#so i'm not looking forward to try out a 3rd one

[lov3lybarista]

ᴄʜ. 5 ᴘɪɴᴋ.

Wattpad:lov3lybarista Pairing: Thomas Shelby x OC Warnings: the plot thickens! Not a warning, I'm just excited to get this story rolling Word Count: 3.6k+ Masterlist.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Song: CHIHIRO by Billie Eilish

May 3rd, 1923, somewhere outside Birmingham, United Kingdom.

Thomas Shelby only needed to say: "If Dr. Hassan is not doing it, then it's not getting done."

And that had halted all pushback from her clinic. He scoffed at first when a younger apprentice had the audacity to even merely suggest he would be more "comfortable" with someone else. He almost strangled the poor man. Thomas didn't care if it wasn't typical that the doctor drew blood—he was close to spilling it if it wasn't her drawing his.

So now he sat again in the private exam room, his sleeves rolled up and his cigarette case turning in his hand as he tried to fight back the need to light one up just to see that little brow furrow she did when she was frustrated with him. The room smelled like antiseptic and amber—her doing, of course—and the curtains had been changed to a deep cream color that made it feel more like a hotel than a clinic. He respected it. He hated it. It unnerved him and calmed him all in one sitting.

Then the door clicked. He looked up.

And then he nearly fucking died.

Because she had walked in already being the softest thing in his life and now she looked like it. Clipboard in hand, hair half tied up into a loose hold, the rest tumbling down her back in those thick black silk waves.

She was wearing pink.

Not the sterile kind or the loud kind—no—this was soft, blooming, devastating, and dangerous all in one pretty silk blouse.

Her lips were painted a gentle mauve, the rose tinting her pale cheeks seemed more flushed today, was it the sun or was it cause of his eyes? He didn't know, he could barely breathe as he took her in, to the way her rose-colored silk was tucked neatly into a high-waisted cream skirt, the soft click of her dainty heels.

And the worst part, the most painful part— she didn't know. She had no clue that she stood there looking like she was made to ruin men without even trying, that she was ruining him this very moment.

She was reading something on his chart, her brows furrowed in concentration as she breathed out soft words to herself. Then when she glanced up to see him staring at her like he had just been hit hard in the ribs, she froze.

"What?"

He only stared.

Her eyes widened a bit, "did...I forget something?"

"You're wearing pink," he said, his voice low.

Her gaze dropped to her blouse like she had forgotten what she had on. She looked up at him with genuine confusion. "Yes?"

His lips parted but didn't form any words right away, he just ran a hand down his jaw like he was trying to compose himself from pouncing on her.

"What's wrong, Thomas?"

"You walked in wearing that," he began, nodding slightly at her like she was a weapon, "and you expect me to sit still?"

It was her turn to part her lips with no reply. She looked down at herself again, like the pink she was wearing was just pink—like it wasn't the softest fucking thing he had seen in years. And that's what kept making it all worse. She didn't even know what she was doing to him.

He let out a slow breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Draw the blood," he spoke finally, "before I change my mind."

And she did. But her hands weren't as steady as they always were.

She tied the tourniquet around his arm with practiced ease. Her touch was always like that; gentle, brushing, efficient, impersonal. Except it never felt impersonal, nothing did with her.

He had to look away─at the window, at the door, anywhere but the dip of her pale neck or how those long thick lashes framed her thoughtful eyes.

"I see you still have that nurse," he began, his voice slightly raspy, "the one with the hair bun that could kill a man."

She paused only a bit, a smile ghosting her lips as the needle slid gently into his vein.

He glanced at her, the amusement catching up with him, "swear to God, I thought she was about to frisk me when I walked in this time."

That had done it for her.

She laughed.

Not the usual quiet smile he earned, not the soft hum of amusement she gave when he flirted with her. A real, genuine, and too-sweet laugh.

A pretty sound that bubbled in her chest and escaped her mouth like she hadn't done it in a long, long time.

And it changed everything. It changed the way the sun that seeped through the window felt on his skin, it changed the way his too-tight knot at his tie loosened, it changed the way she completely softened in his eyes.

He blinked at her for a moment, stunned completely. And then something even more rare happened. He smiled─a real, eye-crinkling smile that made his cheeks hurt like the muscles in his face were finally being used in a way they had forgotten long ago.

"You're laughing now," he continues, his smile playing through his voice, "but wait until she finds out I've been skipping the morning pills here and there. She'll hang me by my toes in the foyer."

Dalia shook her head, her words lost to the sweet sound of her giggle, "You deserve it."

That sweet, pretty laugh.

"I shouldn't laugh," she murmurs, the smile still stretching her full lips, "She's been with me since I first opened the clinic."

"And she hates me like I've been there since the first day," he muttered, his burning gaze not leaving the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled.

"She hates everyone," she replied, her smile still there, "but especially men who don't stay on their medication schedule."

That made him grin again─crooked, boyish.

"You've got a dangerous laugh, Dr. Hassan," he said lowly.

That made her pause, her brow raising at him.

"Makes me forget I'm bleeding," he continued.

Her smile faltered─a flicker of something deeper passing in the soft breath she let out through her parted lips before she collected herself as she bandaged him.

"Then we'll keep it rare," she whispered.

But the damage has already been done. Because here she was, the woman in pretty pink, laughing like the world hadn't tried to ruin her.

And it made him feel for one singular impossible moment that it hadn't ruined him either.

And now? That laugh was his favorite sound.

The room fell silent again, except now it glowed with something that had to do with the way his heart skipped a beat when she entered the room and how her hair fell in bouncy jet-black waves around her hips.

She continued to organize and label quietly, and without turning she spoke to him again, "We need to address your sleep."

He watched her as she moved, how tiny her waist was, how he wondered why she wore that damn corset every day when he was sure he could wrap both of his hands around her waist without it.

"Do you still have those nightmares?"

He didn't answer.

She finally turned to meet his eyes, "I have something I want to try with you," she spoke, "a sleep study. But we need to sit down and talk about it so you understand what it entails."

That was his moment, and he'd be damned if he didn't snatch it. So he stood, slowly pulling his coat as he asked: "Late lunch, then?"

She paused, blinking those long lashes at him in slow, deep thought. And then she nodded. "You're my only patient today."

"I know." it was by his design, of course.

She shook her head softly as they walked through the door he held open for her, her eyes avoiding his for a second like she didn't want to admit she liked that he made sure he was the only one.

They walked down the clinic hall together, his hands adjusting her ivory wool coat around her shoulders as he helped her get it on. Nurses passed by then, smiling politely and casting quick, curious glances.

And then─they passed her. The nurse that Thomas had joked about earlier, her hair bun still lethal and her clipboard pressed to her chest like a warrior's shield. Dalia slowed, only slightly, and the nurse offered half of a nod and smile before disappearing down the hall.

But Thomas saw it. He saw the slightest tug at her lips which she then pursed together to keep from spreading.

May 3rd, 1923, Edgbaston, Birmingham, United Kingdom.

Of course, there were no exceptions to the area he took her. The nice part of Birmingham, he always wanted nice things for her. The part of town with gaslit alleyways and polished stores, the kind of place where the restaurants wore silence and jazz like jewelry.

Thomas walked by her side, hand brushing her back in a way he hoped chivalry covered up for that possessive ache he held whenever he had others around her.

He didn't wait to be seated, he had his table ready in his head. In the back, away from view. Dim lighting with scented candles and soft linen folded napkins.

And she said nothing when he pulled out her chair for her, his breath on the curve of her throat as he tucked her in snuggly against the table. She simply stared at him with that soft quiet gaze he could never get used to─like she already knew what he was trying to give her and didn't need to question why.

He sat close, his chair pulled too near to her side to be professional. But he didn't care, just draped his coat behind him as he watched her drink from the cup of water.

"Put that down, Thomas," she said softly when he reached for his cigarette case.

And he did, giving her that small cheeky grin he reserved only for her when she scolded him like that.

"I want to try this sleep study," she began, her finger tracing the rim of the cup, "it's not medication. Not yet. It's something therapeutic, gentle exposure."

He didn't answer right away, his eyes tracing her nail as it moved against the curve of the glass, "Sounds like therapy."

"It is."

He tilted his head, "I don't believe in therapy."

"You believe in me."

That made him look away, just for a moment. When he looked back at her again, his eyes traced the curve of her bottom lip.

"I do."

And that was the only reason why any medication she gave him could work.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun had just begun to retreat as they left. The sky was caught in that golden hour between two times of day, where the shadows stretched long against the pavement and his eyes turned a warmer shade of blue. His coat caught in the wind and her heels clicked lightly on the stone.

She laughed again at something he dryly said, soft and quick, her head tilted slightly in as she let him see her like that. And then she stopped, her eyes catching on something up ahead.

A black cat sat perched on the flat top of the restaurant gate, lying against the warmed stone, watching them with half-lidded green eyes like it knew something they didn't.

"Oh," she breathed, her hand already unwrapping the white paper around her turkey sandwich that she had refused to waste at the restaurant.

And when she crouched slowly, Thomas held her hand to steady her as her heels balanced on the cobblestone.

The fabric of her coat pooled around her like fog settling on land, and the cat began to lazily walk over when it saw her break apart the meat and set it on the wrapper.

Thomas knelt beside her, his hand still in hers, his gaze never once leaving the way her brown eyes reflected the sun like honey did.

She smiled, still blissfully watching the cat eat, "looks like mine," she said softly, "always sulking and lazy."

And he believed her. He would believe anything she said in that honeyed voice of hers.

He helped her up when the cat had finished eating, staring up at them as its pink tongue darted to lick around its mouth.

"Come on," she says, "let's walk. You need the fresh air. We can talk more about your sleep." Her voice was almost playful as if she wasn't the same woman who once held a scalpel like a soldier wielded a rifle in battle.

And he did, not because he needed air, not because he needed to fix his sleep, but because he needed her.

The sky glowed a soft ombre of orange and pink around them─the light soaking into the buildings, into her skin, into the dark expanse of her hair. He walked beside her, their hands brushing when the path narrowed or the crowd thickened.

The cat followed. Quiet, and loyal, its tail high and trailing at their feet like it had belonged to them forever.

They wandered the market the way people in love did when they both knew but wouldn't admit it. People noticed him as the stalls whirled by; fabric, bread, a fiddle playing somewhere in the crowd. People always noticed him.

But this time it was different.

It wasn't about the man dressed in all black wandering like a warning of death, it wasn't about the gun at his side, it wasn't about the blood that stained his hands. It was about the way he looked at her.

Thomas Shelby: soft. Thomas Shelby: following. Thomas Shelby: in love.

Some smiled like they couldn't believe it, others stared like he had just grown another head, but no one dared interrupt.

She paused suddenly, her steps faltering as she tilted her head at a stall nearby. And when he followed her gaze, he knew the bad feeling he had deep in his gut finally conjured to reality.

Dalia stood in front of a Gypsy stall, nothing grand, just old fabric and hanging herbs and talismans, a dark-haired woman seated inside watching them with shadowed eyes.

"Have you ever had a tea reading?" Dalia asked him as she stepped forward, her eyes still on the stall.

Thomas didn't answer. Not right away. Because something inside him burned.

His people.

He knew what sort of things they dealt in, what they saw when no one else did, what they whispered into the shadows of the night as herbs burned and cards were set out.

And this woman with the wrinkled hands and beaded hair wasn't anything but a danger in his eyes.

He touched gently at her arm, his voice low, "Let's keep walking."

He began to guide her away but she turned a bit, still had that look of curiosity dancing in her eyes, but something else lingered there.

Then she tilted her head up at him, her lashes fluttering as brown met blue. And then she pouted. Just a soft, subtle pout of her bottom lips, the kind of look that would make him stab anyone else but on her it was lethal.

Unexpected, elegant, sweet.

"You never let me have any fun, Mr. Shelby."

Thomas blinked.

Her eyes were glittering, playful, and mischievous as she stared up at him. And he was stunned silent. Because this wasn't the surgeon who had held him together, this wasn't the woman who met his eyes fearlessly when he showed up on her doorstep. This was her; effortless and as sweet as spring dusk.

His lips twitched into a smile he couldn't fight down, "Fun?"

"I wanted to see how the leaves would swirl in my favor," she mumbled dramatically, her eyes rolling as she huffed and turned her body away from him slightly, "but no...no fortunes, no spells. Just more walking around with the grumpiest man in England."

Thomas laughed. He actually laughed. Because her little pout, her gentle tease, her soft whine, the way the pink of her blouse shifted like it had never known stiffness─all of it was so disarming he didn't stand a single chance.

And so he reached out, pulling her back to his side as he laced their fingers together and spoke in that dry, low tone: "Fine. Let's get your bloody tea reading."

She smiled, slow and soft and pleased.

And Thomas Shelby─war-torn and cursed and broken─held the hand of a woman in pink who pouted like a girl and still made him feel like he was a man who deserved something good.

The cat followed them as they walked into the stall, tail high and a silent witness to something looming ahead. Something much more devastating than seeing her in pink.

The air felt more still like it had been waiting for her to enter. The old woman didn't smile, she didn't move, just nodded once like she had known Dalia would return. Thomas's jaw shifted a bit, his body practically shielding her side.

"You're sure?" He muttered.

"Yes," she said gently, offering him that small smile that always undid him.

He didn't move, nor did he speak. He watched as she sat on the old carved chair, her legs elegantly crossed and her hands resting neatly in her lap. He stood behind her like a shadow, his abdomen pressing against her back like he was anchoring them together. She didn't pull away, not even when his hand clenched the edge of the chair's backrest like he would use it as a weapon if he had to.

The cat curled beside his shoes, its tail flicking as it settled like it was waiting for something to happen.

The old woman finally moved to pour tea from a small brass kettle into a delicate chipped porcelain cup, her eyes turning more foggy behind the rising steam.

No one spoke as Dalia accepted the tea and took a single sip, not a single breath was let out as the woman took the cup and turned it in her hand. Once. Twice.

Her brows pinched in concentration. Then she turned the cup again. Thomas leaned closer, his breath just above her head.

And then she finally spoke:

"Something ancient is following you."

Dalia didn't move. Thomas didn't either save for his hand that tightened on the chair.

"It has sharp teeth and a name that no one speaks aloud."

Dalia's voice was steady, but hushed now, "What name?"

The woman's sharp gaze snapped up to her. Then past her right at Thomas.

"You already know it."

His breathing stopped for half a second. Dalia felt the shift behind her. The woman turned the cup once more, her face hovering above it now as she glared at the leaves.

"It wants fire, wants to watch it all burn."

She paused for only a moment, "It wants to be remembered."

Dalia's posture held straight, but Thomas could feel the tension in her shoulders. She asked then, softly, "Will it get what it wants?"

The woman looked up. Then spoke calmly: "Only if the man behind you stays."

Thomas inhaled sharply. Dalia then craned her neck up to look up at him, and he was already watching her. He was already waiting, his face unreadable but his eyes were burning.

Thomas simply just helped her up, adjusting her coat around her shoulders without being asked. The cat followed.

And together─the woman in pink and the man in black, the doctor and the gangster─they walked away.

And behind them, the gypsy woman had whispered something under her breath that only the cat heard.

The market was nearly empty now, the sky had gone a deep lavender color and the wind picked up as it trailed the ends of her long hair the same way his coat flapped here and there.

Thomas opened the back door of the car for her, the driver already waiting. But she didn't step in right away.

Instead, she turned towards the little black shadow that had followed them since they left the restaurant, faithfully curled at Thomas's shoes and watching her with wide green eyes like it had chosen her before she even noticed it.

She picked it up, wrapping it in her coat like petals around a night cloud and Thomas said nothing, he just watched as the cat purred in her arms like it belonged there.

"My girl will love you," she murmured.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, "Your girl?"

"My cat."

She said it simply as if that explained everything. And somehow it did. He didn't argue─he could never say no to her, he simply just helped her into the car and slid into the backseat next to her because something in him told him that she shouldn't be alone right now. That she needed to be held.

So he didn't ask as the car began to drive off, he just simply tucked her into his side, one arm wrapped around her shoulder as her body leaned into his without resistance, her head settling against his chest as the cat's purrs filled the silence.

And the silence wasn't cold. It was protective, as if he held her tight enough, close enough, that whatever had been awakened in that stall might forget it ever saw her.

As the car moved out of the cobbled streets into the fading violet of the evening, Thomas Shelby held the woman he could never quite leave alone���not out of possession or need─but out of fear.

Out of fear that something older than both of them from his own cursed past had just noticed she existed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @moonbeamott

authors note: the story is going to get soooo good! the plot is finally moving along and im so excited to write out the next crazy chapters. thanks for reading! also taglist and dms are always open if anyone wants to be added or just simply chat :)

[helladventurers]

Ughhhh, looks like I'll need to do 10 sessions with a phsychiatrist before i go ahead with the exams that allow me to get a proper autism diagnosis 😑 i hope i don't get another fucking nutjob this time

[hitoshitoshi]

Hair Washing [Husband!Zayne x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Summary: You take care of Zayne and he allows it for once in his life.

Tags: Established Relationship, Married life, Hair Washing, Self Degradation, Hurt/Comfort, Self Indulgent, Workaholic and Stubborn Zayne, Domestic fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Romance.

Zayne drove his Audi into the garage, the purr of the engine fading to silence as he cut the ignition. As the garage door descended, shutting out the world where it was just him in his car — his forehead resting against the steering wheel, eyes closed, the weight of a 16-hour shift was hitting him like a fire being snuffed out by a lid. 

'Pull yourself together,' Zayne chided internally, straightening up with a soft inaudible groan. 

Flipping down the sun visor mirror, Zayne assessed his reflection. Dark circles lurked beneath his hazel eyes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin lost a bit of its glow. Zayne grabbed a comb and meticulously smoothed out his hair into place. 

'You have no right to burden others with your childish grievances,' Zayne reminded himself, a mantra born of years of self-imposed stoicism. Zayne would not allow himself to ever burden you with such a pitiful thing such as tiredness or to ever make you worry as long as he lived. 

Satisfied with his appearance, Zayne exited the car, his movements deliberately measured to hide his bone-deep fatigue that threatened to consume him. As he approached the house, he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The mask, Dr. Zayne — the Cardiac Surgeon, slid off as he was now Zayne, your husband. He opened the door, stepping into the warmth of your shared home. 

Zayne called out to you, "I'm home," his voice was steady and neutral, betraying none of the relief he felt at finally being home to where you were, in the house you two had lived in and cherished.

The sounds of rapid footsteps echoed through the house, and Zayne felt a flutter of warmth in his chest. You appeared, eyes bright with joy and relief that your beloved husband came home from work. For a moment, Zayne allowed a soft smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he drank in the sight of his partner. 

Your heart raced at the sight of Zayne, a mix of excitement and concern washed over you. You rushed forward, arms outreached for a hug, but you stopped mid-motion as you took in Zayne's appearance. Despite Zayne's immaculate exterior, you knew Zayne more than anyone else to know that he was tired —  the slight degree of a slump in Zayne's shoulders, the barely perceptible tightness around Zayne's eyes, the shadows under Zayne's eyes being a shade too dark. Your heart clenched, seeing the man you loved with your entire soul, pushing himself so hard. 

"Zayne, you look tired," You said softly as you reached out to touch Zayne's arm. Your fingers trembled slightly, torn between the desire to pull him close and the fear of overstepping even if you two were already married. "Let me take care of you tonight."

Zayne felt a surge of conflicting emotions at your words —  gratitude warring with his ingrained need for self-reliance. It was always Zayne treating and spoiling you, and not the other way around. Even the times when you tried to spoil him back, Zayne would always find a way to turn it around so that it was back to him spoiling you. His eyebrow arched slightly, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement to hide the vulnerability he felt.

"I'm fine," Zayne replied, his tone leaving  no room for argument, even as an iota of him longed to give in, "It was just another day at the hospital." Zayne knew that he couldn't convince you since you were as stubborn as him, but it couldn't hurt to try.

 Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. You could see the weariness Zayne was trying so hard to hide, and it made your chest tighten with worry. You insisted, "You've been gone for over 16 hours and this was the 3rd time this week back to back that you've had these long shifts. You need to rest. Let me help you rest." 

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've had longer shifts that were more troubling throughout the years," Zayne countered, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his resolve wavering under your gaze —  he hated concerning you. He hated making you feel this way —  he hated himself for making you feel this way. 

You stepped closer, your hand was gentle but insistent on Zayne's arm. You could feel the tension in his muscles and the slight tremor of exhaustion. "Please, Zayne," you pleaded, "Let me do this for you once. You always take care of me, let me take care of you sometimes. Even if it's on a blue moon, let me take care of you once." 

Zayne's eyes shifted away as he let out a sigh, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with gratitude as he reluctantly gave in. "Fine," Zayne conceded, his tone was of his usual deadpan but it was tinged with affection. "If it will put your mind at ease." 

Your face broke into a warm smile, relief and love shining in your eyes. You grabbed Zayne’s hand as you led Zayne towards the bathroom. Zayne allowed himself to lean slightly into your touch. For once, Zayne allowed himself to accept the care he so often denied himself. 

You filled the bathtub with hot water, the sound of rushing liquid filling the quiet room. You added a generous amount of bubble bath, watching as frothy suds formed on the surface. The scent of rose oil wafted through the air as you added a few drops of it to the water. Your heart raced in anticipation and nervousness, hoping that you’d be able to take away Zayne’s stress. 

Soft light from carefully placed candles flickered across the walls as you dimmed the overhead lights. You turned to Zayne who stood in the doorway — a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression. 

“Come,” You said softly, extending your hand out towards him. Zayne took your hand, allowing himself to be led to the bathtub. He raised your hand up to his lips as he gave your knuckles a soft kiss as a thank you. Zayne didn’t know the last time someone had put effort into him that wasn’t you — at least, someone who didn’t have any outside intentions of being nice to him. Zayne was forever thankful that he had such a kind spouse in his life, that out of all the lives he had lived, that he was able to be with you in this one.

As Zayne settled into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped his lips. The tension he’d been carrying began to melt away, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Your heart swelled with affection at the sight of Zayne finally relaxing.

With gentle movements, you began to soak Zayne’s hair with warm water. Your fingers combed through the dark strands, careful not to tug or cause discomfort. Zayne’s breathing deepened slightly, the rhythmic motion lulled him into a state of calm he only experienced with and around you. 

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your palm. The fresh, clean scent filled the air as you began to work it into Zayne’s scalp. Starting at the temples, you used your fingertips to massage in small, circular motions, applying gentle pressure to stimulate blood flow and to clean all of Zayne’s hair and his head. As your fingers worked their way to the base of Zayne’s skull, you could feel the tension that Zayne’s been holding start to loosen. Zayne let out a low hum of appreciation —  the sound sending a small flutter though your chest. God, you loved your husband so much. You worked the shampoo through the rest of Zayne’s hair.

Once Zayne’s hair was thoroughly lathered, you began to rinse it clean. You used a small cup to pour warm water over his head —  your other hand acted as a shield to prevent shampoo from running into his eyes. Zayne’s thoughts drifted, the simple act of being cared for stirred emotions that he usually kept tightly controlled.

Next, You reached for the conditioner, applying a generous amount through Zayne’s hair —  focusing on the ends which tended to be drier. You began to massage Zayne’s scalp once more.You used your thumbs as you applied pressure to the occipital ridge at the base of Zayne’s skull. You then moved to the crown, using your fingertips to make small circular motions. You paid special attention to Zayne’s temples as you used gentle sweeping motions with your thumbs to ease away the day’s stress.

As your fingers worked their magic, Zayne felt himself surrendering to the care being lavished upon him as his eyes fluttered closed once more, his entire body relaxing in the hot water. A surge of protectiveness and tenderness surged through you as you noticed the change in Zayne’s demeanor. You bent your head down as you placed a soft kiss on your husband’s lips who reciprocated the kiss with even more gentleness in his movements.

“Thank you,” Zayne murmured against your lips— his voice was low and thick with emotion. The simple phrase carried the weight of all the gratitude and affection he struggled to express aloud.

You continued massaging Zayne’s scalp as you replied to him softly, “Always.”

The rhythmic pitter-patter of water being poured filled the air as you rinsed out Zayne’s hair; steam curled lazily around them, carrying the fading scent of the conditioner. Zayne’s breathing slowed as the last of the conditioner washed away. Your hand found Zayne’s elbow, steadying him as he rose. The sudden change in position sent a momentary rush to Zayne’s head, his usual grace faltering. Your eyes met Zayne’s briefly in the foggy mirror as you reached for the robe hanging nearby; the dark purple fabric rich against the bathroom’s pale tiles. As you helped Zayne slip on the robe, the soft material settled against his skin, still warm and slightly damp. The sound of footsteps resonated through the house as you both made your way to the bedroom. The air was cooler, raising goosebumps on Zayne’s exposed skin. He sank down onto the bed’s edge; the mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You moved behind him with a towel in hand. The first touch of terrycloth against Zayne’s nape sent a shiver down his spine — bare perceptible but there. You towel dried Zayne’s hair as his eyelids grew heavy; his usual sharp focus softened around the edges.  You reached over to the nightstand where you grabbed the comb, its teeth scraped gently against Zayne’s scalp, with each pass detangling your husband’s hair — detangling all of the stress in Zayne’s mind who only focused on you and your touch. A clock ticked softly somewhere as the lamp on the other side of the bedroom casted a warm glow that softened the lines of their faces, illuminating your faces and your love. As you worked, Zayne found his gaze drawn to your reflection in the dresser mirror. He watched the play of emotions across your face: concentration in the slight furrow of your brows with care in the gentle set of your mouth. Something stirred in Zayne’s chest — an emotion he had sought after for so long that he would fight with his entire soul to keep.

“I love you.”

“I love you most”.

It was more than just a hair wash to both you and Zayne; it was an act of love, trust, and vulnerability that would deepen your bond in ways words could never express. 

A/N: I love Zayne. I really really really love Zayne as you can tell. Have I mentioned that I love Zayne? Because I love Zayne. I have Zayne smut in drafts thats halfway written :3

Masterlist | TWITTER

[puma-riki]

ᴋɪss ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴍᴇ ── . ⟡ ☾ ˎˊ˗

𝘉𝘰𝘹𝘦𝘳! 𝘙𝘪𝘬𝘪 𝘹 𝘨𝘯! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⋆ 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 ∘ 𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 ○ 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 ∘ 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 ⋆

𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 : After a brutal fight, Ni-ki trudges back home to you, exhausted and bruised, seeking comfort in your lap as you patch him up. Sleepy, delirious, and clingy, he bargains for your affection.

★ ──── Not Proofread

──────────────────── ˚☽˚.⋆

"Ow," Ni-ki's monotone voice broke through the silence between you for the nth time tonight.

"I told you to stay still." You tsk. Ni-ki's sitting on the floor in front of you as you sit on the couch. His arms are crossed across your lap. A very comfortable place if you ask him.

A bit too comfortable because this is his 3rd time nodding off, but he just can't help it. He's just dragged his half-beaten self back to your apartment, tired and wounded. Your hand supporting his cheek, while you dab at his busted-up lip with a cotton ball soaked in cleaner, doesn't help either.

"I am staying still, you're just trying to kill me." He says, his eyes half-lidded, as he looks up at you, his face still resting in your palm.

"Well, you wanted to stay down there, where I can hardly reach. I'm not trying to hurt you." You tell him, turning to the first aid kit on your right to grab a clean cotton ball.

Ni-ki sighs as your fingers brush against his cheek, the warmth of your palm cradling his face making it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. He's so tired. Every muscle in his body aches, the dull throb of his bruises melting into something distant as he sinks further into your lap.

His arms stay folded over your thighs, anchoring him there, he never wants to move again. You're mumbling something about how reckless he is and how if he had been more careful he probably wouldn't be complaining about the pain he's in right now.

But your voice is soft-- too soft for him to take it as a real scolding.

His lashes flutter as you softly press a warm rag around his face, wiping away any sweat or blood that's gathered there. your touch is gentle, his body feels heavier with each passing second, his breathing slowing as sleep starts to creep in.

But then, through his haze, he feels the way your thumb brushes over the curve of his jaw. It's so light, so careful, and something about it makes his heart thud against his ribs.

His eyes crack open, half lidded, drowsy, but focused entirely on you. You're so close.

Before he can think twice, he tilts his chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips-

A sharp sting cuts through the haze. He jerks back instantly, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Ah- ow." His voice is barely more than a whimper, his brows furrowing in betrayed frustration.

You blink at him, lips parting before a laugh slips out. "I told you to stop moving."

Ni-ki huffs, his expression crumpling into something pitiful. "But I wanted a kiss from you."

You shake your head, clearly trying to suppress another laugh. "You might be out of luck. Your lip is gonna take a few days, maybe even a week or two to heal properly."

Ni-ki sighs, rubbing his eyes. Then in a completely deadpan voice, he mutters, "Okay, You can just kill me now then."

You snort, pushing his hair back with your free hand. "I think you'll live."

He groans, slumping forward, burying his face into your thighs. "Maybe we can try one more time-"

"No."

"What about half a kiss?" His voice is muffled against your clothes, hopeful despite the pout in his tone.

You exhale, fingers threading through his hair in slow, soothing motions. "Maybe tomorrow, when your lip isn't so swollen."

Ni-ki is silent for a beat before he shifts again, tipping his head up just enough to look at you with glossy, pleading eyes. "Can you at least give me a kiss? Here." He lazily lifts his head, tapping at the apple of his cheek, where a fresh bruise is blooming.

You deadpan. "Riki, you're hurt there too. You've got bruises all over." You tell him, picking up one of his hands and grazing your thumb across his beaten knuckles.

"Maybe you can kiss it off me then," He mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion, but entirely serious. You're surprised he's even awake and holding a conversation with you right now.

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. "That's not how bruises work. You should just go lay in bed and get some sleep."

"Not until I get a kiss," He insists, shifting slightly in your lap to make himself more comfortable. He smirks, though its faint, lazy. "You're pretty comfy. I could sleep like this if I have to."

You sigh, pretending to be exasperated. Leaning down, you press a soft, lingering kiss to the apple of his cheek, careful to avoid the worst of his bruise.

Ni-ki grins. "Another one."

You scoff. "You're so needy."

Ni-ki raises his head to look at you again, a soft plea leaves his lips. If you weren't right in front of him, you might not have heard it. "Please [Name]"

Your name falling off his lips so lovingly and pathetically sends a shiver down your spine. You watch him for a moment. His features are softened by fatigue, his breathing slow and steady. Then your hands move to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over the bruises with the lightest touch.

Slowly, gently, you press another kiss to his cheek. Then one to his temple. Another to his jaw. A soft kiss to the space between his brows. The corner of his eye. The bridge of his nose. Each one is careful, feather light, filled with quiet affection.

Ni-ki doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes. Just exhales slowly, melting further into your hands. He relishes in it, the warmth of your touch, in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Maybe getting beat up isn't so bad.

You kiss every space except his lips, the place he aches to have your lips touch most.

Suddenly, the kisses stop.

The warmth of your breath lingers just out of reach, your lips hovering close, but not touching.

Ni-ki's lashes flutter, but he keeps his eyes shut, his heart stuttering when he realizes you're hesitating. A slow needy ache curls in his chest, and without thinking, he nudges his nose against yours, wordlessly seeking you out.

he tilts forward, leaning in to close the gap between your lips.

Pain.

Sharp, immediate, and unforgiving.

He recoils with a quiet, pitiful hiss, pressing his palm to his lips. "Okay- ow."

You burst into a fit of laughter, shaking your head as you gently pry his hand away. "I literally just told you to give it a rest."

Ni-ki groans, how could he forget. He pouts like a scolded child. "Not fair."

"That's what you get." You boop his nose, and he scrunches up in response.

Through his pain and wounded pride, he takes back what he said earlier.

────────────────────

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

should I make a part 2 for this or nah

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧!)ᯓ★

Taglist | @jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @chrrific @stvrriki @hyukabean ...loading

[buckyandgeraltsupremacy]

remus x shy!reader

author: sj

warnings: fluff; reader is in hufflepuff; not edited lol

let me know if you want a part 2 cause i love writing for remus rn

masterlist

part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

---

you shared a lot of classes with the marauders. you weren’t even sure they knew your name. but even though you thought they didn’t know you, there was one marauder who always noticed you. remus could spot you in a crowd of one hundred. his eyes always searching for a yellow tie and your h/c hair. he thought you were so smart and always watched you take notes in every class admiring how focused you were on your studies. to be honest, that’s one of the reasons he always went to the library to study, he knew you’d be in there as well.

james had noticed this little thing remus had for you as early at 3rd year. he watched remus silently watch the hufflepuff girl with h/c hair. he didn’t try to intervene until they were older, still watching him pine over the same girl that had remus’ attention. he didn’t really know what to do so he told sirius and of course he knew exactly what to do.

you were sitting in potions after class had ended, classmates filtering out and gathering your things when someone came up to you and started talking to you. low and behold it was sirius.

“hey! i’m sirius” he said, shoving his hand towards you. you nodded, waking yourself out of shock that a marauder was introducing himself to you like they weren’t the talk of the school.

“y/n.” you replied, shaking his hand.

“great. my friend remus, you know remus right? tall, lanky, always holding a book, he’s sick and is always draining on and on about how smart you are so i thought i’d ask you for notes for him. id give him mine but i didn’t take any.” you cheeks turned red at the idea of them talking about you, much less remus thinking that you were smart.

“um. yeah. i can do that, let me copy them onto another piece of parchment and then you can take them to him.”

“perfect! come by the gryffindor common room anytime tonight and we’ll be there!”

when you finished up copying the notes that night, you stopped by the gryffindor common room to drop off the notes. you didn't have the password so knocking on the portrait would have to do. you stepped back and the door swung open to reveal sirius giving you and oddly big grin.

"come on in, love! so lovely of you to drop these notes off for poor remus." he ushered you inside and you stepped through looking around the room. you quickly found the rest of the marauders sitting by the fireplace, james, peter, and a tired looking remus. his eyes widened when you walked through the door, instantly shooting to james and peter and back to you.

"had a surprise for you remus. i know how much you love your notes, so i thought i'd ask for some from the master herself." sirius said, pushing you towards the group. your cheeks burned as you dug through your bag on you shoulder to find your copy of notes for him. you finally found them and took a few steps forward to remus who was sitting up straighter as you got closer.

"here you go. i just copied them from the notes that i took today. i hope they're good enough. i'm not sure what your normal style is that you're used to so i this helps." you said in a rush, looking down at your notes. you extended them towards the boy sitting by the fire. he reached for them.

"thank you so much y/n! you really didn't have to do this. did sirius make you any threats or force you do this?" he asked, lowering his voice slightly. you lightly laughed as a shocked sirius gasped and muttered some words you couldn't understand.

"no, no. i promise i did this of my own free will." you said, glancing up at his eyes. his smile reached his eyes once your eyes met and you instantly felt warm inside.

and so thats how your relationship started to form with the marauders. they soon started coming up to talk with you during classes and inviting you to sit with them at meals when they noticed you sitting by yourself.

your favorite though, was when you'd be in the library and remus would ask to sit at your table. he would work with you silently and you'd trade questions about homework back and forth, eventually even recommending books to each other.

you even got so close to them that the boys started including you in the teasing. one specific day, the boys found you and remus reading in the common room together. you were sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table and he was sitting behind you on the couch. the boys came in loud and instantly disrupted the calmness. sirius came bouding over to you and sat across the coffee table on the floor.

"i thought of one for you." he said, slapping his hands on the table. you jumped at the abrupt sound and leaned back on to remus' legs. the boys had been trying to figure out a good nickname for you so you could join their fun nicknames, but you weren't an anigmus like they were so there were lots of options but not of them really were fitting you quite right.

"what is it?" you asked, relaxing against remus' legs.

"flea. its perfect. you're small, quiet and annoying." you gasped and immediately sat up in protest.

"no! thats horrible i don't want to be called a flea, you git!" you exclaimed.

"but it just fits so well, flea. i can't deny how perfect it is for you." you started to protest, but a big hand stopped you. the hand, from remus, wrapped around your shoulder and guided you back to his legs, scooching you to between his legs and under him. his hands grabbed your shoulders and started to work there, massaging your tight shoulders.

"we're not calling her flea." remus insisted. you shivered and you hoped he thought it was from his hands and not his commanding voice. james then spoke up.

"what about hoppers?" you tilted your head and looked up at remus to hear his response, not protesting that one.

"she sure is as cute as a bunny and the size of one too. i vote yes." he said, looking down into your face. james nodded his head and sirius huffed.

"i still like flea better but hoppers will do when you don't annoy me, flea." sirius grumbled. you rolled your eyes and relaxed into remus' touch more, your eyes closing. unbeknownst to you, his small smile grew as he continued to massage your shoulders.

[gothic-thoughts]

His Favorite Nurse

Michael Myers x Black Fem Reader Angst

AslumPatient!Michael, Nurse!Reader, Kinda Dark, Feat. Dr. Loomis

Part 2: Right Here

Part 4 (Last): Right Here

CW: reassuring Michael after a rampage, he just missed u fr,

TW: gore/blood mention

Word Count: 1973 (give or take)

On my day back, I walked into the asylum to hear alarms blaring loudly, but I was in the lobby so everything seemed fine. It was only after hearing the faint sounds of police sirens that I ran into the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as it took me to the 3rd floor. When it dings open, I run into the hallway Michael’s room was in, heels clicking quickly until I reach the start of the corridor but I freeze in place.

My jaw drops and my breath halts.

Bodies of guards and nurses were scattered all over the hall accompanied by their own puddles of blood, some had their heads crushed into a chunky mess while others had their throats ripped out. None of these puddles are dry, did he just do this? Why? And where is he? Despite my stomach being sick I push through, stepping past and over the multiple corpses.

“S-She’s coming back, I swear!” He whimpered, “Please, I didn’t mean it,  just please...!”

Shit, that’s the next hall. I turn the corner to see The Shape further down the hall stalking towards an unarmed guard who crawled back from him with a brutally broken arm, begging for his life. The killer’s hands, arms, and feet were soaked in blood, I could hear his heavy breathing from all the way down here. 

Without thinking, I ran a little closer in hopes of distracting him from earning another kill as loud police sirens closed in from afar. I stopped a good 20 feet from my big, murderous patient and did the only thing I could think of to potentially distract him enough:

“Michael!!”

The Shape freezes in place, his long, shaggy hair shifting as he slowly lifts his head from the guard. He looks back over his shoulder almost as if to confirm it was me before turning his entire body to face me, leaving the guard completely forgotten behind him. My heart pounded with fear and disbelief that I actually stopped him, even if for only a second. I remain still, watching him from afar and he doesn't move either, most likely analyzing me from behind that orange mask of his.

“I... I'm back...?”

After another long 10 seconds of silence, he tilts his head to the right. Then takes a step forward, foot thudding from his weight.

I stumble back a little but he continues to approach wordlessly, with slow, deliberate steps.

“Uh, hey big guy...”

His breaths are instantly back to being undetectable, even more so as more police sirens join the others. At first, I wanted to let him close the gap between us but the scent of blood— the sight of it practically dripping from his body combined with the intensity of the moment made my courage crumble and I ran in the other direction. I hear Michael huff angrily as his heavy footsteps stomp quickly behind me, closing the distance as if my running didn’t matter, his longer legs helping him gain on me in seconds— in my defense, I was wearing heels. 

Knowing that I wasn’t gonna be able to outrun him, I started banging on all the patients' doors in the hall, hoping to find an unlocked one as my heart raced. Little did I know, this whole floor had been evacuated right after Michael broke out and before my shift started.

“Hello!? Let me in!” I begged, “C’mon, please! Somebody help me!”

Nobody responds, the only sound being the loud footsteps of the nearly 7-foot killer getting closer. As I reach the next handle, Michael suddenly grabs my arm, causing me to scream as he forcefully spins me to face him. He calmly and slowly leans down to look at me while I panic but as soon as I try to pull away, he roughly pulls me flush against his blood-soaked clothes with a single grunt.

“Michael, no!” A familiar voice called, “Stop!”

I look back over my shoulder to see a group of police officers running behind Dr. Loomis with their guns drawn as they make their way down the blood-soaked hallway. They all stop and stand at the end of the corridor, smartly staying a safe distance from Michael. Tears sting the corner of my eyes as I wait for him to hurt me.

But he doesn't. 

In fact, upon seeing Loomis he pulled me impossibly closer to his bloody shirt, holding me so tight against him that a small amount seeped from the fabric and smeared my right cheek.

“What is he doing...?” Loomis asks aloud, “He's never done anything like this before; he doesn’t take hostages. Michael... Let the girl go... please.”

Michael doesn't say a word, his head never lifting to even consider looking at Loomis.

“Please...” I whimper, choking up, “P-Please don’t hurt me...”

“Michael...” Loomis says, taking a step forward, “She's begging you. Don’t hurt her, let her go.”

The doctor’s step made the masked killer immediately take another step back.

“No.” I sniffle, looking up at him, “Please don’t hurt me, just... please.”

He tilted his head to the side, at least giving me some confirmation that he was listening to me, but his arm didn’t even attempt to loosen from around my back. That’s when Loomis picked up on something:

“Do... you like her?” He asks gently, “That’s it, isn’t it... you like her...?”

I tense at his words, eyes widening at the revelation. After all this time, Michael hadn’t made a single move to hurt me. He hadn’t crushed me, broke my neck, hit me, nothing. I had been in his grasp for over a minute and the only thing wrong is how fucking terrifying he is. I look up at the killer's mask and take it upon myself to try something— since we already bonded a little, it didn’t seem like that big of a risk. I slowly wrap my arms around Michael’s waist, staining my arms in blood.

“Michael...?” I say, taking a deep breath, “C-Can you can wrap your arms around me... like this?”

The killer stays silent for a moment, head tilting to the right.

“Please...? You’re... You're scaring me...”

He readjusts his head, never taking his cold eyes off me. A couple seconds of silence passed before he readjusted the arm across my back and added his other to mimic me, completely enveloping me in his tight embrace. I gasp softly in disbelief.

“Yeah, like that, good.” I choke up despite being a little calmer, “That’s better...” 

His huge arms instantly relaxed at my words, I even managed to catch a soft breath from behind that orange mask.

“You just killed so many people, and... do you know why...?”

He huffs behind the mask, seemingly agitated again as he starts tensing against me so I instantly shush him and rub his lower back, bringing his large frame to a frighteningly immediate halt.

“Easy, you know I’m just asking. Like the questions last week, remember?”

Another softened huff as he retightened his embrace. Then a subtle nod. He’s really trying his best to be gentle; it’s kinda cute. It’s just too bad my heart was already going a mile a minute. Everyone must think I’m crazy, but I just need to keep him calm... or whatever his version of calm is. 

I can feel Loomis’ and the police’s confused looks on us, completely at a loss of what to do now but I ignore their stares, doing everyone a favor by keeping the murderous giant calm and collected by softly petting his chest and a few gentle words. Somehow.

“That's it, you don’t have to hold me so tight. I won’t go anywhere.”

My eyes stayed locked on the cold, dead blue ones behind the mask, making sure he was watching as I slowly pulled my arms from around him. I rest my hands on his broad, blood-stained chest while I gently coax him to loosen his grip, trying to convince him I wasn’t gonna try to run away, and after a full minute, he finally listens, arms slowly becoming less tense. I smile.

“There you go, see? I'm right here...” I whisper, “Did you hurt all this staff just because I left for the week?”

Michael suddenly drops his arms from my body. He hangs his head, his long, brown hair obscuring his mask as his bloody hands gently grab the chin of his mask and the string on the back of his head, slowly pulling off his mask before promptly dropping it to the floor next to him. I hear the cops murmur, their grips on their weapons tightening as Michael reaches into his pocket, but I hear Loomis shush them.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls out a bloody ID card, the movement making 3 more fall out and clatter to the floor. He didn’t react to them, opting to hold up the first one to my face with his fingers. A...nurse? He killed her and took her ID? Wait... I take the card and pick up the ones that fell, reading all of them to see that they were all nurses.

Between this and what the guard said when he was crawling away, it all clicked: “S-She’s coming back, I swear! Please, I didn’t mean it,  just please...”. I look up at his obstructed face and I couldn’t help but pout sympathetically as if he didn’t just murder 4 nurses and then some.

“I didn’t leave you, and I’m not going to. I just took a break.”

Michael's head lifts slightly, giving me a glimpse of those dead, blue eyes narrowing through his hair. Oh right, I leave when my shift ends. Shit.

“And if I do, I'll be right back; nobody’s replacing me— especially not if this is what you do when you miss me. Next time, I’ll tell you when I’m taking a long break okay?”

He nods subtly.

“Why’d you take off your mask? You didn’t need to.”

He firmly grabs my wrist and to my surprise, he guides it past his dark strands until my palm rests on his cold cheek. I smile at him.

“Aw, you’re kinda cute when you’re not all, uh...” I quickly glance at the carnage around us again, “Angry...?”

A small huff and I could see his eyes close.

“We gotta get you cleaned up, big guy. Can I take you to the showers? I won’t let the police hurt you, but—”

The blue eyes snap open. The killer's body straightens up, lifting his free hand and poking my chest.

“Me...?”

A nod.

“Fair, I guess them hurting you isn’t really the issue but they won’t hurt me either.”

His lack of movement makes me sigh. Without letting go of his face, I look over my shoulder at Loomis wondering how to even ask this.

“Loomis, can you get the police to clean up everything else while I... fix him up?”

“Is he...” Loomis steps back, “Are you sure? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just need you to get the police away cuz he thinks they’ll hurt me.”

“They’ll hurt you?!”

“Just... humor me, alright? Unless you wanna deal with him?”

Loomis rightfully hesitates but knowing the carnage in the next hall, he complies and turns back to face the police, telling them to, at the very least, put their guns away— to leave him alone and carry on with the crime scene clean up as normal— as normal as they can anyway. I look back at Michael, watching his shoulders lower as the cops holster their guns. Once a few start to leave to go get the cleanup team, he finally releases my wrist and steps back, waiting for me to lead him to the shower room.

[the-gay-prometheus]

Ok wait- on the Flatland note regarding Bill's origin story-

Everyone is out here trying to figure out what exactly makes Bill's eye weird. Like. How can he see into the third dimension while the others can't? What makes it weird other than seeing into the third dimension? Do the others in his dimension have two eyes - but how would that make it so they can't see the third dimension? Do they have no eyes at all (definitely not, cuz apparently they have evil optometrists)?

I'm about to (probably not) blow everyone's freakin minds.

Here's a poster for the Flatland movie:

What do you notice about them? Anything interesting? Perhaps something about their eye(s)?

Their eye(s) are located on one side of their face. They can only see forward, or, if they turn around, backward. And that's because, well, it's the 2nd dimension - there are is only left or right, forward or backward. I repeat - they can only see forward.

Now let's look at our beloved (beloathed, and everything in between) triangle demon:

Notice anything about his eye? Anything different? Anything... Weird? Strange?

It's in the middle of his face. Which poses an interesting issue in a 2nd dimensional world... Sure he can look left and right, but what is his default?

His default, if he is on a two dimensional plane, is to look up. "Up" is not a concept in the second dimension. There is no "up" because "up" implies depth - and depth is 3rd dimension, not 2nd.

He doesn't have any special powers that allow him to see into the 3rd dimension - I mean, obviously he has lots of special powers but... They aren't what inherently allow him to see into the 3rd dimension. It's the placement of his eye. The placement is his "defect," not the eye itself. He sees into the 3rd dimension because he has no choice. His default always was to see something that no one else in his world could see - the sky, the stars, and whatever else lay above.

The reason they tried to chemically blind him was because there was no other way to make it so he couldn't see into the third dimension. They probably thought it was a mercy - the poor kid was stuck with the default of always seeing of something that no one else in his world could ever physically see.

[catboybiologist]

Hey it's a life update that probably no one cared about or asked for

tl;dr: I'm likely quitting my PhD via mastering out, and leaving my program in June.

sappy, overly emotional vent/explanation:

I'm wrapping up my first quarter as an out-of-the-closet trans woman. I've had some serious conversations about where me and my work stand. This was always my intention after coming back from my summer hiatus/social transition: see how "reentry" works, and then assess from there.

For those that don't know, PhDs in the US take 5-7 years. Oftentimes, however, they either give you a master's along the way, or give you an option to quit halfway through with a master's. I'm in my 3rd year and have more than enough to use that option. I've toyed with this idea before, but it feels a bit different now. Last year, I was burned out from science, my project was failing, and I was under constant stress of boymoding and remaining in the closet. Now, I'm out and proud, and I deeply love my project and find it exciting. I fixed some things.

Unfortunately, I have a recurrent problem. Whenever something goes wrong in my life, the first thing to drop off is my ability to drive forward my own thesis project in a coherent way. What the actual problems are vary, but that motif stays the same. I could list off what's going on right now, but I think y'all can assume a bit of what a mid-20s, broke, recently transitioned trans woman in the US is going through at the moment. There's a lot of specifics, of course, but I'm not at liberty to say most of it.

So I'm looking around and realizing I have scraps of half finished projects, I've given support and help for other people's projects.... and then made little progress on my actual thesis. It's enough to pull together into a master's thesis, and maybe even another paper or two, but.... not a PhD.

And then there's the other side of it. The nicer reasons. Could I stay here, buckle down, maybe add years to my degree, and get through it? Probably. But honestly? I don't really want to put myself through that now. It used to be that academics was all I had. It was all my failures and all my successes. It's what I threw myself at, because I genuinely had nothing else going on. Since transitioning, the world seems so much more beautiful and rich, so much more complex and vast, with so much more to do in it. I've even had more negative experiences unrelated to academia, and while they've sucked, they've shown me that life is so much bigger than it was before.

To be blunt, to experience more of my life... it helps to have money, and it helps to have career stability. It's not the only factor by far, but certainly one defining moment when making this decision was trying to create a timeline and budget for transition related surgeries, and realizing that its near impossible in grad school.

Not to be dramatic, but I've also had a couple extremely jarring experiences in the past year that are reminded me that life is short. And I want at least some time to enjoy it.

My heart is honestly broken here, and I'm feeling extremely emotional about this. I love my lab, my colleagues, the environment of doing research, and my project. But I'm realizing that it might not be viable, or what makes me the happiest at the moment. I'm genuinely a bit distraught, and I've been crying a lot for the past few days. A lot of me feels like this is what I am, and this is what I'm good for. That I'm failing myself and every mentor that got me here. Some part of me knows that isn't true, some part of me can't let go of those feelings.

But, I know this doesn't mean "never". So many of the people in my program are significantly older than me, coming back later in life to get their degrees. I'm honestly almost positive that I'll come back to a PhD someday if I quit now. In my 30s or beyond, I think that I'll be able equipped to handle it much better.

So what's next?

Obviously, nothing is decided, and I'm just spitballing here. But I'm honestly shocked at how many viable options I have, in a very good way. A cursory scroll of Indeed was honestly therapeutic. As I said, I still love the academic research environment. I just need more money and stability, and would prefer to have a slightly different relationship to the work I do than a thesis project. Ideally, I would want to be a staff researcher in an institute or academic lab. That lets me keep a lot of the things I like about what I do now, while also making literally 2-3 times the money and having a more stable position.There's positions out there that maximize the contexts I'm the strongest and happiest with, while still being more steady and paying more. Hell, even if my responsibilities were identical, but I had more pay, I could probably more effectively address the personal problems I'm going through right now. I'm gonna stay in California for a lot of reasons, and I'm lucky that there's so many options within the state.

I have a bit of an oddball set of experience. I'll actually have two nonoverlapping master's if I do this. I already have a MS in bioinformatics, which was granted by a CS department. But my current program is in more "pure" molecular and cell biology. I'll have 5 years of grad school, 8.5 years of research experience if I include undergrad research, and instead of a PhD, 2 MSs. Which is kinda funny. But it think it helps represent my experience for what it is. I like to consider myself a "full stack" bioinformaticist- someone who can do both the experimental and analysis portions of experiments that produce large data. Hopefully I'll be able to put that to good use.

I have a lot of professional contacts that I'll slowly be reaching out to over the course of the next 6 months while I tie things up. I know this is a wildshot on tumblr of all places, but if anyone has any recommendations, advice, or contacts, I'm all ears- both for professional and job hunt related things, and also the emotional state I'm in right now.

Thank you to everyone that's made up this wonderful community we have online. I hope I'm not letting anyone down. I'll still be a biologist, I'll still be my trans self. I just won't be "Doctor" anytime soon.

[mainstreamangel]

PARTY 4 U

P. Bueckers x Fem!Reader

Summary: You only threw this party for her.

Genre: Angst

Warning(s): Alcohol (legal), hallucinations, mentions of drugs

WC: 1.0k

One thousand purple balloons.

You looked around the holiday house for the birthday girl. This was supposed to be her party. You wanted to give her something special for her 21st birthday.

"Have you seen Paige?" You slurred to a nearby person.

They shook their head before being pulled by their friends.

"Sick party." Someone you didn't know said.

"Thanks, enjoy man."

You continued to stumble through the mass of people.

Dj with your favorite tunes.

You could feel the vibrations of the speakers throughout the floor. 'Pushin' P' by Gunna & Future (Feat. Young Thug) was playing. You sang softly to the words as you pushed past people.

Birthday cake in August. But you were born twentieth of October.

Sighing, you texted her again but she just left you on delivered. Her birthday cake with her favourite colour and her name written perfect cursive, sat pretty on the marble counter top.

You take a plastic fork and dig in. The cake flavour sat on your tongue, lightening your mood just a little bit. The sugar entered your system and gave you a bit of a rush.

Champagne pourin' in your mouth.

You think back to the birthday she threw for your 21st birthday. The champagne tower glistening in the chandelier light. Paige had popped open the cork and poured it in your mouth for your first drink.

Called your friends from out of town.

"Hey girl! Where's P?" Ice asked.

"Somewhere around probably." You lulled your head to the side, a minor headache coming around.

"Are you... alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Ice hesitated but walked off to find Paige. You just didn't have it in you to tell her she wasn't here.

You grabbed a new solo cup and poured yourself more of your drink. You decided to go somewhere quieter so you headed into your room and sat by the window.

Got the party bag with the purple pills. And I'm waiting for you by the window, yeah.

You picked up your phone and decided to call her since it was quieter. Maybe she just didn't get your texts. Of course you had her number memorised so you quickly punch it in and the phone starts ringing.

Called your digits, but the phone kept ringin'. Wish I knew what you were thinking.

"This is Paige Bueckers, don't bother leaving message. That's what texts are for :)"

You sighed and put your phone down.

One thousand purple balloons. Dancin' on to your favorite tunes. Hope you walk in the party, 'cause I threw the party just for you.

A knock sounded at the door. You get up and open it to Paige's friends and former teammates.

"Paige isn't here. Do you know where she is?"

"Sorry. No. Maybe try calling her."

"Alright, well we're going to head out. Thanks for having us."

"No problem."

You walk out of your room and go to get your 3rd drink of the night. Staring out of the window of your holiday house, you see people splashing around in the pool. The same pool you and Paige would skinny dip in when you were younger.

You could watch me pull up on your body. Like it's summer, take my clothes off in the water. Splash around and get you blessed like holy water.

You start to sway a bit, tilting your head to the side. Suddenly you turn around and look at the dining table. You would do your school projects there and Paige would non stop distract you.

"Paige stop!" You laughed.

"I didn't do anything!"

"You're going to get glitter everywhere."

"Whoops."

You shook your head and sighed. Paige and you were so close. What happened?

I don't know what you were waiting for. You know that I've been waiting for you.

You hear the sound of your name being called. You whip around and accidently walk backwards into someone.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled.

Then you see her.

Paige.

She's sitting on the couch, a smile beaming on her face. She manspreads, her outfit casual for the party.

"Pai..." you stumble forward but catch yourself.

Paige's face contorts to one of worry, she hurriedly gets up from the couch and walks towards you.

"This for me?" She motions to the party.

"Just for you P. Party just for you." You tuck a bit of hair behind her ears and look at her through glassy eyes.

She smiles and looks around some more.

Yeah, if you saw my tears, would you touch me?

You hadn't noticed but your eyes got watery and Paige leans forward to wipe away some stray tears.

"You're here.. I thought you wouldn't come."

"You know that's not true. I'll always be there."

Kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?. Leave a message, tell me you're sorry?

Paige leans forward and plants a kiss on your forehead. She takes one of your hands and pulls you to her. You wrap your arms around her and melt.

"You'll be okay. You're okay. I'm so extremely grateful for you."

You smile. All your hard work had led to this moment. One where she would praise you for your actions. Because she deserved it. In your eyes, she was perfect.

Hit me right back, hit me right back.

Your name gets called again and you turn around, a little less graceful than the first time.

"Left my bag. Are you okay? You're kinda just standing here. Also, you look really wack hugging yourself out in the open. I mean if that's your thing, I guess go you." Azzi walks up to you, giving you a weird look.

"What? I'm just talking to Paige.." You slur.

"Woah you're drunk as fuck. You need to sit down."

"But Paige-"

"Is not here. You're hallucinating from the alcohol, sit."

You turn your head and see no one there. Thin air takes Paige's place from warmth you had imagined. Darkness creeps up in the corners of your eyes.

"No, she was here.. Paige was..." You close your eyes and your body goes limp.

Why you treating me like someone that you never loved?

[lincolndjarin]

Pretty in Pink

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day three - afab!reader x no-outbreak!joel miller

prompt : breeding [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 1.5k

summary : you and joel have been trying for a baby for a while now, you're skeptical when you get advice from a friend but you're willing to try anything at this point.

warnings, etc. : fluffy, smut, praise, joel 'breeding kink' miller, p in v, unprotected sex, lingerie, creampie, pregnancy talk, this is just a quick little porny fluffy drabble lmao

a/n : yippee! happy 3rd day of oct!! def expect a lot of days switching around lmao, i'm just going w the flow lol

You stare at the bathroom mirror, you feel a little ridiculous but you know he’s had a hard week and at this point you’ll do anything to help him relax. So you put on the pink satin nightie your friend had convinced you he’d love. You put on a bit of makeup before opening the door a smidge.

“Close your eyes.” You sound like a child the way you whine. 

“You’re killin’ me darlin’.” 

“Please?”

“Okay, okay.” You can practically hear the way he holds his hands up in defeat. 

You’re learning the hard way that trying for a baby is a long and arduous task. With Sarah in highschool, and Ellie in elementary, you’ve agreed now is as good a time as any to try for one more. The only problem is you haven’t been feeling great about how long it’s taking. You’re easily discouraged despite how willing Joel seems to try as often and as hard as possible to knock you up. 

So when your friend who is currently six months along offered to give you some advice you were more than willing to sit down at a nearby mall and talk. You’d expected to hear the usual technical jargon. Track your cycle, avoid using lube, and reduce your caffeine intake. You’ve been doing all of that and more for months now with no luck but much to your surprise she had only one piece of advice. 

“Have fun with it.” 

It sounded absurd to you but she kept on explaining. Telling you that it was important that you were both comfortable and enjoying yourselves, it helped her to try new things. You tried to explain to her that Joel was old fashioned, he didn’t like new things. He liked you naked and in a bed, nothing fancy involved. 

Your friend of course didn’t seem convinced, dragging you to Victoria Secret, insisting that the sheer little pink thing you’d settled on was perfect. 

Except it doesn’t feel perfect. 

Because now you actually have to show him and you’re pretty sure he’s just going to have you take it off immediately and you’ll feel like an idiot and this will all be for nothing. 

You take a few steps out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboards as move towards him. wringing your hands nervously. He looks like he always does. Handsome, and in his boxers and navy blue shirt. You’re beside him now and you’re just about to lose your nerve. 

“Nevermind this is stupid.” You blurt out as he opens his eyes. You give him an apologetic smile as he looks you up and down. You turn around, wanting to just change and forget any of this happened as he grabs you by your arm, pulling you onto the bed. 

“Not stupid, not stupid at all.” He stares at you, infatuated as he pulls you onto his lap. He takes a bit of the see through fabric in his hands, running it through his fingers. “S’pretty.”

“Really? You like it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you didn’t like this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing? Pretty things? I like you, why wouldn't I like this.” Your face gets hot as he lifts the fabric, running a finger along the hem of the matching pink panties. 

“You really like it?” Your face is getting hotter by the second as he drags you forward by your hips so you can feel his hard on straining through his boxers. 

“Like it so much.” He rocks his hips up against you with a groan. “Such a- fuck, such a pretty color.” He hooks a finger onto the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side as he ruts up against you, watching with hungry eyes as you soak the front of his underwear. He usually spends quite a bit of time warming you up but now he seems wildly impatient as he pulls his dick out over the band of his boxers along with his balls. “Want you to wear this more often, s’nice.” 

“Th-thanks.” You stammer out as he guides his cock into you as you sit up on your knees. 

“Sit down, sugar, take it all, I know you can do it.” Once he nudges the first couple of inches into you he brings his hands back to the sheer fabric. You do as he says, taking your time until you’re fully impaled on it, the two of you moaning in unison. 

“Oh, Joel.” You whisper, feeling the blunt head of his cock bump against your cervix. 

“Bet this would be even prettier stretched over a round belly.” He squeezes your hips, leveraging you down onto him as he thrusts up into you. You’ve never seen him so worked up as his hips jolt up into you, his breathing going unsteady. He’s never been one to talk during the deed, usually all you can get out of him is a few grunts and curses but now he seemingly can’t stop mumbling to himself as he marvels at the way the pick fabric clings to you in some places while flowing freely in others. “Can’t wait to have you bouncing on my cock when you’ve got your bump.” The sudden vulgarity from him shoots sparks through your veins as you slowly start moving, raising and dropping your hips, reveling in the feeling of him filling you completely as he bunches up the fabric a bit, pulling it out of the way so he can watch you take him. 

“Joel please-” You whine, your hands go to the headboard behind him to steady yourself. “Please touch me.” He enthusiastically obliges, one hand going to your clit while the other palms at your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers over the thin fabric. He leans forward, pulling your breast out of the nightie, sucking the tender flesh. 

“These are gonna get bigger too.” He mumbles against your tit, your hips stutter as he sinks his teeth into the swollen nub. “Gonna be so round- and soft.” He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, his fingers picking up speed between your legs as you feel your stomach getting tight, your breath going ragged as you slam your hips down on him, pressing him deep against the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Come on- fuck, fucking take it.” He growls as he pops his mouth off of you, pulling you into a kiss as you chase the feeling inside of you, moaning against him until in one sharp motion you seat yourself on him completely, sending yourself over that edge. 

His lips move from your mouth to your chin, then cheeks, then forehead, he kisses you everywhere as you work yourself through your orgasm, everything going tense as that white hot fire ripples through your veins. 

When you come down from your high your legs feel like jelly and you honestly aren’t sure you’re gonna be able to keep going but thankfully he takes matters into his own hands, planting his feet on the mattress firmly behind you as he wraps his arms around your torso to keep you upright. He fucks up into you, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Gonna fill up this pretty pussy, make you a mama.” He murmurs against the sensitive skin of your throat, his thrusts quickly becoming clumsy as he groans. He’s quick to follow you, his cock pulses and you can feel him spill against your walls, his demeanor softens with his prick as he rubs his nose against yours. “I love you s’much.” He mumbles, gently lifting you, helping you off his lap as you lay beside him. 

You take a moment, catching your breath as he leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water, handing it to you as he turns the lights off, crawling into the blankets with you as you lay your head on his chest. 

“Love you.” He says quietly, giving you a quick kiss that you know means good night as he settles in.

You sit in silence for a few minutes before sighing mostly to yourself. 

“What if this doesn’t work? Like ever?” You whisper into the darkness, curling yourself up closer to him.

You expect him to be asleep, or to brush you off, and to tell you that it will. Instead he just pulls you closer.

“Then we’ll keep trying. And if it doesn’t work then we’ll look into other options. I went through the adoption process once already, it should be easier the second time around.” He kisses your forehead and you feel him relax, you know he’ll be asleep in a few minutes. You’re just happy he’s willing to validate your worries. 

“Good night, love you.” You murmur, you really do mean it. 

He’s right. You’ll keep trying, and if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. There’s no way to know if you’re pregnant or not until then. (Although Joel isn’t all that surprised when you take a test two weeks later and are met with two blue lines.)

a/n : for the first time ever i actually like something i wrote lol

[blackened-angel]

I'm personally not looking forward to the Netflix adaptation of Devil May Cry.

With the new trailers, I wanted to share my opinions again but I will say that this post isn't recommended for those who only have praise and that any criticism is forbidden.

It's a pretty long post where I try to explain what is my main problem with the adaptation and that is the person who is directing it.

I highlighted some parts that I hope you can at least read those ones, but if I were to give you a TL;DR it would be this:

If you want to make an adaptation based on an IP that's been around for a while, even if you proclaim that you're fan, at the very least be modest and try not to cause trouble with your audience, given that you're supposed to be a professional in the industry and perhaps trying desperately to please everyone isn't such a good idea because you might be hanging with the wrong crowd and that will reflect on your image.

Sorry but I'm not interested to coddle that guy so if that brief summary is enough to make you displeased, I'm asking you not to read any further.

So, will talk about why it's difficult for me to praise Netflix Devil May Cry. It's because of the person attached to it.

I've criticized aspects of this adaptation before and while the majority will get angry because the show hasn't come out yet, thus any criticism is invalid, personally, what I have seen so far has been enough for me to have a disdain for it because one of my favorite series is being handled by someone who has never done anything with it before.

Proclaiming to be a fan doesn't automatically mean that it will be a masterpiece and for someone who is allegedly a professional in the industry, their conduct reflects on the product and others that are involved.

Also, just saying, that I refuse to use the word "anime".

Pseudo-anime perhaps but I'm sorry, DMC The Animated Series from 2007, that's the only Devil May Cry anime. I don't see any 'bishounen'/ biseinen' . Have you?

Anime, to someone like me who has been into anime and manga for two decades, is animation produced in Japan, primarily for the Japanese audience, with aesthetic that is different from Western animations.

So yeah I'm just gonna say Netflix DMC.

Ok, so, let's return to the subject, but first, I want to ask you and of course, you can provide examples because from my experience, I haven't seen anime studios acting so desperate like Shankar.

Please tell me if you have seen anime studios on their social media accounts being so friendly with people?

At most, there are some who on some occasions retweet fan creations like art or cosplay but in general they just post information regarding what they are producing, trailers or key visuals, but they don't engage much with the audience.

They are just working on the stuff they want to deliver to their audience, hoping they will enjoy it and look into feedback afterwards.

How many anime studios have you seen bragging like Shankar has been doing?

He actually said on Twitter "I never miss."

Oh and on a few occasions, this grown-ass man kept referring to himself in 3rd person, somehow thinking his fans will find it...cute? Yeah, so it was more like "Adi Shankar never misses."

It's obnoxious. You can tell me that he was joking, but he seems committed to his whole "I never miss with my projects" bit, so it's kind of hard to tell.

Oh and do you think it's also adorable when he reposted people's fanart without crediting? Even when some of them had watermarks?

Like I'm not kidding. If you follow him on Twitter, there were a few times when he was called out for not properly crediting artists and you'd think he'd stop after being told once but no.

In addition to that, one time when I was reading the comments on a reposted artwork, there were only two people that mentioned the artist while the rest of them didn't even ask things like "Hey did you draw this? Did the animation team do it?"

It seemed that even though they must have known it wasn't art made by Shankar or the ones doing the animation, they treated like it was no biggie if he was reposting.

As a professional, allegedly, he should have never done such a thing, but most of his followers seem treat him like "oh he's just enthusiastic, cut him some slack, don't be mean to him".

And we know that in general, anyone else who would do that sort of thing just once would get torn apart by others, but with that guy apparently we must be indulgent.

When caught in the act, he did apologize but like...shouldn't he know better? He most likely expects that everyone will forgive him for anything he does.

Thus, can you understand why I'm having a tough time to like something from that person? Who keeps bragging, promising the best anime ever, acting as if he invented DMC...

That's a person who is supposed to be a professional in the industry, yet he as only been acting like a redditor...And of course he promotes a lot of memes. Gee, I wonder who's the intended audience?

He's been desperately trying to please everyone.

This is why I like the way anime studios conduct their promotion for their projects. They are humble and want to avoid causing problems t and that's why they generally just post information, artwork, trailers etc..

That's something I personally appreciate.

Shankar has only been off-putting...Honestly, what the heck was Capcom thinking?

Apparently he wanted Dino Crisis, but Capcom was like, have DMC instead. It feels like they were saying "yeah do whatever with this IP, doesn't matter", as if DMC isn't popular, which was proven by the popularity poll they hosted.

I feel like this adaptation is mostly for the people that know DMC just from memes and I'm sorry for the long time fans that will most likely get insulted and told to shut up by the people who will only watch this generic Marvel/DC looking animation and be told that DMC is only good because of Shankar or think he should be in charge of other Devil may Cry projects.

So yeah, to me, above all is that narcissistic man who has been trying so hard to please everyone.

No, I don't think it's endearing when he spoke in 3rd person and claims that he never misses with his projects. I did not find it cute when he went on to say stuff like Vergil is a hero and other bullshit, because some people would believe those will actually be the characterizations in the show, only for Shankar to post something like "I'm joking, I'm just a troll" after those kinds of posts, wanting to gain sympathy from people, to see just how much of a fun guy he is and you must definitely watch his DMC "anime".

We already had the reboot that was supposed to appeal to the Western audience because Capcom thought the original series isn't appealing to westerners, but man were they wrong. Still hate it for the fact that they mocked the OG series and here we are again, another production that's mostly for the western audience.

So yeah, I'm just not a fan of how much that man has been boasting and assuring everyone how great the show will be.

Perhaps, for some of you, it will the greatest "anime" ever, he keeps telling you that! But not for me. I don't appreciate the shit I've seen him do on Twitter done and as much as he brags that failure never happens for Adi Shankar, not everyone is of the same opinion.

If it turns out that it might fail the expectations of those who only praised, what then? Will they keep praising despite being disappointed so that the series keeps getting content, even if it might be the same quality or even worse?

I think that will send the message to the bigwigs that those people are willing to consume anything.

Like I've mentioned thought out the post, I personally would have appreciated humbleness instead of someone trying so desperately to please everyone.

I'm not sorry for what I said and I know there must be others who share my opinions.

If you have made it this far, I thank you!

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment. 

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work. 

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite. 

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob. 

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass. 

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body. 

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.  

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed. 

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower. 

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower. 

“Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall. 

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice. 

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body. 

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature. 

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh. 

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt. 

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry. 

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.  

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in. 

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze. 

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it. 

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall. 

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face. 

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..” 

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump. 

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London. 

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face. 

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him. 

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

[bumblesimagines]

look, the sex is great, but i don't want to get involved.

i don't feel that way about you.

Maddy Perez

look, the sex is great, but i don't want to get involved.

i don't feel that way about you.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

As much as he hated admitting it, house parties weren't a complete waste of time. Sure, half the time the only way to have fun was drinking until you were comatose and praying nobody caught the embarrassing moments on camera, but at least they were a good way at meeting others. (Y/N) merely had to wait for the party to really begin once everyone had a bit of alcohol or weed or harder shit in their system and were screaming the lyrics to whatever song the host put on, most often from a hip hop playlist full of songs about gangbanging or doing drugs put together by a suburban white kid who'd only ever touched weed once in their life. Sometimes, he'd wait around for Maddy and her posse to show up, wait a couple mintues while she pretended he didn't exist until the party bored her and she dragged him someplace private, but (Y/N) wanted to spice things up. After all, his father had always told him that 'men eventually get bored of eating the same meal everyday'. 

So, after scoping out the scene at the little house party some random classmate had thrown, (Y/N) found himself being approached by a pretty redhead he vaguely recognized from 3rd period English class and only had to take a few sips of the spiked punch before leaning in to kiss her. It'd all been going well. The redhead whose name slipped his mind the second after she told him had perched herself on his lap, the pink lipstick she wore certainty smudging against his lips though he hardly minded. He geared himself up to ask if she wanted to head upstairs, only for his eye to catch Maddy making a beeline straight for him with her two friends tripping over themselves to follow. 

He hardly had time to react before Maddy grabbed a fistful of the redhead's hair, a shriek of pain and surprise leaving the girl as Maddy pulled on it and dragged her right onto the floor. (Y/N) shot up from the couch while everyone around them moved out the way, making a circle around them and fumbling for their phones. 

"The fuck's the matter with you?!" The redhead shrieked, one hand holding onto Maddy's wrist in a vain attempt at getting her to let go. 

"The fuck's the matter with me?! Look at yourself, bitch!" Maddy shouted back at her, ignoring Kat and Cassie's pleading shouts for her to calm down until she finally released the girls hair with a forceful shove. The redhead grunted, touching the back of her head where Maddy had grabbed her before she reached for a nearby unattended cup and tossed it in Maddy's direction, drenching Maddy's miniskirt and most of her thighs in beer. A chorus of 'ooh's spread around the crowd, shining lights from phone's recording pointed at the two of them. "You dumb fucking slu-"

"That's enough, Maddy," (Y/N) coiled your arms around her waist before she could lunge for the girl and hauled her off, shoving his way through the crowd while she withered around in his hold, shouting insults and threats at the top of her lungs. Her nails dug into his hands, trying to pry them of herself while he searched for a door that hopefully led to an empty room. He found one by the stairs and opened it, flickering the night on and finding himself looking into the garage. Good enough. He walked in, minding the small step, and shut the door behind him with lock for good measure. 

"Let me go." Maddy demanded and he loosened his grip enough for her to wriggle free. She staggered forward and looked down at herself, irritably groaning and wiping her palms across her bare skin in hopes of drying herself. (Y/N) exhaled heavily and took a glance at the back of his hands, finding red lines from her nails. He typically never minded scratch marks, but only under the right circumstances. 

"What the hell was that about?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting you before you could fuck that bitch infront of everyone. I didn't realize you were into that shit, my fucking bad." Maddy snapped, letting out a huff and raking her hand through her hair, pulling strands away from vision. She murmured angrily under her breath when she looked down at herself again before fluttering her eyes shut and taking in a deep breath. "Whatever. Forget about it, okay?"

"No, no I won't forget about you almost ripping some chick's hair from her scalp for no reason!" 

"You stick your tongue in her mouth for five seconds and suddenly you start giving a shit about her? Give me a break. She'll be fine, (Y/N). She'll have a headache for a couple hours and that's it." Maddy rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I didn't even hit her."

"That doesn't explain why you did it, Maddy. You were fine one second and the next you're trying to fight some chick you've never even spoken to before. What's your problem?" He stared at her and she refused to look back at him, instead keeping her head angled toward the tools hung up on the wall.  

"Forget about it, (Y/N). Let's just... let's just have some fun, okay?" Maddy exhaled softly and finally looked at him, her heels clicking against the concrete floor as she closed the distance and slung her arms around his neck, her perfume invading his senses and maroon-colored lips capturing his. He grunted, grabbing hold of her hips and pushing her back. "Come on, (Y/N). You know you would've ditched her for me if I asked."

"But you didn't, Maddy. You cockblocked me by dragging around that damn chick and you won't even tell me why. You getting jealous on me or something? 'Cause that's what it looked like." (Y/N) pried her arms off his shoulders and stepped around her, creating distance between them. Maddy crossed her arms, head tilting back and another groan leaving her mouth.

"So what if I was?"

"So what? Look, the sex is great, but I don't want to get involved with whatever bullshit you've got going on with Jacobs, alright? You're a cool chick, Maddy. You're practically perfect. But.. I don't feel that way about you. I've seen you and Jacobs. You'll never let each other go, and that's just not for me. I'm... sorry."

[lj-lephemstar]

Progress Checkup! (Aug. 2024) | Scratchin' Melodii Devlog

Hello again, strangers! I thought it was about time to add another devlog again! This time I'm trying out a more in-depth approach to this, to somewhat make up for the lack of gameplay previews. Let me know what you think!

For starters, I've revamped the rhythm system 🤯 (like... again! 🤯) Don't freak out, though. Surface level gameplay-wise, it works mostly the same as it did in the last demo, so you won't have to re-learn much. I just needed to redo some things so it'd be easier for me to work with in the long-run while developing the rest of the game. Way less headaches await me now when working on new levels. In the process, I was also able to incorporate some neat new aspects to it and make the core aspects of it better. If you're familiar with older rhythm games, it's now a tad closer to what the dog was doing.

The opponent's icon has been covered up to avoid spoilers. I might be updating all of the character icons soon, actually.

I still plan to revamp the game's tutorial at some point. Something I've noticed is that often, new players don't seem to understand the purpose of the beat dots. Initially, I thought the idea that "on the beat dot = on beat" would come as second nature to new players without need for explanation. However, I hadn't considered that many players are likely to be more familiar with rhythm games that don't even have beat dots in this manner, so they're probably inclined to focus more on getting as close as possible to matching the order of the suggested inputs, and in this game, even at the cost of being off-beat if they aren't keeping up. So, I think the most important thing I need to emphasize when I give a new in-game explanation of the mechanics is the beat dots and really getting new players into the mindset of prioritizing the tempo. I think I should also have the tutorial's gameplay portion try to discretely get the player used to the control scheme to help people who haven't particularly memorized where all of their controller's buttons are without looking. This'll probably result in the tutorial song shown in the demo being replaced in the full game. I do still like its instrumental though, so maybe that will be repurposed for another game feature, at least.

There's probably some guy out there who just REALLY loves Astral Advisory as the tutorial song that will be very upset to hear this. In solidarity with them, I've depicted their enthusiasm with this rather silly image I've created.

As for other levels, now that I've got the updated rhythm system up and running, the 3rd rival battle of act 2 is almost complete. If you didn't like the Pow-Notes in Supastar Tennis, you might not like me very much after this! So far, I think this level has some of the best and most ambitious animation work I've done yet, so I hope you'll look forward to it. Not sure when I'll show a gameplay preview of this level, but I probably will at some point.

Also, I've made a new logo for the game! I'll gradually be phasing this one in to replace the old one, but until the full game releases you'll probably still see the old one hanging around too in some places.

That's all I can talk about for now, but thanks for reading! - LJ

[notlhecxzsa]

It Still Hurts Underneath My Scars - N.R

Summary: Natasha was supposed to go home, but what happens when she unveils something—hidden deep beneath those smiles, making her also run right back to the past. Will this turn out well for both of them?

Author's Note: Ahhh this is a hot 4k+ word and just like what I said, here comes all the angst I could give the world.

Warning: Yelling, broken glasses, cursing, so mean!natasha, crying, blood, injuries, bruises, trauma, poor sad baby Y/n (she deserves every good thing in the world, yes.) Tell me if I missed something!

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3rd Person's POV:

Natasha woke up at the faint sound of metal clashing onto the ground, with eyes snapping open and body sitting up straight immediately she quickly withdrew a gun inside the small table beside her bed. With steps cautious and quick, she approached the door and quietly opened it. As another clanking of two or more heavy material, she approached the kitchen where the sounds are coming from.

Maybe, it was coincidental or maybe the time is just in the mood for games that Natasha was not prepared for. With her gun pointed to the culprit of the sound, it was faced directly to the younger one's figure, if she was to pull the trigger she would hit bullseye, that's for sure.

With 2 pairs of wide eyes, one with shock and the other with a noticeable fear, Natasha pulled down her gun, her facade straightening up while Y/n stayed staring. The tremble of her chest as she took deep breaths—too deep breaths for Natasha's liking can be noticed from afar.

"What the hell are you doing? I thought someone had broken in." She did not intend for it to come out so harshly, but the unsettling feeling in her chest is just so hard to ignore. What even is it? Fear? Anger?... Worry?

She walked towards the counter, putting down the gun as she watched as the gaze of the small girl seemed stuck with a glue on it. She didn't know what pushed her to hide it away, putting it on her waist, tucking it in on her pants, away from eyes that seemed to be going through a thousand miles.

There was a moment of silence, Natasha almost felt the unsettling rumble in her stomach overtake her being. So, she decided to speak up once again, "I asked you a question." Rounding up the counter to get a glass of water, she saw just how much mess has been made.

A broken mug with spilled coffee, clattered empty pot and a pan, there's also some water splattered around the girl's feet. A deep frown settled on her face as she looked up once again to gaze at Y/n's face, trying to search for her eyes but found nothing when she saw that she was looking down.

"I-... I di-... I'm so- I'm so sorry... I don't- I didn't mean to... W-Wait..." Crouching she immediately touched the pot and the pan, one hand each. And each hand, Natasha could visibly see how much it trembled, the pump of her chest now more seen by the naked eyes.

As the young woman moved around, giving Natasha a glimpse of the distressed face she was wearing. This is the first time that Natasha had seen her with that kind of expression, in this type of condition, but she was stuck on her own feet as she watched.

She watched as she picked the shards of sharp glass off of the floor with her bare hands, making Natasha's eyes widen in fear as the worry in her chest grew, now having a clear understanding she was feeling.

"Wait! Stop that." Launching forward, she took a hold of both of the thin arms that are covered with sleeves, one of the many long sleeves that Y/m wears.

As soon as her hands got in contact with Y/n's forearm and and upper arms, Natasha pulled her upwards. With a force applied and the grip she that the older woman has on her, Y/n's face scrunched bitterly as she yelped. Her hands flapped up and tried to pull her body away from Natasha.

"Ah!" It went unnoticed by Natasha who seemed to be in trance, getting Y/n out of the surrounded glasses. "N-Natasha..." Tears pricked her eyes as she looked up, her body being manhandled away from the scene while Natasha's gaze was stuck on the ground, observing the trail of glasses, water and coffee in order to get the younger woman in her arms to safety.

Biting her lips, tears swam around her eyes before it ran down on her cheeks. "Are you an idiot? You can't fucking pick up those glass with your hands! You will hurt yourself. Are you even thinking?" Blurting out words she didn't think of, words out of the raging storm in her mind, blinding her from the way Y/n kept flinching on her grip.

Y/n could feel a faint taste of rusty blood on her lips with how much she's biting down so hard in it. Her whimpers drowned out by the scolding she's receiving as the hold reminded her of something familiar.

Soon enough she was settled down beside the counter, far from the chaos and mess she made. Her form trembled as her breathing became ragged. Her arms ached, she could feel the blood rushing inside the bruises that littered around her body. She couldn't even find enough courage to move and help Natasha out who swept the glass and wiped the substance on the floor.

She's supposed to clean that up! She messed up so bad, and she knows it. The aching arms are quickly forgotten when fear starts to overcome her mind, spreading like a poison ivy. With tears flooding her cheeks, she bent down and started picking the broken glass that was near her, flinching when it cut right through her skin.

"Y/n!" Natasha watched as the young woman continuesly pick up the glasses with trembling hands. One hand kept picking it all up while the other holds the shard of glasses—she wasn't holding it, she was gripping it. "Hey! Y/n!" Stepping forward, she took a hold of the petite body once again, never missing how it tensed under her touch, making her almost pull away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, don't- don't hurt- No, no, no..." Natasha heard the whispers that came out of her mouth, making her frown go deeper as she pulled them up together. She felt Y/n trying to pull her arms away, so she gripped tighter. "No!" It came out meekly, a small high pitched voice.

"Hey..." That must have been the softest voice that came out of Natasha ever in her life. Finally realized just how much mess and chaos has been done, not just in her kitchen floor, but to Y/n. "Hey, hey, hey..." She walked the two of them towards the other side of the kitchen island, her grip softening as one of her hand snaked around Y/n's waist.

"Please... don't hurt me... I'll clean it up... good- I'll be good." At the sound of her voice, Natasha could feel her knees weakening for unknown reason.

"What?- I- I won't hurt you." Analyzing the angelic face of Y/n, she couldn't help but notice the distant gaze she has and seemingly to in some kind of trance.

Looking down, she caught the sight of Y/n's shaking hardened fist, then up to her chest that jumps up and down hysterically, just then she noticed how ragged her breath is. "Hey, breath. It's okay, it's all fine..." Her hands seemed to have its own brain as it automatically cups her cheeks, trying to trap her gaze into hers. "Y/n, detka, hey, I'm not mad, it's okay. The mess is cleaned up already, hey..." Seeing the irises of her eyes moving side by side hysterically, Natasha realized that she can't see clearly, along with the tears in her eyes.

With her vision unfocused, her ears only ringing, Y/n could feel her blood running cold as she tried to catch her breath. There was a pressure on both of her face but she couldn't feel it properly, she doesn't know what it is. God, she can't have another meltdown here, not when she's just new here. Natasha might think of her weirdly, she might even get more angry.

"Hey, Nat?- What-" Natasha's head whipped around to see Maria standing by the kitchen hallway. Was she that too caught up with the girl in front of her that she did not notice the other presence breaking inside of her penthouse? No, she couldn't be. "What happened?" With worry evident in her voice, Maria rushed to their side, her hand reaching out to touch Y/n's lower back.

Natasha has her locked up in her arms, so Maria couldn't really do anything much. With both of Natasha's hand caging Y/n's small body, she pulled her in even more. There was a sudden click inside her that made her pull her in, she doesn't know if it was because of the worry i side of her growing or maybe the way Maria had reached out for her girl.

"Maria, get the aid kit inside the bathroom. Also get some towel and a bowl of water." Natasha's voice commanded before bending down to pick up the girl in her arms bride style, realizing that she wouldn't be walking.

Maria immediately ran to get what was needed, looking down at the mess that was made on the kitchen floor, she frowned and started pondering or what had happened. Then suddenly, flashes of the bruises she saw on Y/n's arms blinded her thoughts, clenching her jaw she imagined the worse.

The was Natasha was gripping her, holding her tightly did not sit right as she thought of it right now. The way she overtowered the small girl as Y/n trembled in fear. Fuck, Natasha couldn't be...

"Hey, let me get that..." As soon as she set Y/n down on the couch, she take a hold of her fisted hand that is still holding the pieces of sharp glass tightly.

Holding it gently in her hands, she caught a glimpse of something as the sleeves of Y/n's clothing hike up. Frowning, she reached forward and pull it up even more out of curiosity. Blood drained her face as the bruises that littered around it became visible in her eyes. Her hold on her earlier couldn't have done that, no. It is clear that it is made days or weeks ago.

Averting her focus back on getting the glasses out of Y/n's hands, she felt her heart started to pump faster. She hated it. She shouldn't be feeling like this, no, she can't feel like this.

"Here..." Without looking up, she took the kit from the hands of her friend and started tending on Y/n's hand, now in complete silence as her mind ran miles.

What is there that she still doesn't know?

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Maria's POV:

"You're still here." I turned to see Natasha walking towards the railing of her balcony, gazing towards the scenery in front of us, not bothering to throw me even just a glance.

I looked back to where I was staring, inhaling a pound of air before letting it all out. "Your actions opposes the assumptions I have in my mind." I started, just then, I felt her eyes burning holes on the side of my head. "You're not..." I gulped down an invisible ball of saliva in my throat. "You're not the one who did those to her, did you, Natasha?" Catching her eyes, a frown started forming her face before her stance became tensed.

A reaction I knew all too well. But, not what I expected to receive with this topic.

"What?" She asked and I could hear the pure confusion lacing through her voice. A sound that demands an immediate and straight answer. I looked away and started answering.

"The last time I was here. I saw her arms. Beaten. Raw. I'm starting to thinking it's all over her body, I also... thought that it was you." I looked back to her face when I saw it snapped to look inside the penthouse. A faint glitch in her facade that she only wore when we thought her father had found out about her hidden treasures. Fear. Worry. "After earlier, I saw... I saw how you cared for her, Natasha-" I almost jumped at the sound of her voice.

"I didn't." I shook my head and chuckled lowly, bending down and putting both of my elbows on the railing. How I could see right through her.

"I wouldn't blame you for starting to feel like this. I watched you, Natasha." Turning only my head to look at her, a knowing glint shining in my eyes as her gaze locked in mine. Showing her that I know, and she doesn't have to hide it.

No matter how much she wants to, no matter how much she needs to. No matter how much she will deny.

"Just like how you watch her."

I waited... and waited. But, a response never came. Sighing, I stood up straight. Turning my whole body towards the sliding door but made no move to approach it. "I care for her..." I started, once again. "Not the way you do, of course." Just then, it all came down to me just how much I got so attached to this girl, how much her attentiveness and hospitality had made my heart moved like no one. Clint's right, we're all really getting soft because of her. "She's a sister I have never had. Tell me what you want me to do, I will help you. I will bring what you need, and I will come wherever you want me to be."

Still, I was met with silence. Clearing my throat before sighing, I started walking towards the door.

"Hill." Now, that's what I was looking for.

Looking back, I catch the fire in her eyes even though her face is stone cold. I knew by then, it will catch up to those who have sinned.

"I want everything." She said in a monotone, with her jaw clenched, she turned around and I was faced with her back.

I nodded, even though she couldn't and wouldn't see me. "You got it, boss." I said before stepping inside the penthouse, my eyes immediately locking in on the figure that is sat on the farthest edge of the couch, as if it will ground her—protect her from everything.

I analyze her body for a minute, she doesn't have her socks on as usual, making me catch a glimpse of a faint bruise that is long but not deep from what it looks like. Taking a deep breath, I decided to go, taking a last look on her face, staring into nothingness with seemingly no thoughts behind her eyes.

God knows what is unleashed.

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(Flashbacks) 3rd Person's POV:

A giggled escaped the 13 year old girl as she read a book that was given to her by Lucille. Something funny had happened on the character that made her stomach tingle and let out a giggle, unaware of the pair of eyes that is burning holes in the whole of her body.

Just as she let out another giggle, the sound of a gun booming that is all to familiar to her ears went off, making her jump with no sound escaping her lips. Just like what Lucille had thought her, no noise means less hits. As her heart raised, beating faster, she stood up, leaving the book on where she was sitting, with a promise to get it back later before running off inside the huge mansion.

The same pair of eyes followed her, a knowing glint of who she was, the same pair of eyes that studied her dull life but found it the most interesting. Walking towards the huge tree, under the shade of it is where she took the book. Knowing that her Dad is enjoying his time with their family's friend, she knew they wouldn't even notice that she's gone, too busy playing with different guns.

She studied the surroundings and did not wonder just how much Y/n loves it here. She remembered the time she met Y/n here, she remembered that the young girl was still 3, munching on a cookie that looks like she will be killed if she was found eating it.

"Hey..." An 8 year old Natasha spoke, a certain softness present in her voice.

The little one jumped, dropping the cookies as she did so. Those cute chubby cheeks with some crumbles of cookies made Natasha want to pinch it. She looks angelic, Natasha wondered if maybe, they do hide angels around here because she certainly just met one.

"I not eat the tookies!" The visible lisp came out, making a smile break through Natasha's face. With those frowning small eyebrows, Natasha could feel her stomach doing flips because of the cuteness.

"But, you did." Natasha started, smiling teasingly as she walked closer. "And you have cookies all over your face." Natasha explained, her hands going to her hips, just like what she sees on her father.

"I didn't..." Smearing her small hands on her face didn't do her any good, as now her face is more covered in crumbles and a faint chocolates here and there. "See? You ate the tookies! Maybe..." A laugh broke from Natasha, even as a mere child, she's never the one to laugh a lot. Hearing the unbelievable assumption that has been made towards her made her surrender in defeat—once again, something she does not usually do.

"Okay, then. Whatever you say... cookie monster." She said before she saw Y/n smile—a name she discovered from her parents. "Would you like to play?" She asked, observing how Y/n looked down at the cookies that fell earlier with somber eyes.

Natasha felt bad, knowing that she accidentally scared her and now she doesn't have anything to eat. "No, Lutcy will be mad if I get dirty. I won't get more tookies." She explained, and Natasha smiled.

As if she didn't eat one already.

"I'll give you more cookies! We have so many at home." Natasha said, making the small girl snap her head up at her.

"Weally?" A toothy grin made its way on her face, making Natasha smile unconsciously and nodded. "Otay, but- but we gotta make- we gotta bring Tammy along with us... he gets very lonely." The small girl almost scream in excitement, Natasha only nodded before she followed the little one.

Following the 13 year old girl, her steps in track and with a certain speed to catch up. There were a couple of turns until she was met with the end of a hallway. Clutching the book in hand she approached the slightly ajar door.

She stood there, frowning when she tried to listen to the other side of it and was met with silence. She was sure Y/n had ran in here, catching a glimpse of her hair as she went running inside. Her hands reach out to knock, but then again was met with nothing, only a faint shuffling that reassured her someone was inside.

Breathing deeply, she push the door, it was a tight space, a storage room, yet it is clean. As soon as the door is wide enough, she saw the trembling form of a girl. She observed how her shoulder heavied with each breath she took.

"Were you scared?..." Natasha started, gazing at the way the younger one's head popped up to look at who followed her. "By the guns, I mean." Natasha noticed how tears are brimming up in her eyes—those same eyes she never once forgot.

The same ones that haunted her in her sleep.

Receiving no response, she took a step forward before crouching in front of the girl. "You left this." She raised her hand and offered her the book, which was immediately taken by the girl. Just then, Natasha noticed the gauze wrapped up around her arm, more bruises surrounding it that is mixed of color green and purple.

Frowning, she looked at the girl's eyes, only to find it gazing at the book, avoiding her look. "What happened to you?" She could remember those other times she met the girl, the same color littering her body, the same condition designed her skin.

Finally, their eyes met, but only a shake of a head is what she received as another faint gun shot rang in the atmosphere making the girl jump from where she was sitting and pushed herself further on the wall. Natasha, without flinching, as if the sound puts her to sleep at night, turned her body and pushed the door close.

Turning back, she sat on the floor, offering a small smile. "Don't worry, you won't get hurt." Noticing the way Y/n's eyes kept looking back at her and the door. "You won't hear it anymore. If you still do, you just go like this..." Putting her hands on both of her ears, Natasha simulated what should be done.

Only gazing at the red head, Y/n felt a certain familiarity with her face. She was the kid of those friends of her parents that would come and go here. But, still, shying away from the girl in front of her, Y/n knew very little of socializing—experiencing it scarcely.

Seeing uncertainty swimming around the doe eyed gaze of the younger girl in front of her, Natasha went forward, putting her own hand on Y/n's ears that are covered by her hair. With the space between them almost closed, Natasha could finally analyze the face that kept chasing her waking hours.

Natasha does find her beautiful—ethereal even, but she has no explanation as to why she feels this way—remembering the young one this way.

"Do you hear anything?" Natasha felt the shake of her head, their eyes staying lock in each other's. "That's good..." Natasha said before pulling away and going back to sit on the floor, now with a much more closer distance with the girl.

It was like a magnetic pull that keep wanting her to get closer and closer. She doesn't know what it is, yet she did not fight against it. It feels just right.

"Are you going to stay here?" Natasha asked, the girl did not answer, only keep looking at Natasha now with eyes full of curiosity and familiarity. "We can stay here—I can stay here with you." Natasha said, before her eyes dropped down to look at the movement of the girl's lips. She's smiling, Natasha thought, but only a little.

In the moment, both of their hearts grew, sitting in silence, hidden from the world that is destined to break and make them.

(End of Flashback)

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Natasha's POV:

I stood in the kitchen, looking over at the girl that is sat in the living room. I opened the television when I went inside from the balcony, seeing how eerily quiet here—the same noise the surrounded the atmosphere before Y/n started living here.

I was supposed to leave and go to the manor today, but something just keeps me from going. Something is grounding me from walking right through the door and get back with my life.

"What did you want to say? Make sure to not waste my time." I sneered at Yelena as we stood in the building's parking lot.

"Father's plans changed—I shouldn't be telling you this, but..." Gazing straight into my sister's eyes, I knew she wouldn't keep something from me. "I though I should let you know." Crossing my hands, I gave her my full attention.

"The wedding's not gonna happen..." I frowned, my insides shaking with something I can't put a finger to. Searching for any lies in her eyes, she explained further, "But, everything is still going. The marriage..." My shoulder visibly relaxed, I doubt that she did not notice it, seeing the way her eyes went on my sides, a knowing glint in her eyes as it reach my gaze. "... it's all settled in the paper..." She trailed off.

"Hmm?" I raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue.

"Papa discussed something with Y/n's parents, I didn't hear much but what I know is that after everything, they will be cutting Y/n off of their will... you will have it all." My frown deepened, my chest tightening with something I can't name.

"What the hell do you mean about that? What? Are they going to just throw her away like she's not their daughter?" I blurted out, Yelena's lips turned up a little—damn it, Natasha, get your shit together.

"She's just simply the paper in between their business, Natasha. After the marriage, you and I both know she's nothing to father..." She started. "...and to her parents... I don't really know, but that is the only thing I've heard. After that, I think it's up to you whatever happens to her... she'll be your wife...on paper, at least." She searched for something in my eyes, something I'm unsure of.

I have never felt so out of control. I couldn't control the thoughts and feelings circling around my insides. I couldn't even begin to figure it out.

"And you and I both know she means nothing to you..." She started, making my eyes dart straight into her eyes.

My face hardened, not letting her show a bit of emotion.

"Isn't that right?..." She asked, and I could tell the slightly visible teasing tone lacing through her voice. "Natalia?-"

"Shut the fuck up before I make you." Surging forward, I pushed her, making her tumble, if it weren't for the car behind her she would've fly down to the floor.

She chuckled lowly. "I still haven't met my future sister-in-law, when can I visit her-" My hand immediately reach out roughly and punch her on the cheek, making her tumble on the side.

"I won't let her near you—all of you." I gritted through my teeth. She knew about it. She's hitting all of my soft spot, and she might be the one whom I call my best friend before, telling her everything, but not anymore.

Not after she chose to stay with our parents when I offered her the chance to run away with me and build a new life.

"Even after all these years, Nat?" She asked, looking to side as if her face got locked after I punched her.

My eyes lit fires as I burn holes on the side of her head. My fist clenching on my side as I fought the urge to kill her right there and then.

"I don't wanna see your face here."

But, how can I leave when I finally have what I've yearned for all those years. I didn't even ask for it, didn't work for it yet it came down falling into my lap.

As I continued gazing at her, for once in my life, fear started to creep up. Fear of the unknown, where will this lead me? Weakness is something so foreign to me, just like how love and care is, but taking in what Maria had said earlier.

I did care.

But, not for anyone.

Only for her.

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Author's Note: Finallyyyy, ahhhh, everything in my mind is falling into place. Hope you enjoyed this one! More angtyness coming your way, darlings (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[koolades-world]

Hello, I'm looking for some angst.

I would like to order an extra harsh reality of

"The brothers will pick their sister over Mc if given a chance"

And some side dish of "The undertables having to fight for Mc"

Thanksiiee!!

hi!! Sorry I took so long to get to this but I was so looking forward to writing this when I got it! slight mentions at nsfw but nothing is described or really directly talked about. also spoilers for lesson 16 and also also long!! much longer than I anticipated

everything I write turns into Satan pieces somehow lol

Took inspo from Harry Potter, specifically Tom Riddle’s diary in the Chamber of Secrets (don't @ me used to be a huge hp fan)

update: part two is out and can be found here :)

the dance of the haunted (part one)

It all started with a simple trip to the second hand bookstore. Satan always invited Mc, so they were together. He needed a hand carrying back his purchases sometimes and they always went someone to eat afterwards, Satan’s treat as he could never imagine asking Mc to pay.

They bookstore they visited today was a usual for them. It was close enough to walk, but far enough to avoid running into his brothers. Satan knew Mc really enjoyed old cookbooks and worn fantasy books. They also often searched for children’s books to read to local demon children as part of a school club. While he was initially concerned with them coming into contact with a cursed book, he grew more comfortable after seeing their magical ability and that they always carried an enchanted talisman that Solomon gifted them for that purpose.

Mc was over in the nature section, flipping through a book about creatures in the 3rd ring of hell. Satan found himself in the tomes section again. He, as usual, found himself rooting through the very back trying to uncover hidden gems. He was about to pick up a book he thought Mc might like to flip through it, when he froze. Just a sliver of this book was in his vision, but he already felt the magic oozing from it. It's a wonder he didn't sense it sooner. He put the other book in a hurry and pulled out the book from the back.

It was unlabeled, with a faded green cover and a golden ribbon attached to the spine. It marked a page close to the beginning. The magic radiating from it didn't seem bad in any way. It actually seemed quite positive. He was able to place it quickly after he felt the ribbon sticking out the bottom of the book.

This was most certainly a book infused with an angelic blessing at the very least, but how in the world had this ended up in a second hand book store in the Devildom, of all places. He flipped it over, looking for anything to go off of, but found nothing but a cursive golden letter L etched on the bottom right corner. He was a little afraid to open it, giving that it was in the hands of an angel at some point. After thinking it over, if anything happened to him, Mc would help him as soon as they noticed something amiss. Thanks to the pact, it would be almost instantly.

With the thought of Mc, he slowly opened the book. On the first page and on the inside of the front cover was handwriting that seemed oddly familiar. He struggled to read the words on the page at first due to the sense of familiarity. He suddenly got deja vu, as if he had held this book before. He closed his eyes for a moment to stop the world from spinning. When he reopened them, he felt like crying, and yet, he still wasn't sure why. Once he finally read what was written, he understood why.

On the inside cover, it read "Property of Lilith Morningstar" and near the bottom in large writing was a messy scrawl he recognized as Mammon's handwriting. It said "mammon waz here" with a little drawing of himself sticking his tongue out. A heart in a different color of ink enclosed the message and drawing. On the first page was a note seemingly from Lucifer. Satan would recognize his handwriting anywhere. It was a heartfelt message from Lucifer to Lilith, saying that he hoped the gift reached her well, and that he missed and loved her.

He closed the book for a second and suddenly felt faint. He sat on the floor, holding his head in his hands. He thought about what he had just read for a moment. The book that he had somehow found, maybe by chance or fate, belonged to his brother's late sister. It was a gift from Lucifer to Lilith while he was away. He realized that's probably why he felt his emotions raging. The Lucifer in him recognized the book, since he had seemingly picked it out himself to give to his sister. How had this ended up in a second hand bookstore? He theorized maybe it had been made in the Devildom and Lucifer had purchased it during one of his trips. But, angel Lucifer would have never done that. He was disgusted by the mere thought of even having to go down at the time, so the thought of him browsing shops was out of the question. Deciding to come back to that thought later, he decided to quickly flip through it, just to see what it was.

As he reopened the book, new waves of magic hit him. He didn't recognize them, but they felt as familiar as his brothers. He guessed their magic was also somehow within this book. But since it was all angelic magic, everything having to do with this book happened before the fall, before he even existed. Much to his dismay, everything beyond the first page was blank. He closed and opened it a few times, but nothing happened. He guessed it might be locked by magic in some way. The thought of trying to magically pry it open scared him again. He was a demon through and through, and since this was blessed by angels, he had no clue what might happen to him if he tried. He was certain whoever blessed this book did not accommodate for whatever he was, but he thought it to be unwise to test the limits.

"Satan. What are you doing on the floor?" Mc walked up to him, holding a few books in their arms.

"Oh, just looking at book on the bottom shelf. I got tired of crouching." He quickly placed the green book down on top of a stack of his other books.

"I get that. Just wanted to let you know I'm ready to be done when you are. Don't rush for me." They turned to walk away, but Satan stopped them.

"I'm done too. I was finishing up." He moved to get up. Mc turned back around to look at him.

"I made great timing then! Here, I'll carry some of these for you." They grabbed the first few books off his stack. He felt his stomach lurch when they touched the green book. He couldn't help but feel nervous with them handling the book, although he wasn't sure why. He didn't want to say anything about it to them, and again, he didn't know why. For now, maybe it was best he kept this to himself anyways. Mc’s expression didn't change and they continued to pile on the books until the green one was in the middle. There was nothing special about that book to them.

"Thank you." Satan made himself say. He picked up the remaining books and they proceeded to the check out together. Today, an older demon worked the register. She was familiar with the pair and had a soft spot for Mc.

"Is that everything for today?" She asked them as she counted the books. Between the two of them, they had thirteen books. Satan handed the demon the needed amount of grim, and waved them on their way. Satan insisted on carrying the bag of books home, since this time there wasn’t too many.

"Let's stop at a café on our way home. I'm dying for something warm to drink right now." Mc grabbed Satan's hand and pulled him in the direction they wanted to go in. He smiled and allowed himself to be dragged off. While they were enjoying coffee together, he was able to temporally forget about the book he had discovered. All of his thoughts were about Mc for the time being.

When they arrived home together, Mc loudly announced that they were there. Mammon came running to greet them. "Mc! I got somethin' for ya! Ya gotta come with me right now!" He grabbed both of the hands and began to pull them away.

"Thank you for the coffee and books, Satan. Tell me about what you bought at dinner tonight." They looked back at him before looking at Mammon again.

"I will. I'll drop off your books in your room. I had a great time." He lifted a hand at them, as a goodbye.

"Mc!" Mammon began to whine.

"Yes, yes. Let's go now." Mammon took off with Mc in tow, leaving Satan stewing in his thoughts again. He went back to his room with all of the books. The other books he had picked out were no longer interesting compared to the Lilith book. However, he didn't want to mess with it while his brothers were awake. The last thing he wanted was them finding out. While he felt bad keeping it from them, something in him was telling him not to show it to them yet. He had promised Mc he would tell them about the books he picked out. The only one he wanted to read was the one about cats. He could easily talk about it to Mc anyways, without having to worry about the Lilith book crossing his mind.

He read until it was time for dinner. Today, it was Asmo’s turn to cook. He was actually a pretty good cook, probably the best in the house. It always turned out well and was plated gorgeous on top of that. He came to the dinner table with the book he hand been reading, still reading. He took his seat across from Mc, not looking up just yet.

“Hey, is that one of the new books?” Satan looked over his book and saw Mc peering at him.

“Yes, actually. It’s a cat book! Cats are the best.” He happily pointed to the picture of a cat on the front. As they ate, the conversation began to drift away from books, and onto something that Satan thought was irrelevant. He tried to go back to reading, but found himself reading the same lines over and over again. His thoughts had reverted to the little green book sitting in a pile of books on his bed. He has buried it, just in case someone happened to walk in.

As Mc mediated yet another argument between Levi and Mammon, he couldn’t find it in himself to silently seethe and glare at his brothers as he usually did. He blankly stared at his book, picking at his food. He was stuck wondering why the book didn’t say anything. He planned what he would do once he got back to his room. He knew he had a book of protective spells somewhere in the house that he might use to protect himself before attempting to interact with the book more.

“Satan. Is everything alright?” Lucifer placed a hand on his shoulder, catching him off guard. The table was basically empty now, much to his surprise. It was only Beel, Belphie and himself still seated. Beel was still eating and Belphie was passed out next to him.

“Nothing is wrong.” Satan snapped back after a moment.

“Alright. Please don’t forget do the dishes.” Lucifer retraced his hand, and with one final, unreadable look at Satan, left the room. He was unsure about how to feel about Lucifer noticing something was amiss. He snapped his book shut. He wasn’t really reading it in the first place. He put the book down on the kitchen counter and began absentmindedly doing the dishes. He was lost in though about the book currently buried underneath about twenty other books on his bed.

He finished in record time. He grabbed his cat book, figuring Beel could wash his own dish once he was done. He retreated to his room. He was released to find everything just as he left it. He dug up the green book from his pile, placing all the other books on the floor for the time being. He sat at his desk, running his hands over the cover. Under his little desk lamp, it seemed to sparkle in a way that he hasn’t previously noticed. Once he opened it, he was greeted with what he has seen earlier that day. But, to his surprise, there was more beyond that.

Most of the pages in the front of the book curled from usage. At the top of each page, was a note of the date. Below this, was a diary entry of sorts. Sometimes, it was just a to-do list, or a recipe. Others, he found Lilith’s accounts of her day to day life. He decided to start at the beginning, reading the first ever entry. He hoped to gain a little context of what exactly this journal was and how it worked.

Lilith had written on the first page after the note from Lucifer about how he has sent her this journal while on a trip to the Devildom, stating it was made by a human according to the tag on the outside of the journal. He enchanted it himself to only allow her to see the contents of this journal.

Satan paused his reading for a moment. If it has been enchanted to only allow Lilith to read the journal, how was he able to read it just now? He wasn’t close to her. They never knew each other. As he flipped to the next page to hopefully skim it for context of any kind, the words in front of him began to fade. The ink retracted into the page, from the last letter she had written, to the first. He wasn’t sure what he could do to prevent this, so he just quickly read what he could. The next page was something about how Belphie had wanted to take a look at it and something about Beel. Once he got there, the words has begun to erase themselves. He watched helplessly as everything disappeared. Soon, he was just stuck with the plain book he had discovered that afternoon, and the cover no longer shimmered.

He sighed, flipping through it again. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He was about to check out the back cover again when he heard his door being pushed open.

“Satan! Thought I would find you here.” Mc greeted him.

“It’s my room. What did you expect?” He shut the book in a hurry.

“Well, I can just as often find you in the library.” They approached him, touching his face. They outlined his jaw and smoothed his cheeks with their thumbs. He reached for their wrists, touching them with an imploring look.

“What’s the matter?” He petted their hair. They sat down in his lap and placed their head on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but worry that the journal was right in their view now, but he hugged them close nonetheless.

“I just feel lonely.” They sighed and buried their face in his neck.

“Really? After all that time you spent with Mammon?” He laughed a little at their predicament.

“Don’t laugh! It’s not the same as when I’m with you.” They pouted and puffed their cheeks out. He chuckled a little more at the cute face they made at him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop. What can I do for you, my beloved?” He could get lost in their eyes.

“Give me affection! Just kisses will do.” They pointed to their forehead. Satan smiled at them, amused.

“As you wish.” He began to pepper their face in kisses. As Mc grew more needy, the more he satisfied them. One thing led to another, as they ended up in Satan’s bed. They stayed together for the rest of the night, the journal long forgotten.

Early the next morning, after their night of passion, Satan awoke abruptly. He looked around. He was in his own room, but his clothes were scattered around the room. A shirt was hanging by a thread off a tall pile of books. Mc was asleep next to him, their arms wrapped around him. His lamp light was still on. He reached over as far as he could to reach the off switch. Before he could hit it, he saw the journal. He glanced back at Mc. He didn’t want to wake them, but he felt the urge to open it. He reached out to touch it, and as soon as he did, he noticed it began to shimmer like it had before. He was amazed. He quickly flipped as best as he could to a random page with one hand. He could see lots of writing. He shut it again, taking his hands off of it. It remained shimmery.

He decided not to flip through it now, since he wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind to at the moment. Instead, he noted the time; 4:03 am. Once he woke up, he would check it again to get a rough idea of how long it would stay open for since earlier, he wasn’t sure how long it had been open for. He finally shut the lamp off and let the book flutter closed. He took his mind off the book, and laid back down. He tucked an arm around Mc as best he could without waking them, and drifted back to sleep.

He awoke for the second time that day. Everything was essentially the same as it was earlier except for the time and the noise outside his door. Mc was still asleep next to him, griping him tightly. It was 8:24 am now, and he could hear Lucifer pacing around past his door in the hall. He didn't make any noise. The last thing he wanted was to see his ugly mug first thing in the morning. Because of this, he decided not to leave him room just yet, but he also didn't want to open the journal either. He would, however, check if it was still "open" or readable. He flickered on his little desk lamp again, and was greeted with the shimmery cover. He didn't want to touch it, because he was almost certain he was able to set it off that morning. Once he was able to think clearer, he would revisit that.

Instead, he grabbed the first book he could get his hands on and began to read. He wasn't sure how long he was there, just reading, but eventually he felt Mc begin to stir. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Satan greeted the bleary eyed person snuggled into his side.

“Good morning love. How long was I asleep?” They yawned, making no move to sit up. Neither of them were dressed at the moment anyways.

“A decent amount. Longer than I did anyways.” He shrugged, placing the book facedown on his desk, over the journal.

“Thanks for not waking me. You wouldn’t guess how many times Mammon or Asmo have woken me up way too early. Granted, it’s usually on accident. Asmo with his skincare and Mammon with… I don’t actually know.” Mc rolled on to their side to look at Satan better, throwing one of their arms over his torso. He felt himself growing shy under their sleepy gaze. He knew he wasn't the only one graced with that privilege, but the way they looked at him made him feel so special. He would give them every star in the sky if they asked.

“That makes me all the more grateful that they don’t dare enter my room. Makes it quite the sanctuary, don’t you think?” Satan chuckled.

“Mmm, yes.” They yawned again.

“What do you want to eat for breakfast, sweetheart? Or is it too soon to think about that?” He asked.

“Give me a few more minutes and then I’ll find an answer for you.” Mc closed their eyes again, potentially going back to sleep. He used that time to reflect. His thoughts grew a little grim as he let them wander. That journal kept finding it's way into his mind. How had he been able to find that? What were the chances of that happening? Maybe it would have made a little more sense if one of his brothers had found the book instead, since part of them seemed to linger between the lines. He was a different story, though. The magic within must had been much more powerful than he anticipated.

Even as he turned his head to the side to look at the book again, he saw the pages glimmer in the light that didn't exist. Something seemed... wrong. He hadn't noticed it before, maybe due to the excitement of simply finding it. The circumstances of which he found it in too was bizarre. As a powerful demon, he should have noticed the angelic energy as soon as he entered the book store. He dwelled on this idea. Perhaps last night's activities had had an affect on it. He coughed a little, covering up his embarrassment from the invisible audience. As he thought more, it really made no sense that he just happened to find it. Had it been planted there for him specifically, or was it the journal itself? Just what did this book know? He did consider himself exceptional, but not nearly as much as his brothers. Their story was far more interesting than his own. He was just the consequence of their actions. Whatever the case with this book, he felt the urge to get to the bottom of it, despite the creeping dread in his gut.

He spent the next few days of his reading time picking though every page of the journal. He was able to learn so much about his brothers' days in the Celestial Realm, far more than they had ever bothered to tell him. Perhaps they thought speaking about it might bother him. Whatever the case, he found it strange to refer to them as angels. Lilith wrote lots about the twins and Asmo. She wrote less about the older brothers but it was clear they were just as important to her. He had know Asmo was the Jewel of the Heavens, but the way Lilith described him made him sound like the most amazing thing the world had ever seen. The more and more he read, the more he saw the similarities between himself and her. He too considered Asmo a trusted confidant, and a close friend of his. He too found himself sneaking off with Belphie for mischievous reasons, or spending time with Beel for his quiet, comforting presence. He began to realize how difficult losing her might have been for them. In the past, he knew it was a sore subject, especially among the youngest, but now he could really feel their pain as Lilith wrote about their daily misadventures. What they missed. Would they exchange him for her if given the chance? He shook this thought off, not liking the implications it might have.

Her innocence was painted clearly for him on each page, yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He checked the book again and again for traces of demonic magic but found nothing. The strangest part was that he couldn't even find his own. There was traces of various angels, most of which he didn't recognize, likely from the far gone past. The journal continued to puzzle him.

As time passed, the entries grew more and more chaotic. From her new lover, to the growing tensions between Lucifer and their father. They grew shorter and less carefree. Even her handwriting differed. She seemed to understand the gravity of what she had done. He knew this is when the Celestial War was about to begin. Her last entry was about her lover, again about how enchanting she found them, and how one day she hoped to spend the rest of her life with him, no matter what. He paused for a moment, realizing this entry was written likely days, or even hours before he was born. After that entry, the pages were blank. There were some pages with stray pen marks, but that's all he was able to uncover. He knew the ending to this story. The silence told it all. He sat for a while, reflecting again about everything he had seen. As he was thinking, words began to appear on the page in front of him, in the same handwriting and ink color as he had seen in the entire journal. It was Lilith's. Satan paused. He could tell the journal held magical properties, but this was not something he expected to happen.

"Hello? Anyone there?" The words appeared suddenly. He continued staring at the page until more words appeared. "You can say something you know. Ink will do." Satan began to look around for a writing utensil at these words. Once he found one, he began to pen a response.

"Hello. Are you Lilith?" He wrote down underneath the previous words. He got his own response quickly.

"Yes, I am! How'd you know that?" Satan paused again, about to write more, but was cut off as Lilith began to write more. "Haha! Just kidding. This is my journal. My name is in it. It would be weird if this wasn't me. Who are you, by the way? I don't think I've ever had a visitor." Right away, Satan thought Lilith reminded him of Asmo. He was probably like this when he was an angel.

He stopped before bringing his pen down to the page again. He was unsure on how to introduce himself. During his visit to the past, he went by Sully, which was the stupidest name in his opinion. But, he also didn't want to lie to her. Would it be wrong to tell her his story, and what happened after the war? "My name is Satan. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too! That's a pretty cool name. Interesting for sure." She wrote.

"I don't want to scare you away, but I want to make this clear as to not deceive you." He wanted to tell her the truth. He felt like she deserved to know. After all, he had always felt like she was supposed to be in his place. She even wrote in green.

"Oh, tell away then. I'm all ears. I won't judge, unless you're about to confess some sort of sin to me!" She wrote, most likely jokingly. That made him a little nervous at first, but he continued with the original plan anyways. Maybe this was his way of healing, somehow. He felt better after getting everything out. He told her almost everything. He omitted the part where Belphie murdered Mc. He didn't want to be the one to tell her, anyways. It felt wrong to tell her that her death had driven him to such an extreme. She stayed mostly silent, chiming in with a few questions and stray blots of ink on the pages near his writing, as if she was resting her pen on the page.

"I hope that wasn't too much to take in at once. Much has happened." Satan was still a nervous. He really hoped she wouldn't hate him. He was just the messenger. After all, without her, he wouldn't even exist.

"I won't lie, it was overwhelming at first. But, I'm happy to hear my brothers are doing well without me. It's comforting to know that they have you and Mc now." Lilith drew a little heart next to her message.

"Glad to hear. Sorry to leave so abruptly, but I agreed to meet Mc for an outing shortly, so I will see myself out." He wasn't lying. He had agreed to meet Mc, but it wasn't for another two hour.

"Alright. Have fun! Talk to you later." With that, everything she had said sunk into the page and left no trace behind.

"Goodbye." His words also disappeared. Just like that, their entire conversation was gone. He shut the book. He was glad she didn't object. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to leave early. He felt a little bad leaving her to stew in the information dump, if she actually existed beyond the book being open. Everything about the book confused him. Looking back at it, maybe he made a rash decision. Maybe he shouldn't have info dumped to her like that.

He decided to forget that for now to enjoy his time with Mc. They had an event to attend, and he had to get ready anyways. Later that night, he came back to the journal in order to study it. He opted not to talk to Lilith just yet. The sick feeling in his stomach had returned. Something was wrong with this journal, very wrong. It made no sense, even after chatting to her. She seemed sweet enough, but that wasn't enough to dispel that gross, nauseating feeling. He just couldn't place his finger on what. He felt as if he was losing his mind checking over and over again, for something, anything. But, he found absolutely nothing.

Eventually he got to the point where he was determining if he should burn it or not. He regretted even talking to her in the first place. He wasn't sure why, but he grew uneasy even having Mc in the same house as the journal. Somehow, it felt as if he was talking to someone else, as in not the Lilith who made the original entries. He placed the journal back on his desk, underneath his latest book finds, leaving to find Mc. He eventually found them by the door, putting their shoes on.

"Hey Satan. Good to see you!" They looked up at him.

"Hi, Mc. Where are you going?" He was relieved they were leaving the house.

"Purgatory Hall. I was invited over to play some games. Sol's idea." They began searching for their jacket. Satan noticed it hidden behind Lucifer's big overcoat. He grabbed it, and helped them put it on, thinking hard. "Aww thank you. You didn't have to do that." They beamed at him.

"I wanted to, it's no trouble." He paused for a moment, then continued. "Hey, do you think it's possible that I could come with you. I don't even have to play these games if that's an issue, I just want to be with you." He would feel even better if he was able to be with them, and get away from that journal for a while.

"Oh, of course! I'm sure they would love to have you. Besides, I've basically always got one of you brothers attached to me, they might find it weird if I showed up without one." Mc laughed. "I thought you were planning to read tonight, since I've been taking up almost all of your nights for the past week. Did something happen?" They seemed concerned, looking into his eyes.

"Thank you. Really, I can put off reading again. All time spent with you is precious. It's hard to be away from you, you should know. You're simply enchanting." He took their hand and spun them into his arms.

"Alright, if you say so! We should get going if we want to be on time. I can let them know if you need a little time to get ready?" Mc giggled, buying his excuse. They might have seen though him, but was glad they chose not to say anything.

"I just need my shoes and coat as well. I wouldn't want to hold you up, anyways." He only let Mc go in favor of getting ready. "You know, I'm honestly surprised you aren't already bringing Mammon or Asmo." He told them.

"Me too, actually. Asmo was busy, and Mammon was too distracted with his car repairs to pay attention to what I was saying earlier. I was almost held back by Belphie too. But, I'm here now and I get to spend this time with you." They stood beside him as he tied his shoes and shrugged on his jacket. As the two of them made their way to Purgatory Hall, Mc held his hand so tightly and gazed at him so tenderly, he was almost convinced they were the only thing in the world.

When they arrived, they had plenty of fun. Solomon had arranged a collection of games to play as a group that were randomly decided by drawing slips of paper. To nobody's surprise, Solomon and Mc ended up winning most of them because they were human games. Satan forgot all about the journal. That is, until, he received a phone call in the middle of one of their games. Mc was draped over him with their arms around his neck, also curious about who might be calling them at a time like this. It was Lucifer.

"I told them we were heading out. What could he need?" Mc reached for the phone but Satan stopped them.

"If the call is for me, it's probably to yell at me or something. I don't want you to be on the receiving end of that." Satan rolled his eyes, and brought the phone to his ear, planning to brush off anything he said. He was really only answering because Simeon was in the room, who would answer it for him.

"Come home. Now. You have explaining to do." Lucifer growled through the phone. At first, Satan wasn't worried. He got ominous calls from his older brother like this all the time.

"What is it?" He sighed. Mc laughed a little, causing him to smile. The others began to chat among themselves while he was on the phone. This was normal.

"You know exactly what this is about. On your desk in your room. Underneath three books. Your keys on the left. The pen you used on the right." Satan froze. The smile left his face. Lucifer always sounded serious, but this was one of the few times he sounded like he was about to rip his throat out. He had found the journal. Mc didn't hear what he said, somehow, but noticed his change in demeanor.

"What's the matter, 'Tan?" Mc brushed some hair off his forehead.

"Nothing, my love. Don't worry about it. It's the usual nonsense." He moved the phone away from his ear for the moment, and then back once he was done speaking.

"Let me speak to Mc. I want them home too. Now." The tone Lucifer used to dangerous. Satan knew that was unwise. He didn't know what his plan was, but he didn't trust him at all.

"No. I will come home, but I'm not bringing Mc. I will not needlessly involve them. This will stay between us." Satan began to grow angry. He couldn't help it. Typical Lucifer, complicating matters.

"If you don't come right now, I'll drag you both back personally." Satan knew he wasn't kidding. None of his threats were empty.

"Fine. Have it your way. We'll be home shortly." Satan hung up before Lucifer could respond. By now, the entire room was staring at him. He looked totally different than he had before. He was tense, his rage obvious.

"Are we leaving? What's the matter? Did something happen?" Mc looked at him, concerned.

"I'm heading home to take care of something, but you're staying here. I promise it's nothing serious." He lied through his teeth. He didn't know why Lucifer wanted Mc there, but he knew it couldn't be good. The journal was bad news, and they were involved in no way.

"Are you sure? Lucifer said he wanted me there, right? You know how good I am at sorting out issues in your family. I really don't mind, if that's the issues." They squeezed him a little. They were so caring. Too caring.

"I'm sure. I won't act out or anything. He's probably mad about chores or something. I wonder if Mammon sold his underwear while it was my turn to do laundry again." Satan smiled. They cracked a small smile back.

"Alright. Keep me updated. I'll be waiting for you." Mc pressed a kiss to his forehead before climbing off of him.

"Simeon, before I go, can I have a quick word?" Simeon, who was comforting Luke, turned at the sound of his name.

"Of course." Simeon stood up, gesturing for Mc to take his seat next to Solomon. Luke was seated on the floor between them. Mc looked worried, but moved regardless. Solomon looked around the room, studying everyone's expressions. Simeon walked with Satan to the entry way. "What's the matter?" He asked, holding out Satan's coat for him.

"I want you to place a blessing on this building. Do not let any demon in under any circumstance. Including me. I don't care what they say. I don't have time to explain, but something is very wrong at the House of Lamentation and I don't want a single one of my brothers near Mc." He shoved his shoes on as he spoke. He hastily put on his jacket and turned to look at Simeon one last time.

"I don't know what could be wrong, but I trust you. Mc is safe in mine and Solomon's hands." Simeon let his hands fall to his sides, opening the door for Satan. He watched as he took off running in the opposite direction of the House of Lamentation. He could only stare and wait for him to be a good distance away, before shutting the door. He went back to the living room to find Mc hugging Luke, Solomon with a hand on Luke's shoulder.

"Solomon." Simeon said the sorcerer's name. He stood up and walked over to him. "Satan didn't tell me what the matter was, but I need you to do a quick check of the house to make sure nobody but us is in here. Satan requested I bless the house to keep his brothers out." The expression on both of their faces was grim.

"Of course." Solomon shut his eyes and waved his hand. Once he reopened them, Simeon knew he had completed the check. "Nobody but the four of us are here."

"Thank you. Normally I would ask Luke to help me perform the blessing, but I would prefer to leave him alone for now. Will you accompany me?" Solomon nodded. Simeon led him away, leaving the room together, leaving Mc and Luke along together on the sofa in the once full room.

"What's wrong, Mc?" Luke asked them. For once, they had no clue how to respond to the boy.

"I'm not sure. Simeon might know more, but for now, we just have to wait. In the meantime, do you wanna play some more of the games?" Mc hoped to take his mind of the ordeal.

"I don't really feel like it, sorry." He sighed, worried. He had always had concerns about Mc living with demons and them seemed to be coming to fruition.

"That's alright. Do you want to watching something maybe? Simeon made cookies that are cooling in the kitchen, right? We can get those." Mc tried again to get him in better spirits.

"Let's wait for Simeon and Solomon to get back. They might be worried if they return and we're gone." Luke admitted.

"Good point. I'll turn on a movie for now. What do you want to watch?" Mc got up, leaving Luke in their spot.

"Anything." He usually had more to say. Mc could tell Luke was very worried.

"Alright." Mc went through the various dvds Solomon had stored away near the tv. After finding one they liked, they put it on. The two of them watched this movie together since there was nothing better to do. Eventually, Simeon and Solomon returned with said cookies. Rather than sit on the free couch, they all sat together. They could all tell Luke was worried. The desserts remained untouched.

"I have a surprise that I think you'll like, Luke." Solomon spoke up. Luke picked up his head. "I was told that Mc could stay the night, so we can have a big sleepover together. Does that sound good?" Luke perked up.

"Oh, good. That sounds great! I don't want to send Mc back to those icky demons. Where are we sleeping?" Luke sounded excited, making the rest of the room smile.

“We can stay in my room.” Solomon watched as the little angel jumped out of the cuddle pile and ran to gather pillows and blankets.

“It’s nice to see him happy again. I honestly think he might be more concerned than me.” Mc sighed, reaching for a cookie.

“If we knew what was wrong, we would tell you. I just know Satan asked me to place a blessing on the house.” Simeon explains.

"I figured. It's fine. We just need to hope for the best..." Mc stares at the cookie, thinking about Satan and what he might be doing right now. They just hoped he was safe.

ty for putting up with me and not putting out anything for so long... and sorry for the cliffhanger lol. really wanted this out but a. not sure how much longer it will take and b. not sure what I want the ending to be yet! lol

part two soon hopefully sorry to anon for taking so long!!!!