#the old men yearn for a quiet home life

[roaldseth]

“An excellent gift for one who enjoys decorating”

Shout out to old men and their home decor!

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[rayveneyed]

cw: mentions + depictions of death, crime, alcohol.

it's difficult for nanami kento to leave behind the life of a cowboy -- but, truth be told, he's only ever wanted to live a quiet life.

god as his witness, he’s seen his fair share of trouble — train heists and bank robberies and turning sheriffs topsy-turvy, mostly at the behest of his more excitable companions. he's seen blood and guts and bullet wounds the size of his fist, and he’s damn sure seen too many good people bite the dust far too soon. the adrenaline and the money weren’t ever worth it -- but haibara had wanted to stay, and so he did.

haibara dies. it's no glamorous death. it's shitty, and dull, and it happens in the blink of an eye -- shot from his horse as he galloped down the side of a train, hitting the sand with a sickening crack. they hadn't even been able to recover his body, and it ruins kento beyond anything. haibara was his brother. they'd known each other since they were old enough to know what knowing someone meant.

his heart was never fully in it, but that was the nail in the coffin. he couldn't smile. couldn't find the will to continue on as he had before, like nothing had happened. what was it that made him survive, when so many died? why did haibara die -- good haibara, ditsy, smiling haibara -- while nanami lived? why was he seemingly deserving of life, when others weren't?

he didn't know. he doesn't know, but here he is, with a beating heart and a furrowed brow and a pistol that doesn't fit all too well in his hands anymore.

it's all enough to have him yearning for a home and a bed and the country, with it's silence, with it's peace. the country, like he lived in when he was a boy. the country, where haibara had run through the grass and caught cicadas and geckos.

if he can't swap places with haibara, he thinks, then surely he can try to repent for all he's done. turn his life around. live as an honest man.

so — with a heart as light as a lump of stone — he retires from the outlaw life. says goodbye to the crew. sets himself up in a quaint town with a little cottage to himself, some land to farm on and some cattle to wrangle. it’s far away from the big cities, but there’s a train station the next town over and everything he needs a short horse-ride away: a general store, a saloon, a doctor. he can live simply. he can live honestly.

and so it starts. no use in making a name for himself as some sorta recluse, he reckons, so he forces himself to get to know the town, settle in. he’s a quiet man by nature, but they’re kind as most small-town folk are; the doctor is a weathered old man whose daughter is married to the town sheriff, and their niece helps out at the general store. the sheriff himself is stout and balding, with little experience in shooting a gun, but he's a good man. there’s a group of old, weathered farmers that seem to take him under their wing, though he tells them time and time again that he’s no spring-chicken when it comes to tending the farm — that was his father’s work, after all, before he died. and there’s families and kids and men his age, mostly farmers or sheriff’s deputies or soldiers. girls just barely women, tittering and blushing when he nods a good day to them.

life is good. he can live like this, he thinks. he milks the cows and sheers the sheep, hoists lambs over his shoulders and sweats, sweats, sweats. gorges himself on whisky and beer and hearty food, spares some money for a little piece of toffee if he has it. walks himself home from the rowdy saloon with his jacket over his arm and his cheeks flushed, eyes counting fireflies in the evening sun. it’s all hard work -- he's left aching and sore each day -- and it’s good work, anyways. at least out here no-one’s hankering to put a bullet between his eyes.

and yes — he gets lonely sometimes. he’s so used to running with a pack of seven or eight, staying up ‘til dawn, trading stories ‘round the fire. laughing more than he knows how to, hiding smiles around the rim of a cup of moonshine. now, his nights are filled only with the calls of cicadas, the sound of dried grass brushing against itself in the wind. the days are long and hard and he has little to return to by its end.

probably why he spends all his time at the saloon, drowning out the quiet with the noise of it all.

probably why he spends all his time glancing at you out the corner of his eyes.

now, look here: kento doesn’t consider himself the kinda man deserving a wife — but you’re… you’re kind. kind and pretty, serving up drinks and putting the town drunkard out on his ass when he gets too riled up (if kento doesn’t get to him first). slipping the kids sugar cubes when they sneak in past their bedtime.

his first day in town, you never made strange; you remind him of his old crew, in some ways, with your open brightness, your ability to welcome him so easily. you’d told him that his first drink was free of charge, a smile on your lips like a secret. and you walk past his home on your way to work, your dress swaying ‘round your hips, your face all dewy and plump — you're a summer evening, strawberries sweet and syrupy, and he can't help himself: he glances over sometimes, and you always call his name in greeting, like you were expecting it.

(in the back of his bad, no-good mind, he wonders if you talk about him the way the other town girls do — if you giggle over the size of his arms, or the colour of his hair, or his voice. he shakes the thoughts away with a disapproving grunt.)

but it doesn’t matter — it doesn’t matter that sometimes you end up late for work, stuck standing at his fence and talking for far too long; doesn't matter that you bake him loaves of bread, using the excuse that there's too much at home. it doesn't matter that he fixes the porch of your house and you make him lemonade, batting away your younger siblings with a tea-towel and scolding them for bothering him -- doesn't matter that, for a second, he imagines a life like that.

and it sure as hell doesn't matter that, when the old doctor swings an arm around his neck and teases him something terrible, drunk off his head and slurring — “i reckon you’ll be wantin’ a wife soon, big man like yourself!” — that his eyes cut to you. and it doesn’t matter that you’re already looking at him, knowing.

men like him don’t deserve lemonade or apple pie or sweet summer strawberries. not now, not ever.

[callsignspark]

Mar[r]y Me - part 8.5.2

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, discussions of body image, conversations on what it’s like to be a fat woman trying to date in today’s society, extreme fluff, like soooo much flirting, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 3.6k

previous part | series masterlist | main masterlist

note: happy Friday! I hope everyone had lovely holidays and 2024 is going well for you so far! I did have some issues tagging people so apologizes if you didn't notified! I really loved writing this chapter, especially since it's going to help set the stage for the rest of the story! (only 4 more parts to go! isn't that crazy??) please be safe if you have snow coming towards you this weekend, and enjoy these two pining and yearning for each other more than ever.

part 8.5.2 - rambling and rings

Friday, April 16, 2021

Mary waves at the obnoxiously large SUV as Slider honks and drives away. Leaning against the entryway table, she slips her heels off and wiggles her painted toes at the feeling of the soft runner beneath her feet. Shuffling over to the entertainment console, she hums as she connects her phone, choosing the song that was on in the car.

The dreamy guitar intro floats through the air, making her smile. And the last beams of golden sunshine disappear as she dances through the living room, enjoying the peaceful feeling that’s settled in her chest and closing the blinds in between twirls.

Good things are happening at work, rumbles that there’s a promotion coming on the horizon. The monthly call back home to her parents hadn’t ended in tears for the first time in months. Most of her evenings are spent in the company of at least one Dagger family member, helping Kris and Dani with their kids or enjoying the adult-only life with Aaron and Flora. Bradley is messaging her as often as he can, every email making her heart flutter, increasing her joy with every sentence he types.

Everything is coming together in ways she had never even dared to dream about.

An early dinner with Ron, Mav, and Penny was the cherry on top of a great week. The four of them laughing and telling stories the entire time, taking advantage of the warm spring weather at the patio table Pete had reserved for Slider’s birthday. As stories and photos were traded across the table, Mary felt like her heart could burst learning about baby Bradley. The only quiet moment of the evening was when their waiter brought an unordered round of drinks to the table, prompting the men to venture inside and thank the old Navy buddy that had spotted them through the window.

“Thank you, Matt; it was getting just a tiny bit too windy for us.”

“No problem, ma’am.” The young man smiles over his shoulder as he finishes turning the outdoor heater on. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“I think we’re good for now, thank you,” Penny answers, glancing at Mary, softening at the sight of the younger woman lost in thought as she stares out at the ocean with a content smile.

She watches as brown eyes drift from the water to the table, gentle fingers tracing over a copy of a photo that’s older than the girl studying it. Penny stays quiet, letting the sound of waves crashing on the sand accompany the slight furrow that creases Mary’s brow as she brings the photo closer to her face.

“He looks just like his dad, doesn’t he?”

“He does; he acts a lot like him, too, more than he realizes.”

“You knew him?” It’s not a surprised reaction, just curious.

Penny hums, “We weren’t close, but I knew him enough to see how much Bradley has turned out like him. He’s a good blend of both his parents.”

“Did you know Carole very well?”

“More than Nick, by default, but for the most part, we were at different stages in life. She was older than me by a few years. I was in college and she was a widow raising a toddler. But, as you know, the aviator community is pretty small, so we were friendly. I would even babysit Bradley sometimes when the guys were deployed.”

“He was a cute baby,” Mary says softly, eyes back on the last photo taken of the whole Bradshaw family.

“He was… turned out to be a handsome man, didn’t he?” Penny asks, taking advantage of the moment.

She smirks as the younger woman looks up at her through her lashes, a shy smile stretching her pink cheeks. “He did.”

“Can I ask you something while they’re still inside?”

“We’re not together. But we are going on a date the week after he gets back.” Now it’s Mary’s turn to smirk at how Penny’s eyebrows rocket up to her hairline. “That is what you were going to ask me, right?”

“It’s close enough. Are you excited?”

“I am. I really like him.”

It’s the first time she admitted it out loud to anyone other than her best friend. She revels in the encouraging energy and words Penny gives back, both of them still giggling like school girls when Pete and Ron return.

“What are you two laughing about?” Slider asks as he slips Mary’s wrap over her shoulders.

“Oh, nothing.” When Penny winks, she has the overwhelming urge to cry. The knowing look accompanying those two words is more affectionate and maternal than anything her mother has done in years.

Their hug goodbye lasts a few seconds longer than expected, and the gentle hands that smooth some stray hairs back make her throat tighten. Slider is quiet on the ride home; familiar with the many moods of Mary, he lets her work through her thoughts with the radio on low.

“Y’okay, kid?” He doesn’t speak until he pulls into her neighborhood, giving himself a five-block buffer to determine if a pit stop to the closest ice cream shop is required.

“Yeah. Just-” Mary pauses, trying to figure out how to best explain. “Just still getting used to it.”

“To what?”

“To how easy it is to just be me out here. Surrounded by people who have just folded me into their lives with zero hesitation, like I’ve always been here.”

“Mary, were you happy in Florida?”

“I was content. Getting to know you helped with that a lot, but let’s face it; if I was happy, I wouldn’t have been so excited to leave.”

“And you’re happy now?”

“I am. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

It's a cheesy line, but true. She knew that when she said it, accepting the light teasing that followed with a smile. One that hadn’t left her face as she said goodbye to her mentor, one that grows as the song starts again. She can’t help how big her grin gets. This song always reminds her of Bradley.

“I'm in love, I'm alive. I belong to the stars and sky.”

Letting the song stay on repeat, Mary stops in the kitchen for some water on her way to the bedroom. It’s still early - not even eight yet - but a full night’s sleep is calling her name, eyelids feeling heavy.

She slips her clothes off, folding the jeans for tomorrow and tossing her shirt in the laundry. A small groan of relief accompanies the unclasping of her bra before she slings it into the hamper. Turning the bedroom speakers down slightly as she enters the bathroom, a grimace instantly creases her face when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

“Jesus…” Her disbelief echoes in the room as gentle fingers rub over the harsh red lines where her clothes dug into her skin. It’s evident where the waistband of her jeans sat all day. And the tender spots under her arms lets her know it’s time to look for better-fitting bras, again. Mary tugs the leg of her panties up, relieved to see at least one piece of clothing hasn’t left its mark.

She’s massaging the sore spots on her chest, letting her warm hands diminish the pain, when her phone rings. Her eyebrows furrow deeper at the unknown number flashing across the screen.

Usually, at this time of night, she’d ignore an unknown number and let the other person leave a voicemail, but something in her gut tells her to pick up before it’s too late.

“Hello?” There’s a muffled response, and she scrambles to disconnect her phone from the speakers. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Hello, ma’am. Can I speak to Mariella Vertucci?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Lieutenant Corso in the communications bay on the USS Roosevelt. Can you confirm your identity with your full name, birthday, and the eight-digit code given to you by Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?”

Mary’s heart stops for a second. This is it. Bradley is calling. She’s going to get to talk to him after forty-eight days. Hear his voice. See his face.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry. Mariella Theresa Vertucci, born March 14, 1987. The code is 0125-2020.”

“Thank you, ma’am. One minute, please.” The soft clacking of a keyboard filters through the phone, the Lieutenant's tongue clicking as he types. “You’ve been verified. Does the phone you’re using have video chat capabilities.”

“It does, Lieutenant.”

“Excellent. Stay on the line, and in a few minutes, a video chat will come through with Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. You have been allotted 30 minutes today. I am required to remind you that communication is not secure. This means, for security purposes, you cannot ask what time of day it is, what location, or how any missions have gone. Please confirm that you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you. I am also required to let you know that this video chat is conducted in a private area and will not be monitored. However, the audio will be recorded, so any lewd acts are discouraged but not forbidden.”

Mary can’t help the snort that escapes. “But not forbidden?”

“Uh- the uh-” She smothers a chuckle at how the kid trips over his words. “The Navy understands that loved ones are apart for long periods of time and can’t forbid any uh- urges that couples may wish to act upon during their chats. But we are legally required to inform everyone of the recording.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“No problem, ma’am. Please stay on the line, and your loved one will be joining shortly.” She giggles at how quickly the hold music starts, humming along to Anchors Aweigh as she clips her hair up, ready to take her makeup off. She’s about to wet a washcloth when the music cuts, and the video call comes through.

Taking a second to look herself over, Mary admires the tendrils that have escaped, perfectly framing her cheeks that are still flushed from the wine she had with dinner. The slightest bit still tipsy and a little frazzled about Bradley, she realizes just in time that she’s still only in her underwear, hitting the accept button and dropping the phone on the counter.

“One second! Just- oh, come on! Fuck!” She curses under her breath as she struggles to slip into her bathrobe. “Hang on, Bradley!”

Finally getting both arms in, she ties the robe, eyebrows raising in surprise at how it cinches her waist, before eagerly grabbing her phone.

“Hi, Mary.”

“Hi, Bradley.”

She greedily drinks him in. It’s been 48 days since she’s seen his handsome face or heard his warm voice - the longest since they met - and she’s missed him. Her heart clenches at how tired he looks, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever.

“Hi, honey.” The sweet name hits something deep inside, and she can’t help the tears that immediately form or the way her bottom lip wobbles. “Oh, shit, Mary. Please don’t cry, honey.”

The emotional reaction surprises even her; she was expecting to be a bit overwhelmed, but nothing like this. It makes her feel a little ridiculous, crying about a man she’s barely even kissed. But you love him, her brain chimes in, sending more heat to her face.

“This is your uncle’s fault!” She laughs, swiping tears away and propping her phone against the mirror.

“Mav?”

She can’t help but giggle at his disbelieving tone as she reaches for a tissue. “No, Slider. He’s in town this week, and he may or may not - but definitely did - get me tipsy at dinner, like he always does!”

She trills on about dinner, telling him about the childhood stories that were shared and the baby photos that now live on her phone, not noticing the look on his face until he interrupts.

“You getting in the shower, Mary?”

The husky tone immediately grabs all of her attention, a shiver running down her spine at the smoldering look on Bradley’s face. She follows his eyes down, surprised to see how much her robe has come undone. The valley between her breasts is completely visible, and the fabric is threatening to expose her belly button - and more - if it’s not fixed.

“Oops…” She mumbles to herself, tightening the robe so much it pushes her cleavage together.

Normally, this is where her insecurities would ruin the moment - flooding her brain with terrible things. Make her spend the rest of the call analyzing how she looks in the tiny corner box, agonizing how prominent her double chin is from this angle. But the soft fuck that crackles through the phone squashes the anxieties before they can take root, shifting her attention to admire the man looking back at her.

And god, he is a man.

Bradley Bradshaw has always been gorgeous: tall, strong, and deliciously tan. But mid-deployment Bradley Bradshaw is a vicious attack to the senses. And the hormones.

His broad shoulders have gotten broader, filling the little privacy cubicle in the communications room so much that he’s brushing both sides of the walls. His curls are more golden than usual, clear evidence of time spent flying in the Pacific tropics. His tan is deeper, too, glowing even in the harsh florescent lighting, the bridge of his nose slightly sunburnt. His neatly trimmed mustache moves with his lush pink lips, warmth building in her core as her thoughts drift to the memory of how they felt pressed against hers.

“Mary?” She hums, eyes focusing back into the present and away from her favorite post-deployment reunion fantasy. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“You.”

It's clear he wasn’t expecting that answer from the way he drags a hand over his mouth to muffle a cruse, his eyes scrunching shut.

She wasn’t expecting it either; the effects of the wine have mostly worn off, leaving her with flushed cheeks and apparently a slightly looser tongue. She can’t bring herself to be embarrassed about the overly honest answer. Communicating exclusively via email for the last month and a half has allowed Mary to gain confidence in Bradley’s feelings. It’s hard to wonder about his intentions when every email ends with him telling her how many days are left until he’s home.

“Your lips…” She continues, emboldened as the last remnants of wine soften the sharp edges of her insecurities and the pink working its way up his neck. She loves how easily Bradley blushes for her. Their few kisses have always ended with his cheeks a lovely, rosy shade. “How soft your hair is. Your mustache. How strong you are. How much I miss you…”

The words make them both pause. It’s not an uncommon phrase, every email containing some variation of the sentiment, but hearing the words out loud makes it real. Cementing the longing in their chests.

“I miss you, too.” The words are quiet, echoing against the tiled walls. She chuckles, throat thick with emotion, and Bradley can’t look away from her soft smile. His heart pounding at the emotion on her face, something he can’t quite place. He can’t stop staring as she picks the phone up and flicks the light off, “Where are we going?”

“Couch.”

He smiles as the familiar walls of her living room appear, grin going slack when she props him up on the side table, and the slit of her robe reveals a thigh that he’s dreamt about as she shuffles pillows. Bradley manages to pull his mind out of his post-deployment fantasy as she plops on her couch - that damn pink couch - and smiles at him over the arm, her eyes almost closing she grins so hard.

“I’m sorry I missed our call.”

“It’s okay, Bradley. I knew it was a possibility, and Mav let me know what was going on. I understand.”

“I want to hear about your birthday.”

“I told you about my birthday! We’ve discussed it extensively.”

“I still want to hear about it. I want to hear your voice.” He revels as she softly whines and smooshes her face into a pillow, thrilled to cause that reaction. “C’mon, please, Mary?”

“You’re not fighting fair.” The muffled complaint comes back, making him laugh, but she does as asked.

Bradley listens, humming along as she recounts her birthday for him and insisting for the hundredth time that it was his pleasure to give her presents. He lets her lead the conversation as it shifts to what’s happening in San Diego, content to watch her as she shares stories of what he’s missing at home. Happy to just admire her and occasionally ask questions.

It’s so easy to get lost looking at her. Dark hair swishing around her shoulders, just slightly shorter than it was in February. Her brown eyes look darker than usual, the low light in the room making them almost black instead of the warm brown he’s used to staring into. And despite resecuring the robe, it’s coming loose again, enough that the top curve of her breasts are visible; freckles dotted all over, disappearing beneath the baby blue fabric. Bradley thinks about what it would be like to connect the dots on her soft skin, tracing invisible lines with his fingers or lips. He imagines there’s more hiding behind the waffle material. He wonders if she’d let him find out.

The fantasy of how wonderful it would be to memorize every mark on her body is interrupted as red nail polish grabs his attention. He loves her hands, smaller than his but so strong when she’s working on a jet. Steady as she calls out instructions to her team, grease smeared up to her elbows and her nail color of the week shining through the black sludge. Mary insists that she doesn’t talk with her hands, that she managed to avoid that stereotypical Italian-American trait, but Bradley smirks as her hands swirl through the air. He’s about to interrupt the story she’s giggling through - something about the latest swear word that Danielle accidentally taught Annie - when something sparkly on her finger distracts him.

A ring.

A diamond ring.

A simple silver band lined with tiny diamonds.

On her ring finger.

On her left ring finger.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to study the never-before-seen piece of jewelry. Mary must notice his confusion because she cuts her story off and flashes her hand at the camera. “I bought this for myself when I got promoted for the first time. I went from EI to EII, which is entry-level engineer to associate engineer. It was $50 from this little shop that was on the same block as my first solo apartment in St. Louis.”

Relief sweeps through his body, thrilled that Mary hadn’t gotten engaged with him.

“That’s awesome. Have you done that every time you’ve moved up?”

“Kinda? I always buy myself some sort of gift - last time, I splurged and got that big blender we used at the Christmas party. But I’ve only done jewelry a few times. I think I’m going to get a necklace next time, something to match this.” She explains, wiggling her fingers so the gems shimmer in the camera.

“It’s very pretty.” Bradley compliments, feeling bold enough to go further. “You look good with a ring on that finger.”

“Jesus, Brad-”

She’s cut off by the two-minute alert popping up. They had been so distracted they weren’t paying attention to the countdown timer.

“Already?” Mary pouts, forehead crinkling as she frowns. “But I didn’t get to ask you about carrier food.

“It’s bad, honey. Yours is so much better.”

“Or how you’re sleeping.”

“Reuben’s snoring has somehow gotten even louder since last time we shared a bunkroom; Bob, Mickey, and I owe you for the extra earplugs you sent.”

“You’re sunburnt.”

“I’m wearing the sunscreen you gave me; the sun is just strong.”

“I knew I should have sent the SPF 75!” Bradley smiles as Mary throws her head back in faux despair. “Oh well, now I know for next time, I guess.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah. You didn’t think I’d only send you a care package one time, did you? I gotta make sure you have everything you need. I know I missed some stuff this time, but I’ll get better in the future! I promise.”

I love you.

He just barely holds the words in.

“God, I fucking miss you.” He stares at the screen, watching the prettiest brown eyes in the world fill with tears at his words. “Oh, honey, please don’t cry. I’ll be home so soon.”

“But twenty-four days is such a long time, and I miss you so much.”

“I know, but we’ve already done 48 days. Twenty-four will be a breeze to get through.” The timer starts blinking, the last 60 seconds counting down. “I gotta get going, Mary. But you keep sending me flirty emails so I have something to read and think about.”

He chuckles at the little surprised noise she makes. “You noticed that?”

“Did I notice that? Mariella, in the kindest way, you are not subtle.”

“Well- I-” She splutters. “Neither are you!”

“I’m not trying to be, baby doll,” Bradley revels in her reaction to the pet name - mouth dropping open as she blinks at him, cheeks pinker than he’s ever seen - one he didn’t even mean to use.

The flustered hand she waves at the camera while yelling at him makes him laugh. “Bradley!”

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Be safe. Only 24 days.”

“Only 24 days.”

“I miss you, handsome.”

Bradley's face feels hot, choked up at the look in her eyes, the softness of her words. “I miss you, too, baby doll.”

They don’t say goodbye, choosing to admire each other as the final seconds tick away.

5…

I can’t wait to see you in person.

4…

God, you’re so gorgeous.

3…

I don’t want to hang up.

2…

I miss you.

1…

I love you.

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fic tag | credit for dividers here

[madhatterbri]

Take a Letter | Hangman A.P.

Summary: In a moment of vulnerability, you penned a heartfelt letter to Adam, confessing lingering feelings and doubts about your marriage. Days later, Adam discovers the letter and returns to you.

Author's Note: Western AU starring Hangman. Mentions of Nick and Matt Jackson and Ric Flair.

Please remember none of the western stories are linked together. ❤️❤️

My Dearest Adam,

As the sun sets and night takes over the town you once called home, my heart wrestles over the notion of getting married to such an awful man. This union weighs heavy on my thoughts, and I wonder if I have made the right choice in allowing him to accept my hand in marriage.

In the rare quiet moments I have while running the saloon, I reminisce about all the dreams we shared under the full moon and stars. Oh, how I wish they would become a reality. Perhaps they will in another life.

I yearn for the days we spent traveling under the merciless rays of the sun, and our love ran free like the wild horses.

May our paths cross once again, my love.

Yours, Now and Always,

Y/N

Adam stood motionless as his eyes swam through the letter once more. She still loved him despite everything that happened between them. The soft sobs of her servant sounded in his hideout house. He gripped the paper roughly and looked at her. His stern eyes glared at her. She flinched.

"Why are you just giving this to me now, Dollie?" He demanded. The date on the corner of the letter was a week before her wedding. He wondered why he was given this letter only two days before her wedding. What if I'm too late, he thought to himself.

"I wanted what was best for her. I've known her since she was a baby. You can't be mad at me for acting in what I thought was her best interests. After her father passed that saloon has been her everything," the woman sobbed louder. She blew her nose into her handkerchief. Adam rolled his eyes at the woman's dramatics.

"Where is she?" He asked. In order to make up for lost time, he needed to get to her sooner rather than later.

"She still works at her dear father's old saloon, m-Mister Hangman," she answered between breathy sobs. Hangman slid the paper in his pocket and stomped towards his horse. The woman quickly followed after him, sliding into her carriage. She silently prayed that she wasn't too late.

👢

"To the best little watering trough in the town," a drunken man yelled. His glass, full of alcohol rose high in the air. He swayed in his chair as he fished for something in his pocket. Crumpled up pills trapped in his hand. He slammed a fistful of bills on the bar top. "Another round on me!"

The saloon erupted in cheers. Spirits were lively at the Sundown Saloon. The saloon served customers from different occupations such as lawmen, cowboys, and even outlaws. With the owner of the saloon getting married, more customers turned out than ever before.

You stared from the second floor with a mix of emotions. Tonight was the last night your father's dream would stay alive. Tomorrow, Sundown Saloon would be no more. Just a bittersweet memory of your father's second pride and joy.

Heavy footsteps coming up the stairs distract you from your thoughts. A drunk man teetered up the stairs. His alcohol spills all over the floor. A madam smiled and winked at you. The man was too drunk to know what he was getting into. The woman was known to rob the men as they slept.

"Congratulations, missus," the man spoke. His eyes half closed. He raised one of his hands to show you his missing ring finger. He slurred his words. "Don't cheat. Learned the hard way,"

"Thank you for your advice, Mr. Flair," you smiled.

"Come on, darling. There is fun to be had," the madam told the old man. She winked at you before sauntering away with him.

The madam and drunk man left you to yourself. The man on the piano played a lively tune. Men and women alike were jumping to their feet to dance. Those too drunk to stand on their own, resigned to just sitting on a stool and singing loudly. You chuckled to yourself and walked to your room to get ready for your nuptials tomorrow.

You sat in silence as you stared at your wedding dress. Any woman would be ecstatic that they were getting married tomorrow, but not you. Your heart was out there somewhere in the sands of Texas.

Your fingers ran through your hair as you decided to get ready for bed. A good night's sleep will wash away all the doubt. Your door suddenly opened and revealing Dollie at the doorway.

"Y/N, please don't be cross with me," Dollie breathed heavily as if she had just run a mile to get to you.

"Cross with you? Where have you been?" You questioned her whereabouts. She was like a mother to you ever since your mom passed when you were a baby. Now she came to you smelling something awful and dirty.

The servant looked down ashamed and opened the door. Before you stood the one and only Hangman.

👢

Adam stopped at the doorway and stared at you. His light eyes took all of you in. He thought he would never see you again after he left you. He stepped inside and lowered his black bandana.

"I... I should go," Dollie excused herself. She closed the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone in your bedroom.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got your letter," he answered and grabbed the letter from his pocket. Two fingers held the folded letter before you. Your mouth dropped in shock.

"That paper is nothing but a foolish child's dreams. Give it to me so I may burn it," you ordered and reached out to take it from him. He placed the letter back in his pocket. You stared at him in confusion.

"Don't marry him," he whispered, yet you could hear him clearly.

"What?" You asked in shock. Your eyes furrowed in confusion. The last time you saw Hangman, he was running away from you at the mere thought of a life together.

"You heard me,"

"Why?" You asked.

"You know why,"

"So I can go off with you, and then you get scared and leave in the middle of the night again?"

He flinched at your words. That night had to be the biggest mistake of his life. After years of the two of you playing cat and mouse, he finally opened up to you. He was in love with you. Thoughts of you being a weakness to him shrouded his judgment. While you slept next to him, he took off.

"No more running. Matt and Nick, they have families, and that's what I want one day with you if you will have me,"

You opened your mouth about to let your hurt ruin everything you wanted with him. You took a deep breath. As much as he hurt you that night, you were still in love with him. "I'm to be married tomorrow,"

He looked down and sighed. He figured he would be too late, but he wanted one last shot to tell you how he felt. "I'll leave you to get married. He's a very lucky man,"

This was it. The last time you would ever see the Hangman, your Hangman. Your heart pounded so loud that you wondered if he could hear it. You had to push your emotions aside if you wanted to be with him again.

You opened the door to your bedroom. Dollie almost fell down yet caught herself. She was known to eavesdrop on conversations. Especially your conversations when it came to the Hangman.

"Dollie, excellent timing as always. Please prepare my effects and my horse. I do not believe my wedding will be taking place tomorrow,"

Dollie smiled triumphantly and bowed her head. "As you wish, my dear,"

[pookielious]

Hiraeth

Hiraeth ; a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

Chapter one — Philadelphia,PA

Summary: After returning from the war, Babe Heffron feels lost and empty, struggling with nightmares and survivor's guilt. He decides to take a spontaneous train trip with Bill to get away from Philadelphia and figure things out

Word count : 2,078 (11k+ charaters)

Notes: multichaptered (1/??) ! On AO3 !! No disrespect towards the men of the real easy company, this is based off of the hbo portrayals and strictly for funsies : ) no ships are included for those who don't enjoy ships !

Chapter below cut ↓

The year was 1946, a few months since the war had ended, since all of Easy had finally returned home to their respective states and family, it was a miserable year for Heffron; just about the most miserable you could get. Babe had returned to Philadelphia, back to his ma's on Front Street, and kept in close contact with Bill since they'd lived so close to one another, but after the war nothing felt complete anymore. It felt as if his life was missing something yet there was nothing to fill that void that layed both in his head and heart.

Being a veteran of such a horrible war had its downsides, of course, the nightmares plagued him, the survivors' guilt , all the 'normal' stuff that no one had warned him about followed the now 22 year old and all of the other veterans no matter when they came into the war.

He'd told Bill about it, both in person and over the frequent phone calls they'd had,Bill had even showed he felt the same kind of void ina way but didn't know how to go about fixing it. bill simply choiced to ignore it.

"We should do something about it yknow?" Babe said one day, out of nowhere in the middle of the coffee shop him and Bill regulared for a weekly coffee 'date', His index finger tracing the rim of the glass boredly.

",bout what?" Bill raised a eyebrow, sipping from his coffee mug, a pastry in hand

"I don't know, that feeling ? -- maybe we should.." he trailed off to think about it, eating the last bite he'd had of his breakfast sandwich , the coffee shop was relatively quiet.not many other people there besides the two and since they were regulars they knew the most active times and usually avoided it "–we should just go somewhere, maybe thats what we're missing yknow? "

"Where to?" Was bill's only question, babe was slightly suprised to hear that he wasn't even questioning his sanity, especially since it was bill he was talking to,going out somewhere out of nowhere without any sort of planning in advance surely wasn't a good idea

"Dunno, out of Philly definitely, I just need to be out of here-- to think or sumn'thin " the ginger shrugged, he didn't have a plan at all he wasn't even sure how long he wanted to be away from home, he just wanted to figure things out, find himself again

"Fine, just anywhere but Manhattan, or even worst" Bill pretended to shiver "-- jersey" he laughed

"God no" heffron cracked a smile "meet me at the train station on 30th tomorrow morning, one down on broad street yeah? I'll figure out where we're going before you get there"

"Yknow babe," Bill started "you might as well be as nuts as crazy joe " he said as he put cash on the table, standing up

~~

"Com'on it really can't be that hard !" Babe tried to reason with the man behind the counter

"We uhm-- we need a destination sir" the young man said, staring at the train destinations behind the counter "we have one at 10:30 for new york" he offered, still giving babe a look that screamed 'are you a mad man?'

"God no- anything but new york-- jesus" he sighed frustratedly "get me two tickets for- the furthest away from here-- whatever is available that's not goddamn jersey or new york , okay?"

The man stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes looking away from babe at their ticket selection with a small sigh he spoke again "Thatll be 47 dollars sir" babe handed him the money and received the tickets after a small fumbling battle with his wallet "thanks bud" heffron smiled and walked to the side, sitting down on a bench , he placed his bag between his feet as he waited for Bill, he'd came slightly earlier just as he said just so he could have everything ready before hand

Maybe now would've been a good time to rethink everything, maybe come back a different time and trade in these tickets for a new ride, somewhere planned with Bill or maybe even with one of his siblings or his ma, he knew Bill wouldn't judge him for it.. but he felt like it was a good time as ever, why not now

Sure he hadn't planned anything not even where he was going but that was the beauty of it all, he'd be going to a place long away from the busy city of Philadelphia , somewhere new. It almost reminded him of the deployment, the excitement of not knowing where he was going but knowing he'd be dropped somewhere, defending everyone he loved oversees, it was almost the same excitement but this time it he wasn't carrying guns and grenades, this time he was In civilian clothes, with a bag full of necessities and of course more clothes, without a helmet to protect him from gunfire , being sent to a tiny foxhole where he was to freeze his balls off. Thank God he wasn't in bastogne. He could shiver at the thought of being there again

"Babe-? babe?" Bill snapped his fingers infront of his friend's eyes " Earth to heffronnnn" He heard a voice , realizing he'd been lost in thought for God knows how long , Bill smiled as his eyes focused on him "there ya are, where's your head at right now"

"Thanking God I'm not in bastogne" babe stood up taking bills bag, he figured it'd make it Easier for him, with the whole blown off leg and all, despite the prosthetic and the crutch, Bill always had a funny sort of limp, one that at least made it look like it was difficult to walk with especially with a bag

"Who knows, maybe yous got us tickets back there" Bill joked starting to head his way to the terminal "God I hope not" babe sighed, following behind Bill "Jesus christ whatdya got in this bag? The goddamn empire state buildin'?"

-

The pair had gotten to their train just in time, their tickets had been punched and the two had been directed to their seats, the train was pretty full, the people from all over it seemed not just from Philly, the two made their way to the 3rd train cart as instructed

 it was a nice train, one of those trains with seats and a table infront of them and sleeping quarters similar to the one they had been in on their way to deployment though the two had some sort of understanding they would rather sleep in the seats then on some filthy beds that hadn't been clean in God knows how long

 "were soliders, We could sleep anywhere for christ sake" Bill retored, as he walked up to their assigned seats, noticing not one but two men in the seats across from them "ill be damned" Bill laughed hushedly , making the man in the isle seat, closest to bill look up from what seem like a attempt at a nap and the other, closest to the window look up from his book , babe hadn't been too har behind and finally came to a stop next to Bill, "small world ain't it babe?"

Babe smiled and laughed " well ain't it david Webster and ol' joe leibgott!" Babe handed Bill one of the bags to free his hand, long enough to give the two handshakes

"Ain't this a suprise!" Leibgott laughed, babe took note of how the two didn't look any different from when he last saw them, he'd had the twos phone numbers ,he had just about eveyones but they never talked all that much, at least not as much as him and Bill did as well as the others who had came from Pennsylvania before the war , who knew calling out of state could be so expensive

"good to see you both" Webster said putting his book on the table

"whatdya both doing on here?" Bill leaned his crutch on the table to put his bag into the overhead storage ,babe doing the same although much faster then Bill was

"Ain't learn to read yet?" liebgott teased

"I got a job for a journal in newyork, " webster started "they want me to go write a few articles about Mardi gras and some of that stuff in New Orleans so they payed for me to go there"

"You don't say huh?" Heffron said as he slid into the seat towards the window, opposite of web he took bill's crutch with him to lay down on the floor so it wouldn't be flying everywhere once the train started to move.

Webster continued "And liebgott here, I ran into him in timeSquare, told me he'd been exploring the east coast and decided to join me"

"Exploring?"

"Yeah" liebgott shrugged crossing his arms "I felt kind of lost being back home in san fran,yknow? I just felt like I needed to be anywhere else but there"

Babe lit up "yeah! Yeah! Thats exactly how I felt " he looked over at bill "I told you I wasn't crazy he knows exactly what I was feeling"

Bill sat next to babe "Jeez now the both of you's are having mid life crisis , huh"

 liebgott raised a eyebrow "you feel the same? God that's a relief, webster over here was makin' me feel crazy for it too"

Babe laughed "I've been feeling that for a long time, trust me its torture"

~

the two Philadelphians had settled in as the train had moved out of the city, the train attendants had came through with breakfast and drinks for everyone, the chatter continued between David and Edward as the train started it more than a day long trip down to a little town close to New Orleans so they had plenty of time for that "So Louisiana hm?" Babe Said

"Did you actually not know where you were going before you got on here?" David questioned, being careful to not move around to much as he talked, because of liebgott; who had slumped over on him in his sleep

"Nah, we got completely random tickets , just so happens we got lucky and ended up with you both, ya'know?"

Webster simply nodded, taking a sip of his drink "maybe it's because I wasn't a big fan of being in Europe but I never felt that, how you and Joe feel i mean"

"Trust me I wasn't either, especially in bastogne-- I don't think I'll ever go back to Europe at least by will"

"I guess when I came back I was lost for a little but not as much as you guys feel now, i think i felt that way more when i joined back with the company, way back in haguenau."

"Because you weren't there through all of it" he shrugged, "you were still 'round people --normal people through the hospitals and stuff, but we were kind of isolated during the battle of the bulge or whatever they callin' it, y'know? it was just us for the most part sure we'd see other divisions and stuff, but it's a while different mindset, you know that"

After a while more of talking, the topic changed from homesickness and being lost. They'd both started talking about what they'd been up to in the past few months, since they were finally brought back to the states.

"Say, doesn't doc live out here? Doc Roe, right?" Web asked, changing the subject for what felt like the 5th time in the hour.

"Actually, yeah he don't live too far out of New Orleans from what I remember. Bayou chou- or- sumn' like that , Chene? Yeah that sounds right. Bayou Chene'

"Maybe we should keep a eye out for him, or go visit or somthing " Web suggested, stretching out his legs under the table.

"Yeah, that'd be nice-- if we could find out where he is"

"Your both pretty close, right? How don't you know where he lives?" Web questioned.

"We've sent each other a few letters and postcards, sure, but ion know the guys address by memory, I'm nughta stalka' or something", babe shrugged.

He wondered if they'd be able to find him out there, it would be nice to see the company together again, even if it wasn't all of them. Maybe he just needed to see his family again, that had to be the piece to the missing spot in his brain.

Author note ♧

Ty sm for reading!!! I've had this for a while now but I'm very much so committed to getting these chapters out soon enough!! I hope you enjoyed : )

Ps sorry if web and Lieb are slightly out of character! It's my first time writing for them

[geewintg]

In another lifetime

Fandom: Genshin Impact Ship: Cyno x Tighnari

A gift to @dramagotchii during a cynonari gift exchange and I'm just reposting it on tumblr. It's available in ao3 too.

Synopsis: They say that wishes could be fulfilled in another lifetime. But it has a catch... with every reincarnation, the further apart you are born from your wishes. Until those odds could never be rekindled. Your wishes will remain as it is.

Prologue

This is it. The enigma behind the blinding light as he laid supine surrounded by crashing boulders staring at the clear blue sky. He can no longer feel the pain in his body; his muscles that ached, his lungs that burned. Chapped lips parted for air yet he can feel his breaths shallow.

Does he regret it? No. These were his efforts. To enforce justice is his duty and he swore until his life's end. He had escaped death by hair's breadth countless of times before that it felt like he was cheating life, thinking that he only stole his remaining moments, or that he exchanged them for something greater like his years of lifespan. Ironic, isn't it? Yet out of all the times it could happen, it only had to be now. It was as if the world was mocking—punishing—him for being too unfair in their tug-of-war.

Now it will take him; swallow him whole. He has no doubt about it. Yet in this short moment as everything crashes, he wished to see him. How he yearned for his touch, how he could only keep his hands to himself for years, how would want to see his face one last time. He wants to confess.

He felt remorse. Remorse of the fact that someone will have to know the news of his passing, that he failed in his mission right at where he told him to wait for him— that he'd come back.

He never did.

~~

The lingering smell of an all-too-familiar scent...

The seemingly mildness of floral mixed with fresh-cut grass. Like the nature that beckons him calling and he would respond with a smile nurtured only to it. He doesn't know; it only comes natural to him. As if it was something to him... something important. Yet all thoughts seemed to dissolve to an opaque sense of forgetfulness, like following an old unwinding path he knew too well only to come across a dense fog he couldn't pass through. He knew there was something beyond there, but he could only frown upon this frustration as there were no seemingly important memories to remember.

He always had that feeling whenever he lies in nature's arms: the oblique sky, the sway of the verdure, and the warm sun under his skin. It's not the sense of belonging from a city boy having to live in it his entire life longing for that quiet life in the woods. No, he doesn't think he fits in the forest nor its emerald pastures. It's more the feeling of accompaniment like a presence that gives him comfort; something to call home. He can't see himself tending to plants in a little cottage that hits them nicely when the morning sun comes, yet he could see it in his dreams. How those plants would be lively green and freshly watered, absolutely taken care of. It's not his, he was sure of it. He tried taking care of one only to fail miserably, fern dried and yellow under the sun. He thinks plants do not suit him.

Yet it always lingers, longing to find what missing puzzle fits the questioning feeling. A feeling that he never meant to have in the first place. No friends, no family; how can he hope to fill something missing when it was never there to begin with? Maybe it was envy that drove him down this bottomless pit, a hole forever marked on his person never to be filled.

But sometimes, he finds himself searching for answers, for something that isn't there; hoping for that slight chance, for something that will never happen; praying... praying for what doesn't even seem to exist.

And perhaps, it was nothing after all.

The painful ringing in the ear.

The smell of metal and powder hazed the air.

Dirt spray that blinds one's eye after a round of fire shots, and the harsh yell of orders from men to reposition as soldiers scamper for cover. The earth quakes so often it makes one feel numb to their breaking point of where they can't differentiate reality whether they even have their eyes closed. Their ears bled of a faint whistle that each second it took longer, dread slowly reaches for their ankles and anchors their boots to their impending demise. Then the explosion was instant.

The sky and dirt are painted with two different shades of red like spilled wine on a feast table's cloth between clinking stemware of merry government officials while fire rains from above on sacrificial pawns.

Cyno snaps his eyes open while the ringing fades. It was too felt—too real. The fire burning his lungs, the sharp whistle drowning the screams, and the throbbing pain on his right eye just where his bangs fell. He touched it, sensing the vague strangeness of having it there, the ability to see; to have it blink; to feel something that was hopelessly forever lost back within his capabilities washed him with relief.

Cyno is a top graduate of his class. Paired with his strong sense of justice, he never has the issue of lacking clients contracting him to defend them. However, only those who have done no wrong to the laws will ever be able to get his full cooperation, otherwise, they'd only get their asses handed to the court. Some clients knew so they would deliberately try to present an altered truth to paint them as an innocent victim being framed, but Cyno had a discerning eye for lies and deception. Being in the field of laws and politics, he is no stranger to these.

Cyno took a sip of coffee as he looked over the documents and continued to type. It's not long before he clocks out the office. He has no work for him since he had finished all of it as soon as it comes. He's still halfway through the documents and nothing to do after that. His assistant, Aarov, already headed out earlier because he finished the work he gave him. He said something like "I can't wait to catch the look on my children's faces when they see me home early!" The guy was smiling from ear to ear while whistling a merry tune as he packed his suitcase.

Cyno cannot blame him. Because of how much he gets contracted, Aarov had to carry out some of those burden so he ends up going home late. He complains a lot about how much work is being dumped on them, resulting to him returning home with his children already tucked in and sleeping.

Ah, yes, frustrations of being an overworked father. Cyno can sympathize but much less relate. He had nothing in particular that eagerly awaits him at home so he doesn't mind staying overtime to finish this miscellaneous work. The only thing he looks forward to doing is playing TCG Invokation online at home in his pajamas. He also loves collecting physical cards whenever he chances upon them.

"Beep."

His ruminations were cut short when the last of his colleagues pressed his card to check out.

"I'm heading out. How about you?"

Cyno raised his head and checked the time then glanced at the remaining papers on his desk. Just three more... he'll be going out soon.

"Not long. I'll just finish this." He dipped his head. "Good work today." The man returned it and closed the door then his work continued. The clock ticks blended with his taps on the keyboard until footsteps echoed down the corridor. The door once again opened to reveal a security guard doing his rounds. Seeing Cyno still on his seat, he wasn't surprised.

"Closing time," he grunted, then closed the door.

Just on time, Cyno finished the last paper and piled it neatly on top of the rest on his left. He didn't realize how stiff his neck was until he threw his head back and let out a sigh. His gaze was blank as the white-painted ceiling. There wasn't much contemplation before he started cleaning up after his mess and closing his suitcase. Soon, he was out of the office.

The way home was very much uneventful just as it had always been. There was moderate traffic and the ride was quiet with the muted sound of engines and purposely-chosen static noise of the radio. Life wasn't much to be contemplated for, really. He stopped by the convenience store to buy himself something instant to satiate for dinner. He could try to make something good but the best he could do from scratch was fried.

The moment he gets home, he changes into yesterday's pj and threw himself on his gaming chair with the instant food in hand, mouse cursor already hovering over TCG.

"Thank you for your services." The man gave him a salute which he returned, heart empty and mind disarranged. "...Lieutenant."

Should he be happy? Should he be in grief? For the award...or his lost comrades? He felt nothing; his entire being devoid of anything, just as numbing and hollow as the reassuring hand fell weight on his shoulder. The man dipped his cap below his brows to give his last respects then walked away.

Shouldn't he be rejoicing for war's end?

Again, he felt nothing. Like another meaningless existence of no purpose. He was going back to his once-again dull life wandering around its intricacies like a lost forlorn soul.

He held the box of his belongings with his basics. Two pairs of clothing, his uniform, and a badge of his honor...his sacrifice—the reason why he was discharged from his only life's purpose.

He is no longer fit to serve.

It's a pity. But he doesn't want to see it from someone else. He saw the way the man looked at him as he dipped his cap. Admiration, respect, but also pity. ‘What a pity you are.’ Those eyes said it.

The more he thinks about it, the more he is made aware of the absence of the bulge in his right eye. The way the bandages and soft cotton wrapped around his head... He could only exhale his frustrations.

Well, there's nothing he could do.

As he stepped out of dull white corridors, light assaulted his poor eye. It was like watching a film with a faded filter of white. He was once painfully made aware again that not only did he lose his other eye, his functional one is no longer as good as it should be.

Horse carriages rode around the bustling town square. It was livelier than he expected it would be, completely different from the deserted towns he had seen caught between the crossfire. It made him feel strange. The activities, the smiles from the folks, the laughter and squeals of children playing in the park—not screams and whistles of missiles.

There was a child wearing a newsboy cap over his dirty blonde locks, pointing at an ice cream shop as he tugged at his mother's skirt while she was chatting away with the vegetable stall's vendor. He had a huge smile across his face when he got one. Then Cyno realized that this boy could be any of his comrades' son. Some of them were fathers whisked away from their family to protect their country, others were boys who grew up to be men to take their fathers' place in the war. Then there's Cyno who was just there.

Life is full of irony...or it simply loves to toy with the intricacies of mortals.

If some other were to take Cyno's place, there would have been one family who would be able to feel the joy of having their dearest return. They would have been complete, not grieving, or left to be a widow to raise their child on their own. Cyno doesn't have those. Yet in life's mocking fate, he was spared.

What now? He doesn't have somewhere to go home to, doesn't have anyone to look forward to returning. Not a family, a relative, nor a friend. What a sick joke.

Horses neighed, interrupting his thoughts, followed by shouts from an angry coachman. "Move out of the way! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Cyno realized he was standing in the middle of the road and hurried to the side before he could cause any major accidents. The coachman flicked the reigns to continue on, but not before sending Cyno a dirty look and muttering a few curses under his breath.

Well, that was embarrassing.

But Cyno thought about it long and hard. He had no destination. The city is a little too much for him to bear. Clip-clops from horseshoes striking the pavement, the churn of cartwheels and wooden groan of carriages, the bustling of people that were like bees to his ears—overwhelming. He doesn't like it here.

“After this, I want to live a quiet life by some rural town. Surrounded by nature and trees. Build a family… I mean if we ever get out of here alive.” The man cackled that drowns all their sorrows away as they joined in the hearty laughter. “How about you?”

Cyno was asked. And he answered, “I’m not sure.”

The hut was fine. Enough space for himself and his belongings. He’s a simple man who has nothing and desires nothing. A kitchen, a bathroom, a bed space, and a small living area with a short round table that doesn’t go past one’s knees. The walls were made out of concrete and draped over by a minimal space of aesthetic bamboo wood. The roof was made from straws, strong and meticulously made enough to be a strong household but breezy enough to ward off the scorching heat when the sun is at peak. Golden, green, and bright. The trees are like nets that catch sunlight as it streams down the forest floor. The soft wake-up call of twittering birds in the morning pleases his ears.

The serenity, it reels him was like no other. It was almost like his dreams—

Dreams...?

The faint gurgles of the river and distant crash of cascading water. The cool damp air on his skin as he strolls along under the emerald leaves. The familiar feeling swelling as he comes across a humble sight of hanging huts under the great branches of a giant tree.

What was that place? He swore he had never seen anything like it. His entire life he has lived through smokes and hazards, never once was something so peaceful, so quiet...so comfortable. Enviously so that it's surreal.

He breathed in the fresh morning dew of grass. Then sighed. Perhaps his mind is merely playing tricks on him. Nothing but an exhausted man from the battlefield.

After days of getting used to his new life in his humble abode, he finally sets off to go see the town square. It wasn't anything grand or noisy, no crowded places, no rattling carriages, no speeding horses, no yelling. It was absolutely peaceful, just how he enjoys it. He wasn't entirely going to settle here in the first place, but it is dovish and reeled him into its welcoming embrace like the cold silk sheets of his bed after a long tiring day of work. It was the sheepish bustle of a quiet town—peace the others longed for and in which only he was able to attain.

He first dropped by the local bakery for some bread. The aroma of fresh pastries greeted him like a lover hugging a long-gone soldier from war—warm and relieved, making him remember of the days food tasted before he started munching on dry, stale rations that felt like rock sandpaper to his throat.

"How may I help— oh..." The young lady who looks no older than fifteen—bright-eyed and with wide smiles—accidentally dropped the tray full of freshly-baked cookies. The metal made a sharp noise that made his muscle instinctively twitch. The girl was at lost for words as she stared at the mess she made and in panic, she tried recovering them from the floor. She muttered the same words over and over again while her voice wavered and the cookies kept slipping out of her trembling hands. "I- I'm...clumsy. Very clumsy— oh no! I'm-! I am such a mess..." Then she melted as if wanting the floor to swallow her whole.

There was another voice behind the curtains who called, "Collei? Are you okay over there?"

Cyno and the girl's eye met. She let out a yelp as if she saw something grotesque. And perhaps she did.

Cyno averted his gaze in shame.

A woman, a little older than the girl, with tousled brown bangs swept back by a red headband, came out of the back area to check up on Collei. Seeing the mess on the floor, she helped the girl up. "Oh no, Collei..."

"I'm really really sorry! I'll bake the cookies again-! I promise!" She blurted.

The young woman shook her head. "I wasn't talking about that... are you hurt?"

"Oh, uhm... Uh- I'm fine..." Then she groaned. "But the cookies for Sir Tighnari..."

"-can be done again later. Go patch yourself up first." She ushered her to the back room and sent her a big smile.

"But—"

"No buts! I'll handle this one," she reassured. Then she turned to Cyno with a chirpy tune, unperturbed by his appearance. Or at least, try not to be. "What can I get 'cha?" Cyno pointed to a loaf. "And?" He shook his head.

As she was about to hand it over, she paused, "Now wait a minute! I haven't seen you before! Are you new in town?" She leaned on the counter with interest.

Cyno hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Don't you speak?" The question wasn't meant to hold any ill will, just pure curiosity. Cyno could tell.

"I'd rather not." He shook his head.

"Woah, you do speak!" Then she caught herself and cleared her throat. "Oh uh, ahem, I mean we welcome you to Ghandarsville! I hope you have a lovely stay in this lovely ville! If there's anything you need help with, don't hesitate to visit the town's hall! If you're sick, don't be shy to seek medical aid from our local herbalist. And if you wish to know more about this town's past, go down ahead to the center where you'll find our library. That's all! We welcome you once again to our humble ville!"

Cyno blinked, but seeing that she's waiting for his reply, he mumbled out an unsure affirmation.

"Thank you for buying our goods! Come again," she chirped, handing him the bag of loaf.

Cyno stepped out with not knowing what to feel. He felt the shame for himself, for making others feel bothered by the way he looks. He knows how unsightly it is, so before he enters another store, he makes sure to have his bangs cover his other eye. He doesn't want to scare anymore of the town's people.

The second shop smelled like stocked herbs. It was a bit cold and brooding. There was no one behind the counter until a little voice spoke up. "Welcome to Bubu pharmacy. How may I help you?"

It was that of a child's, head barely over the desk. Cyno was taken aback.

"How may I help you?" she asked once again in that toneless manner. Honestly, Cyno just wanted to look around.

"Qiqi, do we have a customer?" Someone called from behind. Then emerged a bit tanned slender man with long green locks spilling out of his bun. This is no doubt the woman is referring to as the local herbalist.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bother. I was just looking around," Cyno said politely.

Baizhu welcomed him with a smile, bobbing whatever that thing was around his neck. It looked like a white scarf with a definite shape; its one end doesn't seem to go down.

"Don't mind her. She's harmless." Baizhu followed up a chuckle as he petted 'her' head. Cyno blinked. She? It's alive? As if it read his mind, a tongue slithered out of it as it raised its head higher, displeased.

"He's new, Chanseng. Go easy on him please." The herbalist said as if the snake was ready to pounce on Cyno.

After a few more chats with the herbalist, Cyno decided it's time to get a move on and check the other shops. The third shop was owned by a mechanic; clockworks and motion movements. Parts of it were just laid out messily on the shelves while built ones were put on the front desk for display. Fourth shop was a small restaurant run by a sweet elderly couple. Fifth was a smithing shop which had Cyno genuinely surprised. He didn't think there would be one here. The townspeople didn't strike him as people who'd be interested in such things, especially with its blood lackluster atmosphere. The owner said he was a descendant of renowned blade smiths who also had a history with previous wars. He travels from one town to another to distribute his works but he mostly stays here despite the heavier demand outside because he became attached to this place. That, Cyno could understand. Then there's the library the woman spoke of, also the town's hall. But as he was on his way home, he passed by a plant shop that compelled him to take a turn.

There were flowers displayed at the front and inside were filled with even more plants Cyno couldn't recognize. It almost felt like he was inside a human-sized terrarium. Vines crawled up the walls and gripped around the planks of the wooden ceiling like a spreading disease. Some cascades down the tree branch decors, or was it a real tree? It was too overgrown for Cyno to tell. He trod on the narrow snake space left to step on and the wood creaked under the weight of his boots. Elongated blades of bromeliads draped over the pathway where he could crush it under his footsteps if he wasn't careful. It was like a jungle. The smell of damp air tinted with the scent of fresh spray on proliferating leaves and the sunlight that filters through the translucent glass. There was that chime again when the door closed behind him, alerting whoever was inside.

"Hello, is someone there?" A voice called from behind that made Cyno stop in his tracks. "Wait a moment. I'll be right over soon." There were clangs of metal against metal before the door leading to the staff room opened. There stood a young man with a dirt stain on his cheek, wiping the sweat off from his hands after using the gloves for extensive hours.

“How may I help you?” He asked. Cyno stood there speechless, voice waning. He felt a pull, an explainable feeling. Familiarity and repose. Yet he had never seen this man his entire life. He had no person to compare him to, no family, no friends. But, for some odd reason, he did. He felt him close. The brightness of his smile, the warm welcome of earth in his eyes, and the tide of his greeting. It all feels the same just like how he had lost it.

“Sir?” he tilted his head to the side. “May I get you anything?”

Cyno swallowed, a ball stuck in his throat, ebbing to spill unsaid words he thinks would not even be possible for him. He has found him.

…but who is he?

~~

There was this dream he once had. White knuckles, blurry vision, and blood drips on the floor. The fire in his lungs and the singe of blood in his veins. He was numb yet in pain. But before all things faded to black, he saw one person. A person who screamed his name before he fell to the floor, "Emperor Cyno!"

Then he woke up.

What was that dream? Who was that? What does it supposed to mean? Anger, terror... and then helplessness...

Wait— what was the dream again...?

Cyno woke up sluggishly in bed. His eyes felt like he had cried for more than hours at how dry it felt when light blinded him; they were puffy and red. His muscles cried for help and his throat burned sore. He was attacked by a million of needles in his head when he turned over to his side. But despite this, he knows he should get ready for work. This wasn’t the first it happened. He still needed to pass those papers he finished nights prior unless his assistant already covered that for him.

Things like this happens after waking up from certain dreams. Though he had no clue what it meant, it shouldn’t matter. They were just hopeless dreams after all, were they not? Maybe it actually meant nothing after all.

Some he remembers, others he doesn’t. But then they’d just come back to him again like a haunting visage, trying to warn him of something he couldn’t seem to figure out. Just like this one dream. His role was to enforce justice as the order of the Knights Templar. It was all he ever wanted to do since he was a child. He was given a rare opportunity, a young boy such as he who had no name and money to his title, no shelter—nothing at all, just like as he was for the most part. But these people are magnanimous. The regime was rigorous and severely strict, almost felt like he was no different from a spartan but that did not discourage him from pursuing righteousness, conduct, and moral; his life’s purpose, his dreams.

But all of it seems like a fading phantasm. Nothing but a delusion after reality sets in the error of their ways. They were enforcing law—a perfect world—a strict adherence all citizens must abide to, no matter who. Yet the rich benefits while the poor suffers. Everything can be bribed, dismissed, or closed by either money or power.

“Is this right?” He once asked, holding the bag of gold coins with eyes wide fixated on his colleague’s face. He was young and naïve. Inexcusably foolish. Yet he stood there in the dark alley watching dumbfounded as the aristocrat rubbed his hands together with an unscrupulous glint in his eyes, seemingly ecstatic with his negotiations with his colleague while the poor man this morning was dragged like he was convicted of ten murders, beaten and bruised, when all he ever did a minor fault that he couldn’t pay fine for.

What a perfect world they wish to live in. He realized his faults so he plans to make it right starting by enacting his own justice. But that proved to be much harder than he initially thought.

“Brother Lord Cyno, you are hereby sentenced to trial for your misconducts and disloyalty towards the Templar Order and the Pope for colluding with the Assassin’s Guild.” And thus, he was whisked away to the lowest of the underground dungeon where the most immoral criminals are held with contempt. He had trod this far and no doubt he was finally cornered by the people who saw him as thorn by their side. Where they served law as money, he served justice himself with the highest virtue. The order did not like that.

The hammer was down. “You shall be executed.”

And now he had no more than a few hours before dawn arrives, to relive his last moments in this waking world. Now that he had thought of it, it was all useless—a futile attempt to make the world a better place. It never was and it never would be.

In his last moments, as he offered his head on guillotine, he felt no remorse. He had served as he felt it is just. Amongst the crowd, the front row sits were those nobles, who he had on wit’s end tailing them, and consequently who had framed him, hiding their pleasure behind solemn faces. The common people were in tears. They were no doubt, the one who he had done service, and he was glad he had. Because in these moments, he knew that he done something to make the world somewhat a better place for those who needed it.

As the bell dongs, the wind picks up. It played with the trees and his hair. And for the first time, the distant clouds in the horizon never looked even more breathtaking at this moment. He had never felt more closer to the earth to smell the musk, the hushed lullabies of the dancing leaves, and the cool breeze against his nape. Then…

—shlick!

He saw him.

In darkness, he saw him. The way his smile graced sunlight blindingly, his dark hair that danced with petals of his garden, his careful touch when he tends to him… He never found him in this lifetime, but in the next, he will not forget.

Cyno opened his eyes, his hand slowly reaching for that tingle in his neck.

~~

“NO, prince… s-stay behind me!”

“Thank you for you service, General. But this is how far my lineage will go. All of my elder brothers are dead. So will I.” He then smiled as if it was natural for him to do so. “You can no longer walk, General. It is better for us if I surrender now. No more suffering for the people of this kingdom.”

The smell of incense roused him awake. Fine silks flourish the ceiling with deep purple and intricacies of gold that only befits royalty. What a strange dream he had. And it’s him again. That palace doctor.

Even his dreams he managed to slither into.

It wasn’t that long since he first just met him. He was notable but… that was just it. He wasn’t anything to be worth of special attention yet the people of his palace speak high praises of him. A young genius, they said. But Cyno was, in fact, more annoyed at how his mere presence bothered him ever since that day they met. Like he said, he wasn’t of anything worth-noting yet his gaze would drift whenever he sees him pass by like a sunflower to the sun. His eyes would seek him in the crowd like a bee hovering over a meadow fussing for fresh pollen and every time—every time—he would know where he was.  Cyno doesn’t know what to make of it. It was as if he was bewitched, hexed, captivated by no rhyme or reason.

He hates it.

He fought those thoughts, those dreams of him, the way he would know him by scent if he were blind, the way he would just stand out to him even if there were thousands of people in one room, he’d know him by breath alone—his mere presence. He’d know him. It was a losing battle Cyno was too late to realize. And soon, he found himself deeper into the hole where he could no longer get himself out of. Those dreams were the bane of his existence, for knowing someone who he hadn’t interacted with at all. Cyno no longer knows himself.

“Silence!” He growled. His advisers stopped. “Not one word,” he warned, “we shall discuss this later in the throne room.”

“Your majesty—” One of them hesitated when he turned over to look. He swallowed and proceeded, “May I advise dropping by the infirmary for your headache?”

Cyno was having none of it. This headache is getting worse day by day, and all of it was because of those dreams he wished could simply disappear acting like an intruding thought slowly driving him down to madness in each of his waking moments. “I’ll drop there by myself.” And they were dismissed.

He held his forehead with a sigh. If anyone were to see him taking support from the wall, it’d be a pathetic sight and a great insult to this great empire for their ruler to be seen in the hallway grasping the bars like it was his life’s end. But he can’t seem to get himself off. The pain was eating him up.

“Your majesty?” Cyno raised his head in distress, startled with the sudden presence; a voice from the person he’d least want to see right at this moment. That cursed pretty face looking down on him in confusion, tilting his head worriedly when he registered his position. “Are you alright, your majesty? Do you need—” He pushed him away. He felt their brief contact, the slight graze of their skin.

The serendipity of his touch, how his heart leaped from his ribcage and how it burned him. It made his hair stand on its end like an electric spark seizing his body frozen, motionless and helpless. Every fiber of his being responds to him.

This man is dangerous.

"Your temperature is high. We should take you to the clinic for good measure." He took note of his flushed cheeks and heaving chest, unbeknownst of the thoughts running inside Cyno's head. He flicked his hands away when he grabbed his wrist.

"No. I don't need your help."

Tighnari made an irksome face. "Don't be stubborn, your majesty. We're getting you treated."

And maybe that was the first mistake he let him do. He let him drag him, take hold of him, engulf him slowly but surely, he had fallen deeper to where he could no longer help himself. He became his closest confidant, his friend, the only one he could trust. He poured wine into their cups, raised it for a toast, but...

"Cyno?" Today, should he tell him today? "Cyno—!"

Huh? His eyes widened as red wine stained the furnished wood of his table. Not wine—blood.

He chokes. Like water in his lungs, his chest feels tight, burning— aching as it strips away every bit of his consciousness. Ah… there’s poison in the wine. But Tighnari could never be a part of this. He would never betray him.

First…second… third. Remember, the world gave you a chance. With every life you spent unable to fulfill your previous wish, the slimmer the chances you get to make amends. It was his own voice that speaks to him.

Second… He was the empire’s general. Such a high-ranking position for someone of low-birth. No name, no family. In the eyes of blue blood, he was nothing. A dirt; a lowlife meant to be trampled under the soles of their scrubbed shoes. It was until one nobleman realized his worth and took him under his name. He proved to be strong. But that nobleman’s good name was tarnished and sentenced, soon enough, so did the family fall. That kind nobleman, who was like a father to him, never saw how he had risen to the top and took the title he had so longed for him. He could only offer flowers on his tombstone and only the empty presence heard a proud son’s announcement. But having no noble blood running through his veins, he wasn’t duly welcomed by his peers. He tarnished the pure nobleness of the imperial knights—a mad dog he was called.

Well, those words hold no ground to him.

But they were right. He was a mad dog of the empire; a stepping stone of royalty. He was nothing but their dog. Blind and a pawn to their tyrannical schemes. He was sent to countless of wars, lead expeditions, and invaded countries. He was only a bloody functioning sword to the emperor’s eyes; as long as he remains sharp, he will not be discarded away. He was responsible for the empire’s peace and absolute power. But that power was put on a leash held by the emperor himself.

And there, he kneels before his throne not of reverence but in feign courtesy as that wicked smile would surely bring another order of expanding the empire in the northern borders. He will surely be sent away once again to bring glory to the emperor’s name. Such sickening deed. It rises a bile in his throat that bothers him so much he wishes to set this castle aflame.

“Go forth, my knight. Bring glory to this empire.” So as the king commands, he leaves due in three days.

Cyno could only grit his teeth. He threw down his stash in fury on the grass the moment he was left alone. “Curse the royal family, curse loyalty—”

“Are you General Cyno?” A voice startled him. It was mellow like the fields of grass, or the butterfly that flutters around roses. Like the soft breeze that sweeps his hair the moment their eyes met. And they smiled. It graced him like the light touch of the morning sun.

“Only certain individuals are allowed in this area. Who are you?” Cyno spoke warily the moment he regained his wits.

They chuckled like the soft churn of bells. “We haven’t officially introduced but I am the seventh prince. You can address me as Tighnari.”

Seventh prince? The forgotten one. This was him, the so-called disgrace.

Cyno collected his composure and cleared his throat, giving a proper bow. “My apologies, your highness, for the intrusion. I shall leave immediately.” Then he got up curtly and turned to leave. “Whatever his highness heard was not from my mouth.”

The expedition was quick. He returned with victory as always, reporting straight to the emperor. But he was egotistical as ever, bearing a cup of wine in his hand, his face written with slight intoxication. He laughed boisterously and raised his cup, dismissing him as he and the nobles celebrate with another feast. Cyno clicked his tongue in distaste as he left the hall. Yet he came across once again the forgotten prince who smiled graciously to him as ever, without any malice or judgment—no hidden agendas.

“Congratulations, General. I heard of your accomplishment, but why do you look displeased?”

Did he not threaten him last time’s incident? He spoke as if they were friends, his voice as sounding as ever. Does this prince bear no grudge? Does he have no pride? “It is none of your concern, your highness. Aren’t you going to celebrate with them? Your brothers are inside.”

The prince shook his head. His eyes expressed sorrow. “General, I am not welcomed. No one will notice if I am gone.”

But that is none of Cyno’s concern. So he left him there in the garden once again, wondering.

He saw him again when he was called to the palace, still in the garden under the tree, holding a book. He read leisurely. He doesn’t seem to be bothered that no one is looking for him. He looks very at peace. Cyno was caught intrigued.

He was oddly drawn to him. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks. The people still recognize him yet they do not bother with him. Yet at times, he caught him speaking to maids—reprimanding them, while they nodded and listened intently, taking the criticism genuinely. If there was one thing he noticed, while the people hover around the other princes like a moth to a flame, drawn but with one touch, they know it would set them aflame. They bow their heads in fear and respect. But with the seventh prince, it was more of a mingle. He was light, not fire. They revere him as a teacher, a friend—a prince of his own right—as someone who has earned their respect and undying loyalty. He scolds harder than the feared royal chef but, in that way, he also parts his knowledge of proper procedures.

Cyno only watches until he realizes that his eyes would immediately search for him. He would sense his presence. He knows his hobbies. He would usually sit under the tree reading a book and occasionally, he’d find him asleep during the afternoons. He loves the forest and researching about odd plants. Sometimes even eating mushrooms that would not be recommendable.

It was that one time he accidentally made himself known. His body moved on its own when the prince was about to put a mushroom he randomly found in his mouth. He held his wrist before he could even.

But before he could even explain himself, the prince chuckled and said, “It was about time you showed yourself, General. Would you care to explain on why you have been following me for a very long time now?”

Cyno was caught red-handed, flabbergasted and tongue-tied.

They were such great friends. But then that happened. Perhaps it was the deeds Cyno has done that lead up to this fall. They were invaded—an alliance between the surrounding kingdoms they’ve did wrong. And he died trying to protect Tighnari.

He was the only one he truly cared for.

He remembers the feeling. The feeling of helplessness before one’s mortality. The regret of things he hasn’t said, of the things he had done, of the things he kept… He wanted to tell him something. Something… what is it? That vague feeling that’s been wanting to be known, trying to rip free from the cage of his heart. And as everything flashes white, there was another universe he saw. He saw Tighnari, not princely, but donned in comfortable layers of clothing. But he still had that same smile as they hugged before he left. Two tall ears on top of his head that he oh-so badly wanted to pinch was expressing longing and disappointment as he went on his way.

Then rocks came tumbling down on him as he gazed up into the sky, his limbs numbed and unable. He can taste the metal in his mouth. The clear blue sky—it had never been bluer before more than now. Then everything went pitch black.

Cyno gasped. His heart pounded loudly against his chest, drowning everything, even the blaring morning alarm. He was covered in a layer of sweat. He took in a deep breath then let it go, repeated the process a couple of times until his head cleared of the headache.

He had a dream… what was it? He could barely recall this time. But he remembered the sunlight on his face, the soft smile, and the— that face… who was it?

“Man, after all this time, we finally had something.” Aarov pats him on the back. “That’s the person you’ve been trying to find? They look pretty.”

“A biologist. Currently is staying in some part of southeast asia. Makes sense since it’s tropical there and most of the forests were untouched. It’d be field day for someone with that line of work.” Cyno contemplated. “Prepare me a ticket. I’m leaving.”

“Wait what? Now?! You have work!” His assistant called from behind, stunned. Cyno said nothing else as he put on his coat and walked out the door. “Alhaitham will have my head,” the man said bitterly as he shook his head with a sigh.

Cyno stared out the window from his airplane seat. Blue skies with streaks of white. It wasn’t the same shade as he had last seen it. No matter how calm and collected he may appear, he was an absolute train-wreck inside. What should he even say when they meet? How can he just introduce himself? Like oh, I’ve seen you in my dreams. You were very close to me. Right, he’d be called crazy and a stalker. He’d voluntarily place himself in a mental asylum after this if it ends badly. But there was this tickling feeling those weren’t just dreams. All of them ending tragic before he could even fulfill his wish. Just as he was a retired soldier who found solace in a peaceful town, he had found him again by the odds of faith. But it wasn’t long until he was called once again to the battlefield where he died protecting his country. He couldn’t forsake his duties. He told him as he was leaving he would come back. He promised him he’d come back safe and sound, and he told him to wait for him, he told him he had something important tell him. He couldn’t say it then as he left. He had no courage. If he did, he would have robbed the person of everything, his life, his dreams, his hopes. And that would rip Cyno’s entire being. He could never.

But he never again came back. Only the wind blows of the sorrow that carries the news of his passing, an honorable death, for someone as him to have life taken away from him in the battlefield. He had fulfilled his duties—his life’s purpose—in exchange for one’s lament.

He regretted it deeply. So if lifetimes do exist, he wished he would choose another career where he could have avoided the inevitable tragedy. And maybe it was now that he gets to fulfill that wish, to be reunited with him once more.

But— “Everyone prepare for an emergency landing.”

Then an explosion in the engine occurred. Cyno gasped awake. It was just a dream… The plane is now landing. He’s fine. All is fine.

As soon as he sets foot on land, he made haste. In a rural province somewhere on the outskirts, lies a forest. People said there’s no scientist there, only tour guides. And he happened to come into the most inconvenient time of the year. People from afar would be swarming the place. That made it harder for him to find him. But then again, how should he even approach him?

“Hello, you’re here for the tourist spot, aren’t you?” A brunette came up to him with a wide smile. “I recommend visiting first the shed in that area over there. They’re going to give you a map of the area that’s accessible. If you manage to get to an area not on the map, I suggest to get back on track cause you never know what’s gonna bite you from the ground!”

“I—”

“And if you have any questions, don’t fret! There’s a reason why we’re here!” She proudly pointed to herself and gave an assuring wink. “But if you see a blond boy that’s just right about this height with a bandage on his nose, I’d suggest to get another tour guide,” she whispered, checking sideways if there’s anyone near them.

Cyno gave her a weirded side-glance but nodded. She was familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

“Anyway! I’m Amber, a tour guide, but I’m also responsible for the zip lines and air gliding. Don’t you just love it when you feel the wind on your face? It felt like freedom!” Cyno could only nod to whatever was being said. For now, he doesn’t know where to start, she is he’s only bet.

After her lengthy guide of process and procedures, Cyno suddenly had the thought. “Oh, by any chance, do you happen to know this person—”

There’s a really loud yell of someone’s name that even shook the trees and had Amber scampering. “Oh no! I let myself get carried away! Oh no, oh no, oh no! I should get going. Bye!”

“But—!” but she already bolted off.

“If you have any questions, just ask them at the front desk!” she called after him before jumping off a low steep hill.

Cyno was at lost. It seems he’ll have to do just that. There was a chime when he opened the door. A girl who looked no older than fifteen greeted him with a cheerful smile. “Hello! How may I help you?”

“One of your pamphlets and,” he said then whipping out his phone to show an image, “do you happen to know this person?”

The girl’s magenta eyes locked on the picture. She seems to know something but then she shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“I see…”

“Is there anything else?” she asked nervously although she tried not to let it show. There was disappointment in Cyno but this town is his only lead. After all those years that led up to here, he wouldn’t just leave without any new info.

The first day, he went around town. It was lively. It just happens that he came at during their time of the festival. Streamers and banners hanging in every street. Stalls and vendors lined beside the road fanning their grills as a statue carved in wood stood in the center of the town. Music trots around every corner. He visited every store except one, he saved it for last.

He stood outside of a flower shop, hands shaking in anticipation. His collar suddenly felt too tight, as if choking him. As he rests his hand against the door, it felt different. He dreaded but he continued anyway. The door chimed. A girl with bright apple red hair was behind the counter.

“Welcome, sir, how may I help you?” she spoke softly.

Cyno looked around. It was clean and airy. Everything has flowers. “Are you by chance… the owner here?”

She smiled heavenly. “Yes, sir, I grew all of them by myself.”

“Ah… I see.” Disappointment.

“Ah! But if I have to admit, I did get help from the tour guides. One of them is really good with any type of plants,” she said, scratching her head bashfully. “I don’t get to meet him that much. He’s very busy. But he’s very helpful, although he scolds a lot.”

The girl told him that he visited her shop one time and criticized the flowers. At that time, Nilou doesn’t know how to properly take care of them despite knowing how to arrange bouquets. She was ashamed. But while he scolded her, he offered to teach her. At some days, she would try to find him but she couldn’t. Collei would say he’s probably asleep somewhere under the shades of the trees while trying to do his own research. Before it could go lengthy, Cyno cuts in, bidding the girl a farewell. It was afternoon, he needed to find a place to stay. There wasn’t any hotel but he was lucky enough to find a small canteen that rents a room of their second floor. But he wasn’t able to sleep that night. His head was filled with only the thoughts of this familiar stranger in his dreams.

So when the next morning came, then the next, the fourth, the fifth. He had no luck. He had already checked everything in this town. By tomorrow, he has to fly back home. He went back to the edge of the forest once again. He held the pamphlet in his hand. If there’s one place he’d find him, it’d be nothing else other than the forest.

The forest was like how imagined it would be, but more. The gaping holes of sunlight, the quiet air, and the fresh scent of dew. Birds hopped from one branch to another as they curiously watch him pass by. He felt strangely at ease—at home. Like he had done this more than a couple of times. He had never been out of the city before. It was like a reminiscing dream. He’d walk through an overused dirt road, the large tree in sight was his destination. He felt giddy, over anxious from anticipation. He hiked up a hill, nothing but more trees in sight, the long-overgrown path stretches to a curve.

Should he follow the path? What if he just ends up as fruitless as he had been all the time? Then should he risk straying? If that person was the same as he knew him in his dreams, then it would be better to divert from here on out against Cyno’s better judgment. He’s running out of time. He promised himself he will not leave empty-handed.

He refuses.

He crumpled the pamphlet and dumped it in his pocket, never looking back again. Least to say, it was the stupidest thing he had done throughout his whole lifetime. He’s lost, the sun is setting, and it’s starting to get cold. The pamphlet is useless, he doesn’t know the area and he entered an uncharted territory. He tried going retracing his steps only to wound up circling back to the area.

But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he thought, because soon enough, a person arrived. And it was one Cyno knew very well albeit his face was contorted with a scowl. “How many times do people have to get scolded until they finally learn their lesson of ever going out of bounds, huh? Are your brains simply build upon stone bricks because it seems to me, none of this is getting to your THICK SKULLS!” His faced was flashed with a flashlight and a blanket was thrown at his face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Cyno’s chest swelled. “Finally found you.”

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Do we gage some historic klaine fanfics? It would be better with some fantasy elements. Thanks in advance

Hi - here are some historic/fantasy type fics. I haven't read them all. if they're not what you're looking for, come back to me. ~Jen

Callaway Place by @sunshineoptimismandangels

Callaway Place is an old coastal mansion filled with magic, history and secrets. To eleven year old Blaine Anderson it is the place he is forced to spend his summer vacation when he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. But a magic mirror and a spine-tingling enchantment soon have Blaine glad he came.

Kurt Hummel is a young boy growing up in a quiet little town hoping for a bigger future. He is holding onto secrets few know about, while learning about an ancient magic that will transform his life.

Kurt and Blaine’s lives intersect in the most unexpected way and they are both forever changed, but what will they do as they grown into young men and are unable to leave the magic of their childhood behind?

~~~~~

And I Still See You in My Dreams by Anwamane_13

Historical (kinda) AU. How far would you go for love? Kurt Hummel is about to find out. He always wanted to leave his small town and go to London. But when he meets the mysterious Blaine Anderson, he starts having memories that are definitely not his.

~~~~~

A Feeling I Can’t Hide by Wutif

Blaine had been mysteriously transported back to Kurt, more than a hundred and thirty years earlier, summoned with the power of a bolt from the heavens when he had yearned to meet his perfect match. The smoldering glow of their attraction quickly bloomed to a flare that was too obvious to keep a secret for very long. And discovery could be a death sentence here in rural Ohio.

Sequel: Moments In Time

~~~~~

The Bluebird’s Flightby a_simple_rainbow

Kurt’s on a train to New York. He’s depressed, listless, alone in the world and one sad song away from a pathetic video clip moment. But things could apparently get worse: when the train becomes mysteriously empty, stops and leaves him stranded in an unfamiliar middle of nowhere. Kurt finds himself in a world with wizards and healers, and all sorts of bizarre things, but most of all where people tell him he’s the Crown Prince everyone’s been waiting for - prophesied to end the horrors of tyranny they’ve been living for the last 18 years. The only thing he wants is to go back home, but no one has a clue how to do that, and it doesn’t get any easier when he finds himself wanting to help, and a little bit in love.

~~~~

Folaigh by sunshineoptimismandangels

Blaine’s ordinary life is turned upside down when on vacation in Ireland he stumbles upon a small village tucked away and seemingly untouched by the outside world. The people of Folaigh almost seem magical especially the mysterious and compelling Kurt Hummel who is quickly stealing Blaine’s heart. Kurt longs for adventure and love, and finds more than he ever dreamed of in Blaine, but knows the secrets of Folaigh may end up breaking his heart and keeping him from Blaine. 

~~~~~

The Sidhe by chazzam

Epic romantic fantasy adventure, seriously AU, with angst and fluff in equal measure.

The Sidhe are a powerful race of elves that have been weakened and enslaved by humans.  Blaine has always hated the practice, but over the years he has grown resigned to it as a social reality.

But everything changes when he finds himself falling in love with one of the creatures, and becomes determined to help him escape.

[dumbsoftheart]

erysichthon’s punishment, 2

pairing: eater!peter parker x f!eater!reader

tags: dead dove, do not eat: themes of cannibalism, violence, 18+ only, eventual smut, angstttt, blonde peter parker, drug use, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, manipulation, lots of mentions of blood, so much yearning its painful

summary: “i want you to eat me, angel, bones and all” two young cannibals meet in the midwest, fall in love, find struggles along the way.

notes: oh these two losers are hopeless!

word count: 4.8k

౨ׅৎ

peter had no intention of adding a member to his solo-party when he woke up that morning. solitude suited him; it was a choice he made and told himself that it made his life easier, bearable. he’d given up on trying to establish himself within society when he was 13. his aunt and uncle were oblivious to his condition- he learned quickly when he was 5 that something was deeply wrong with him after a particularly bad fight on his school’s playground. he didn't like to ruminate on the memories. it brought back that painstaking feeling he felt when he was 15, watching his uncle ben console his aunt may in a mess of tears and distress. he figured it was best to leave, before he hurt someone. he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt them.

he left his home with little to nothing: a few clothes, his dads glasses, a token from his mother, a picture of his aunt and uncle- and taken the first train out of new york, whatever was cheapest. he can't recall what state he had ended up in, too busy fighting tears as he beat himself up for the curse of depravation that knawed at him constantly. he was tantalus, ostracised into an eternity of thirst and hunger because of the selfishness than ran deep in his psyche. he’d pick fights with men twice his size often, at that age, knowing he’d lose. it was a tumultuous mix of self-inflicted punishment, desperate need for penance for causing pain to those he loved, for abandoning without a trace; for indulging, for the first time in his life, in his most shameful desires. 

his first time, he was in georgia. it was his birthday. he’d managed to make some pocket money working for an old couple and their granddaughter tending to household chores and yardwork. it was so much different than his life back home, the quiet midwestern landscape made him long for the neverending hustle and bustle he had grown familiar to. the couple reminded him of his uncle ben and aunt may, and while he found it painful, he liked to imagine that they were his aunt and uncle, living a happy life and raising a happy, normal child. he’d never get too close to them, only watch them from afar as he completed his work, and he’d fantasise that it was him they were eating lunch and playing games with. they never seemed to question where he had come from, or how he always found time for work, never in school- and a deep part of him wanted them to care. to pick and prod for answers he didn’t want to give, so he could bask in the nagging and questioning as if it were his beloved guardians pestering him out of love. he wanted to feel like a boy again.

peter hadn’t been a boy anymore for a while, his escape forced him to mature faster than he probably should have. he’d forced himself into the idea that he was now a man, and there was no escaping in; no indulging in childlike pleasures or wonder. he was now in the real world, alone, and he found no time for it. things that made him feel callow and juvenile peeved him, and he avoided it at all costs. he didnt have a home, unlike what he told his employers. he lived near a dumpster, with a makeshift home founded with tattered old clothes he’d stolen off of clotheslines, hidden craftily from sight for when it got dark enough. sometimes, on the weekends, when drunks and addicts would find their way down the alley he’d nested in, he’d cry silently, praying to whatever god there was that they’d leave quickly, and he’d remain hidden. that evening, he walked home with an abnormally hefty bonus, an undeserving birthday gift he’d been given before leaving his work- when he was pulled aside by a scarily thin and sunken girl. she was older than him, no doubt, about 19, and she made an excited effort to pull him aside with the promise of a surprise he couldn't miss, whisking him away before he could answer. when she’d brought him down an unfamiliar alleyway, he fought the urge to throw up. 

it was dark, save for the old and dim flashlight the girl carried with her. it smelled of rotten meat and sewage. hidden under a pile of old blankets and quilts, she uncovered the body of a man, couldn't have been older than 35. pieces of his abdomen, shoulders, neck, and legs were amiss, hacked away carelessly by a dull knife. what had really disturbed peter was that the man was still alive; breathing shakily, pale and sweaty. his once clean and well fitted suit had been shredded in various areas, carelessly torn at and blood stained. he couldn't speak, no doubt from the pain he was in. some of his wounds seemed much older than the others. 

“he’s about to die. normally we’d eat as much of them as we can when they’re fresh, but i’m livin’ on what i've got left. he wasn't a good person, if it makes you feel better.”

peter was sick. he’d tried to run away, but she stopped him. what shook him the most was how eerily kind the girl was, as if she was earnestly trying to help him. you need to feed, is what she had told him as she cut away at his chest, handing him a bloodied chunk of dirty flesh and muscle. he couldn't find it in him to do it, staring at the pleading man as life drained from his eyes. he couldn’t do it, no matter how delicious he smelled, the man's sweet red ambrosia dripping down his fingertips. it was like it was taunting him, the way it slipped through his fingers and onto the hard pavement. eventually, the girl guided the piece of meat into peter's mouth, urging him to ignore his internal protests and just chew. 

now, he was about the same age as the girl- charlotte, her name was. he couldn’t forget her. he blamed her for the person he’d become: a guiltless, ravenous, murderous monster. he’d only actually killed a few people with his own hands a scattered amount of times; out of desperation and famine, yet he remained unyielding at the prospect that he was cold-blooded murderer. he hated her, almost as much as he hated himself. she was the serpent, and he was eve; leading him towards temptation. the irony wasn’t lost on him, that now he was the serpent, and the girl next to him in his stolen green ford was now his eve. he’d regretted the words as soon as he said it. i can help you. it left his mouth before he could think, too busy thinking of a way to get her to stay by his side a little longer. she was beautiful, no doubt, but she possessed a certain innocence that peter felt he needed in his life. he convinced himself that in doing this he wouldn't be robbing her of that innocence, but instead he could learn from it. he wanted to get drunk off it, its rarity was intoxicating to him. if she was his last drink of water, he’d savour it; worship it, do everything in his power to keep it as pure and fresh for as long as he can. help, he had said. how, in the already cruel and messed up world they lived in, could he justify this as help? it upset him how his notion of helping her was ultimately exposing her to the same state of self-loathing and hatred that he harboured. 

angel, he called her. she was still adamant on not giving him her real name, and he decided he didn't care. it was easier that way. easier for him to mould her into what he craved. he could pick apart everything he eventually learned about her, and paste it onto the girl he wanted her to be- what he wished he could have with her. he looked at her, her hair whipping in the wind as she rested her chin on the window, her knees tucked into her chest. he could just barely hear her humming foreign melodies under her breath, and in the rear-view mirror he watched her eyes childishly dart back and forth across the empty landscape they sped through. he yearned to connect with her. he wanted to bridge the gap between them, to engage in honest conversation without the weight of what he was about to do crushing him. he almost wanted to turn the car around and drop her off at the nearest train station, apologise for the inconvenience, and bid goodbye. the voice in his head nagged at him to let the dove free, and just hold onto the memory of it. 

she spoke first, “i don't want to hurt anybody.”  it pained him. he cursed at himself for feeling attached to her, or giving a shit about her feelings. what was it to him? he didn't know her- hell, he couldn't even get her to give him her name. he scoffed at himself, and she turned to look at him with quizzical eyes, her lips pressed together as if deciding whether or not the action was laced with malice. he kept his eyes on the road, unable to look at her. “famous last words.” 

she let out a humourless laugh, turning back to the world outside her window. he wanted to apologise. for what, he wasn't sure of yet. for changing her life forever, maybe. or maybe for acting so cold despite his previous kindness. truth was, he felt shy now. he was always quick with witty remarks and jokes, but he found he failed at reaching out to people, a consequence of his solitude. he opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. his mental turmoil was clearly getting to him, as he considered just taking her someplace else, saving his ‘lessons’ for another night. 

“i won't force you to do anything you don't want to,” he finally spoke. she hummed in response, turning to kick up heer feet on the dashboard, elbow resting on the console and nestling her head onto her palm. they seemed to have been driving a while, and she wondered where he was taking her. she was nervous, to put it lightly. she had a vague idea of what he meant when he said he’d help her, but she didn't want to think about it much. she tried to put her mind on autopilot, instead focusing on the vast expanse of land before her. she counted cows, sheep, stray dogs, and made up songs in her head. the one thing she couldn't shake off her mind, however, was his smell. she understood now what he meant when he said he could smell her. it was a warm, musky scent. different from anything she’d ever smelt before. she silently basked in it, relishing its comfort. one of her own. someone who understood her. it was rare, and she welcomed the feeling. she kept her eyes on the road now, mimicking him. in the corner of her eye, she saw his slender fingers drum on the steering wheel anxiously, making a turn into the driveway of a small, white house. the porch was old and rotting away, stray pieces of plywood laziness hammered on to hide the mess suggested it was falling apart- but it seemed homely, if not abandoned. he turned the car off and stepped out.

“stay here,” he ordered. not rough, more like a gentle warning. she watched him saunter off towards the front door, flinching at how loudly he’d knocked. a tall, scruff man greeted him, and he didn't seem very happy to see the lanky boy at his doorstep. he began to yell, grabbing peter by the collar of his shirt and shaking him violently. she felt herself shrink into her carseat, fear enveloping her senses. she worried that by accepting peters offer she’d somehow put him in some kind of danger, and she didn’t want to find out what would happen had the man discovered she was with him. she couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but she caught a glimpse of that same mischievous smile from earlier as peter slipped his way into the house. 

too much time passed, and she grew worried. she also noted how much quieter the house seemed, and she began to panic, the reality of what was happening finally dawning on her. she hurriedly climbed out of the truck, scrambling her way to the door. with balled fists at her sides, she called peters name. no response. then, shouting- and then a pained scream from the man from before, followed by a loud tumble and a harsh crack against the hardwood floor. she twisted the doorknob before she could think about it, and as she swung the door open she bit back a scream. 

peter was standing at the top of the stairs, fists clenched and spattered with blood. he looked as if he’d taken a few nasty hits to his face, his cheek oozing slightly with a bruised gnash that met his jawline.

“what did you do?” her eyes were wide with horror, shaking as she shut the door behind her and kneeled beside the man on the floor. there was blood, so much blood, pooling from behind his head and bubbling out of his mouth with choked gasps. she looked up at peter who was now crouched beside her, eyes dark and unreadable. he chewed on the inside of his cheek before standing up, keeping his gaze on the man on the floor.

“owed me money. bastard was too drunk or high to make it down the stairs properly.”

was that what he was going with? she felt rage bubble up inside of her, but she couldn’t find a justification for it. she knew exactly what was going to happen. she knew exactly what peter was going to train her to become. and yet, she had a shred of hope that it would be less heartless, even if she didn't exactly know how. she shook her head, standing up to meet him. they stared at each other intensely, his jaw ticking and her teeth clenched. 

“i didn’t push him.” 

“like thats believable.”

a beat, and then he turned towards the kitchen, “i didn’t”. she felt her eyes well up with tears, trying to ignore the gargling sound coming from the man on the floor behind her. she heard the tap turn on, and then water rush as peter washed his hands, hissing at the stings from the scratches and bruises that began to form on him. he turned to face her again, and crossed his arms as he pointed his chin at the dying man before them, 

“go on.”

the tears began to fall then, and his face softened. he made his way towards her, gently bringing her down to the floor onto her knees. she couldn't stop crying, and he felt guilt swell in his chest. he knew it wouldn't be easy for her, and he hated that he was ultimately the reason for her crying. 

she shook her head violently, “i cant.” the choked words were small in her throat, and he heard him sigh next to her. at that moment, he regretted everything that lead him up to this point. he watched the shaking girl reach for the man, taking his face in her hands and whisper sobs of apology. peter climbed over to the opposite side of her, and reached to close his eyes. her eyes squeezed shut, as if to shield herself from what she anticipated was his next move. she felt as if she was going to pass out. the smell of blood was calling to her, and she pushed away her desire to bend over and taste the metallic liquid that now seeped onto her baby-blue dress. she heard the gorey sound of flesh ripping, and she sobbed harder. peter was next to her, now. she could smell him, and it mixed with the smell of the blood in a way that was all too overcoming. she felt him pull her down onto his lap, cooing in her ear and soothing her. when she looked at him, his face was dripping with blood, and she fought back the way it made her want to scream and kick her way out of his loose grasp. she wanted to hurt peter for hurting this man- it didn't matter to her what he may have done to him, but she knew that her brain simply couldn't process the truth behind what was happening before her, and her only sense of respite required her to push the blame onto someone; even if the blame was partially on her. bloodied hands caressed her head, and she watched as the other presented a large, meaty chunky of muscle. she shook her head again, her breath quickening. 

“just eat, angel. dont think about it. just eat.”

he urged the piece of flesh towards her mouth and she clutched her chest as she felt her sobs wrack her body once again. the way he whispered it softly in her ear, and his small breaths down her neck- his smell mingling with the aroma that radiated off the lump off flesh in front of her- it begged her to shove down any moral compass she had and feast. she wanted more than anything in that moment to let go and indulge in what was being offered to her. she heard quiet sniffles behind her, and she inhaled deeply as she tried to regain her composure, wailing quietly in peters arms. 

peter felt like the worst person in the world. as he sat there, cradling her frail body, all he saw was himself. he had now become the serpent, urging his eve to take a bite into the forbidden fruit. he’d become the person he hated the most, now, and the thought of it broke him. he tried to keep himself quiet, for her sake, whispering into her hair what he knew to be true. 

you’ll feel better, angel, i promise. just eat. i promise it’s okay. 

he watched her open her mouth ever so slightly, and he moved the meat closer. she bit through the muscle in tears, the salt wetness sliding down peters hands and washing away small fragments of blood along with it. she had never felt more conflicted. finally, she had satiated that undying hunger within her, and it felt so good. she almost moaned with the relief of it, savouring the way the blood trickled down her neck and gushed over her cheeks. her head spun- peter whispering words of praise behind her only made the moment feel more relieving. it’s okay, he chanted, and it really did make her feel okay. in those two words, she understood everything he was struggling to tell her. it’s okay, i understand. i know how it hurts and feels so good. 

he pulled her up with him, his fingers lingering on hers for a moment too long. she looked up at him, eyes glassy and red. he cradled her face and urged her to keep going. 

and she did. 

౨ׅৎ

“you should go shower. i’ll deal with this.”

he had locked all the doors, lead her upstairs into the empty bedroom and laid out a large shirt and a pair of jean shorts he’d found in the closet. she didn't dare question who they might belong to, knowing that it would ruin her again. the room was small, disgustingly brown, and reeked of weed and cigarettes. there was no semblance of belonging or personality to it- it felt as if the person who has inhabited it only rotted away in it their whole life. 

she stood watching herself in front of the full length mirror next to the bed. she’d stripped, left only in her cotton underwear and her bra. her fingers fell to her lips, tracing the stream of blood that led down her neck, shoulders, and in between the valley of her breasts. she dragged her nail down her abdomen and stopped at her bellybutton, admiring the way the blood that stained her skin complimented her so well. by now, she’d simply come to terms with it. she had known it all along. her father knew it, she knew it, and she could no longer hide from it. she thought about peter, and how gentle he had been with her. there was a mutual understanding between the two that they both hated this part of themselves, but he made her feel better about coming to terms with it. when she watched him feed with her, she noted how careful he was. she could sense a hint of shame in the way he went about it, despite the way he wiped his mouth unabashedly on the collar of his cotton shirt. 

a small part of her found it attractive. 

she heard a small cough come from the doorway behind her, and she turned quickly. peter seemed unphased by her near-nakedness, but she couldn't see how it woke something within him. she was truly beautiful, he thought, and it took every bit of strength in him to keep his eyes off of her body and meet her gaze. he was shirtless, and covered in blood, and she felt her breath hitch slightly at the sight. 

“if you wont shower, i will. you can have the bed, i’ll take the couch,” he turned towards the bathroom quickly, and she turned her gaze back to herself as she tried to ignore the sound of the shower running and the way she could see a sliver of his body through the crack of the door in the mirror, the way his muscles flexed and relaxed. she could see the litter of scars and bruises on his stomach, and part of her ached to tend to them. she busied herself by attempting to scrub off the blood on her arms in the bathroom she found a room over, waiting for him to finish so she could feel like she could breathe again, and sort herself out. she refused to think about what she had done before, instead focusing on the quiet breeze outside and faint chirping of birds. she wanted to cry again, and she wasn't sure as to why. she’d spent an ample amount of time scrubbing the red off of her arms, now focused on the dried substance clinging to her cuticles. she picked at them desperately, sniffling as she did so. it wouldn't go away, and she felt hopeless. 

she thought about her mother, and whether or not she knew of her daughter's ailment, and if that is what had driven her insane. she remembered the way she’d scream at her over the most trivial things when she was little, the way she’d pick at her fingers until they’d bleed incessantly, and they’d rush her younger self out of the room as they cleaned the mess up. part of her longed to see her again. she needed to know if her mother was driven away by her, and not her father, or the inevitability of mental illness that ran in her family, unlike what he recounted. was she like her, perhaps? driven to madness by a hunger that can’t be settled? and if so, was that her inevitable fate? to be pulled into a world of insanity, locked away into a hospital in chains and sentenced to a life of self-reflection and loathing? she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. peter appeared behind her again, this time clean and dressed. she rushed past him and straight to the shower, aching to scrub her sins off of her flesh until she burned. 

peter ran a shaky hand through his faux-blonde locks. he wanted to speak to her, know what she was thinking, what she thought of him, but he couldn't figure out where to start. he’d never felt guilty about killing sacks of shit before, but he did now. not because he found an ounce of sympathy for the thieving crook, but because he worried the girl would see him differently now. a killer, even though he wasn't lying when he said he hadn't pushed the man down the stairs. he had a different plan entirely. he knew she didn't believe him, and it killed him inside. he had a need for her to see him as good. he knew she was good, he was convinced of it. a good natured, tender-hearted girl. a sweet girl, that he desperately wanted to find a home in. neither of them belonged in this world. he wanted to shelter her from it, keep her safe from anything that might distress her. he wanted her to want to find solace in him as much as he craved to find it in her. he waited until he heard the shower shut off and knocked at her door, waiting until she gave him permission before he entered. 

she looked impossibly small in the shirt he gave her, and the way her arms and face ached red from rubbing away at her skin with the rough washcloth made him want to hold her as he did before. he wanted to guide her into the bed, back pressed against his chest and let her fall asleep in his arms. he knew he couldn't. he didn't know what was happening to him, but he felt the inescapable desire to take care of her. he thought of his best friend harry, and how he’d ridicule him over the fact. him and harry couldn't be any more different, but he missed the boy nonetheless. he wondered if he could take her to meet him. 

she rubbed her arms self-consciously at the way he stared at her, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, “i’m, uh, gonna be downstairs, if you need anything, just let me know.” she only nodded. she hadn't said a word to him in over an hour, and even though she knew she wanted to speak to him, she didn't know about what. instead, she climbed into the bed and watched as he shut the door behind him. her legs drew up to her chest and she let her head fall onto her knees. lock the door, she thought. she had grown to trust him only a miniscule amount in their short amount of time together, but she knew she should go the extra mile just to be safe. she stood up slowly, making her way to the door. she stopped for a second, her fingers lingering on the lock. 

she didn't know that peter was on the opposite side of the door, fingers lightly pressed against the wood. his breathing was even, and his head fell in self-disappointment. a voice inside his head, a persistent whisper, urged him to break the barrier of silence between them. talk to her, it pleaded, yet he remained rooted where he stood in uncertainty, the weight of his unspoken thoughts fueling his inexplicable yearning for her. 

she picked at her fingers again, “i should talk to him,” backing away from the door ever so slightly as she pondered on the idea. she felt at a loss; simply too much had happened in too little time, and she felt exhaustion weigh down at her. she stood there for a while, feet shuffling with unease, and peter made his way downstairs. 

peter navigated the unfamiliar surroundings with a sense of disquietude. each step he took felt heavier, burdened by the weight of unresolved tensions. his thoughts circled back to the closed door upstairs, a metaphorical barrier he couldn't bring himself to cross. he wandered aimlessly in the dimly lit room, the desire to reach out, clashed with the fear of rejection, created an internal struggle that mirrored the one unfolding upstairs.

the sound of a creaking floorboard broke the silence. it was her, retreating to the bed. he paused, the echo of her steps reverberating in the quiet house. for a fleeting moment, he contemplated returning to her door, but he remained now sat on the couch, his leg bouncing with anxiety as he chewed at his fingernails. the distance between them felt immeasurable, each lost in their own labyrinth of thoughts and emotions. the longing for communication lingered, a silent plea that hung heavy in the air- and he felt suffocated. he gripped at his hair harshly, letting out a pained groan as he tried to ground himself and his emotions. he hated feeling so lost, it made him feel like a boy again. he hated that feeling. he thought about how he could open up the gap between them to talk to her, show that his intentions are that of kindness. 

he fell asleep with his body half-off the couch before he could come to a conclusion.

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

[morathicain]

How to love in multitudes

(or read on AO3)

Oh, Miw realised,  staring at the two wasted men in front of her.

Both.

She wanted both.

~~~

The night with Neo wasn’t anything special she’d told herself. Just them having fun and chasing some of this loneliness and helplessness away which they’d shared. They had bonded and Neo was an attractive guy after all. Nothing wrong about some casual sex here, let out some steam and feel safe for a little while, wanted even. The fact that she’d just flirted with Leo didn’t matter at all but she had to admit that having a one night stand with Neo was probably the smarter move. Less guilt when she’d leave because she knew Neo was the same as her and wouldn’t cling. With Leo, there might be a heart left broken.

So why, if it had been nothing special at all, did she feel so troubled as she watched Neo search for Shin in a panic, as she watched him run towards Shin, keeping her from following and then hugging the man so desperately? Shin’s stony, angry face had made her feel guilty, had twisted her heartstrings in a new, weird way, but that had vanished when Neo suddenly clung to him as if his life depended on it. As if he’d almost lost the most precious piece of his heart.

Was he in love with Shin?

Or was it guilt for dragging him into the mess?

But why then, would he look as if he’d been about to go crazy? Why had he chased through the woods, frantically searching for Shin? For someone who’d be the only one safe if caught?

And why, then, did Miw herself heave a sigh of relief, despite her twisted chest?

Was she, by all means, jealous?

The thought seemed so absurd she would have laughed if she didn’t feel her throat tightening at the sight in front of her and all those conflicting feelings rushing through her veins. It was ridiculous, really. She wasn’t in love with either of them and their kisses and sex hadn’t meant anything either. They had simply bonded a little, already enough to annoy her but not enough to make her stay and be in love. And she knew how it was to be in love and this wasn’t it. This couldn’t be it.

Still, she kept quiet and drew herself back for a while, watching Neo and Shin, a little closer now, Neo’s hands always hovering but rarely daring.

It shouldn’t matter she kept telling herself but her hackles were still raised.

It shouldn’t matter but she still felt as if her skin was too tight, too wrong.

~~~

The feeling didn’t get better the closer they got to her old home, but the way every word, every move of the two men beside herself made her simultaneously draw closer and draw back, wasn’t something she’d expected or could explain.

It was all because of Boss John, she told herself and she for sure was right. It was all because there could be someone finding her each moment, killing her at sight, but ...

There was more to it and she knew but didn’t know and it drove her crazy.

~~~

If Miw could she would like to crawl under Shin’s skin.

The urge to push and push and push, to get a reaction, an impact was overwhelming, heightened even by her own nervousness to be back home again. This itch though wasn’t only an angry one. Sometimes it was, when Shin seemed so vulnerable once again, his yearning jealousy too open, his heart ready to be slashed.

But that wasn’t all. It wasn’t even jealousy, it was ... it was ...

“I’m just playing with you”, she laughed, her mind still fuzzy from the brownies and and she watched his jaw tighten, the rage in his eyes aflame.

It was good, she thought with a giggle, to have his attention like that but it was also bad. She wanted to make it worse and better, she wanted Shin to like her and fight her, she wanted ...

She smeared the brownie into his face.

“What the fuck, Miw?”

“I am just playing with you”, she repeated but he didn’t understand, he didn’t get it and her words failed her while she got drunk on the fire in his gaze.

Neo arrived and the attention was turned again, the betrayal now a bitter one and Miw felt him slipping again, believing for a second that he’d turn the next moment towards the sea and swim out of her grasp, out of their world.

“Here, let me clean you”, she offered and took off her shirt and relished in the fact that he let her step close, that he let her wipe the brownie off.

“Are you jealous?”, she dug deeper, drunk on every reaction she got, no longer able to understand herself but letting the waves of want drag her along as she slid further into his focus, into his bubble, engulfing him with her own heat.

She was under his skin, Miw realised, giddy because of the proximity and because he still hadn’t pushed her away, let her cut and care her way into his heart. She wanted to stay, she realised as she watched Neo cling to Shin from behind, again some space between them, the same desperation she’d just felt in his words. Miw wanted to stay right there, under Shin’s ribs, a cozy place to call her own.

She wanted Shin, Miw realised and her frantic, feral heart became calm.

Oh ...

“We both care about you”, Neo had said and he was right.

She hadn’t known how, her confused heart in a mess, trying to separate the ways she felt, make sense of them. But she didn’t have to, right? She wanted Neo and she wanted Shin, the urge to claw and have and keep like a storm in her veins. And that was all the truth she needed right now, didn’t she?

The realisation made her eager suddenly, brimming with hot energy. And she stepped so close, her arms around Shin’s neck, his attention, now softer, back on her.

“Don’t you remember our night?”, she asked and the recognition in his eyes fueled a very specific thirst in her chest.

“You are a good kisser”, she reassured him because it was the truth.

Neo’s hold on Shin tightened and she didn’t even have to look into his face to know that he agreed, that he was anticipating whatever would happen now, unknown as it was.

“I think something besides killing a man binds us three together.”

The statement was everything and nothing. The truth coming out of her well but too simple to encompass everything they’d survived. Miw couldn’t say more and she didn’t have to. Not yet, not with them ...

And Shin was defenceless, expecting the unexpected, welcoming her lips with an open mouth, a hitched breath. Miw felt more high than from the brownie with his hands on her hips, his shudder vibrating through her as Neo leaned in even closer. And with satisfaction she watched as the two of them kissed, secure in her knowledge that they were part of her, that she was part of them.

She’d found this spot in Shin’s heart, right beneath his ribcage and as long as she was allowed to, she’d make herself comfortable, make herself a home there.

And somehow, for now, for tonight, Neo was right beside her and despite the excitement as they now touched and explored, Miw finally felt content. At least for a little while ...

The End

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal are no strangers to the “internet boyfriend” phenomenon — a term used to describe a collective crush by social media users. And they are perfectly fine with being in a league that includes Timothée Chalamet, Pedro Pascal, and Oscar Isaac.

“It’s a mark of respect,” Mescal says on a warm November afternoon in Los Angeles during their Out photo shoot, shortly after the pair posed together and cracked inside jokes like, well, actual boyfriends might. The 27-year-old says that “to be admired for your work is a great privilege, and to move people, it’s an amazing thing to be able to say.” (Mescal, for his part, says he has “a massive talent crush and admiration for [Triangle of Sadness star] Harris Dickinson.”)

In recent years, the two Irish actors have gained international followings (and crushes) for their roles. Scott, an out actor, was beloved for playing James Moriarty on Sherlock before rising to critical acclaim as the “hot priest” on Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Emmy-winning Fleabag. Mescal, who is straight, established himself as the indie It Boy in projects like Normal People and Aftersun, the latter of which garnered him an Oscar nomination last year.

It was only a matter of time before these stars collided, and that clash resulted in some of this season’s most alluring and haunting performances in All of Us Strangers. It’s not just the internet that’s smitten; the film has been a darling of awards season, with Oscar buzz surrounding the leads as well as Andrew Haigh for his direction and screenplay.

Based on Japanese author Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel, Strangers, the newest project from Haigh — beloved for gay productions like Weekend and Looking — is part ghost story, part family drama, and all steamy romance. It follows a lonely London screenwriter named Adam (Scott) who meets and falls in love with his neighbor Harry (Mescal) while reconnecting with his parents (Jamie Bell and Claire Foy) in the suburban home he used to live in 30 years prior. The catch? Adam’s parents have been dead for quite some time.

While the soul of the supernatural AOUS may be Adam’s journey of reconciling with these ghosts after years of solitude, the beating heart of the film is his blossoming relationship with Harry, which will get many fans’ own hearts racing.

Awash in romantic chemistry, Adam and Harry’s dynamic reads like a dream come true to many urban-dwelling queer men who likewise yearn for connection. A sexy, mysterious neighbor comes knocking at the door. You may play coy at first, but you slowly let him into a routine of passionate sex, all-night dancing, quiet afternoons spent reading, and general domestic bliss. Mescal and Scott fall into this rhythm so easily that it’s easy to forget that one of the actors is straight. But Mescal is no stranger to queer culture.

“A lot of the things that Harry’s experiencing, I knew and understood,” Mescal shares. “The party culture side to Harry is like a tool that he uses to escape, but in terms of queer culture and in terms of learning…I have a proximity to that in my own life, so it didn’t feel like that part of it wasn’t necessarily eye-opening or anything to me personally.”

“Our job as actors is to build, to service this extraordinary, amazing relationship that Andrew [Haigh] created, and it was really, really easy for us to do that,” Scott says of their chemistry. “I think both of us are really interested in playing romantic love. I think it’s something that we both really take pleasure in acting, so it was very, very, very easy for both of us.”

The lovers' bond wasn't the only one that captivated AOUS audiences. The film’s fantastical way of bringing Adam’s Mum and Dad back to life, if only for a few brief moments at a time, is cathartic for anyone seeking another chance to reconnect. These parents aren’t perfect, and their reactions to Adam’s sexuality reflect the attitudes people had of queer folks during the time they passed in the ’80s. But Bell and Foy’s performances give life to a realistic and loving family dynamic.

“For the queer experience, a lot of the time it’s not outward rejection nor is it all-embracing acceptance,” Scott says of his moving coming-out scene. “For a lot of people, it’s a sort of thorny time where your parents or members of your family ask you questions that are clumsy and sometimes unwittingly cruel and upsetting. There has to be a period of adjustment, and I think that’s a more common experience for people. And I think it’s really important that that’s represented as well, that some of these questions that our parents ask us, they may be out of fear, but they’re also out of love.”

“Looking at the 1980s, this is why our media is very important,” he continues. “I remember when we were researching Pride and looking at the way gay people were spoken about in the press, and it was absolutely shocking. They could literally call people perverts, and it was just fear-mongering and really, really grotesque. So of course, if somebody’s going to come out in the 1980s to their parents, the parents are going to be, almost wisely, a little bit cautious because that’s what they’ve been fed by the media. But once the media stops feeding them that stuff, then, as I think is beginning to happen now, we go, OK, it’s an option if my son or daughter or child is gay. That’s an option because prejudice doesn’t survive proximity.”

For Haigh, it was important to revive these old ghosts of prejudice for modern-day viewers. “There’s no point pretending that everything is always fantastic and great and we’re all happy all the time, so I think it’s important to look at some of the issues, and this film, for me, was very much about a certain generation of queer person, especially one who grew up in the ’80s, and how they came into their sexuality,” Haigh said at a special L.A. screening in December. “That hasn’t quite been a story that I’ve seen too much about in terms of how that past has affected a lot of us in the present. And that was what was really interesting to me.”

“We could all understand that we might want to go back in time and recalibrate our relationships with our parents,” Haigh continued. “Especially when you’re [a] queer person, they’re not always easy. There’s a lot of things that have been unsaid. For me, [All of Us Strangers] is so much about how easy it is as a queer person to drift away from your family. That’s one of the saddest things — I think sometimes about when you are different in the world, you can feel like you are alone in that difference. This was really a chance of togetherness, again, within the family.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be an Andrew Haigh project with a fairy-tale ending. Though Adam was able to reach a loving resolution in his metaphysical reunions with Mum and Dad, the new family he finds in his boyfriend Harry — one that audiences are led to believe can last the test of time (even Mum is on board) — isn’t quite what it seems. Harry is also going through his own struggles with loneliness, particularly estrangement from his biological family, leading him to knock on Adam’s door in the first place.

“I think there’s great tragedy in not seeing somebody sad but seeing somebody fight against being sad or being perceived to be upset or lonely. And I think Harry, for the most part, encounters people who facilitate that,” Mescal says. “He meets Adam, who doesn’t facilitate that, who doesn’t allow him to simply go, ‘I’m all good, let’s go take ketamine at the club. I’m all here. I’m happy.’ I mean, they do that as well. And that’s why I think the film is so brilliant. It balances it out in that regard.”

“I wouldn’t have played this part if I was just a representation of a sad gay man or the happy party,” Mescal continues. “It’s the fact that both of those things exist beside each other.”

Yet Adam and Harry’s story can impart many lessons to audiences, the most important being that everyone deserves love during their lifetime — and beyond.

“I think Harry is both serving as a warning and a celebration of what it is to be loved,” Mescal says. “He serves as a warning to parents of the damage you can do with the casual cruelty that you present to a child if you’re not careful with the information that you give them. But also, even when you do that, if you receive true love from somebody, it can save you.”

“The whole point of art is to increase our empathy, that we’re the same as people who don’t look or act or fuck like we do,” adds Scott, who was overjoyed to learn from some AOUS audience members that they hugged their kids, LGBTQ+ and otherwise, after screening the film. “That’s the thing that I really would want to hold on to.”'

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Other Youtubers Included (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

All Because of Him. (ao3) - Howellsprincess

Summary: Someone leaves a baby at Dan and Phil's flat. Dan doesn't know what to do with a baby, he can barely take care of himself.

Always Wanted to be in a Phandwich - dicktsunami

Description: Dan and Phil’s relationship is electric, and Tyler takes the opportunity to be part of it.

Butterfly (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: Phil Lester, a lonely writer, finds a dying boy with beautiful black wings on a cold, rainy night in a dingy alleyway. He recognizes the boy as one of the winged men hated by human society. They are considered to be wild, ferocious beasts, but Phil's sympathy forces him to help the boy.

What happens when the boy, considered to be a wild beast, gets too attached and follows him home with an innocent, dimpled smile?

Chapter Two (ao3) - HandleWithCare

Summary: All Phil wanted was the newest Stephen King novel. What he found instead was even better and may have even changed his life. No matter how good or bad chapter one is, sometimes, you just have to be brave and turn to chapter two.

Cheers (ao3) - ahappyphil

Summary: Phil and Zoe have a tipsy chat in America. Phil says a bit too much

DBC - full-dark-no-starss

Summary: It’s 1995 and five kids are stuck in detention the night of year eleven prom. There’s the bad boy; Dan, with his battered leather jacket, bad attitude and lame crush on Phil, the hot-headed geek who hates him. Then there’s Emma; the strange red-head with no voice, Louise, the pretty rich girl and Joe, the guy who’s captain of every sport in the school, but his only interest is drama.

Something happens that night, forever trapping the five of them in Batley Arts High School. They maintain their ambitions and aspirations despite being dead for twenty years…

Desires (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: What would you do if you were suddenly hauled from your inauspicious life and dumped into an unforeseen catastrophe with your worst enemy?

Dan Howell and Phil Lester completely and utterly hate each other. They fight every time they meet, and all of their friends are tired of it. But one day, these two hot-headed, reckless men stumble through a secret passage in a mysterious old house and wake up on a strange island uninhabited by other intelligent life forms. They only have each other and no way to escape. Will they fight to death, or will they learn to trust each other in a world where no one else exists? Can they put aside their mutual hatred for each other to survive this misfortune?

(don't know what I'd do)If I Lost You (ao3) - plsdontfightme

Summary: In which Dan and Phil are going on a rescue mission. Things do not go as planned.

Fall Like a Teenager (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: “Okay here’s one, mister tough guy,” Louise bites her lip for a moment, though it’s almost immediately replaced with a smirk. “I dare you to kiss someone you’ve never kissed before.”

Or,

The group of friends take part in Truth or Dare, Dan is too willing and Phil is unprepared.

For me, For you, For us (ao3) - Jay_Maria

Summary: It's Phil's first day at Uni and all he's expecting is a quiet uneventful year filled with a lot of school work, new friends, and opportunities for his future.

However everything that he thought he knew changes when he meets Daniel James Howell, hands down the most beautiful person he has ever seen, Dan intrigues him from the very start.

Dan however, wants nothing to do with Phil, he's hiding a few secrets of his own and he seems to want Phil as far away from him as possible.

But when destiny pulls two people together, sometimes it's best not to stay away.

Hawk and Dove (ao3) - aprilflowers96

Summary: In a world where super powers plague people all over the world, Dan Howell fights to keep his emotions and pyrokinesis under control. After years of success, Dan is outed and whisked away to a school that claims to teach him to use his abilities "safely". Still unable to control the fire that seems to rage under his skin, Dan's only solace is in his roommate Phil, who can't seem to stop turning things to ice. While trying to end the corruption at The School, the team discovers the real reason they're being held. In an explosion of fist fights, super suits, and betrayal, Dan and Phil try to do what they feel is right.

Here's Hope (ao3) - CanYourDan

Summary: In the past Omegas were treated terribly, however due to new laws in England, this practice has become illegal. Phil Lester works for an Omega rescue center, and so far things have been all business, however when a maltreated Omega named Dan comes in, things become complicated for Phil as he does the thing the center always advises against, his heart becomes involved, and he feels like it's breaking.

home is where the heart is. (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: 16 year old Daniel Howell had always felt out of place in his dad's fancy apartment or under the Singaporean sun. Life was not bad, but being the son of a British expatriate banker divorcee with commitment issues meant that there was never a home.

Inspired by the only constant in his life, a similar aged British youtuber by the name of Phil Lester, Dan decides to move to his supposed homeland Britain on a whim, in the hopes of escaping his bubble of isolation, and maybe find the place where he truly belonged.

Somehow Dan lands himself in one of the few notorious all boys boarding schools in Britain, one that has bizarre traditions, vicious inter-house competition and way too many attractive boys; and a roommate who had been Dan's best friend all along, even if Phil Lester hadn't known it.

Dan finally found home.

I'll be the boy with the silver lining (you'll be the boy with the cinderblock garden) (ao3) - elusive_eventuality

Summary: This was it. Today was the day. The day Phil was going to ask Dan to marry him.

OR

Based off of this prompt:

Phil asks Dan to marry him at vidcon in front of all their YouTube friends who weren't even aware they were together

It’s Okay if it Doesn’t Rhyme, Right? - cherryblossom-phil

Summary: AU based off the movie “Music and Lyrics”; Phil Lester’s a “has-been” - a jaded popstar slowly fading into obscurity. But when UK’s new princess of pop, Zoella, asks him to write her next single, Phil gets a chance at reinvention. There’s just one problem - he’s never been good at writing lyrics, just the music behind it. Enter Dan Howell, the strange young man who waters his plants and has a way with words. 

Kick Off (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Dan used to play football but now he's stuck coaching a second league team thats in danger of relegation. He's fallen out of love with the game, his team hates him, and Phil Lester, the coach of their biggest rivals, is the most annoying person he's ever met.

Luckily life is a game of two halves and things are about to take a turn for the better.

Living is Easy with My Eyes Closed (ao3) - TheUKAmazingDan

Summary: September 19, 1976

Dan Howell liked pretty things and a pretty guy, but not the one who was interested in him. No, Dan was infatuated with someone he couldn't have.

Looks Can Be Deceiving (ao3) - Phanfictionhoe

Summary: The new kid that scares everyone because of his looks teaches Dan that you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

Misunderstandings (ao3) - iwoulddieforthisship

Summary: Phil was breaking up with him. Dan was sure.

Pure angst with a happy ending, no spoilers tho, you'll have to read to find out lmao, hope you enjoy

Patterns (ao3) - gravityplant

Summary: In which the university student Dan moves into his first apartment, completely alone in the world for the first time. The lack of friends he compensates with overworking. But then there's suddenly Phil. Charming, shy Phil, with the most childish smile Dan's ever witnessed. Suddenly nothing's ever the same.

Pretty Odd - phillestatos

Summary: Dan Howell, piano teacher and speedster, craves chocolate cakes at three in the morning. He meets a baker named Phil who owns the only store opened at three in the morning and who bakes the most delicious chocolate cake in the world. It’s a pretty odd love story.

Red, Lies and ‘I Love You’s (ao3) - philsdrill

Summary: Phil and trans!Dan are at Playlist Live and run into a complication when Dan gets his period during a meetup. Phil and Louise come to the rescue. Fluff.

soap. (ao3) - manchestereye

Summary: dan doesn’t expect his first tour with his band to be this chaotic, but life finds a way to surprise him.

Sometimes being a vampire can really suck (ao3) - tol_but_smol

Summary: Soulmate vampire AU! Every vampire has a soulmate, they can be human, vampire, any gender and when they meet you know their your soulmate.

Thanks to Tyler - phanisinlove

Summary: Tyler finds out that Dan likes Phil and that Phil likes Dan. Tyler then plays match maker, kinda.

The Colour Thieves - lestericalphan

Summary: The Government has banned colour, creativity, and homosexuality in Braith, the Black and White City, in order to provide only the necessary requirements for life, but some escape the confines of the city to become Colour Thieves, vowing to return the world to the way it ought to be. Dan, a perfectly normal citizen, gets kidnapped by a band of Thieves, stealing him away from all he knows for unknown reasons. But will they change Dan’s way of thinking or just scare him away?

The League (Phan AU) (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: The League of Specially Trained Individuals is a global criminal group who work in the shadows. They never get caught and they never leave a trace.

Dan Howell and Phil Lester were trained to fight and die for the League, but when Dan's father tries to make their lives a living hell and Phil questions his allegiance, things will go awry and no one will be safe.

to all the people i've loved before (and the one who actually made me fall in love) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil doesn’t crush on people often, but when he does the emotions seem to overwhelm him. The only way he knows how to deal is to write love letters. They were never meant to be read.

The most recent letter threatens to ruin his relationship with his big brother Martyn, so in a fit of panic, Phil finds himself turning to the boy who was the recipient of the very first love letter for help. Even if he is Dan Howell, the school heartthrob.

Who's Taking You Home Tonight? (ao3) - whatkindoffanfics

Summary: October, 1944. While World War II rages on, Dan Howell finds himself thrown into the secretive world of Bletchley Park, a headquarters for intercepting and breaking the codes of encrypted German messages.

[heartoppression]

I don't know how it comes about, but I, […] the solitary, the hater of life's petty conventions, always take up my quarters in just such houses as this. It is an old weakness of mine. I live neither in palatial houses nor in those of the humble poor, but instead and deliberately in these respectable and wearisome and spotless middle-class homes, which smell of turpentine and soap and where there is a panic if you bang the door or come in with dirty shoes. The love of this atmosphere comes, no doubt, from the days of my childhood, and a secret yearning I have for something homelike drives me, though with little hope, to follow the same old stupid road. Then again, I like the contrast between my lonely, loveless, hunted, and thoroughly disorderly existence and this middle-class family life. I like to breathe in on the stairs this odor of quiet and order, of cleanliness and respectable domesticity. There is something in it that touches me in spite of my hatred for all it stands for. I like to step across the threshold of my room where all this suddenly stops […] and where everything— books, manuscript, thoughts— is marked and saturated with the plight of lonely men, with the problem of existence and with the yearning after a new orientation for an age that has lost its bearings.

Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf (trans. Basil Creighton)

[beatnicksellar]

Fall 1922

The spokes of Alice’s bicycle twizzle like a cyclone Akin to an ox-cart wagon wheel hauling limestone In her case the payload is a day-old roll and scone Life has become hardscrabble since the dead zone

Left impotent after Freemasons contained source Nearly every lost soul confined by cabalistic force Completed the Grand Lodge alarms the concourse The gilded tower stands ominous like a dark horse

Alberts’ home and River Park run off of the power The ley line beneath the monolith has turned sour Unable to speak with spirits the Hanchers’ scour That is until Arthur Conan Doyle visits the tower

Alice arrives home to a porch littered with press She hands Hattie a scone as she begins to assess Alberts and Schultz flank a stout man of success The famed author is gracing their gas lit address

‘You know I can’t’ Hattie rejects Alice’s opposition ‘You’re a Hancher’ she avows ‘It is our life mission’ The matriarch preps the group for communication ‘Excuse the mess – we have lapsed on precognition’

The formidable medium is draped in a white robe Flashes from newspaper cameras radiate a strobe The bell box chime tingle’s Conan Doyle’s earlobe In a circle ten sit letting any present spirits probe

After a great deal of stillness Alice begins to moan She grips Marie-Agnes’ hand squeezing to the bone Alice’s mind struggles to penetrate the dead zone When she does Bois-Brûlés repeats in an irate tone

Freemasons control soldiers but not the non-status The souls of 369 Métis languish outside the stratus The wild-eyed guide returns ready to head a fracas He merges with the vessel - his men become mucus

Another quiet spell passes before Ann releases gas Hattie follows with a burp – it continues en masse Eventually emanations leak out and begin to amass The thick matter emulates a cloud of the lower-class

While the guests discharge Alice rubs her throat Rope burn sears across her collar and is of note Old Schultz watches Alice and gives way to dote Her eyes set in a gaze aimed to alarm and demote

The old codger ceases spewing when Riel appears ‘Louis’ Schultz asks the medium rapt by his fears Her face overlaid with one he hasn’t seen in years Schultz’ sons secrete teleplasm as the vessel nears

The séance chamber swells with milky discharge The cumulus of appendages yearns to be at large Freedom comes when participants start to barge The mass of Métis beelines for an electric charge

Back at the séance Alice chokes the dazed geezer When his wilted body goes limp she has a seizure The press flood in but Ann won’t let them near her Alberts and Conan Doyle escape back to the tower Hattie and Marie-Agnes subdue the twin masons Alice comes to enveloped by Schultz’s vibrations Her higher self gets away without complications She scurries to the source siphoning operations

The chalky teleplasm shrouds the electric home Wisps of spectral hands permit fingers to roam The miscreant digits tap into an unknown ohm Then it departs to crack the Lodge’s gilt dome

The crepitating cloud creeps onto the midway River Park guests can see inside it like an x-ray A boy in a sailor suit waves at the murky ballet Distorted Métis faces smile back from the grey

The sinewy shape of it clutches the Deep Dipper Its gooey vines tighten around the roller coaster The guests run as beams buckle under pressure The teleplasm transmutes in to stormy weather

The Grand Lodge’s quiet except for a mystic hum Sacred geometry keeps source under its thumb While Alberts taps into the ley line with aplomb River Park powers up whenever souls succumb

Alice rides her bike through the fleeing crowd She passes the dodgems under a forming cloud Stopping at the sign ‘Only Freemasons allowed’ Alice enters the Lodge with her mind endowed

Inside is a staircase flanked by two marble bison Square and compass embossed on a large apron Alice believes the hieroglyphs may be Egyptian but knows for sure the conductor is Freemason Beyond the rotunda sits an electrical contraption The gaudy device is of her Da’s dark abstraction Monetizing souls with the Schultz’s benefaction Alice merely unplugs it causing a chain reaction

Outside the cloud of teleplasm emits rumbles Bolts of emotionally charged lightning humbles Alice runs as the black starred ceiling crumbles Falling quartz smashes the device into jumbles

‘If I had known’ Alberts shouts from the 2nd floor Alice looks up to her Da and the creator of lore Conan Doyle jots down descriptors of the décor Her Da appeals ‘I should have been your mentor’

‘Nelly did fine’ Hattie retorts with renewed gusto Marie-Agnes and Ann come to bring the last blow The ladies tip the debris to free an ethereal glow so a golden ray rockets into the sky and river flow

The undulating puff of teleplasm enters the beam The sticky effluence is absorbed into the stream After muted months all can hear spirits scream Brains squeeze and ears bleed as the pleas teem

Alice swears she can see Nelly and Walters’ face Hattie, Ann and Marie-Agnes are frozen in place Striding towards the unsealed ley line with grace The fearless medium turns out to be a divine vase

The golden ray retreats back to the exhumed clay Source has been sealed - Alice closed the gateway The collapsed tower stands in darkness and decay Alberts lobs the bard’s notes into the relaxing grey

Weeks later and River Park is still without energy Due to damage The Deep Dipper is in jeopardy Attendance will wane and so too the memory Save for the Second Empire without electricity  

[laughingdarkdreams]

Random

It began with the storyteller. The liar. The fool. The empty thing. Told stories of a great city that spanned a continent, far distant across an uncrossable sea, beyond a fog where the red lights of that black city could be seen eternal. Where white lights shone, and red lights pulsed like heartbeats, where there were shadows of things beyond imagination in the streets, where every road could lead anywhere. The storyteller, the liar, the fool, he claimed he came from this place. That years ago, as a young man, he had left the great city, that he had come to bring it here. He did not say how.

He was a quiet soul, a tired man. He lived for years on the streets of the village, never begging for alms, but sometimes selling grand stories for coin, sometimes spinning fantastic tales of heroes and monsters and magic and villains who orchestrated great tragedies. Then, one night, there came rain, and fog, and shadows. There was the smell of fire in the distance. He appeared on the streets of the village. The man, wandering around in his rags and his hood, his expression enigmatic. The shadows hung low, and his face could not be seen outside of the torchlight, which he seemed to be avoiding for the most part. He beckoned from the streets, beckoned for people to follow. "The city is here." He said quietly. "The city is here."

He walked to the crest of the hill outside of the village and halted the crowd. "Years uncountable, and so many things I haven't....hadn't told you." He began. "So many stories to tell, but the greatest one, the city of my memories, will be told over and over again, until the end of time." He paused for a moment and stared into the sky, into the rain and the fog. "Until the end of time..." A flash of lightning and for a moment, I could have sworn that his hood was empty, that I could see to the end of it, that there was nothing inside. His staff by his hands, he planted it in the ground, and stared down at us.

"I am the dream that does not end, the shadow of something long forgotten, my life entire I have yearned for my home, but only now do I see that this was always the plan." He laughed to himself, his voice dithering into odd tones. He had gone mad. "I am the dream that does not end, and the city is my home, the great dark city of old, of new, of tomorrow, of yesterday! I am the dream that does not end, and now" He laughed louder, the sound of it harsh, a cackle at times, at others a shrill shriek, close to anger or agony or perhaps cruelty. "And now! Behold! Behold this city! The city of my homeland! The city of shadows! The land of dreams unending!" A flash of lightning, and explosion of white light, and it struck his staff in the ground, right next to him. It struck him, and for a moment, it appeared his staff glowed red. For a moment, it appeared the lightning was red. But then, the light faded.

There he was, lying on the ground, smoldering in the night, soaked from the rain. An ordinary man. His staff still glowed slightly, burned from the lightning. One of the bravest men from the village approached the crest of the hill, and peered over the top of it. He yelled for others to come close. Far in the distance, deep in the fog, you could see lights. Blinking red lights, shining white lights, and shining red lights. They seemed to approach with the fog, and as we watched, they came closer. However, the storm ended soon after, and the fog dissipated. There was nothing there. Just a trick of the lights, perhaps some odd spirit. Perhaps the madness of the man had taken hold of us for a moment. The morning came, and the man was buried on the crest of the hill, next to his staff, still planted firmly in the ground above him. It was the suggestion of my father, an old friend of his, who had found him while he was still wandering.

A month later, and the staff had begun sprouting somehow. A flower from the top of it, a red flower. A few years later, and the staff had grown into a small tree, a sapling that grew red flowers. A few years after that, and it was a shady tree that watched over the village, much as the old storyteller had. One day, words were found etched into the trunk of the tree:

I am the dream that does not end, the shadow of a dream unending. Behold, the city unending, the shadow of my dreams.

It was an eerie epitaph, most likely written by someone still haunted by his words. It was considered fitting for him, and was allowed to remain. No one in the village took credit for it.

Children in the village started hanging out around the tree with the red flowers. Said that the red flowers were pretty, and that it was a nice place. One of the children climbed far into the branches on a dark night on a dare, and said that he saw something far off in the distance. Shining lights, red and white and blinking, somewhere far, far away.

Dreams plaguing the village. A tree with shining red flowers. A tree with shining red flowers. A tree with shining red flowers, pulsing and breathing, releasing clouds of tiny red lights, shining, shining, shining and floating like dust, into the cracks in the old wooden rooftops, into the cracks in the stones, shining, shining red lights, more and more of them, creeping through the cracks. The walls begin to look like they are bleeding, and the lights fill the houses. Dreams plaguing the village. The words, repeated over and over, in a near silent voice as the shining lights slowly darken, a shadow in the corner of the room, watching from under his hood, his face unseen, his staff missing. Words, repeated over and over, in a near silent voice. "Behold this city. My homeland. The nightmare that does not end." And then a harsh awakening. A dream, that spread through the village like a sickness.

A dark night. A burning tree. Burning. Burning with its red flowers. It could not be allowed to continue. Could not be allowed to live. Whatever he had left behind, it was a curse. An evil that could not be left in this world. And so, they got together, and burned down the old tree. The marker of his grave. It had grown tall, and its shadow had stretched over the village for years. It had grown wide, and dark, and strong. Tonight, the flowers shone red with the reflection of the flames. Tonight, it would end. It was as if the fire was drawn towards the tree. It moved as if it were in a harsh wind, despite the stillness of the night, towards the tree. We did not think to question it. We wanted it gone.

The fire, the burning tree... we should have known. We should have seen. It burned slowly, slowly, the black wood glowing, burning, and then... it reached the flowers. The flowers... they released tiny clouds of dust. Tiny clouds of dust, which ignited in the air. They burned. They burned. They burned red, flying as embers. The tree burned, and released embers. Red embers from the tree. Like a dream, like a nightmare, like the recurring madness that had taken the village for all this time, the embers flew from the tree, from the glowing red flowers. The embers burned and flew and floated, and like the nightmares, they seeped in the cracks of the houses, until the houses ignited and they too were burned.

A word, silently repeating. A single word, silent. Going through my head, over and over and over. A word from a far off dream, from a nightmare, from a memory of a long time ago. From a night of rain and fear and confusion from my childhood.

"Behold."

In the smoke that drifted from the village, tiny red and white lights, some of them pulsing in the dark. "Behold." The people in the streets, seen only as shadows amidst the lights. "Behold." A city where the paths could lead anywhere, and you could never find your way. "Behold." A city like a dream, like a dream that had been repeating over and over. "Behold." A city where shadows crawled and screamed and did not look human amidst the dark and the lights. "Behold." And me, standing alone at the crest of the hill, the burning tree behind me, and the chill down my spine as I remembered the words. A voice behind me whispered: "Behold this city, the city unending, the shadow of my dreams." I turned and nobody was there.

Hundreds of thousands of years later, there stood a city, far off in the distance from where the old village stood. A normal city, with normal people who lived normal lives. Where the village stood, all that time ago, there was a field of red flowers, glowing in the night, just beyond the crest of the hill. One night, many lights in the city began to turn red. One night, many lights in the city began to pulse. Like a heartbeat. Like his heartbeat, once again. Horrible things, things that were once human, twisting with arms too long, dragging their legless torsos behind them, crawled through the streets. A man with a neck too long that shambled and poked his head around corners to watch. A thing with many arms and legs that ran and stared with its head upside down. A hunched over creature with a wide smile and hollow eyes that drooped its body downward and smiled and waited. Waited. Waited. The streets twisted, the lights shone, pulsed,  the morning never came, and the paths now lead everywhere. Other worlds awaited beyond doorways and alleyways, in homes and in streets, and terrible things were around every corner. And nobody even knew why.

There could be seen among them, a man in a tattered old cloak. And he alone remembered the old words, for there was no one left to remember them now:

I am the dream that does not end, the shadow of something long forgotten, my life entire I have yearned for my home, but only now do I see that this was always the plan. I am the dream that does not end, and the city is my home, the great dark city of old, of new, of tomorrow, of yesterday! I am the dream that does not end. Behold. Behold this city. The city of my homeland. The city of shadows. The land of dreams unending.

I am the dream that does not end, the shadow of a dream unending. Behold, the city unending, the shadow of my dreams.

[kingkatsuki]

Hybristophilia | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

𝐡𝐲𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 - 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬.

Kinktober masterlist.

Summary: Desperate to find love you decide to log into an inmate dating site, but what you didn’t expect was to fall for Bakugou Katsuki. 

Pairing: villain!Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, coercion, manipulation, mutual masturbation, lots of dirty talk.

Word Count: 6.5k.

There was an inescapable loneliness in your life that you couldn’t seem to fix, a desolate void in your heart that was left yearning for something to fill it. Watching all your friends with their significant others just seemed to make it worse, picking up your mail in the morning with a grimace as you noticed the familiar cursive of one of your closest friends. A wedding invitation. An event you knew you would be unable to get out of, and yet you found yourself beginning to resent her for it. It wasn’t her fault that she had managed to find love but here you were wanting what she had. 

Even though social media had made it easier to find potential suitors, it didn’t make it entirely foolproof. Each person you ended up talking to online always seemed to have something wrong with them. The conversation never flowed, they would ignore you after the first date, they were only interested in one thing. The more you seemed to talk to men, the more you felt alone. Your friends urging you not to give up, that there was someone perfect out there for you, your other half. Your soulmate. But it was easy for them to say when they had someone to come home to at night, your apartment eerily quiet in the evenings as you tucked yourself up in bed alone.

Scrolling through your socials once more as you looked through the generic messages that men had sent you, the same old lines used over and over. Until an advert on the sidebar caught your attention, your fingers pausing against your cell phone screen as you read the headline.

“Connect an inmate. A website dedicated to helping inmates connect with the outside world through pen pals. Inmates looking to share intimate letters with a stranger, find your match today.”

It seemed ridiculous at first, your eyes rolling at the generic picture that they had at the bottom of the ad, a male and female prisoner in signature overalls. But you found yourself clicking onto the site, morbid curiosity getting the better of you as you began to scroll through the profiles. The main page showed a simple picture of each inmate, their name and age. No one really caught your eye until you stopped scrolling, the most intense pair of vermilion eyes gazing back at you through the screen. It almost felt as though he was staring directly at you, even though it was just a photograph. Unable to stop yourself from clicking on the picture to find his profile, surprised to find two more pictures of the same man. This time showcasing the various tattoos that littered his pale skin, intricate designs that disappeared behind the white vest he was wearing in the images, his prison jumpsuit tied around his waist. Already feeling your skin heat up at the mere sight of him, a yearning inside your body as you began to unknowingly rub your thighs together. He seemed like the complete opposite of any guy that you’d usually go for, the same boring individuals that were so clean cut and safe. 

The profile didn’t give much away about his crimes, only that he was currently serving a life sentence on death row, thoughts running rampant in your mind about what he must have done to get himself there. Quickly typing his name into google to see if you could find out anything else about him, article after article quickly popping up as you read through them. 

“Villain Dynamight strikes again: Bakugou Katsuki was captured by Pro-Heroes Deku and Uravity today in a raid on his warehouse outside Musutafu. His arrest comes after a spate of murders in the area that have been linked to gang violence in the city, a man that has been at the top of the police wanted list for months. The city can continue to sleep safer at night knowing that this man is finally behind bars.” 

Pegged as one of the worst heroes in the city. Gang leader, murder, arson, manipulation, kidnapping, false imprisonment, assault, wounding with intent, grievous bodily harm- you couldn’t believe that his rap sheet was quite so long. Every single offence should have been enough to get you to click off the page, to stop looking into him and just go to bed. But you couldn’t, you hadn’t even started talking to him and you were already hooked.

You hadn’t expected to receive a reply from him at all, never mind so quickly. Unsure on whether people really did this sort of thing outside those crime shows on television, it just seemed so surreal. The electronic letter you’d sent him the night before as you introduced yourself along with a picture had been answered the next morning. Waking up to messages from him started to become your routine, eager to wake up every day to see what he had said to you, poetic words of affirmation helping you through your days. It was safe to say you were addicted to him, a burning fire inside your heart that you hadn’t felt for months. 

The letters had made it easy to set up this fantasy in your head, the perfect life with Bakugou Katsuki where you were both together. Starting to dream him into your daily life as you went out for groceries or commuted to work, imagining him there with you throughout your day. Laying in bed alone as you closed your eyes and thought of him, hands running over your body to try and pretend that he was there with you. His voice whispered in your ear as you stroked your fingers against your clit, trying to picture those same intense eyes between your thighs.

The benefit of sharing letters instead of seeing each other face to face was it gave you a boldness in your words and actions that you wouldn’t normally have, especially with someone you hardly knew. Lowering your inhibitions as you opened yourself up to him, sharing every little aspect of your life to this man you’d never met. Something you’d never felt comfortable to do with any other guy before, but you wanted to do it with him. And maybe you were naïve to think he would never hurt you, out of all of the crimes he had committed none had been to women. A fact that had made you feel safer around him, even protected. 

Your friends had tried to warn you off of Villain Dynamight, that there were plenty of eligible bachelors in your city that would be more than perfect for you. Looking through the articles on him had them fearing for your safety. And maybe they were right, but there was something so thrilling, so dangerous to get close to a man who had committed such unspeakable crimes. You’d done as they wished at the beginning of your relationship with Bakugou, going out on dates with men that they had found for you, men that they had deemed worthy of your time but it always ended the same. 

But Bakugou would find out, he always found out. The men that you’d gone out on dates with were quick to give up the chase, Bakugou’s connections on the outside still stronger than steel as he ensured his men on the outside protected you, watched over you. In such a short space of time you had become his, and he wasn’t ready to let go of you. 

Looking up at the tall brick wall you wondered what had brought you here in the first place, after all those weeks of talking to Bakugou through emails and letter exchanges you never once thought you would actually meet him face to face. The subtle demand for you to see him came in the form of one of his letters, a request you were planning to politely decline until two of his close circle came to your house to ensure you would agree. Convincing you that it wasn’t a threat, that he did really want to see you. That he loved you.

And you wanted so badly to be loved.

Relaying to you just how “excited” he was to be able to finally meet you, to see you face to face. The redheaded man even offered to drive you directly to the prison, insisting that it was on Bakugou’s orders and he didn’t want you to travel alone. Smirking at you from the driver's seat as he told you he’d be waiting out here after the visit to take you home.

You stepped inside the dark building, immediately feeling the coldness of the air seeping over you. Goosebumps rising on your skin as you pulled your prison-approved regulation cardigan tighter around your frame as you followed the guards inside. There were extra precautions you had to endure when seeing one of the maximum-security inmates, a vigorous pat down to ensure that you weren’t smuggling in any contraband. The guards questioned why a “cute little thing like you” would want to go and visit one of the most revered men in the prison, but they didn’t know Bakugou like you knew him. They would never understand. 

Walking down the long hallway you followed the guard through the various lines of cells that lined the visiting area of maximum security, most of the boxes empty. The lack of visitors was an indication of just how easily the world had given up on these men, stopping in front of the cell at the end of the block as the guard looked down at you with his golden eyes, “You sure about this, sweetheart? You can always go back-”

“‘m sure,” You murmured, feeling the nerves finally beginning to flood your body as you tucked your fingers into the hem of your cardigan, holding onto the soft material for some comfort as the door slowly slid open. Stepping inside the cold room as you came face to face with the man you’d been writing letters to for the last three months. 

He was sitting at a small table in the middle of the cell, a clean glass barrier separating you both but you still felt like you were right beside him. Thick thighs spread wide with his arms behind his back as he gave you a smirk, your heart pounding in your chest when your eyes finally met his vermilion gaze for the first time.

“Hey, Princess.” Bakugou rasped huskily, he moved to lean forward as he clearly forgot about his restraints before they yanked him back. A flash of anger gracing his features as his gaze moved from you towards the prison guard behind you.

“Are you gonna let me hug my fuckin’ girl, Hawks?” Bakugou snarled at the guard, tugging at his cuffs for emphasis as the chains jangled from the motion.

“Bang on the door if you want out,” The guard replied simply, ignoring Bakugou’s request.

“Oi, I thought we fuckin’ agreed-” Bakugou spat, and the callous tone to his voice had a fear brewing inside you, the way his demeanor changed as though it was nothing, “What am I gonna do? I’m already on the other side of the glass, Officer.” 

Bakugou yanked at the chains again, his voice loud enough to permeate through the barrier even though there were phones on either side to help you talk to each other. The blond haired guard behind you gave a curt nod to the officer on the other side of the glass with Bakugou who leaned down to undo his cuffs, instantly bringing his large palms forward to rub at his wrists as the man stepped out of the room, locking the door behind him.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Bakugou muttered under his breath as he scooted his chair closer to the glass, the shrill sound of metal scraping along the concrete floor filled the room.

“The rest stays on.” The guard nodded to Bakugou who snarled, sliding the cell door shut as it left you in the room alone with him.

Bakugou rapped his knuckle against the glass to catch your attention, your eyes snapping up to meet him as he motioned towards the phone that was hanging on the wall. Watching intently as you picked up the receiver and held it to your ear as his husky voice filled your senses.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He rasped, the softer sound of his voice instantly filling you with a burning heat as you relaxed into his tone, you’d spent many nights dreaming about exactly how he would sound and now you could finally hear him you were hooked, “Don’t be scared, it’s just me.”

You didn’t reply, words stuck in your throat as you continued to stare at the man sitting opposite you, the corner of his lips curved into a soft smirk as he continued to stare at you. As though he was committing every single inch of your body to memory.

“I know it’s scary being here, sweetheart. But I’m so happy you came.” He continued talking into the phone as you sat there quietly. It had been so easy to communicate to him through the letters, a certain distance between you ridding you of all your fear and anxiety but now you were here it felt completely different, “God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your hand pressing up against the glass separating you both as you felt tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes, clumping to the thick mascara in your lashes as Bakugou mimicked your movements, placing his own hand on the other side of the glass. A sheer indication of the size difference as his hand dwarfed yours, your palm sitting neatly inside his hand as your thoughts flooded towards how those hands would feel all over you. Stroking along your curves as he made you writhe beneath him, thinking back to the promises he’d left in the letters he’d sent you. 

“Princess.” You felt your heart hammering in your chest at the sound, “I thought you were never comin’ to visit me.”

“Of course I was.” You murmured nervously. Writing letters to him each week had been so easy, the distance making it easier for you to say whatever you wanted to the blond. Giving you the opportunity to be bolder with your words as you recalled some of the more risqué letters you’d sent, the pictures that you’d attached to some of them were borderline obscene but just modest enough to not be intercepted by the guards that would read his mail first.

“Your friends couldn’t get you to fall for one of the guys they had you go out with then?” He asked as casually as you would for a cup of coffee, but you could hear the underlying jealousy in his voice. The slightest hint of an upturn in his lip as he tried to hide the snarl that threatened to slip out, “That why you decided to come and see me?”

“No-” You started, the question catching you off guard before you regret your answer, “I mean, yes- I mean, no I don’t want them I-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax, Princess.” Bakugou leaned back in his chair as he watched you panic, a smug smirk on his face as he continued to press the phone to his ear, speaking through the glass to you so smoothly, “I knew none of those guys would compare to me, what we have is special, right?”

You found yourself nodding at his words, you knew how many women who, just like you, had tried to message the criminal inside prison. Wanting to strike up the same kind of relationship that you had built with him, dreaming about visiting on the inside. But none of them had succeeded, he had picked you.

 Because you were special. 

“That’s my girl.” He grinned, “You know, you’re even prettier than your pictures.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, the praise making you feel lightheaded as he continued to speak, “Had to tell some of the fuckin’ assholes off in here for trying to jerk off to them, had to remind them who you belong to.”

The possessive undertone to his voice had you clenching your thighs together for relief, surprised at the effect he had on your body without even touching you. 

“Cause you’re mine, aren’t you sweetheart?” Bakugou leaned forward in his seat, his arms resting against the table in front of him as he got closer to the glass, smiling as you nodded slightly, “Damn right you are.”

“It’s even better seeing you in real life,” Bakugou continued, “I think about you a lot, you know. Not much else to do behind these four walls except think about my girl, yeah?”

You loved the sound of that from his lips, "my girl”, he often called you that in his letters but somehow the sound just fit so much better. Your lips curving into a smile as you began to relax around him, trying to ignore the fact you were sat in a prison cell and instead thinking about being out on a date. 

“You better not be bringing other guys home, you know I’d find out.” There was an ominous tone to his voice, an underlying sense of jealous as he tried to gauge your reaction. You hadn’t told him about the dates that your friends had set you up on to try and pull you away from him, to find yourself someone better. 

“No, Katsuki-”

“Fuck,” He groaned at the sweet sound of his name leaving your lips, “No? Only me?”

“Just you.” You affirmed, wishing you could reach through the glass to touch him.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Princess?” You felt nervous at his words, knowing that your friends had tried to get you to go on dates with other guys in an attempt to separate you from the villain.

“No,” You mumbled nervously, playing with a loose strand on your skirt.

“Good girl.” Bakugou replied huskily, “Because you know you’re mine right?”

You bit your lip as you nodded your head, your heart squeezing at his words.

“You’re all I think about in here, you know.” Bakugou continued, “The day I’ll finally be out to be with you.”

“Out?” You were confused, he was currently serving a life sentence, and every single article you’d read about him clearly stated there was absolutely no chance of parole.

“Yeah, Princess. You won’t have to be alone much longer. That’s what you said you hate the most about us, wasn’t it? Being alone at night.”

You’d said that more than anything in your letters to him, the hardest moments were falling asleep in a cold bed. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to kiss you, hold you or touch you.

“But you think about me while you lay alone in bed at night, don’tcha?” He smirked, “You touchin’ your pretty pussy to the thought of me?” 

His gaze becoming too intense as you allowed your gaze to drift down to the orange jumpsuit that he wore, his prison number stamped onto the right side of it as you allowed your eyes to read the numbers in a dull mantra in your mind. The numbers you knew better than your own phone number at this point from all the letters you’d sent to him, “That’s what you said in your letters wasn’t it?”

It was always easier to tell him everything through those letters, being alone giving you the luxury to be as depraved as you liked without anyone there to disturb you. Sharing those thoughts on paper seemed easier than speaking them out loud, giving you the opportunity to say the things you weren’t sure you could say to his face. 

“Y-yeah.” It was true, you’d lost count of the number of times you’d touched yourself to the thought of him. 

“Show me,”

His words made your body jolt, the command making your cunt clench around nothing as your eyes widened, looking through the glass to see if there was any hint of teasing to his voice. 

“H-here?” You looked behind him towards the metal bars that kept him on the other side of the glass, the guards could have walked by at any moment and seen you on the other side of the glass as Bakugou kept staring at you expectantly. 

“Where else do you think, Princess?” Bakugou grunted, “Shall I take you to the honeymoon suite?”

“But what if someone sees,” Your eyes glanced back to the guard that was walking along the corridor outside the room, glancing in each time he went past. 

“Not getting shy on me now, are you?” Bakugou smirked, sitting back in his chair as he kept the phone pressed to his ear, “They won’t let me touch you but that doesn’t matter does it, baby?”

The way he looked at you was like the glass wasn’t even there to separate you. It was as though you could feel him, goosebumps appearing on your body as he sat watching you like a hungry lion. 

“Come on, show me those pretty tits.” You worried your lip between your teeth as nerves flowed through you. Slowly sliding your hands to the front of your cardigan as you pulled it apart, slipping your t-shirt up and over your chest as you exposed your plain black bra that you’d worn today. Not expecting him to give you such a sinful request during your visit as you regret your choice of undergarments. 

Wishing you’d decided to wear something more alluring although the blond convict didn’t seem to mind, thick lashes fluttering as he drank in your exposed skin. His tongue poking out to wet his lips as he focused in on the curve of your breasts, it seemed so basic but to Bakugou it was like heaven on earth. 

“Good lord, look at your fuckin’ tits.” Bakugou groaned, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” 

His words succeeded in making you feel less nervous as you cherished his compliment, feeling butterflies erupt inside you as he goaded you further, giving you a smile as he told you to show him more.

Taking a deep breath as you pulled the cups to your bra down to reveal your naked breasts to his greedy eyes, watching his pupils dilate as he committed the sight to memory. Mapping out every single inch, every ridge of your body so he would have it for later, storing it inside his mind so he could pump himself stupid to the thought of you.

“You have no idea how badly I want to be on the other side of this glass, baby.” His words made you feel more confident, his praises making you feel beautiful as he kept the phone to his ear. 

“Me too,” You whispered into the receiver, keeping it tight between the curve of your neck as you took a moment to glance away from his eyes, his gaze far too intense.

“Play with your tits for me,” He groaned as you reached up to tease one of your soft nipples, pulling and pinching it between your thumb and forefinger as it began to harden, a breathless moan leaving your lips and sounding directly into the phone as Bakugou felt the blood rush directly to his cock. Massaging the soft mound as you did your best to imagine it was his hands against your body instead of your own, giving your other breast the same attention as you felt his eyes completely focused on you.

“How many times have you played with your pretty little pussy at night thinkin’ about me?”

“Kats-“ You whined at the blunt tone to his voice, watching as he leaned forward in his chair to get a closer look at you. Vermilion eyes focused on the way you squirmed in your seat, your thighs squeezing together as his words made a heat flow directly to your clit. 

“Yeah? You wish it was me instead, hah?” He smirked at the way your eyes fluttered, moving a hand down to palm his aching bulge through his prison issue jumpsuit. Groaning low in his throat as he felt his cock twitch, “Touch yourself,” 

“I can’t,” Your entire body felt warm, glancing behind you at the window in the door, thinking the guard would walk by at any moment and see you in such a compromising state. 

“Yeah you can, Princess. You can and you will.” There was an underlying darkness to his tone, the slightest hint of a threat as you tried to quell the thumping of your heart inside your chest, “They won’t let me touch you but that doesn’t matter does it, baby?”

The man opposite you was behind the glass for a reason, held in the maximum security part of the jail for the inhumane crimes he’d committed. This wasn’t an area for petty thieves or larceny. This was the wing that housed the most depraved inmates. 

“Remember what I said in those letters, Princess?” He smirked, leaning forward in his chair, “You’re mine. You do whatever I say, ain’t that right?”

You remembered how easily you submitted to him in those letters, almost as though writing back what you knew he wanted to hear. Cherishing his focus and attention every time you saw he’d written to you again. Enjoying having someone who’s entire focus revolved around you, until you were now face to face with him. 

You nodded your head in response to his question, giving one more quick glance behind you to see if anyone was watching before you slowly began to pull your long skirt up. 

“Fuck, there you go, Princess.” He smirked, watching as you slowly exposed the plain black panties you were wearing, spreading your thighs as the fabric of your skirt bunched around your hips, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit down on your lip as you shook your head, feeling your body clench as he kept his gaze focused on you. Hearing his breathing hitch on the phone as he drank in the sight of you. 

“So pretty for me.” He murmured, red eyes focused directly towards your crotch, “All mine.”

Your back rested against the chair as you felt a wetness begin to seep between your thighs, a soft moan leaving your lips as you rocked your hips against the solid surface, giving yourself some subtle relief. 

“See what you do to me?” Bakugou groaned as he palmed his crotch, squeezing his bulge so you could see his hand wrapped around it. Giving you an indication of his sheer size as he smirked at you through the glass, “This is how you leave me every damn night, princess.”

The words made you moan into the receiver as you moved your fingers down to press against your clothed clit, feeling how wet your panties had become from his voice. 

“That’s it,” He rasped, slowly stroking himself as he kept watching you intently, “Wanna wrap my hands around that pretty fuckin’ neck.”

You whined as you pressed down harder against your slit, stroking your fingers against it as you ground yourself into your touch. Rolling your hips on the chair as Bakugou slowly tugged down his prison overalls. Leaving him in a plain white wife beater and white prison issue boxers. His bulge even more evident now as he wrapped a fist around it, the leaking head pressed against his thigh as he sat back in his chair to give you a better view. The way his vermilion eyes flashed back to the doorway had you panicking. A heat on your cheeks as you turned to see the shorter blond guard staring through the window at you both, causing you to instantly try and hide yourself. Your hands moved to shield your body as you let out a surprised squeak, thinking he would come inside the room in an instant to march you out of the visit and tell you not to come back. But instead Bakugou gave him a smug grin and a nod as the guard slowly walked away. 

“He ain’t gonna do shit, Princess. Don’t worry,” Bakugou smirked as he dipped his thumbs into the hem of his boxers, “It’s just me and you,”

You tried to ease your beating heart as Bakugou slowly tugged his underwear down, freeing his aching cock as the sheer weight of it caused it to hang heavy between his thighs. Feeling yourself lean forward in your chair to get a better look at him as he slowly wrapped a tattooed hand around his girth. Giving himself a teasing pump as he ran his thumb over the swollen head, smoothing his pre along the length of his cock. 

“Come on, Princess. Take those panties off.” Bakugou smirked as he continued languidly pumping his cock, “It’s hardly fair that I’m the only one undressed.”

You took a deep breath as you began to tug the panties down your thighs, letting them drop to your ankles before taking them off completely. 

“Fuck, baby. Let me see.” Bakugou groaned as you bit your bottom lip, holding the fabric out to him so he could see the wet stain your cunt had left on the fabric. Making him grunt as he rut his hips into his fist, fresh pre oozing from his tip. 

“Leave those here when you’re done, sweetheart.” Bakugou rasped as you placed the panties on the ledge in front of the glass, “I said he could have them for letting us have this special visit.” 

Bakugou motioned to the door as you felt your body jolt, unsure how you felt about him offering up your dirty panties to other men. 

“You can do that for me, can’t you baby?” He groaned as he continued to rub his cock, “Always such a good girl for me.”

You keened at his praise, becoming bolder as you moved your hands between your thighs. Slipping two fingers between your messy folds as you ran them along the length of yourself, gathering your slick against your fingers as you moved higher to press gentle circles against your clit.

“This is what I do every night thinking about you,” Bakugou grunted, swiping his thumb over his reddened tip to collect the fresh pre oozing from the tip as he smoothed it along his length, “Fisting my cock to the thought of that sweet pussy.”

You felt your cunt clench at his crude words, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as you watched the man on the other side of the glass touching himself for you. Thick fingers jerking his cock as you imagined how those same hands would feel against your body. Trying to imagine his fingers stroking along your slick heat instead of your own, stretching you out for him as he dipped two thick digits inside your core.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day, Princess,” He hissed slightly as his hips jerked on the chair, the sound causing your cunt to throb as you watched him lift his hand to readjust the phone on his shoulder. Almost dropping it to the floor from the pleasure as he sped his fist up around his thick girth, “Been thinkin’ about it since we first started talkin’,”

It was as though he knew exactly what to say to you at all times, the words that would have you yearning for him as the desire continued to build inside you. Forgetting that you were sat inside a maximum security prison on the other side of a glass divide as you thought about his hands over your body, reaching up to pinch your hardened nipples as you heard a choked ‘fuck’ sound on the other side of the glass.

“Good lord, look at you.” He growled, his other hand reaching down to tease his balls as he watched you shamelessly touch yourself in front of him, “The things I’d do to you if this glass wasn’t here.”

His vermilion eyes darkened as he focused on your hands playing with your breasts, licking his lips as he leaned forward slightly to get a better look. Pressing the phone harder to his ear to try and make out the lewd squelch of your cunt as you continued to dip your fingers inside.

“Is that all for me?” Bakugou smirked as you tried to reply, a breathless moan leaving your lips as you continued to dip your fingers inside your tight entrance, “You’re mine, got it? No one else’s.”

The possessive tone to his voice had you writhing in your chair, the receiver sliding away from your ear slightly as you raised your shoulder to try and keep it in place. A high pitched keen leaving your lips as your fingers pressed against the spongy spot inside you, the heel of your hand rubbing against your clit as your thighs began to tremble. Feeling yourself coming closer and closer to your climax as Bakugou kept talking to you from the other side of the glass.

“Don’t even have to touch you to make you feel good, do I?” Bakugou smirked, “You think that guy you’ve been seeing would make you feel this good?”

You felt your blood run cold as your eyes snapped open to meet his gaze, your cunt clenching at the words as you watched his lips curl into a dark smirk.

“Oh yeah, I know all about him.” He snarled, “I get why you didn’t wanna tell me.” 

You knew Bakugou had guys watching you on the outside, they weren’t exactly subtle. But the idea that he’d seen you with other guys that you’d tried going out on dates with too made you nauseous. Wondering whether he would really do anything to hurt the people around you, his list of offences was definitely long enough and he didn’t seem to care about adding to it. You did wonder whenever Bakugou used to tell you that you’d be together soon, even though he was serving a life sentence he seemed convinced he would be released. The men on the outside were still controlling his empire even though he was inside, keeping it working for him until he returned. 

“You know he ain’t shit compared to me, pretty girl.” Bakugou almost cooed through the phone, “You belong to me.”

Your cunt betrayed your rational thoughts as it clenched at his words, the dominant underlying tone to his voice had you throbbing for him. Almost enough to completely remove the fear in your body at the thought of being with him on the outside.

“Your friends are just trying to keep you away from me.” You remembered telling him in your letters how your friends thought that this was a bad idea, that you should try and find someone on the outside that would treat you right, “They know I’m better for you than any of those fuckers.”

He spat the words with disgust as he bared his teeth to you, clenching them together as he continued stroking his cock.

“We don’t need anyone else, do we?” He continued, his hand speeding up on his cock as he let out a low grunt from his lips, “Just you and me forever, yeah?”

The words had your heart pounding against your ribcage, it was mind-blowing just how easily he managed to make you forget everything and have you so unequivocally captivated by him, feeling the coil inside you close to breaking as you whined against the receiver. Catching your lower lip between your teeth as you felt your orgasm swiftly approaching.

“Don’t hold back, pretty girl.” Bakugou cooed, reaching a hand up to reposition his phone so he could hear all the noises leaving your lips, ““You look so pretty playing with your pussy. Wanna hear you cum for me.”

“Katsuki,” You whined, moving your soaked fingers up to play with your clit as you began to rub quick circles against it, your thighs quivering as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill anyone that dares come between us, Princess.” He growled, the sound of his hand jerking his cock filled the room, loud against the phone as you cried out for him shamelessly. Not caring if anyone in the cells on either side heard you, or the guard pacing the halls, “I bet you’d look so fuckin’ pretty covered in the blood- Gotta show them who you fuckin’ belong to- shit,”

You gasped as you felt your orgasm surge through you in harsh waves, your toes curling as the phone receiver dropped from your shoulder, continuing to press sloppy circles against your clit as you cried out his name. Writhing against the hard chair as you rode out your release, white spots blanking your vision as you tried to focus on Bakugou on the other side of the glass. His fist moving frantically against his cock as he worked himself towards his own release, thick white spurts of cum shooting from his cock and splashing against the glass and the floor. His other palm flat against the glass as you faintly heard his curses through the receiver that was now hanging from the wall.

Both of you panting as you tried to regain your breath, your fingers sticky with your slick as you wiped them against your panties in front of you. Bakugou’s hands wiping against his overalls before he motioned for you to pick the phone up again, the same smirk on his face as he leaned in close to the glass. Those same red eyes completely focused on you.

“Princess,” Bakugou grunted, pushing a note through the small gap between the table and the glass as he motioned for you to take it, “Need ya to give this to Kiri when you go back out, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You felt your heartbeat quicken as you saw the bulging paper, wondering if there was something inside it as you heard the lock to the door behind you click. Fumbling to correct your outfit as Bakugou tapped on the glass, trying to get you to conceal the item he’d pushed under the glass to you as you stuffed it inside your bra. Cheeks flushed as the same guard stepped into the room to collect you, trying to save what little modesty you had left.

“Good girl,” Bakugou smirked as he shot the guard behind you a glare, deep lines on his forehead as his brows furrowed.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come back,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up from his intense gaze, his softening cock still hanging out from his overalls with absolutely no shame as you tried to avoid looking down at him.

“Don’t worry about that, Princess.” Bakugou smirked as you stood from your chair, the blond guard reaching out to shove your panties into his slacks as he shot Bakugou a look, “I’ll be seeing you again real soon.”