henry sighs at your tantrum and gently pats your butt encouraging you to stop yelling at this time of night.

You always get cranky when you stay up this late, which is why he set a strict bedtime for you.But your little doe eyes got the best of him tonight, His mistake.

"Aaahh!-" you yell obnoxiously.

Okay... now you're just being annoying. Henry rolls his eyes at your antics.

"C'mon honey shhh" he encourages you softly, bouncing you gently in his arms.

"I told you baby" he coos at you. "You need your little girl rest sweetie, but you didn't want to listen to daddy"

His reasoning doesn't quell your sobs and frustration at all.

"Put me down! don't wanna go..." You cry but Henry picks up on your blatant lying.

"We do this everytime princess... you're just a little baby honey" he talks to you in that warm loving tone that makes you shy.

" you need your sleep doll" he whispers softly placing a kiss to the side of your head.

"Or you'll get all cranky and upset and start throwing tantrums at daddy like you are now"

You sniffle, Slightly embarrassed and aware of your unnecessary outburst. But it doesn't stop you from whining.

"Don't wanna go...." you mumble to yourself.

It's your last attempt at fighting him before your littlest sleepy self takes the place of any hostility you have left in you.

"I know baby, I know." He says in a soothing tone.

"just let daddy take care of you princess okay?"

You nod at him, whines still leaving your mouth. those being the last remnants of your fit.Henry rubs your back in slow circles patting your butt lovingly while carrying you up the stairs.

He sets you on the bed gently, and you start to act up again. But then he gives you that stern dominant look that warns you not to test him, and you shut right up and wait patiently like a good girl.

Henry removes his shirt revealing his beefy chest and toned abs, dark chest hair decorating his warm skin.

You lay back on the bed. A new feeling taking control of you, a docile feeling that makes you burn with desire.

You dip your hands between your legs touching yourself sensually.

You aren't allowed to touch.Not without your owners permission, but seeing as you've already pissed him off for the night and the lustful look he's giving you right now. He doesn't seem to mind.

Even if he did you're in such a mood, he'd have to physically restrain you in order for you to stop.

You rub your fingers over your clit, making sure to give your daddy a good look at your cute little princess parts.Eyes glinting in pleasure as wet dews of arousal make your pussy glisten in the warm light of the bedroom.

You whimper softly in that high pitched tone you know drives your daddy fucking insane.

You flick your clit faster, eyefucking your sir.

"Please daddy....fuck me" you whine out.

"I'll be good now, I'll go to bed promise"

You moan arching your back off of the covers winding your hips against the soft sheets.

"Just please give me your cock..."

Henry prides himself on being A good daddy that upholds the rules. But god damn it, you don't know what you do to him. And if it wasn't for the very visible bulge peeking from his boxers, he might've been able to resist the temptation.

He climbs on top of you giving into his carnal desires.

You look at him face flushed, all pouty and submissive.

"Please daddy I can't take it anymore-"

"I need you in me"

"I need my daddy"

At those last words you cling to him, nails slightly digging into the warm flesh of his bicep.

Henry quickly frees his cock from his boxers, it being just as needy and swollen as yours.

He rubs his length up and down your drooling pussy, coating it in your wet heat.

You grip on him tighter.

"Please..."

He looks at you with animalistic eyes.

"Please what..." He says darkly as his cock teases your entrance.

You pout impatiently. "please fuck me da- Ah!"

He sheathes himself in your slick warm pussy fully, groaning at the tightness wrapped around him.

"Fuck baby...mm" he grunts deeply.

Henry pulls out then ruts back in and you yelp.

"Gonna breed you so fucking good..fuck" he says in a low groan.

You whine as he slowly starts moving his hips against yours.Soft sobs spilling from your lips as his fat cockhead rubs against the sensitive ridges in your vagina.

"Please daddy ruin me" you beg.

"Fuck my little girl hole till I scream..."

He plants the gentlest kiss to your lips before slamming his hips into you.Harshly driving his dick in your cunt, exploring it shamelessly.

"Ah! Fuck!-" His cock slaps against your wet walls as lustful sounds fill the room.He's so fucking big, you think you'll break if he goes any deeper.

"Daddy! Fuck-"He smacks your ass in warning and you cry out.

"Ah!"

"The fuck did I tell you about cursing hm?"

"You needy slut, you just don't know when to listen do you"

You cry at his harsh words when in reality they only make you wetter.Your arousal dripping all over him, drenching his cock and balls.

Henry grabs you by the throat choking you against the pillow.

"You fucking like it when I treat you like a slut don't you"

He rams his cock in you making you so fucking sensitive your legs start shaking around him in pleasure as his meaty hips bounce against your thighs.So rough you can't think straight.

"No! Not a slut!" You shake your head at him.

"No?.." He questions in a deep voice.Eyes gaining a sadistic tinge to them, As he grabs you flipping you on your tummy.

"Then I guess you don't like when I fuck you like this then huh"

He takes your little pussy from behind pounding you like the good little cock whore you are,his dick reaching those deep intimate places that drive you crazy.You moan embarrassingly loud as he drives his hips against your weak spot.

"Ah! Daddy please I'm sorry!" you cry out in pleasure.

Henry laughs at how how you're such a shy bunny but you're so fucking loud when he gets his hands on you.

"That's right baby you should be fucking sorry" he grunts, vigorously thrusting into your hot pussy.

"But don't worry hun, daddy's gonna make sure you get to bed on time every. fucking. night."

He fucks into you after every pause your walls fluttering around his dick gripping at every vein sucking his cock back into your soaked cunt.

He grabs your face squishing your cheeks together and whispering in your ear.

"If daddy promises to keep fucking you like this before bedtime, you're gonna be a good little girl for me aren't you baby?"

Your minds fucking gone but you agree to whatever the hell he's saying, too cock drunk to comprehend anything but him pounding your little cunt raw.

"Yes daddy! Ill be good I'll be good fuck fuck fuck fuck-." You scream his cock and balls slapping against your lips at a fast sloppy pace.It all feeling so fucking good and too much for you at the same time.

His hips hit your spot repeatedly and you scream as Henry's white cream explodes into your little womb.your eyes roll to the back of your head, your blush spreading to your entire face.

"Daddy.." you whimper at his hot milk entering you.

His head dips down resting on your back, his soft breath against your ear.

"What did I just say about cursing..." He asks slightly out of breath.

Oops.

"Sorry daddy it felt too good" you plead.

You turn and wrap yourself in his embrace.

"Couldn't help it...."

He sighs pulling you deeper into his big arms.

"That's alright bunny"

"Daddy just has to be better about disciplining you about that, and your bedtime"

You just nod, snuggling against the comfort of his muscular chest in acceptance.

Henry chuckles and smiles at your cuteness, petting your hair softly as you both drift off to sleep.

[flowerandblood]

My Best Friend (9)

[modern! club owner • Aemond x fem!reader]  

[warnings: smut, sex content, kissing, fluff, swearing, mention of stalking]

[description: Aemond has his own club and often does business at the home of one of his business associates. There he often meets his younger sister, with whom he develops a deeper relationship through shared secrets. This is slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist        

_____

Their whole house was in chaos, things had been pulled from shelves and cupboards, scattered all over the floor. Someone hacked into their alarm system and disabled all the security. After going through the entire house, nothing was missing - or so it seemed, until they entered Y/N's room.

"Fucking shit." Klaus said, running his hand over his face. "It's definitely him or his people. He was looking for something."

"And found it." Y/N spoke terrified, looking into one of her drawers. “The disk with all the messages and photos from him disappeared. In all apps, he deleted the messages he sent me. God! He also took my old card from the phone, that had text messages from him!" She said weakly, all pale. Klaus cursed loudly, turning away tensely. He was pissed off beyond measure.

Everyone went down to the living room to think. Aemond was leaning against the wall, Y/N and Marcus were sitting on the couch. Klaus was pacing around.

"And where were you exactly then?" He asked suddenly, turning to face her. Y/N froze, swallowing hard. She didn't have time to say anything, because Aemond was quicker.

“Albert came to see her at the University, Marcus was at the office. She got scared and came to me at the club. I let her stay there and we both spent the night there." There was no hesitation in his voice. Y/N looked at him with wide eyes.

"Both?" Klaus asked, frowning, his expression demanding an explanation.

"I was supposed to leave her alone in an empty club overnight?" He asked rhetorically, not looking away from his gaze. Klaus pursed his lips and looked at his sister, who was looking at him pleadingly. He let go, exhaling loudly. Marcus looked at her with concern.

“You should have called me. If I had known, I would have come for you." He spoke warmly. Y/N looked at him with tears in her eyes.

"I didn't want to disturb you." She said in a broken voice and hid her face in her hands. Marcus put his arm around her, his face showing pain for her condition, and also some remorse.

Aemond's throat tightened at the sight of him touching her. He wanted to grab her and pull her out of his arms. He thought after a moment, that he was thinking of her, as if she were a thing and not a person, and he felt embarrassed at his immaturity. 

He saw Klaus watching him from the side and he cleared his throat. He felt like he knew, what he was doing with his sister last night. He wasn't going to deny it, if asked directly, but he wasn't going to explain himself either.

“Marcus, let Y/N stay in your apartment tonight. I'm going to order a cleaning crew and get this done by tomorrow. I don't want her sleeping here, until we fix the alarm." Klaus said, his voice tense. Anonymous denunciation was one thing, but breaking into a house and violating privacy so much was quite another.

Aemond turned his face away at his words, standing with his arms folded, his face all tense. He knew Klaus was doing it on purpose and he was furious.

They talked for a while more, but Aemond had to get back to his business. Y/N looked at him apologetically, sensing he was angry, but they didn't say a word to each other. He didn't even dare give her a goodbye hug in front of Klaus. He nodded and just left.

He spent the day in his apartment in front of his laptop, replying to overdue e-mails and printing out missing documents, but he had a huge problem with concentration. He was embarrassed, that he couldn't contain his frustration. He didn't even know, what caused it. 

He didn't think she and Marcus would sleep together. Nevertheless, yesterday he had her all to himself, and today she was to sleep in another man place. His mouth tightened at the thought. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of vibration and the notification of a new message on his phone. He rolled his eye, thinking it was Kate again, but when he unlocked the keyboard, he saw, that Y/N had texted him. In fact, she sent him a photo.

It was a screenshot from an app for listening to music. At the top it said "Your own playlist set for today". Listed below were the songs, that were selected to be played in order. There he saw "Hush" by Deep Purple, "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses, "Never Let Me Down Again" by Depeche Mode and some other songs, that he knew well. He smiled slightly, seeing, that most of these songs were playing during their conversations. Somehow, it made him feel good.

A:"Someone here has good taste." 

He wrote and sent it, referring to the words, that she had said to him in the car this morning. He unknowingly smiled at her answer.

Y:“I draw inspiration and learn from outstanding individuals.” 

She wrote, and if he didn't know her, he'd think, she was serious. He imagined her saying it in her ironic tone.

A:"It has not escaped my notice, that you learn new things very easily." 

He replied with a grimace of satisfaction. She didn't reply for a moment. He found himself staring expectantly at his screen. He unlocked the keyboard again, when he saw a new message.

Y:"I have a good teacher." She wrote back. 

He tapped his tongue against his cheek in satisfaction. She picked up on the subtext and teased him. For some reason, he liked it. If any other woman had written it, he would have been embarrassed. It seemed so innocent and harmless from her. He wondered, what to answer.

A:"Only one?" 

He wrote, curious to see her answer. He felt tension in the lower part of his stomach. She didn't reply for a long time. He felt an unpleasant pressure in his chest.

Y:"It depends, about what you're asking." 

She finally replied. He pursed his lips. She hit the ball, so that now he had to think, about how to answer her.

A:"About more teachers teaching you." 

He wrote after a while, feeling, that he had laid his cards on the table in a way. His heart pounded in his chest. He wondered, what was happening to him.

Y:"No. And you, do you have other students?" 

She replied and he inhaled. He felt hot and replied quickly.

A:"No."

***

A few days have passed since their texts exchange. He felt better, because he had the impression, that they had more or less explained things to each other. He wanted her to know, that he had no intention of sleeping with anyone else just yet, and he didn't want to humiliate her. 

He also knew, that she felt the same way. He guessed, that was the thing, that worried her the most, and he hoped his answer gave her some comfort. He knew, she wouldn't want more from him, than he could give. It was one of her qualities, that he appreciated the most. 

Since then, they've texted each other from time to time. Y/N was texting him about the progress of the Albert case. Sometimes she sent him pictures of her college projects and designes, asking for his opinion, which flattered him. 

He didn't know much about art, but he shared his insights with her. She thought, that he had a good sense of aesthetics and that his remarks were very accurate.

Their contact didn't bother him. She didn't bombard him with messages 24/7. It happened, that she did not speak to him all day, and he, feeling the sudden need to contact her, sent her a screenshot of the application and a new song, he was listening to.

Criston's birthday was approaching. As a big fan of his club, he wanted to organize it there, which Aemond agreed without thinking much. Y/N and Klaus were also invited by him. 

Aemond felt a strange kind of excitement at the thought. He hasn't seen her in a week. He'd relieved himself a few times by thinking about her in bed at night, but that wasn't what he really wanted.

On the day of the party, Aemond arrived at the club early to make sure, that everything was done. As the first guests began to arrive, he retreated to the VIP lounge and surveyed the room, thoughtful. He felt a tension all over his body, like anxious anticipation. 

He saw Criston in the crowd. He got up from the couch, Criston smiled at him and held out his hand, which Aemond gratefully shook.

“It all looks great. Thanks, dude." He said and patted him on the shoulder. 

They talked about other things for a while, including Albert and the break-in, when Aemond saw over his shoulder that Klaus and Y/N had entered the club, talking about something and laughing. Klaus was dressed in a black, tight sweater, his hair was elegantly combed.

Y/N was wearing a tight "little black dress". Her dress reached to mid-thigh. Her dark hair and the shade of her dress, made her skin look like it was glowing under the club lights. Aemond felt his jaw drop just at the sight of it, and he had no idea, how he was going to put up with her the entire party, without fucking her. 

He was already thinking in the back of his mind, whether he could quietly take her to his office unnoticed for a while. Criston's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Are you listening to me?" He asked amused.

"Yes, sorry." He just said, Klaus and Y/N approached them, Y/N was holding a bag in her hand, which was apparently a gift.

"Happy Birthday!" They both said happily, embracing the birthday boy in turn. They talked about something for a while, the four of them standing in a circle. 

Y/N was standing next to him. Aemond stood with his hands clasped behind his back, fighting with himself and his thoughts not to touch her. 

She looked at him with her big eyes, and he felt her thoughts wander in similar areas. He pursed his lips. Klaus offered to go for drinks, and Criston was taken up by other guests, who also wanted to wish him well. Aemond took the opportunity to lean in close to her ear.

"In 15 minutes at my office." He said flatly, though he knew, his dark eye betrayed him. Y/N shuddered and looked at him, taking in a soft breath. After a while, Klaus returned and Aemond apologized to them, saying, that he had something else to do.

He approached one bodyguard and whispered a few words in his ear. He didn't want anyone to disturb them. He felt, that if he didn't do it, he would literally explode. 

He walked towards his office and closed the door behind him. He took off his jacket and laid it on the couch, feeling his heart pounding. He had never been so desperate. Their messages, constant tension and lack of physical contact, made him lose his temper.

After a while the door opened. Y/N rushed inside, closing the door. She looked at him, swallowing softly, her body trembling slightly.

“I told Klaus I was going to the restroom. What happened?" She asked, her eyes showing concern. 

He approached her slowly, took her cheek in his hand and pulled her to him. She squealed softly, surprised, when he took her hand in his and touched it to the bulge in his pants. She stared at him with wide eyes, her breath quivering in her mouth. 

"This is what happened." He said softly, rubbing her hand slowly.

She moaned softly, feeling it pulsate under her fingers, the space between her thighs tightening. He rested his forehead against hers, running the tip of his nose across her face. He moaned low, as he felt her hand press harder against the fabric of his pants.

He put his tongue in her mouth, parting her lips with it, digging into it with a greedy kiss. He pulled her close to him, and they both moaned at the sudden, close contact. He pushed her dress up and grabbed her ass, rubbing it in his hands.

"Beautiful dress." He grunted contentedly, their bodies rubbing against each other involuntarily. 

"I'll fuck you in it, okay?" His question made her whole body tremble and a loud moan escaped her lips. He smiled at the sight. He would have teased her more, but they didn't have time. 

He quickly grabbed her by the hips and set her on the desk in front of him, so she was in the perfect position. She took off her shoes and panties, he quickly unbuckled his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers. He reached for the condoms, but her hand stopped him, she looked at him embarrassed.

"I started taking pills." She said softly. 

He swallowed hard, staring at her in surprise. The thought, that she had started taking pills, so she could fuck him unprotected, turned him on even more. He pressed his lips against hers, their tongues dancing together furiously. Her hand dug into his hair, holding him tight against her. 

He suddenly broke the kiss and knelt in front of her, parting her thighs, his face perfectly level with her hips.

"Fuck, so wet for me already." He grunted contentedly and licked her dripping entrance without hesitation. 

Y/N arched back and sobbed at the sensation, she was extremely tender for some reason. He thought, she too suffered from their lack of physical contact. He slipped his tongue inside her and began to caress her, her hips following his movements, her hand tightening in his hair.

"Aemond, please, I need you inside me" She panted pleadingly, and he looked at her in shock. He stood up, wiping his mouth quickly.

"Back on the desk." He commanded, pulling her hips towards him. He felt, that if he kept going like this, a few moves inside her would be enough for him to come.

She did as he said, and he parted her thighs with his hands as if he were ripping a fruit apart. He had a perfect view of her pussy, which turned him on even more. 

He aimed his cock at her and slided inside her without a word, her body arching back at the sensation. They both panted loudly, feeling each other's bodies for the first time without any barrier. He began to thrust in her deeply, hard and fast, both of them gasping loudly with pleasure.

"You missed that?" He asked low, seeing how close she was to her fulfillment. "Missed my cock inside you?" 

She sobbed beneath him, her hips moving greedily to meet his movements.

"Yes, yes, yes..." She moaned, feeling, that she was about to come.

"I’m going to come inside you. Do you understand?" He asked, squeezing his hand tighter around her thighs, thrusting into her so hard, he could barely speak. 

She moaned loudly as her orgasm hit her lower abdomen, a wave of pleasure so large that she sobbed. 

"Yes, Aemond, please, please!" She sobbed, her face one of pleasure and pain at the same time. 

The sight, coupled with her words, made him cum inside her with a guttural, loud moan. She shivered as his hot semen spilled inside her. She couldn't catch her breath, she tried to pull away from him, because of too much stimulation, but his hands held her in a steel grip.

He didn't let go of her for a long moment. He looked at her, lying with her eyes closed, her mouth parted, her thighs spread, now being somewhere in a completely different world. 

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she looked at him dreamly. She rose on her hands. Aemond gently pulled his cock out of her. She yelped in fear, as something spilled out of her and she clenched her thighs.

"Easy." He said softly, taking a handkerchief from the desk and pressing it against her insides. "It's just me."

She exhaled softly, all red and took another handkerchief, feeling the one completely soaked in their shared fluids. 

Aemond zipped up his pants, took handkerchiefs from her, and tossed them into the wastebasket. He walked over to her and stood between her thighs. Y/N put her hands on his chest, they both looked at each other silently. He ran a hand through her hair, the familiar scent, that he liked so much, wafting to his nose.

"I missed you."

___

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@chainsawsangel  @yentroucnagol @cardi-bre91 @melsunshine​​ @bellaisasleep​​ @candypurplebutterfly​​

[angelicglib]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Champagne Problems ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 27/12/23

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot) so, if you would like more stories from me, my new blog is @manicrouge !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

[nicoscheer]

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Do you want to discover what bands @mileskane listens to while ironing his shirts? Then listen to this episode of the music podcast @kendedital with the nicest and funniest guy in the music business!

We had a blast! 🫶🏽

-

"I'm willing to play anywhere. Even now, if I were offered a gig at the pub across the street, l'd take it. I simply love playing. If you asked, I'd play right this moment. I just love playing, I'm not arsed. It's what it's all about." X

-

Miles when being asked about AM’s new sound:

mk: "you gotta respect it, you know, like, that's me bro, i'm always gonna have his back, you know what i mean? yeah and i respect for a big band to follow their gut. that's what al does and you gotta respect it whether you like it or not. it's kind of what all great artists do."

interviewer: "like it's cool that you kinda... you want to fucking do it so you do

mk: "yeah, man, that's me boy. if he wants to sing french or sing nigerian, i'm gonna have his back, you know what i mean?"

-

🫶🏽🫶🏽🥹🥹🥺my boys

Like I hate it that he’s always asked bout AM and TLSP cause he’s promotion his solo tour but this is 😘

So you’re telling me they are literally promoting Miles and Liam djing with a Tlsp pic 😭😭🫠🥺

Imagine if Alex were you just casually show up behind that DJ booth

with his bosom friend Alex Turner

At Crammerock we saw him strolling backstage. We decided to put on our naughty shoes and ask him. He turned out to be very amable and he was immediately enthusiastic about our concept,

So, you set out on your own

You shut up shop, you're leavin' home

You feel no need to settle down

In the crippled crook of your earth bound town

And you've been down this road before

Which is not to say you're bored

Or that you shouldn't want for more

It's just your expectations should be lower

There must be somethin' more than this

More than ideal homes or domestic bliss

What is there left for you to do

'Cause you've seen the future and it's nothin' new

And you've been down this road before

Which is not to say you're bored

Or that you shouldn't want for more

It's just your expectations should be lower, should be lower

And you've been down this road before

Which is not to say you're bored

Or that you shouldn't want for more

It's just your expectations should be lower, should be lower

Apparently wasn’t happy with the text placement so had to repost it 🤣🤣🥹

His eyebrow slit and bear looking fucking clean

Also I hate everybody who lives close to Gent or Sheffield

Miles last night with chef Tom brown and Jay Forrester at the opening of Tom’s new oyster bar (pearly queen shoreditch/ where Tom and friends repeatedly posted that the logo outside is the new bat signal 🤨y’know like miles guitarist said that the mirrorball is their bat signal) (also the fact that Tom reposted the pic of them via puppetspaces ig)

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The pictures of Miles with Tom and Jay

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So proud of him selling out within less than two hours

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Miles helping Tom with taste testing

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I love that as soon Chef Tom Brown is involved everybody starts using Miles’ music; here a custom knife made for TB using troubled son

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A nice recap of the opening night, the way Miles disappears in that hug with Tom is 🥹🥹🥹

[punctatum]

In The Mountains

This is my fanfic, do not copy or repost on other platforms. You can also read it on ao3 under the username Punctatum.

Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith are not my original characters.

Chapter One: https://www.tumblr.com/punctatum/754763771208253440/in-the-mountains

Two - 912 words

The next morning, Charles could feel that he drank, but Arthur was hungover. Once the man woke up, he was grumbling nonsense about the sun being too bright. “Here, coffee.” Charles offered him a mug of freshly brewed coffee, and Arthur took it gratefully, practically chugging the hot liquid.

“I haven’t seen you this hungover in a while. How much did you drink last night?” Charles chuckled, pouring himself some coffee as beans cooked over a fire. “Too much. I drank too much.” Arthur responded, leaning back against a log. “Make it go away.” He covered his face with his hands.

“Just give it a few hours and you’ll be fine.” Charles reassured his companion. “The beans will help, you need to eat something to absorb the alcohol.” He moved over to the fire and checked on the beans, observing that they were cooked, and took the can to pour the contents into a bowl. “Just rest, Arthur.” He handed the man his bowl.

Arthur sheepishly reached out to take the bowl of beans Charles had handed him. “Thank you.” He mumbled. It wasn’t often that Arthur was told to rest, let alone when he was on a mission as important as a hunting one. Resting was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

Charles got to his feet, and dusted off his pants. “I’m gonna head further into the woods, get some more food supplies. You’ll be safe here.” The last sentence he spoke sounded like a promise, and with that, he disappeared into the trees, his bow and arrows slung across his shoulder. “Rest.” Arthur repeated quietly with a chuckle. “Alright, then.”

Arthur knew what he had asked Charles last night, that memory had stayed with him despite how drunk he was, and that caused a lot of tension within him. Now, he was finally alone. He crawled into the tent, and tugged down his jeans. His cock, already erect, sprung free from his underwear.

Gently, he began rubbing his thumb along the tip, groaning softly as he did so. It had been a while since he got a chance to relieve himself, and it felt good. He squeezed the sides of his cock, bucking his hips into his hand.

“Fuck yes, Charles…” Arthur moaned. “Keep going.” As he said this, he sped up the movement of his hand, rolling his hips to meet the rhythm. “That’s it… goddamn.” He threw his head back against the bedroll, truly letting himself get lost in the moment.

Arthur couldn’t help but imagine Charles above him, his hand in place of his own. He imagined the big, calloused hand around his cock, and the thought made his heart flutter wildly.

“Oh, fuck, Charles.” Arthur was almost whining at this point as he continued to pleasure himself. His cock leaked copious amounts of precum, the liquid dripping onto his hand. “Please.” He whispered, so dazed that he didn’t notice his companion standing in shock outside of the tent.

Charles cleared his throat, and that seemed to clear Arthur of his trance. “Charles.” He chuckled nervously, freezing the movement of his hand. He couldn’t help but feel like a pervert, had Charles heard him calling out his name like that?

“It’s okay.” Charles assured Arthur, stepping closer. “I did say maybe.” He quoted what he said the previous night, unsure if Arthur would remember. “‘s right. You did.” Arthur looked up at Charles, uncharacteristically anxious about this. “Do you want me? Right now?” Charles asked, crouching down to meet Arthur’s level. “Yes.” Arthur replied without hesitation. “I do.”

Charles was then on his knees, desperately moving Arthur’s hands away from his cock. He lowered his mouth onto Arthur’s length, trailing his tongue against the tip, lapping up the precum that continuously leaked from it. “Yes, oh, fuck…” Arthur groaned, grabbing the back of Charles’ neck and pushing him down.

Taking Arthur’s whole cock into his mouth, Charles could almost gag with the thickness of it, but he quickly pulled himself together and continued to move his lips up and down. “That feels so good.” Arthur praised, he was so vocal at times like this, and it was so very attractive to Charles.

Arthur’s hand controlled Charles’ head from the back of his neck, and it made Charles shiver. He loved it when Arthur was in control, a change from him being the dominant one.

“I’m getting close, Charles.” Arthur warned, digging his nails into Charles’ skin. Charles moved his mouth even further down, darting his tongue out to lick at Arthur’s balls. “Yeah, like that.” Arthur encouraged, his back arching. He then began slowly thrusting his cock into Charles’s mouth, and the sounds that the man at his knees made were nothing short of heavenly.

Finally, he was tipped over the edge, and before he could warn Charles, Arthur’s load shot into his mouth. Charles groaned, moving his head away to gain his composure. He looked almost beautiful as Arthur’s cum dripped down his lips, as he swallowed the white liquid.

“C’mere.” Arthur beckoned, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist and pulling him into a soft kiss. “That was good.” He cupped the other man’s face in his hands. “It was.” Charles’ replied, chuckling slightly as he buried his face into Arthur’s neck.

“Does it really taste good?” Arthur teased, shattering kisses along Charles’ forehead, and down to his shoulders. “It does.” Charles responded with certainty, wrapping his legs around his lover’s hips. “It really does.”