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beloveds-embrace · 8 months ago

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Quotation marks around worshippers because they’ve lived long, brutal lives, constantly in war and fights and skirmishes and tearing others apart in a bid to simply survive and keep a malicious god content enough it doesn’t kill them and destroy what little they’ve fought hard to win.

John is the oldest. He’s lived long enough to know hope is just a word made by those already deafeated. It doesn’t exist. He has fought bloody and dirty to have his own spot. It’s all his, his only source of safety and isolation from the rest of the god’s violent domain. It should be just his, because trust should also not exist.

Yet he still took in Ghost. His old name burnt away in the ashes of the crumbling arena, more scars than clear skin, face hidden with a mask and all his opponents dead, John still took him in.

He also takes in Johnny. Bright Johnny, with blood coating his teeth and who laughs in the face of death, as if the chaos only strengthens him. Johnny, with his wild grin and reckless spirit, has survived every fight, every slaughter, not by brute force alone but by sheer audacity. He revels in the violence, thriving in the blood-soaked madness that their war god delights in. Despite John’s reluctance, Johnny becomes part of his world- part of the strange, brutal family they’ve formed under the watchful eye of a cruel god.

But John doesn’t stop there. He takes in Kyle, too. Kyle, quick and resourceful, with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. He’s newer to this war, but no less hardened. He knows how to fight, how to survive. He has to, in order to endure the hellish existence demanded by their god. Like the others, he’s marked by the battles he’s fought, by the lives he’s taken, the blood that stains his hands. There’s no room for softness here, no room for weakness.

Together, the four of them are bound by the violence they’ve endured and the desperate struggle to appease a god who feeds on their suffering. They don’t question it. They don’t dare. It’s all they’ve ever known. It’s all they’ll ever know.

Then, you arrive.

But you’re not just some strange outsider, not just another fragile soul lost in the wasteland of their god’s domain. You are another god- a goddess. The goddess of fertility, of harvest, of life itself. The opposite of everything they know. Where they come from a world of blood and fire, you bring growth, peace, and something they can’t name- something they’ve long forgotten.

John is the first to notice the change. It’s subtle at first. The small patch of ground he’s claimed for himself, once barren and dead, begins to show signs of life beyond the very little moss that has made itself home on the rocks and cracks of his area. Tiny sprigs of green push up through the cracked earth, the soil somehow softer, richer. He doesn’t understand it, but he feels it- something shifting, something outside of his control. It leaves him with his hackles raised, eyes narrowed and shoulders often tense.

(He doesn’t shove you out. Doesn’t fight, or attack, or kill you. He doesn’t know why he lets you stay, like that moss that lingers.)

Ghost remains quiet, watchful as always. He doesn’t speak of it, but he, too, notices the strange calm that seems to settle around them when you’re near. The land seems less hostile, the sky a less oppressive red and more of a deep orange. It’s unsettling in a way that makes him wary, but he’s drawn to you nonetheless. There’s something about you that soothes the storm inside him, something that makes the endless violence seem… far away.

Johnny, in contrast, is the first to approach you openly, grinning through bloodstained teeth. “Yer naw like the rest of us, bonnie.” he says with a laugh, almost in awe. He doesn’t know why he feels at ease around you, why the chaos in his mind quiets when you’re near, but he doesn’t question it. You smile at him, your touch soft as you brush dirt from your hands, tending to the small garden you’ve coaxed from the dead soil.

Kyle watches from a distance, suspicious at first. He’s seen enough in this brutal world to know nothing good comes without a cost. But as the days pass, he, too, begins to feel the shift. There’s a strange sense of peace when you’re around, a warmth that feels foreign but not unwelcome.

They don’t realize it at first, but you’re pulling them out of the war god’s grasp, slowly, gently, without them even knowing. With every seed you plant, with every gentle touch, you weave them further into your domain the same way your hands weave flower crowns for each of them. They don’t know that the violent god they served is weakening, that his power is crumbling as you pull the earth itself away from him, reclaiming it for yourself.

The land around them begins to change. The once-scorched earth softens beneath their feet. Where the air was once thick with ash and smoke, it now carries the scent of growing things, of rain, of life. They don’t understand how it’s happening, why the violence that once defined their world seems to be fading, but they can feel it.

And you, always quiet, always gentle, never tell them the truth.

They don’t know that you’ve been dismantling the war god’s domain piece by piece, tearing down the walls of blood and fire that have kept them trapped for so long. They don’t know that with every moment they spend in your presence, they’re moving further from the god they once served, deeper into your realm of peace and growth.

Their trust for you starts small.

You offer them food, but not the scavenged scraps they’re used to- fresh bread, warm and soft, made from the grain you’ve grown in the earth that once seemed too dead to nourish anything. “Eat,” you tell them with a soft smile, your voice a balm against the harshness of their world. “You’ve fought enough for now.”

John eyes you warily at first, his mistrust of softness deeply ingrained. He hesitates, but the hunger gnaws at him, and he finds himself taking a piece. It’s better than anything he’s tasted in years. The others follow suit, their suspicion momentarily forgotten in the simple act of sharing a meal.

When Ghost returns from another brutal skirmish, bloodied and bruised, you’re there. Quietly, without a word, you kneel beside him and start tending to his wounds. His body tenses at first and he is almost read to push you away- he’s used to pain, used to enduring it alone. But your touch is gentle, your hands soft and careful as you clean his cuts and wrap his injuries. He doesn’t speak. When this simple act becomes a routine, something begins to flicker in his eyes, something he hasn’t felt in a long time: relief. Safety.

“You don’t have to fight alone, not anymore.” you murmur, and though Ghost doesn’t reply, he doesn’t pull away either. The next time he’s hurt, he seeks you out before anyone else.

Johnny, always bold, is the first to embrace your presence without hesitation. He grins when you touch his arm, your fingers brushing away dirt from his skin. “You’re soft,” he says quietly, as if he can’t quite believe someone like you exists in their world. You only laugh gently and tousle his messy mohawk, unfazed by his wildness. “Maybe,” you reply, “You deserve it. All of you.”

Johnny’s grin widens, and soon, he’s lingering around you more often, like a star drawn to the sun’s orbit. He chatters about nothing and everything- battles he’s won, places he’s seen, jokes that make no sense. And you listen, never once judging the darkness behind his stories, always meeting his reckless energy with calm kindness.

And Kyle… Kyle is the last to trust. He watches you from a distance, wary and skeptical. He’s been burned too many times, lost too much to believe in something as simple as kindness. But even he can’t deny the peace that settles over him when you’re near. One evening, after a particularly grueling fight, you sit beside him, your presence quiet and soothing. You don’t push, don’t ask him to open up. You just sit there, offering him a slice of bread and a cup of fresh water.

“Why are you helping us?” Kyle asks, his voice low, guarded.

You smile, your eyes warm. Your face is always so open, so welcoming. Kyle does not know how you do it. “Because you’ve fought enough. You deserve rest. Peace.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. He still watches you from the corner of his eye, but slowly, he begins to let down his guard.

As the days pass, you continue to tend to them- feeding them, healing them, offering warmth in a world where warmth is rare. They don’t understand it at first, but they begin to feel the shift. The land around them is changing, softening. The earth that was once barren begins to bloom with life. Where there was only death and destruction, now there are signs of growth- flowers, crops, greenery creeping up through the cracks in the wasteland.

John, who has spent his entire life guarding himself, feels it most of all. He watches you with something like confusion, like a man seeing the sun for the first time after years of darkness. He doesn’t understand why he feels calmer, why the constant tension in his body is easing. But despite his better judgment, he finds himself drawn to you- drawn to the softness he’s fought so hard to keep out.

You smile at him, always gentle, always kind, even when he’s rough around the edges. “You don’t have to fight anymore, John,” you tell him one evening as you hand him a fresh scone, drizzled with sweet honey and cream. “There’s more to life than just surviving. Let me show it to you.”

Ghost remains distant, but even he starts to let his guard down around you. The mask he wears, both literal and figurative, feels less necessary when you’re near. The weight of the violence he’s carried for so long feels lighter, though he doesn’t know why. It helps that he comes to you for every injury, your hands gentle and tender on his scarred skin.

Johnny is the most at ease with you, laughing more, fighting less, as though the fire that once consumed him is finally starting to burn out. And Kyle, ever watchful, finds himself relaxing for the first time in a long while, though he’s still unsure why he feels so drawn to you, so at peace in your presence.

Little by little, without them even realizing it, you’re pulling them away from the war god who has held them captive for so long. You’re bringing them into your world, a world of life and peace, where they can be more than just warriors, more than just tools of violence.

And the war god, once so powerful, is fading. His domain is crumbling, and soon, he will be nothing more than a memory.

But they don’t know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

There is no need to drag them into what happens between gods, you reason to yourself, humming a sweet melody. Catching John’s gaze- they are working on your ever-expanding garden, tending to the soil- you smile and wave at him, delighted by the way his shoulders untense.

Yes. There is no need to ruin this little haven you’ve created.

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madamechrissy · 9 months ago

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Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you

♔ Warnings: Mentions of sex, infidelity, Cruelty from Duke Gojo. OOC. So much ANGST. Gojo is TERRIBLE you're warned

♔ Word count this chap: 2.4k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

♔ Playlist - ♔ Masterlist

part one

The grand hall of the Gojo manor was adorned with elegant flowers, a mix of blue and white lilies, strewn amongst the endless aisles of those gathered to watch you marry the Duke Gojo. Yes, you were arranged to marry Satoru Gojo, the most eligible bachelor there was, your parents had set this up, the match of the season, as you are the daughter of a most prominent Earl.

As you step up slowly, your beautiful white beaded gown clinging to you, there are whispers of your beauty. You were the jewel of the season, the ton had declared it so, yet there was one man who clearly disagreed, and that’s the white haired, blue eyed Duke you’re headed straight for.

The soft glow of the lights above, glittering chandeliers, are flickering against the ivory walls, as a cacophony of murmurs and music fill the area, mixing with your racing heart. You had dreamed of this day with Duke Gojo, for his charm and handsome looks had captivated you from the moment you met. He’d been so different, when you were courting, putting on his show.

But just an hour ago, right before you were to be wed, as you were walking through the beautiful gardens, lush and green, admiring the statues, you heard it, moaning.

****

“Oh, your grace, yes, there! Mmn!” You had paused, your heart in your throat as you walked by Duke Satoru Gojo, donned in his elegant white wedding suit, with his hand between one of the servant’s legs, kissing down her neck.

You stumble back in shock, smacking into a statue in your haste and huffing as you trip, catching their attention. The servant gasps, running off, her maid dress swishing, but Satoru wipes his full lips, glaring over at you. Your breasts heave up and down with the effort it takes to breathe, your corset is suddenly so tight that it is strangling you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” He demands, running a hand through his tousled white hair, his deep voice so… cruel? You gulp, looking down shyly.

“I was checking the gardens… I…” You look up at him then, at those cold blue eyes that you found so beautiful, as he’s adjusting his jacket over his lithe body. “What were you doing?”

He scoffs then, stepping closer, leaning down as he towers over you, he was taller than any man you’d seen nearly, and what once was charming was intimidating. “Just because we’re forced to marry, does not mean I will not continue to do as I please.”

You gasp again, at his twisted smirk. “I am so confused, your grace, I had thought we had at least a friendly connection, that could perhaps grow-”

Satoru Gojo places his big hands on your shoulders then, laughing, and it’s got such malice behind it, that it hurts to hear even. “I have absolutely no interest in you, I guess now is the time to make it clear.”

Your heart sinks, as your eyes fill with tears, looking down, away from his cruel gaze. “I don’t understand, I thought you said I was beautiful-”

“Everyone says that, don’t they? Everyone in the bloody ton sings your praises, the diamond, the crowned jewel, the greatest catch, even for a Duke. But guess what?” He tilts your chin up with two long fingers, and watches tears make your eyes glassy. “You’re not who I want, you could never be.”

You choke back a cry, blinking rapidly as you try to speak. “So what, you want the servant?”

He chuckles darkly. “I want anyone but you. And I’ll have them, any time I want, and you’ll endure it, because that’s what this is. A false partnership, forced on me.”

“It was forced on me too!” You smack at his hand then, scowling, earning more of his laughter, sharp white teeth glinting.

“Do stop lying, my Lady, you surely always wanted to marry me. Marry the Duke. But go ahead and pretend.”

“As if women have a choice.” You speak through gritted teeth, and now he’s scowling at you.

“Everyone wants me.”

“Well guess what, everyone wants me too.”

His white lashes lower over those cerulean eyes. “Not I. Never would. You’re nothing to me.” Satoru speaks softly, like a fucking caress, and you turn on your heel and run.

****

But still, the ceremony must continue. As you step forward, the murmurs of the crowd fade into the background. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you when you step up next to him, but the warmth you had once hoped for with Satoru had turned cold. He’s looking at you with clear disinterest in his perfect features as the priest says your vows.

When the moment came and he leaned down to kiss you, your first kiss you have ever had, it was merely an icy brush of lips, that left you feeling hollow. Before he slid a disinterested gaze back to the room. As the ceremony goes on, and friends and family congratulate you both, he plays his part, the elegant Duke, so charming and witty. So gorgeous that everyone loves him.

You play your part, the beautiful belle of the ball, the dainty little lady that had just become a Duchess. You’d prepared your whole life to be a wife, and you’d dreamed of the charming Duke since you were naught but a child, and now? When you think about it, the walls close in, everything is too noisy, and the weight of his words and actions kill you.

You watch as he dances with every woman there is, as he starts to drink and act brazen, foolish, but you must hold it together, it is your duty, is it not?

When a tall, handsome man with long dark hair comes, bowing to you, you recognize him as Duke Gojo’s best friend, Lord Suguru Geto. He is a prominent Earl, and one that you had become quite friendly with, for once he had courted you, however your family had pushed and pushed for the Duke. Now, as he holds his hand out, his chocolate eyes glimmering, you cling to his hand like a lifeline.

“You’re a vision, my Lady. May I have a dance? I’ve noticed you’ve been quite a wallflower.” He says softly, and you nod, your gloved hand clutching his tightly.

“I should love to, my Lord. And thank you.” He smiles, and takes you to the floor, where you all dance elegantly, to the soft quadrille playing. People watch and many smile, as you both were skilled dancers.

“I’m very sad that you’re taken, I wish I could say otherwise. But I do wish you the best, even if I’m so very selfish.” Lord Suguru says softly, and you tense a bit, making his cheeks flush. “I should not say such things. I’m sure Duke Gojo will be a very good husband to you.”

You scoff, before covering it up, clearing your throat. “I am sure he will be, thank you Lord Suguru.” You feel it then, Duke Gojo’s blue eyes, staring daggers at you both as you’re in Lord Suguru’s arms, making you shiver.

Suguru smirks a bit. “Ah, he seems possessive of his new bride, as he should be, you’re the most beautiful bride there could be.”

Possessive, ha!

You want to scream, you want to cry, as you remember him up that maid’s skirts, blatant, even now he’s dancing with some woman who’s whispering in his ear. “Thank you, you’re too kind though, my Lord. I surely am not.”

“You absolutely are.” He smiles down, and his smile is so soft, so sincere, then you wish that you never got stuck in this. That you could be with someone who looks at you like this, not like how Duke Gojo glares like he just despises you.

****

Soon, it’s the night of your wedding, and you’re wearing a pretty silk nightgown, it’s sheer and white and nearly see through, along with white garters and stockings with little bows on them. You’re brushing your hair nervously in the gilded mirror, the silver brush making crackling sounds along with the fire that blazes in your new chambers, surely fit for a queen.

But why do you feel so depressed here?

The door opens, and you jerk, to see Duke Satoru Gojo, shirtless and merely wearing sleep trousers, you’ve never seen a naked man, and you can’t help but stare. Every inch of him is chiseled to perfection, his pale skin glistening like marble, the fire casting shadows on every worked muscle. You gulp, struggling to hide the flush of your cheeks, looking down.

“Have you never seen a man?” You shake your head, as he walks to you now, dominating, looming over you. “You’re afraid.”

“Y-yes. I know what is expected of a wedding night.” You whisper, earning a snicker of laughter.

“Stand up. Let me see you.” You do as he says, trembling legs standing as you set your brush next to its matching silver comb and mirror. They were your treasured gifts from your mother.

Your eyes look up to him, as he runs his fingers down the edges of the thin satin straps, as he then slides his fingers down your curve of your breasts, making your nipples taut, goosebumps raising. There is some odd feeling in your core. The Duke smirks as they show, and you feel so embarrassed you can’t even think, hating your body’s wicked reactions to him.

“I bet everyone has always told you how beautiful you are. How perfect you are. Haven’t they, Duchess.” You nervously bite a lip, as he walks around you in a slow circle, taking you in like a predator. “You have the perfect hips for child bearing they all say, you have the tiniest waist, so fashionable. You have such delicate features too, don’t you, and such lovely hair.”

He runs his hands through it, as he’s behind you, then he pulls your hair, making you cry out. “What do you care, I’m of no interest.” You bite out, making him chuckle, his hot breath tickling your ear.

“Perfect body, perfect face, perfect posture… oh, perfect speech, and you’re talented at everything aren’t you? Piano forte, singing, dancing… bet you’re trained to be the perfect wife too.”

“What does any of that matter? I am not perfect at everything.”

“That’s what everyone tells you, don’t they?” You look down, as he lets your hair go, letting you exhale before he’s back in front of you. “Don’t look so afraid, Duchess.” That word from his lips is like a curse word, he spits it out.

“Just get it done, I don’t want it anymore than you.” You say with a scowl, sliding down your straps then, making him tense, his eyes flicker for just a moment, before he shoves them back up.

“You’re so desperate, you think I want you at all? In any way?” You can only take so much, now you’re close to sobbing, and tears trickle down your cheeks, making the Duke’s lips quirk up, as he brushes one away with a long finger. “You crying, my lady? That won’t do. You have to be a good Duchess.”

“We must consummate the marriage, have heirs, just get it done. I don’t want this to go on longer than it must.”

“I have no intentions of consummating anything.” You blink in confusion, looking up, and you’re far too close, you can feel his body heat, but inside Satoru Gojo is cold, so cold you’re freezing to death.

“But, the marriage…”

“I’ll not lay with you. I will lay with who I wish to, you’ll be my wife in all the ways you’re supposed to be, but not that. Did you want my cock so desperately? Aw… you poor thing. Crying over it.” His mocking tone infuriates you as he brushes a finger over your cheek.

You smack his hand now, glaring. “Oh, so then I’m free? To be with whoever I want, hmm?”

Satoru scowls, twisting his pretty features. gripping your wrist with a brutal grasp in a big hand, making you wince. “Excuse me? You’re not the man here, you’re the woman, the wife.”

“Then I’ll get an annulment, let you marry who you wish-”

“You’ll stay my wife.”

“Then I’ll do just as you, except I won’t rut in the gardens like a pig.” Satoru slaps your cheek then, and you gasp as it stings you, looking up at him with shocked, pained eyes, and for a moment his thin white brows go together, and he opens his pink lips, as if to speak, then shuts them.

“I didn’t… I…”

You haul back and smack him as hard as you can, you smack the Duke right in his pretty face, making him glare now, trembling with rage. “Excuse the impropriety, but fuck you, Duke Gojo.”

“You wish I would fuck you, but I’ll never want you. Why would I?” He keeps staring at your cheek now, frowning, but then going back to glaring at you, and you smirk as you see the hand print you left on his own, raised and pink.

“Good, I don’t want you either. Go have your fun, Duke, never worry, I’ll keep up appearances. I have been trained, as you said.” You turn away then, your heart thudding in your chest, your tears threatening to burst from your eyes.

“You enjoy the lie, you know you want it, it’s why your nipples were rock hard. I bet you’re wet too.” He’s sliding his hands down your hips, far too close, and you jerk away quickly, earning his anger.

“I don’t even know what that means, but I do not want you, so never fear, I will never, ever try.” He pauses at that, white lashes blinking.

“You’ve not even had a talk about sex, and yet you meant to consummate the marriage?”

“What does it matter? We’ll have no children, and not lay in bed together. If that’s what you wish.”

His jaw locks. “It is.”

“Then leave.”

It’s as if he expected you to beg him, to want him, as if he expected you to fall to his feet. But you will not waiver, though his words and looks are so painful, though the world is shattering around you, you’re stubborn enough to not show him, to not reveal the truth. He’d just use it as a weakness.

“Enjoy the wedding night, Duchess.” He says finally, leaving with a slam that echoes in your chambers, and you sink to the hardwood floor, sobbing, hugging your knees and burying your face in your folded arms.

Your wedding night, alone, married to a man that hates you. A man that will never want you, that will lay with others, and you’re just going to be stuck, playing your role, aren’t you? The loneliness sinks in, the hopelessness, until you sob yourself to sleep right there on the cold hard floor, as cold as Duke Gojo.

Part 2 here!

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arscorpii · 2 months ago

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in episode 1, utena defeated saionji with only a wooden sword, without any help from prince dios (i believe this was the case) as would be observed in later episodes. saionji was using the sword of dios against utena in the duel. i find this to be very impressive on utena's part because saionji was a skilled swordsman. it reminded me of how utena managed to pass through the rose gate without the sword of dios in episode 39, with only bare, bloody hands and a heart overflowing with love for anthy. unlike akio who failed to cut through the gate even with the strongest soul sword, the one pulled out of utena.

to commemorate the 28th year since revolutionary girl utena started airing (02/04/1997), here are some parallels between the first and final episodes of rgu (per chronological order of episode 1):

utena and anthy's hands slipping away from each other's grasp both in the opening and episode 39.

the duelling arena being destroyed as prince dios wakes up in the opening versus the duelling arena being destroyed by the swords of humanity's hatred in episode 39.

prince dios on his white horse, looking over a ledge with bare trees in the background from episode 1 versus akio looking up to anthy being stabbed by millions of swords representing humanity's hatred in midair in episode 39.

prince dios and baby utena with bare trees in the background in episode 1 versus anthy walking away at the ending of episode 39.

prince dios putting on the rose crest ring on baby utena's finger in episode 1 versus prince dios trying to kiss the ring in episode 39, as utena lies helpless on the floor in the rose bride dress.

baby utena watching prince dios riding away on his white horse in episode 1 versus anthy walking down the same path at the ending of episode 39.

baby utena wanting to be a prince in episode 1 versus utena apologising to anthy because she couldn't be a prince as she hangs over the ledge in episode 39.

utena and anthy respectively, emerging into the corridor in episodes 1 and 39.

utena, anthy, and the rose garden in episodes 1 and 39.

part 2 of the post

#some scenes seem redundant so they are excluded #there is a part 2 #anthy had to walk fast because she had places to be #revolutionary girl utena #shojo kakumei utena #shoujo kakumei utena #rgu #sku #utena tenjou #anthy himemiya #prince dios #akio ohtori #wakaba shinohara #tatsuya kazami #parallels #gifs #gifs and pictures #all gifs made by me :)#✮

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 15 days ago

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cowboy like me | r. reynolds

a/n: guess who's back. haha. sorry i said i was on hiatus and then wrote this. i saw thunderbolts and made it everyone else's problem so here is a fuck of a long fic. i dont know i just wanted to put all my ideas in one so there is a lot going on in this one but yeah. uhm. no real smut because i didn't wanna write because they fuck a lottt also the entire concept is based off this one screenshot i have and i do not know where i got it (it was from some sort of meme) but yeah! warnings: SELF HARM!! no really super serious descriptions but the reader is mentally ill and so is bob and reader does hurt herself at some point and bob wraps them. lots of talks of addiction and alcoholism and sobriety. lots of kissing and allusions to sex and teasing and everyone (bob and reader) is mentally ill and, yeah. sentry and void have a conversation with bob in his brain. also book club. word count: 9.4k summary: you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits. pairing: bob reynolds x sober!reader now playing: cowboy like me - taylor swift "now you hang from my lips/like the gardens of babylon/with your boots beneath my bed/forever is the sweetest con."

The first text comes at 5:43 on a Tuesday.

‘do you wanna start fucking again like maybe once a week?’

You must’ve sat, staring at your phone for twenty minutes. Who the fuck..?

The second text comes at 6:32.

‘it can be like a little book club, we can read the same book and discuss’

Book club..?

You ask yourself if this is some sort of joke, and another text shows up three minutes later--

‘i also have a real bed now.’

And then you remember this meth head you used to sleep with, some Florida guy who was always taking odd jobs to fuel his addiction—Cashier, house sitter, alligator hunter, amusement park mascot.. until he got fired, which always seemed inevitable.

You suppose you have no room to judge. You had only been in Jacksonville after your last friend in New York told you no more, that they wouldn’t watch you destroy yourself. But you didn’t need them to, you never needed an audience to fuel the urge to rip every little bit of your soul apart.

You had taken a job working at a Dunkin Donuts that was right next to a liquor store. It seemed as if the universe had given you a sign. You could retire here. Nothing but part time shifts, a bottle of vodka, and a shitty room for rent from the kinkiest 72-year-old lesbian you had ever met.. You had a little bit of respect for her, a sort of ‘good for her’ attitude.

And then, you met Bob.

You met Bob at a dealer’s house.

Romantic, right?

Bob was about to take his first hit in six or seven hours, and you sat uncomfortably scrunched against the couch, trying not to think about how many fucked up things had happened there.

And he sat on the other side of the couch, Bob sat, flicking his lighter on and off while he waited.

..The girl you were with was currently.. paying for the coke she wanted. You were never a fan of drugs, alcohol was your one and only, your soulmate—you could never cheat on her. But this girl promised to buy shots at the next bar. And now you had to listen to her ‘pay’ her dealer—and you presumed Bob’s dealer in the other room.

“Hey.” He speaks first.

You give him a side glance.

“Hey.”

“Waiting for.. stuff?”

“Just waiting for my friend.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A beat.

“What’s your—“

“Alcohol.”

“Oh. Cool. Mine’s meth.”

“Great.”

A beat.

“I need a fuckin’ hit man, I don’t know what’s taking her so long to fucking pay—”

God, you wanted a drink in that moment.

“So, he’s your dealer?”

“Yeah. And my roommate. My rooms the one down the hall.”

“Cool.”

Another beat.

You began tapping your foot against the carpet.

“Oh my god, it doesn’t take that long to—”

“It fucking takes a minute, relax,” You scoffed.

“Not this long.” You caught the unspoken words.

And then, almost in sync, you looked at each other, fully turning your heads to really see what one another looks like. Your eyes flickered up and down his features. Drunk as you were, you knew you could do much worse than this guy.

But before you could say anything, he spoke again,

“Wanna see my room?”

Your ‘friend’ didn’t really seem to be finishing up her transaction anytime soon. Plus, it.. had been a while.

“Sure.” You said, and you followed Bob two steps behind on the way down to his bedroom. When he opened the door, you know deep down sober you would be mortified—well, only if the sex was bad.

His room was small, clothes laid about in various piles across the room—a few lighters, a coin or two next to the odd chip bag.. and in the corner of his room, a twin sized mattress laid on the floor, black sheets and a red blanket, one that had been clearly loved.. and a very old pillow.

You just stared until Bob grabbed your wrist, pulling you along to the bed. He sat on the bed first, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and gently prompted you to ‘c’mere.’ As you sat on his lap, you realized that this guy was cute enough for this to become a regular thing.

Your lips locked with his, slowly pulling him in with slow, gentle kisses as if the two of you weren’t giving plenty of time for the moment to be interrupted by the end of the transaction in the other room.

And then, your hands traced up from his shoulders, past his neck and ears, curls wrapping around your fingers.

As if you couldn’t help yourself, you found yourself gently tugging at his hair, listening as he let out this soft moan, and you couldn’t deny—you could totally get used to this.

And after, when you laid back on his stupid twin sized mattress without a bedframe, your finger stayed twirled in his curls. Then, when he heard the other bedroom door open, he pulled on his boxers and got up, grabbing a sweatshirt as he headed to the door. He glanced back to you to ask,

“’m going to take a hit, want anything?”

“Something to drink?”

“I’ll get you a beer.” He had offered, and you found yourself smiling.

So, you came back. Again. And again. And again. And again. And then you got sober. Or at least, that’s the version you’d give your therapist when you next spoke.

When you got sober, you had gone from a smartphone to a flip phone, deleting and blocking many of the numbers from your party days.. until you had gotten to Bob. All you did was delete his contact from your phone—he still had your number if he wanted to reach out.

But he hadn’t. Not for the past nineteen months, and you’ll be honest—Month eight was such a big month for you (being able to babysit your niece by yourself for the first time, saving up for your own apartment, no roommates or family, and enrolling in a night class or two), so you had forgotten the meth head who purred when you played with his hair.

And yet..

You felt this.. tug. At something.

You found yourself responding—

“hey, i’ve been sober for nineteen months. not interested if ur still using.”

Your texting habits reflected your archaic tech.

But you meant it—Bob was.. well, you didn’t like to think about the things you felt for him, but it was enough to make you bury it as deep down as you could.

“me too”

And then, seven minutes later,

“therapy too lol.”

You glance at the time. You think about your favorite bar’s bottomless margaritas on Tuesdays, and you realize it has been a while.. it was typical for people not to date within a year of sobriety. But it had been nineteen months..

And this wasn’t a date.

It was book club..

“what do u want to read?”

You toss the flip phone on your bed and walk over to the shelf in the corner of your room. You inspect the spines of the few books you have and realize they’re not book club material.

You pick your phone back up to read the text—

“great gatsby? i never read it in school”

Neither had you. Maybe you had been assigned it once upon a time.

“okay. next thursday enough time?”

You were serious about the book club aspect of this. You know two things—

One, no mater how he answers, you’ll have to talk this over with your therapist. Maybe even your sister. You barely ever take risks, not since getting sober, and this risk scares the shit out of you..

Two—You are almost giddy at the idea of tugging at Bob’s hair. You’ve been alone for too long, but you can’t seem to trust yourself enough to download a dating app and hook up with strangers (you theorize you could become as addicted to hookups as you were to alcohol) and the idea of getting into a serious relationship makes you feel sick.. so maybe this is a good compromise.

You glance at the phone in your hand and see one more text--

“sure :)”

So, you send him an address to a coffee shop near your apartment. He asks you if three works. You say yes.

When you tell your therapist about it the next day, this huge smile grows on her face as you tell her about your dilemma—to be or not to be, to go or not to go, to fuck Bob or not to fuck Bob.

You debate this back and forth, and your therapist eventually tells you—

“As your therapist, I shouldn’t and couldn’t push you to do this. Read the book. Go to coffee. At the very least, you’ll get some closure. Or.. you could have an outlet. Remember your boundaries, and don’t pursue anything you aren’t comfortable doing. Ask him questions about his sobriety if it’s important for you to know to feel comfortable. Think about it, and we can talk about it next week before you go.”

And that was pretty good advice. You contemplated it, back and forth, bouncing a mental tennis ball off a mental wall in an imaginary room. Sometimes, there are bottles of booze in the imaginary room, and other times, Bob sits in the corner. Quietly watching you ‘throw the ball.” Somedays it’s just you and the tennis ball.

You’re very normal.

When you told your sister, she just laughed.

“So, at what point did you start seriously considering this?”

“..When I realized he had an actual bed now.”

And that’s all you can respond, because you can’t explain how curious you are. He was a meth head named Bob who had no bed frame, and yet.. you want him. After nineteen months, you think about the way he focused his attention to you in between sips, in between hits, in between fucks.

How his hand rested on your side, how those stormy eyes studied yours as you talked, asking questions about your delusional rambles—

“Right, but what does that mean?” He had asked one night.

“What does what mean?”

“What the fuck does it mean that I ‘am’ the.. hanging gardens of Babylon?” You had rolled your eyes, and the pads of your fingertips against his lips.

“They were a uh,” Your eyes flicker up and down his face. “These.. gardens. City of Babylon, a long long time ago-- They were supposed to so beautiful but there’s no archeological proof they ever existed, except they’re mentioned in poetry, so.. They may or may not be real and we’ll never know. You remind me of them.”

Bob just stared at you for a long time. He didn’t say anything but the way his eyes fixated on you made you alive.. And maybe more alive than the booze, and that thought petrified you because up until that point, drinking was your life. So, you ignored it. What else were you supposed to do?

When you’re done with therapy for the day, you go to the closest bookstore. You pick up the cheapest paperback you can find of Gatsby and then, your eye wanders, as it always done in a bookstore. You spot a book on The Seven Ancient Wonders of the world.. And you decide to buy it when you see the large chapter on The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

///

The week passes quickly because you find yourself filling any free time you have with reading, underlining and circling quotes and words that F Scott Fitzgerald decided were good enough to convey his themes.

You barely register that it’s Thursday morning when it comes because all you want to do is reread your favorite parts over and over again while you get ready for the day. Before you know it, it’s.. time for book club.

You decide to get there ten minutes before three, hoping you’ll be able to grab a drink and relax before Bob shows up. The bell on the door of the café rings when you walk in, and there are a couple of patrons..

But you find yourself stopping in your tracks when you see a familiar face in the corner, a book on the table, as his finger traces a pattern on the cover.. absently. Like he’s somewhere else.

And then his head picks up, and he notices you. Neither of you say anything, neither of you smile.

In an instant, you’re not sure if you can do this, if—

“Decaf red velvet latte with whipped cream and cinnamon for Bob?” The barista calls, and he stands and approaches the counter, mumbling a thanks to the barista. When he glances down and notices your name scribbled on the side of a cup marked ‘half n half’ and ‘two splenda’, he picks it up and turns, handing you the cup.

“Hi.” He says, and you find yourself reaching out to take the cup, as if you just saw Bob yesterday.

“Hey.” You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wordlessly, the two of you sit at the table.

And there is quiet.

Until, Bob asks,

“So.. how have you been?”

“..Fine.”

“..Cool.” You remember this awkward feeling. Like right before the first time, you slept together. “Thanks for meeting with me.” He breathes after a moment, and you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe, and then he asks,

“You’ve been sober since the last time we—”

“What did you think about the book?” You ask, reaching to take a sip of your coffee. Bob nods, taking the hint.

“I.. liked it.” He says, “It was a good first book for this. I liked that.. that Nick reflects on his life through these other characters and realizes what he does, or doesn’t, want.. How about you?” He asks.

“I liked it too,” and you find yourself wanting to just ramble about your analysis but you bite your tongue. “I think Daisy is a fascinating character too, especially in the way she seems so trapped in her situation. Like being with Gatsby is the only way she can feel alive or free or something.”

Bob considers this for a second.

“Yeah,” He starts, “But she’s.. a rich woman. She’s inherently part of the system that you claim traps her and is actively benefiting from her wealth.”

Wait.. was your awkward meth head situationship kinda.. smart?

You adjust from your rigid position and lean into the conversation a bit.

“Well, Why can’t it be both?” You wonder, “She can benefit from these systems and be miserable in them—she’s miserable, maybe because she’s benefiting from it, and her wealth doesn’t negate the abuse and strain on her marriage.” You say and go to take another sip of your coffee.

Bob is quiet.

Then, he says—

“Yeah. I think you’re right.” He smiles a little, and you feel your heart in your throat. “So do you think the green light was actually supposed to be as important as pop culture makes it seem, or was that just..”

“I think it is as important as we’re led to believe, because it’s a symbol of what things could be.” And then, before Bob can say something that would lead you to change your mind, you say, “Yeah, I stayed sober since the last time we talked.. When did you quit?”

He inhales and then closes his mouth, and you watch as he holds his breath, noting that his mouth is sort of puffed like a chipmunk. When he exhales, he responds,

“Right after that, I guess. I joined this.. medical.. study and quit to do that.. Then, I guess I just.. stayed sober.” He says, and you laugh, so with a bit of a smile, he asks, “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Then, Bob starts to laugh too.

“Do I?” He leans forward like he’s about to tell you a secret, and he says softly, “Because some days I feel like I’m drowning and maybe meth would be the key to being able to breath again..”

“So, what do you do when you feel like that?” You ask softly, not because you’re looking for an answer but because you need to know if sobriety is as big for him as it is for you.

Bob gestures to the table.

“This. Sugar, reading—” He cuts himself off like there’s something else when he meets your eyeline. “Do you want to go to your place or mine?”

And there’s no hesitation when you answer,

“Mine.”

///

Bob spends a long time studying the details on your shelves. He notices the pictures of a seven-year-old he doesn’t recognize and you, the small lego structures in between them, and he finds a small jar next to your TV with little chips in them.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He hears you ask.

“No, thanks.” He calls back, and you appear in the doorway.

“Too much sugar in that latte you had?” You tease, and in that way you love, he just stares at you for a long time, in that way that makes your heartbeat too fast.

“Can’t help it,” he says, “No meth means lots and lots of sugar.”

“Right,” You nod.

Your fingers itch by your side, and you decide—Fuck it. You’re not getting any younger, any more sober. So you go over to him. Like a scared deer, Bob just stares at you, while you try to not scare him off. Your hand ever so gently reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Then, he shakes his head a bit.

“I haven’t done anything with anyone in a while.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Then, because you think you’ll tell him to leave and never come back if you don’t, you lean forward and kiss him, and as if that is how he gets air when he feels like he’s drowning, his hands are on your side, slowly stepping so that you’re backing up towards your bedroom.

Then, you pull away,

“Bob,” You start, “I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now,” You start, and his lips begin to leave sloppy kisses, first along your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.

“Mhm,” is all he responds with.

“I’m being serious,” You sigh as he continues to step forward, pushing you back towards the bedroom, his mouth hot on your skin. “I’m still working on getting my shit together,” You continue.

“I get it,” he says, his voice gentle.

“Do you?” You ask, but he can hear the smile in your voice. “Because it seems like you’re trying to sleep with me—”

“No, No,” He shakes his head a bit, “I’m not going to sleep with you, silly girl,” He hums, and you never want this moment ends, “I’m going to fuck you.” He says gently. It makes you laugh, and he chuckles too.

You decide to take the initiative and slip your shirt off-- Then, he takes off the sweater he’s wearing, and you have to take a second. You really look at him and begin to smile.

His stomach is rounder than it was nineteen months ago when you last met. He’s.. thicker. His rips aren’t poking out of his stomach. No, thicker isn’t the right word.. He looks.. healthier.

And that is hot.

“What?” he asks, “What is it?” he wonders, and you just shake your head.

“Nothing. You were saying something about fucking me?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Right, right.” He says softly, grabbing your face and bringing you in for another kiss. Your hands trail up his neck and find his hair as he slowly sinks down, so he’s kneeling between your legs.

Your hands find his hair, and in between kisses, you gently tug on his hair, and just completely melt when you hear a soft moan leave his lips..

And old habits die hard.

So, you do it again.

///

You lay on your stomach, your face smooshed against the pillow you have your arms around. Bob is sitting up in bed, and you find yourself looking at him for a long while.

“So, What are you doing for work now that you’re sober and in New York?” You ask.

Bob plays with your sheets.

“Uh,” He lets out a soft half chuckle. “..You know the uh.. New Avengers?”

“Vaguely.” You shrug. You don’t really have the time to keep up with that sort of thing, between your job, between babysitting your niece, between being sober.. And it’s not like you have social media, so.. yeah. Vaguely.

“..That.”

“That what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Bob, I’m not following.”

His finger begins to run down your arm.

“I guess I.. sort of count.. as a.. New Avenger.”

“…What?”

“I need you to stop asking me that,” He sighed. “Do you remember the uhm.. medical study thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Something they did.. it changed me.. A serum.”

“So you’re like, some sort of superhero or something?” You wonder, and you say it like it’s funny. Bob looks uncomfortable—much more than he usually does.

“..No. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He says. “I’m dangerous, I.. Do you remember last year when the.. the Void attacked New York? Right around the time that the New Avengers got announced?” He asks.

You pause.

“I mean, yeah, but I was in Jersey at the time, at a wedding.” Your first since getting sober. It was a rough weekend.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“..What was you?”

Bob wishes he could sink into your mattress and never show his face again.

“The void.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m not allowed to go on missions or.. get into any emotionally challenging situations..” he sighs. “Because I.. I can barely keep him.. or even the.. Sentry at bay.. I’m working on it.” He finally looks at you. “Which is why I don’t want a serious relationship either.” He says. “We.. we could just be friends.”

“Friends who fuck.”

“Book club with Benefits?”

You smile.

“Friends who discuss literature and also fuck.”

Bob rolls his eyes a bit, his lips pursing into a reluctant smile.

“Book club with benefits.” His pointer finger starts at the top of your back and travels down your spine, “Lots.. and lots.. of benefits.”

And if you could focus on anything other than how good that felt, you might’ve noticed the flicker of gold in his eyes.

///

“Decaf Caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel and whipped cream, and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” The barista calls, and you step forward to grab your drinks.

You hand Bob his glorified milkshake and sit at the same table you sat at last week.

“So,” You start, “Lord of the flies.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “I.. I didn’t really like this one.” He shrugs.

“I think the concept is interesting enough.” You respond, “And it’s interesting that the group is only made up of privileged little British white boys. The horrors they put each other through might never have happened if they had been a group of schoolgirls, or if they had faced any hardship before this.” You shrug back, taking a sip of your coffee.

Bob nods as he studies the atmosphere of the café.

“Hey, do you wanna split a slice of cake or pie or something?” He asks, and you find yourself giggling.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff. Bob huffs.

“You’re boring.” He accuses and you just laugh more.

“I am not boring, I’m consistent.” It makes Bob shake his head.

“Coconut cream pie?” And the way he makes those puppy eyes makes you sigh.

“Fine. But you’re one piece of pie away from me accusing you of being addicted to that in place of Meth.”

“You wouldn’t.” He smirks, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Sure I would.” You shrug, “I’m just a concerned friend, Robby.” You smile, and then you watch as Bob gets up to get a slice of pie, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

///

“And then I said to him, I say, ‘If you want to hire spider-man to try and do your bidding, be my guess, but I—”

Bob is biting his tongue as he listens to everyone talk. He’s sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, watching as John moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner. He’s been staring at the same page of The Outsiders for ten minutes, just thinking.

Bucky is complaining about Sam, and before anyone can respond with anything, Bob clears his throat and puts his book down.

“Can I ask you guys something?” he wonders, and everyone’s head immediately turns to him. He barely talks in these group settings, so Yelena, who sits by his side, nods.

“Sure, what’s up?” She asks.

“..I need.. advice. I need to get a birthday gift for.. a friend of mine.” is how he starts.

“Not anyone in this room, right?” John asks, and everyone, including Bob, just looks at him.

“No. I know you think I’m socially inept, but I know not to ask what I should get someone while they’re in the room.” He huffs.

“Alright, who’s the gift for?” Bucky asks.

Bob wants to tell them all about you—your quirks, your laugh, the way your brain works, the way you feel wrapped around his—

But he hesitates.

“Just.. a friend.” He breathes. “From.. Book club.”

“Book club?” Ava answers, and already it feels like a mistake to have asked them but they’re his only friends besides you.

“Yeah, we.. choose a book to read every week and we meet up for coffee every week to talk about it.”

Yelena glances down to the book on the counter.

“Book club..” She nods, “And how long have you known this friend?”

“…It’s complicated.” He breathes.

“And do you hangout outside of book club?” John asks.

Bob’s cheeks flush.

“Sort of.”

“What does that even mean?” Ava asks, and he shrugs.

“We.. do some other stuff. I don’t know, she—”

“Oh, she?” Alexei finally pipes up, letting out a gruff laugh. “So you like her?”

“It’s just difficult to explain!” He snaps, and everyone pauses when the lights flicker. For a moment, no one says anything.

Then, Bucky huffs,

“So just try.” He gently prods. Bob hesitates.

“She’s.. I do like her. We started book club last month, but.. We met before.. Y’know.” He gestures around, “We..” his cheeks are red as tomatoes now. “When we’re done with coffee and talking about books, we.. we go back to her place, and we..”

Immediately everyone either groans or laughs. Bob feels like he might die on the spot.

“That is so weird,” Yelena laughs, and Bob groans as he covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“Never should’ve told you guys.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “You knew this girl before the Sentry project?”

“Yeah. We both were.. were addicts in Florida. We started hooking up, and I knew from before I went to Malaysia that she was moving back to New York, so I looked her up and—and you all said I needed to get a hobby!” He offered.

“We meant like,” Ava shrugs, “Knitting or—”

“Book club?” Yelena smiles. Bob bites the inside of his cheek.

“So, what should I get her for her birthday?"

“Well, what kind of message do you want to send?” John asks. “That you want to be more than.. whatever it is that—”

“..Book club with benefits.”

Everyone looks at him.

“What?”

“..That’s what we call it.”

“Oh, my god,” Yelena and Ava are giggling now.

“Okay. What kind of message do you want to send?” John asks again, and Bob hesitates.

“..That I care about her, that..” he shakes his head, “that.. I’m sorry for..” he picks his head up and notices everyone staring at him. He can hear the Void laughing at him in the back of his head.

“For..?” Bucky offers gently and Bob shakes his head. And then, he begins to tell his teammates about the last time he saw you.

///

Nineteen Months Ago

You and Bob had been sleeping together for months. Hanging out in between fucks and hits—or drinks. He had burrowed his way into your heart and taken up this big chunk of it, replacing booze in your late-night fantasies.

When he wasn’t extremely high, and you weren’t extremely drunk, you found yourself falling for him. The attention he showed you had been it’s own high, and you had let yourself become addicted to someone who you would never have a normal life with.

But he was there, waiting for you with a shot after every shift. You often helped him light up. The two of you encouraged each other’s destructive behaviors. Became each other’s self-destructive behaviors. Like the mentally ill addicts you were.

Your sister had flown down to Florida to see you.

You hadn’t asked her to. You knew she wouldn’t approve of this.. lifestyle. And at first, you wished she had never come to see you, because you did not want to stop drinking.. and then she wore you down. Your big sister always knew how to get you to do whatever she wanted.

So, the night before she was scheduled to fly back to New York, you went to see Bob. His roommate let you in, and you found him high and on his bed.

“Robby,” you said as you walk in. He smiled twenty seconds later when he registered your presence.

“I love it when you call me that.” He spoke.

You smiled weakly. You took a seat on his mattress.

“I have to talk to you.” You had said. He sat up, leaning forwards.

“Mm, All you do is talk to me,” he said slowly, and his hand grabbing yours. “Come kiss me instead—” His lips catch yours, in a soft, sweet kiss. He pulled away, and you whispered,

“Robby, please.”

And only then had he registered an important detail.

“You don’t taste like booze.”

You always tasted like booze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you—”

“No,” he said softly, “No, don’t—”

“Tomorrow, I’m flying to New York with my sister. I’m going to rehab.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“What.. what changed your mind?” He asked, and you shrug.

“My niece. My sister told me that.. she’s sick of having to talk about me like I’m dead. That she wants to know me. She’s six. Her names Ella.” A smile tugged at your lips. “She does dance. And she.. she loves to read, my sister said.. It reminded her of me.” Then, you shook your head, tears brimming your eyes. “I want to be in her life. I want to taste my mom’s cooking again. I.. I want to get better.” You cleared your throat.

“I’m going to Malaysia tomorrow.” Bob said, and your eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“I got fired from my job, so they gave me my last paycheck.. So I spent it on a plane ticket. I’m going to Malaysia with.. thirty bucks in my pocket. Maybe I’ll find the answers. Or, at least more drugs..” He shrugged. “Come with me.” He had offered.

You just shook your head.

“No.”

“No?” He scoffed, “What do you mean no?”

“No. I won’t go to Malaysia. I’m going torehab..” You started, and you inhaled before you asked, “And you should come with me.” You offered.

Bob let out a humorless chuckle.

“You..” He shook his head. “You’re just like everyone else.” He sighed, and you shook your head.

“Robby,” You whispered. “Please come with me. Get clean. Be.. be with me.” You said quietly, and when you leaned in to kiss him, he tilts his head away from you.

Oh.

“You should go.” He huffs. “I need to pack.”

You nod.

“You’re right. I should go.”

You stand, and make your way to the door, wiping your tears as you go.

Bob doesn’t say anything.

You stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at your sweet boy with no bed frame one last time.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

And then, as if you weren’t soul crushingly and devastatingly in love with him, you left. And you hadn’t seen him again. Not until you started book club.

///

“Decaf vanilla bean macchiato with whipped cream and cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob grabs the drinks today, and when he sits across from you, you start—

“So. Frankenstein?”

Bob sighs.

“I liked that it’s the first ever sci-fi novel, and it was written by a young woman. It’s interesting.” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” You nod, and you open your mouth to say something but Bob beats you to it,

“I mean, I don’t.. I don’t know. Victor is just.. so stupid but also so.. self-centered. He’s— He’s the one who created the monster, why can’t he take accountability for it? Why is the monster doomed to always.. be a product of his creator?” He sounds frustrated, so you gently shrug.

“It is bullshit. But I think the person aspect of him, the human aspects of the monster are all him. The best parts of him comes from the work he does on himself.” You shrug, and Bob knows this conversation has strayed from Frankenstein. Kind of.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly.

A beat.

“And I agree.” You shrug, “Victor is a fucking idiot.”

Bob just smiles, and then asks,

“Wanna split a chocolate chip muffin with me?”

///

Bob calls you on a Saturday afternoon between book club meetups.

“Hey,” You say into the phone, “Everything okay?” You usually don’t talk except for your weekly meetups.

“Yeah,” He says into the phone.

“Okay.” You smile. “Do you.. need so—”

“Come over.” He gently requests, “I- I mean, You don’t.. you don’t have to, I was just wondering if you wanted to—I guess..” He breathes.

“Robby, it’s not even Thursday.” You tease.

“I don’t.. care,” He breathes.

“I..” You start, “Would.. really love to, but I gotta do laundry.”

“Do your laundry here.” He offers.

“Bob.”

“What?” he whines, “I..I just need.. to see you.”

You bite your tongue, but it would be nice to see him. To see his new, full bed. And you know that if he has a washer and dryer, it would make laundry a lot less frustrating than doing it in the laundry mat down the road from your apartment.

“Okay,” You sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You promise.

Bob meets you in the lobby of New Avengers tower, watching as you walk in, holding a bag of laundry as you make your way to him.

“This place is crazy,” You tell him, and Bob just smiles awkwardly.

“It’s.. just a tower.”

“Yeah, but like.. It’s definitely not just—” You cut yourself off when you realize how out of his element Bob looks. “Where’s this awesome new bed I hear so much about?” You ask, and it seems like it’s enough for him to relax.

“Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” You follow him into the elevator, and when the doors close, he says, “So.. You’ll.. probably meet the team, or at least some of them.”

“Oh, I get to meet—” You clear your throat and wipe the smirk off your face. “That’ll be nice.”

Bob just looks at you for a moment.

“They’re.. kind of.. intense.” He breathes.

“Bob, we were addicts in Jacksonville, I can handle a couple of.. teammates.” You shrug.

Bob gives you an awkward smile.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs. The doors open, and you follow Bob out, looking around the apartment. Like he’s looking around for trouble.

“Bob, seriously I—”

“Heads up!”

You and Bob duck at the same time when a football comes flying towards your head.

“Sorry,” a voice says, and you see.. The US Agent and The Red Guardian, coming to retrieve their ball.

“Ah, Bob,” The Red Guardian says, “Who is your girlfriend?” He smiles. Your cheeks flush.

“Uh, She’s.. just my friend. Who happens to be a girl.” He says.

“Right, right.” He nods.

“We’re in a book club together,” you start and both men start laughing while Bob looks intensely embarrassed.

“Oh,” One laughs, “You’re the book club girl.. I’m John. This is Alexei, are you staying for dinner?” He asks.

You glance to Bob, who looks back to you.

“Uh,” He shrugs, “I don’t.. maybe.” He breathes.

“Maybe isn’t—”

“Too late, we’re doing laundry, Bye!” Bob says, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. You just smile and bite back a comment about how jealous he seems.

“They seem nice.”

“They aren’t.” He grumbled, and you just laugh.

When you’re done putting on your laundry, Bob takes you to his room, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your room. It’s a little messy, but there are books here and there, cozy blankets, warm lighting, and.. no meth. No booze.

You jump onto Bob’s bed, stretching out with a soft laugh, this stupidly large grin on your face.

“Oh, My Robby situationship has a real bed now, how divine,” You hum, and Bob just stands in the doorway with a soft smile on his face.

“I missed you.” he says softly, and you shake your head.

“Well, I’m here now,” You offer. He scoffs and walks over to the bed, finding his place on top of you as you lay back.

“Not really good enough for me,” He confesses.

“Needy Robby.” You jest, but before you can tease him further, he kisses you.

Your fingers find his hair in familiar movements, and Bob deepens the kiss further, his tongue slipping past your lips. His fingers dip under the shirt you’re wearing, and a soft shiver runs down your spine as he scratches up your sides, and when you moan in response, it seems to make him more confident in his movements.

Your fingers curl around his hair, tugging just barely on his hair. In between kisses, you mumble,

“Need you,” And he just catches your lip in his teeth, tugs a bit, and goes back to kissing you. And kissing you, and kissing you—

Until you hear the shatter of a glass on the nightstand. Both you and Bob pull away and your heads turn to look at the pile of glass and the water dripping off the nightstand.

“Did you..”

Bob’s face flushes.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I just—”

There’s a brief knock on the door, and then it opens, and a short blonde woman walks in.

“Bob, is everything okay, because—Woah,” She stops, noticing the compromising position the two of you are in, just as Bob takes his hand out of your shirt. “Oh, this is what happens at book club, huh—”

“Yelena!” Bob snaps, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Your eyebrows furrow when you see his eyes flicker gold.

“I was just trying to make sure you’re okay! The lights were flickering..”

Bob groans and rolls off of you.

You just smile awkwardly to Yelena.

“He’s fine, we were just..” You shrug. “Uh..” You chuckle awkwardly.

“Right, just.. Tell him to relax whenever he comes back down to earth,” She says, and then steps forward and holds out her hand, “I’m Yelena, it’s nice to—”

“Okay,” Bob stands suddenly, walking towards Yelena, “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He says, and she just smirks.

“Have fun at uh.. Book Club.” She says, turning to leave. Bob closes the door behind her and then glances back to you, and then groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Bob,” You grin, a soft laugh lacing your words, “Baby, it’s really not that bad.”

He looks at you when you call him that.

“It’s not..?”

“No.” You smile. “Come back to bed..” And then, you try, “Please, baby?”

Bob moves like lightning to kiss you again. It’s actually impressive. Not as impressive as breaking the glass or turning off the lights because he was just too.. needy. But, his speed is pretty impressive.

///

“Decaf pumpkin spice chai with extra cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” You take the drinks from the barista, and slide into the seat across from Bob, glancing over to him.

“So,” You start, “1984.” You sip your coffee.

Bob gestures to you.

“Go for it.” He smiles gently.

You begin to talk about the political implications of the novel..

And Bob becomes slowly lost in thought. It starts out simple enough.

He notices how gorgeous your hair looks. You’re always so pretty.

We could take such good care of her, a voice says in the back of his head, She should know everything we could offer her.

Or..

No, Bob thinks. It’s bad enough that the ‘Sentry’ wants a piece of you, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he entertained any thought of letting the Void out.. especially if he wanted to get anywhere near you.

Why not?, the voice asks, you could help.. We could help. She wouldn’t have to worry about her sobriety or any of her silly thoughts.

He’s right, The Sentry agrees, and Bob feels like he might be sick, How could you even know what she wants if you haven’t asked?

Because, Bob thinks, you don’t even want him. Why would you want either of these—

Because I’m better than a God, The first voice tells him, And he’s..

Everything you aren’t.

Exactly.

Shut up, Bob thinks, She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t at least a little bit into me.. right?

You’re so naïve, Bobby, He could hear the Void mocking him, and it was even worse when Sentry cut in—

She could get a fuck from anywhere, and let’s face it, you’re not particularly tal—

“Let’s go back to your place,” He says suddenly, cutting your rambles off.

“Everything okay?” You ask, watching as he stands, grabbing his jacket.

“Uh.. Yeah.” He smiles awkwardly, “I’m just..” He shrugs, “In a.. a giving mood.” His cheeks flush when he says it, and the tips of your ears go red when you realize what he’s saying.

“Okay,” you nod, “No, like—pastry or brownie or—”

Bob clears his throat and inhales like he doesn’t want to regret what he’s about to say,

“I’ll have something sweet real soon,” He says. Your ears get redder.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You stand up and take the last sip of your coffee.

“Okay.” You say, throwing out the cup on your way out the door.

“Okay.” Bob smiles, following you to your apartment.

///

“Decaf caramel dolce Frappuccino with cinnamon and extra whipped cream and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob takes the drink from the Barista and slides into his usual spot.

He hands you his drink, and then you start,

“I cannot believe she married Rochester!” you whine, tossing the book down on the table. Jane Eyre was the book selection for this week—well, two weeks, it took you guys some time to get through it.

“Yeah,” Bob breathes, shaking his head, “I.. I mean—”

“Do not defend the man who kept his mentally ill wife locked in an attic and got with a nineteen-year-old,” You start, and Bob smiles a bit. He stares at you for a long moment and then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, no-nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just..” He shrugged, then he clears his throat, “She got a family, right?” You sigh.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And yeah, it would’ve been.. nice for her to end up with someone her age, but..” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s really good for her.” You just look at him. “Or maybe he died tragically young and left her his money.” You smile then.

And after a moment, you say,

“I guess everyone deserves a second chance, right?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

Bob feels like he can’t breathe.

You notice he looks it too.

“Wanna split a brownie?” You ask, and Bob smiles.

“Yeah.”

///

1:32 A.M.

You’re not sure if this counts as relapsing. You twist your phone in your hands and try to focus on breathing. In and out and—who should you call?

Your therapist? Your sister? What would you even say? ‘Sorry, I know you’re usually worried about me drinking but I just couldn't fight off the compulsions or the depression tonight, so can I come over so I don’t do what I just did again?’

You open your stupid fucking flip phone and dial Bob’s number.

“Hey, everything okay?” You note the lack of sleep from his voice. He must’ve already been up.

You inhale to try and answer, but you hesitate. You don’t want to start crying.

“Can I come over?” Is all you can say.

“Sure,” he answers immediately. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

You do. You want to see him as quickly as possible, but.. you have this insane thought that you don’t deserve the comfort, that you must wait to see him.

“I’ll walk,” And if Bob notices the distant tone, he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay. I’ll see you in ten, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He says gently, and you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

You get up from your place on the bathroom floor, but you don’t hang up, so after a moment, his voice comes through the other end of the phone,

“Everything okay?” And you wish he would stop asking it.

“Mhm,” Is all you manage as you get your shoes on. You make your way down the stairs, the phone pressed against your ear.

Maybe he knows something is wrong, so he asks,

“Have you started reading The Hunger Games yet?” He asks. It was for ‘book club’ this week, and he just needs to hear you talk so he knows you’re still there.

“Yeah,” You breath as you walk down the stairs, the movement down the stairs more instinctual and second nature than conscious movement, like your brain is fixated on the fact that if you can get to Bob, you’ll be safe—safe from what, you do not know.

“What did you think?” He asks, as he slips on his own slippers, trying to think of anything else he can ask.

And in your daze, in your foggy brain that you try to stumble your way through, as you walk down the streets of New York, the cold air sending goosebumps up your arms, the breeze even stinging the fresh cuts on your arms. A group of girls about your age come down the street past you, drunk and giggling and you think about how alone you feel.

Your feet stop in front of a bar, and you take a moment to just stare at the neon sign, thinking about how easy it would be to get a drink. Another breeze plucks you out of your spiral. You wish you had brought a sweater or something.

Your head turns and you can see the ‘new’ Avengers tower just a few blocks away. So, you keep walking. You can make it there. Bob is waiting for you in the lobby.

“I like that the first thing we learn about Katniss is that she loves someone,” you say, walking towards the tower now. Your hands are beginning to shake. “We don’t know anything about her, her name, her place in the world, or even anything about the world.. we just know that she loves someone.” And when you say ‘someone’, your voice cracks. You can see the doors of the tower now.

“Yeah,” he says on the other end of the phone, and as you get closer you see him there, a small smile on his face as he stands there, and it registers in your brain that he is smiling as he’s talking to you. It registers, just barely. “Sometimes I.. I can’t believe how smart you are.” He says, and it makes you feel almost.. anxious. Like he’s lying.

You hang up as you walk through the doors, and Bob’s shy, isolated smile falls when he sees you. When he sees your arms.

“Holy fuck,” is what he says, and that does not make you feel better.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your tears now falling freely, and not because you’re sad, but because you’re ashamed, and because you feel bad that Bob has to deal with this and because..

This definitely counts as a violation of your ‘book club with benefits’ agreements.

“It’s okay,” he starts, “it’s alright, we can handle this,” He says, but you hear the shakiness in his voice. You know he’s pushing through his own terror in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taking a step back from him, but he shakes his head as you continue, “I.. I shouldn’t have come here,” And you go to turn but you feel Bob’s hand grab yours.

“Yes, you should have.” He says, “Because if it were me and I didn’t call you, and I just let myself spiral further, you’d be so mad at me.”

You know he’s right.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“But I want to.” He says gently. “So let me.”

And you nod, because you know the path you’re on. You know what letting him in leads to.

So does he.

You don’t say much else, but you let him lead you upstairs, his hand clutched around yours.

The ride up the elevator is quiet. Bob just keeps his grip on your hand and then he asks,

“What else did you.. like about the book?” He asked.

You search your brain for an answer. You know he’s trying to keep you distracted.

“I like Peeta. He’s a sweet character.” You say gently. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “He reminds me of you.” Your hand shakily comes up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. You notice the way a small smile tugs at his face. His head tilts and he kisses the palm of your hand.

The doors to the elevator open, and Bob’s fingers lace with yours.

“Let’s..” he nods towards the door, and you nod in return. He walks just a step ahead of you, but you notice the way he takes the occasional glance back. Both of your heads pick up when you hear footsteps approaching, and there stands Yelena, in these plaid pajama pants and a big tee shirt for some beer company. She looks half asleep but she smiles when she sees you two.

“Oh look, book club meets late now, how—” she stops, her face growing concerned when she sees your arms, “What did—” But she stops when she sees Bob shake his head. Instead, she glances back to you and in a way that leaves no room for argument, she says, “You call if you need me.” And without another word, she turns and makes her way past you down the hall.

You and Bob find the bathroom. “Take a seat,” he gently says, and you decide to sit on the edge of the tub. He shuffles through the supplies and pulls out some bandages and some antibiotic spray. He takes a rag from off the counter and soaks it in some warm water. Then, he turns back to you. “Can I see?”

You just hold your hands out, and Bob starts by just looking at the cuts. There’s not a ton of them, but there are enough for him to notice. He gently cleans them with the warm rag and then sprays your wrists with the antibiotic spray.

“When did you learn first aid?” you ask.

Bob shrugs.

“When.. when you’re the standby in a team of superheroes..” he shrugs. “You pick up on a few things.”

“You’re a hero too.” You say softly. Bob doesn’t respond, he just wraps your wrists with the bandages he holds. He doesn’t want to tell you that he’s no hero, that he’s hurt so many people that he thinks he’ll be repenting for the rest of his life.

He turns around to put the spray and bandages away, and when he turns back, he sees you sitting on the floor, leaning against the tub. He sighs and sits next to you on the floor. Then, he asks,

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. “C’mon..” he says softly. “It’s just me.” He reminds.

“I..” You sigh. “I haven’t.. self-harmed like that since.. middle school. I just wanted to feel something, anything that didn’t feel like I was drowning.” You confess. “I’m sorry I bothered you, I don’t know—”

“Stop,” he says softly, “We’re..” He sighs. “I meant it. I want to take care of you.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling as you shake your head.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

Bob’s voice is genuine when he says,

“I want to know all of it.”

Finally, you turn your head to look at him.

“I’m falling back in love with you.” You tell him. He nods.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks softly. You feel a smile tug at your lips, and it makes Bob smile too.

“Sure.” You answer.

“I never stopped.” He said, “When I saw you again, it was like..” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone to rehab with you.” He whispered. Your heart aches. “I never.. never should’ve went to Malaysia or..” He frowns. “I could’ve built a life with you. A real life, not just.. One where I have to pretend like I don’t.. like I don’t want to ask you to stay.”

Your heart breaks when you see tears brimming his eyes.

“Robby,” You whisper, even though it’s just the two of you in this bathroom. The lights flicker just a bit, so you lace your fingers with his.

“I.. I was so.. so stupid.” He shakes his head, “I never..” His eyes meet yours. “I really screwed it up, and.. I’m sorry. And I love you.” He confesses.

“What about uh..” You sniff, “What about neither of us wanting to be in a.. serious relationship?”

“Fuck that.” He says, and his confidence in it takes you back, “I’m tired of.. of not seeing you everyday. A week is too long to go without seeing you.” He confesses, and your free hand comes up to tuck a curl behind his ear.

“I love you too.” You tell him. You lean your forehead against his and then say, “So ask me.”

“Ask.. Ask you what?”

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper, “And maybe I will.”

“..Just.. Just maybe?”

“Guess you’ll have to ask and see.”

“..Stay.” He says softly. You can’t help it, so, you say,

“That’s not really a question—” Bob stares at you for a long time, a smile making his glare much less intimidating.

“Will you stay? Here, with me?” he wonders, “Be with me.” He requests.

You kiss him, but there’s no expectation in this one. You don’t expect him to want to fuck, to want to sleep with you. This kiss is pure, with no strings attached. No benefits.

When you pull away, you nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.” You promise, and Bob smiles a bit, looking down to your intwined fingers.

“That’s.. nice.” Your awkward Loverboy responds, and you’re shocked when he asks, “Do you.. uhm..”

“Do I..?”

“Do you.. wanna watch.. Star Wars with me?” he wonders.

You can’t help but smile.

“Which one?”

“The best one.” He shrugs. “Revenge of the Sith?”

“Sure. That sounds nice.” You confess.

Halfway through the movie, you would fall asleep right on top of him, and Bob would realize that this was always where he was meant to be.

///

For your birthday, Bob hands you a small present, wrapped in paper decorated with sprinkles. When you open it, you find a copy of The Great Gatsby.

Only this copy is bound by leather and has this beautiful dark blue and gold cover on it. It must’ve cost Bob—well, it wasn’t cheap, but It’s gorgeous, and inside, you find a note scribbled onto the title page—

“I found what I was looking for.

Love, Robby.”

#thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfiction #thunderbolts fic #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #sentry #the void #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfiction #sentry x reader #sentry x you #void x reader #void x you #lewis pullman

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luxdove · 3 months ago

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Remember Me! Epilogue

(Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader)

Epilogue bc apparently the ending of part 2 left y’all in shambles 😭

Characters might be OOC!

Part 1, Part 2

The night was calm, a cool breeze hovered over the Pure Vanilla Kingdom as if it was a veil to cover such a peaceful kingdom that was always filled with happiness, laughter, and grace. Despite all positives, it seems like you were dealing with the negatives. You have woken up due to terrible dreams. It weren’t nightmares no, no- it seemed like the witches just wanted to make you feel even more guilt than you had before once in the past; when you helped the witches sealed your dear close friends who fell into corruption. So ever since the encounter of Shadow Milk Cookie and the duel, you were in a never ending restless state.

“Y/N Cookie?” A soft voice whispered with care, as if worried such a sound would break the most delicate and fragile silence. You barely even turned around because you knew who it was, it was Pure Vanilla Cookie standing there behind you with a face of worry. After all you have been staying inside of the Vanilla Castle ever since Gingerbrave Cookie’s group have all met you, so there’s no doubt Pure Vanilla Cookie could have noticed something that has changed ever since their travels to Beast Yeast.

“Hm…mornin’ Pure Vanilla Cookie Esquire…” You mumbled to match the low and quiet voice.

“Have you not rested?” Pure Vanilla Cookie asked as he examined your figure closely, you chuckled hollowly.

“I’m afraid not sire, I apologize for such inconveniences…” you whispered tiredly and softly.

“No need to apologize, although may I ask what has been up in your mind as of late?” Pure Vanilla Cookie asked as he walks towards where you were, admittedly- you looked like a normal civilian due to Pure Vanilla Cookie awakening his Light of Compassion form. Truly the roles seemed to have been reverse as if a there was a god like being standing next to a normal cookie.

“Admittedly…I can’t help but feel the same guilt that I felt many many years ago…back when the rest of the Virtues have been imprisoned,” you started as Pure Vanilla Cookie nodded. “However just like last time I too had to do what was right in the situation…and I knew Shadow Milk Cookie wouldn’t listen an ounce of what we would say…he is ignorant; only believing what is true in his eyes and not others- even if such truth are just delusions to help him believe more,”

“Hmm…” Pure Vanilla Cookie hummed with a small smile, you waited impatiently for his answer but it seemed like he was just purposely doing this…for what reason? You do not know…anyways you decided to do something you’ve been avoiding for quite some time.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie,” You broke the awfully long silenced as he hummed. “I shall be on a journey, I wish for you or anyone to not seek for me for this is a journey I must deal alone,” you left instantly without waiting a response, but you failed the noticed the widened toothy smile Pure Vanilla Cookie gave to you as you disappeared from his view.

It seems that no matter what, you always end up back at the spire. The spire has been broken down, abandoned with no owner, torn down into pieces- yet the spire looks just as glorious as the days when you first saw it despite how worn down it is. You walked along the garden, the same garden you have walked along for centuries- although just like the spire, it has been ruined, dirtied, stumbled, and destroyed. Everything about the spire held a special memory in your heart, yet although it fills you with such pleasant memories there was always a spot of guilt that stains it all.

“Why hello there…I didn’t expect a visitor” a calm gently voice is heard, you turned around to see nothing. Truly you were sure you weren’t going insane over this- but maybe you knew the owner of the voice was? Even then you didn’t want to confront said person so you ignored the voice. “Umm HELLOOO? I am talking to you!” The voice seemed louder and chaotic compared to how it sounded before but as expected there was no one. So you kept walking along the broken path of the garden. But then suddenly two hands gripped your shoulders firmly as they turned you around and you were met with a face of a very angry Shadow Milk Cookie. “HELLO? I was TALKING to you and you just didn’t reply?”

“I apologize…I’m not really…” you paused before you carefully picked your next words “I couldn’t see or find you so I thought it was voices from the spire…” Shadow Milk Cookie looked at you oddly but with a curious sly smile.

“Are you seriously lying? To me? The Virtue of Deceit? Oh how enlightening this is” Shadow Milk Cookie smiled darkly. “Oh how you always spoke with truth that spoiled your mouth rotten! But here you are! Lying to me? Your good old friend? I know you better than that Y/N Cookie yet you dare lie? How unusual of you!” He mocks as he laughs while you stood there with no thoughts.

“I just…didn’t expect thee to be here…” you started. “I assumed you went into hiding and-“ but then suddenly your mouth got covered by a finger.

“Shhhh” Shadow Milk Cookie hushed. “Let’s enjoy the night shall we?” He smiled. Indeed, it was tempting offer but you couldn’t face Shadow Milk Cookie the same as you did before pre-corruption. His face, the way it smiles back at you and glowed along with the moonlight radiating his features…he looks the same the day you lost him from the imprisonment. The memories all started flowing back to you, like a very fast record tape- It didn’t take long until the years of keeping the guilt piled up in your heart to finally spill out. You were in deep sorrow, tears kept dripping down your face, you hugged yourself as you cried while Shadow Milk Cookie just looked at you in shock. What could he say? How was he even supposed to react to this? You, his calm, patient, and enduring friend- crying…? Crying?…crying? He has never seen you in such deep sorrow. “H-hey! What’s with the sad face friend? Could it-“ he was cut off with the intensely fast repeated mumbled of ‘I’m sorry’.

“I’m sorry…” You sniffled as you tried to hold both of his hands as you hiccuped from the overbearing guilt. “I’m- I’m so so sorry…” Shadow Milk Cookie just floated and stared. “I wish- I wish I could have saved you…and the others- yet it was my fault I have left you all…I have betrayed my friends…and instead of confronting it and dealing with the truth- I have ignored reality…I have made myself to believe in delusions- a reality to where I shan’t believe it would exist- to ignore a past that held importance to my heart; I thought I was doing the right and helped the witches imprison you all- yet my heart burns with pain, guilt, and sorrow” you explained as you cried, tears kept falling like a waterfall, it was never ending. “I wish to ask one thing Shadow Milk Cookie…would you forgive me? For what I have done to you…to Eternal Sugar Cookie…to Burning Spice Cookie…to Mythic Flour Cookie…to Silent Salt Cookie- just all of you!”

“Well…” Shadow Milk Cookie started “I did had a script going since I was going to try to corrupt you so you could join us but it seems that act will go into the trash can,” he smiled sadly, because you see the plan was to find you all alone here and since there would be no one near the area he would have taken advantage to your terrible mindset as you have currently as it will effectively make the corruption easier to shape and commute. However he didn’t expect it to be this…bad- after all he knew you had strong will and was strong in every aspect; yet here you are crying in his arms whispering apologies like a broken record, he didn’t expect the guilt that has been eating you alive would be this bad. He also didn’t expect the real truth that spoke from your tongue; indeed all the virtues believed you rebelled, you were somehow manipulated from the start, you, their beloved friend was made to perish them in the beginning- yet here you are apologizing and acknowledging your faults.

“It’s alright Y/N Cookie…really don’t take it to heart…” Shadow Milk Cookie calmly and slowly forgave. “Although I should also be sorry for just- um- well- forcing you to try to join me I suppose- I just really missed you…and I didn’t want to lose you again- and I knew how much that dream meant to you but I was trying to stop you from continuing it because I knew from my experience it would be hopeless” He apologized as you looked at him with your teary eyes.

“It’s alright…I suppose I was going to see the truth of the past sooner or later…whether it was forced upon thy eyes to see or it would have been through an adventure where I would have dealt it alone,” You whispered as you forgave. You and Shadow Milk Cookie hugged each other in comfortable silence, in the mist of the broken, tattered garden of the worn down spire of knowledge. Indeed the memories of the past has gathered and stay, you both laughed heartedly as you both watched the luminous face of the moon going down as both of yours and Shadow Milk Cookie’s souljams shined along with the stars that twinkled in the night started to fade in the distance.

“You seemed more bright and happier than usual Y/N Cookie!” Ginger brave Cookie explained as you smiled with your lance at hand.

“Ah foresooth Gingerbrave Cookie Esquire! For Thy had such a wonderful and ingenious dream!” You exclaimed with stars shining in your eyes.

“Oh? What is this dream you so speak of Y/N Cookie?” Pure Vanilla Cookie smiled at you gently as you faced at him for a bit.

“Um…well…” You started as you sweated a bit “Perhaps such a dream must be kept secret- perhaps it shan’t to become true- I apologize Pure Vanilla Cookie Esquire!” You apologized loudly, probably almost shaking the forest.

“Ah…it’s no worries but I bet it was a lovely dream” Pure Vanilla Cookie reassured.

“Foresooth Pure Vanilla Cookie Esquire,” you said softly as you smiled “for it was a dream that was meant to be granted from the start” you finished as you held a brooch that had accents of blue, black, and white- a bit of gold and clearly held a close resemblance of a certain playful cookie.

Fin

I DEFINITELY WROTE SHADOW MILK COOKIE SO OOC BC WHAT WAS THAT 😭

So admittedly I wanted to get the reader to comfort Shadow Milk Cookie cuz he was the one who was supposed to like crash out emotionally to the reader but I blanked out and somehow switched the roles for that section and I really didn’t want to rewrite that whole thing😭 I’m sorry guys!

Like the plan was Shadow Milk Cookie was supposed to isolate the reader near the spire and try to feed the reader sweet deceit all over again to try to get them corrupted but then realizes the plan wasn’t working so then Shadow Milk Cookie like crashes out and becomes an emotional mess and then reader comforts them- but CLEARLY that didn’t happen 😭

Anyways I had an essay due but I said nop time to write this instead

Also I’m feeling a bit artsy, maybe next post would be a drawing? Give me ideas please ( ´∀｀)

Or maybe it’ll be another fic but an evil au, one where Y/N Cookie actually followed the script and fell into corruption like the other Virtues (might come in like waaaay later)

Tag list: @donnie-is-da-best @floweriya @haveneulalie @isak-sillydemon @f4nd0msl0v3r @sillysprinkel @kur1kur1chan

#cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #crk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie x y/n #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk x y/n #shadow milk x you

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kira-dofc · 27 days ago

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Rich Fanboy! Nanami x Cosplayer! Male Reader

Notes: I'VE BEEN GONE FOR TOO LONG SO I HOPE THE WAIT IS NOT LONG ENOUGH!!! This was in my drafts but never really made anything new... I don't know what to write, any suggestions will be appreciated!!!!

Word Count: 3000

Warnings: Smut! Size kink, unprotected sex, crossdressing, feminization, mirror sex, slight out of character (?) Nanami, Manipulation sex, breeding kink,

Kento Nanami. A name known far and wide, especially among the wealthy. To most people, he seemed like the perfect man. He was mature, kind, and deeply respected. He had the kind of money others could only dream about. Everything about him seemed flawless, from the way he dressed to the calm way he spoke. People believed he had everything. Money, manners, and a quiet charm that made him very likable. Among the rich, he was the richest. His life was full of luxury, comfort, and things most people would never have.

He lived in a mansion that was the biggest and most beautiful in the whole area. It looked like something from a movie or a fairy tale. The garden around the house was full of flowers, trees, and perfectly trimmed bushes. Every flowerbed looked like it had been painted by a master artist. A team of gardeners worked every day to make sure everything looked perfect. Inside, his house was just as beautiful. Servants kept everything clean and running smoothly. They were always present but never in the way. Everything worked like clockwork.

But even with all of this, Nanami felt something was missing. He had no family. He had never fallen in love. Romance had never made its way into his life, even though people often tried to get close to him. He also had a hard time talking to children. Their loud voices and quick energy didn’t match his slow and thoughtful way of living. Because of this, he often felt alone. He lived in a house made for many people, yet he walked its halls by himself. He was surrounded by beauty, but his life lacked real connection.

Most people believed Nanami was perfect. They thought someone with his lifestyle couldn’t possibly have any problems. But that wasn’t true. Behind his calm face and perfect life was a secret. A secret so dark that if anyone found out, it would destroy the image the world had of him. It was something only he knew. It followed him wherever he went, like a shadow that never left his side. This secret made him feel trapped. He often stared out of his mansion windows, wondering how long he could keep living this lie.

Each day started exactly the same. At 8:00 a.m. sharp, Nanami would wake up. The sunlight came in softly through the tall windows of his bedroom, making the walls glow gold. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning quietly as he stretched his arms. His bedroom was clean and modern. Everything was black, grey, and white, creating a quiet, serious feel. His bed was large, with soft pillows and perfect sheets that looked untouched. Even in sleep, he stayed neat.

The room was silent. Not even the sound of birds could be heard through the thick windows. He got out of bed and walked across the cool marble floor. Each step made a soft sound that echoed through the quiet room. The floor was shiny and smooth, reflecting the morning light. He walked down the grand staircase with slow, even steps. Every part of his routine was carefully planned and followed.

He entered the kitchen, which was full of stainless steel counters and high-end appliances. It was spotless, like something out of a design magazine. Nanami cooked his own breakfast, as he liked the calm it brought. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air as he moved around the kitchen with ease. He toasted a slice of bread until it turned a perfect golden color. His breakfast was simple but delicious. Sitting alone at a long mahogany table, he ate slowly. The quietness around him made the meal feel peaceful but also a little sad.

After breakfast, he went back upstairs to shower. His bathroom looked like something from a luxury spa. The walls were marble, and the glass shower let warm water fall like rain. The hot water helped him feel more awake, washing away the last bits of sleep. He dried off and put on one of his many suits. Each one was tailored perfectly to fit him. He tied his silk tie and looked in the mirror. The man staring back looked strong and sure of himself. But even in the mirror, Nanami could see something missing in his eyes.

He left the mansion and went about his usual duties. Meetings, events, and quiet drives in the city filled the day. He moved through everything with a calm and steady presence. People nodded at him with respect. Some smiled in admiration. Others watched him with envy. But none of them really knew him.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with soft shades of orange and pink, Nanami returned home. His car, sleek and black, pulled up to the grand gates of his estate. The iron gates opened slowly, and the car rolled along the cobblestone driveway. The mansion stood tall at the end, glowing in the warm light of the evening.

He parked in front of the large entrance and stepped out. His suit still looked perfect, even after a long day. He walked into the house, and the quiet met him like an old friend. Servants greeted him with soft bows. He nodded back, barely noticing them. He was tired. All he wanted was to lie down and rest.

He walked up the stairs, each step echoing softly in the empty hall. When he reached his bedroom, he opened the door and was greeted by soft, golden lighting. The room looked just as he had left it. Calm and neat. He took off his shoes and slipped out of his blazer. Then he unbuttoned his shirt halfway, showing his chest. He dropped onto the bed, the soft mattress hugging him gently. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax.

Then, his phone pinged.

The screen lit up with a notification.

It was an Instagram Live.

He blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was.

You.

One of the most famous cosplayers in the world. A person he admired for a long time. Nanami didn’t usually watch livestreams. But this time, he tapped the notification without a second thought. The screen loaded, and there you were.

You were wearing a costume. A pair of cat ears on your head. A cat tail. And, strangely enough, a maid outfit. You smiled brightly at the camera and waved. “Hi everyone!” you said in a cheerful voice.

Nanami stared.

Your smile lit up the screen. It felt warm and real. The kind of smile that could make anyone feel seen. It made his chest feel tight.

Your face was beautiful. Not in the usual, polished way celebrities looked. But in a softer, more honest way. Your eyes were bright and full of life. Your lips curled into a smile that made his heart race. Your cheeks had a soft pink glow. Your hair was dark and shiny, falling gently around your face.

Nanami felt himself blush. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t look away.

To him, you were perfect.

There was something about you that felt different from the people he usually met. Maybe it was how real you were. Or how your energy felt so alive, even through a screen. You weren’t rich like him. But you had something he didn’t. Joy. Passion. A connection to people.

He wanted to talk to you. To get to know you. To be near you. The thought was strange. Nanami had never felt this kind of interest in someone before. Not like this. Not so fast. But he couldn’t deny it.

He wanted you to be his.

He watched quietly as you laughed and answered comments. You seemed so happy. So full of light. As if the world had never hurt you. As if everything was still fresh and exciting. He envied that. But more than anything, he wanted to be part of it.

Even if just for a moment.

As the livestream continued, Nanami laid there, eyes locked on the screen. For the first time in a long time, his heart didn’t feel so heavy. Something inside him stirred. A tiny spark in the dark. He didn’t know where it would lead. He didn’t know if he would ever meet you.But one thing was clear. His life of quiet routine and cold perfection had just been shaken by something simple. A smile. And it had changed everything.

He then felt his shaft grew in length.It was tenting on his pants. It's his first time to feel this, especially because he felt this for you. He was ecstatic to see this charming, boy wearing ridiculous costumes in front of a camera for views, maybe even money. This unnerving feeling made him want to do something, something he never knew he wanted; needed to do. "Shit, what is this..." some words slipped out of his mouth, breathing heavily as the dent grew larger, it became very uncomfortable at this point. He finally gave in, he released the zipper for a thick, long shaft to come out, twitching every time his heart skip a beat. He looked at it, tense whether he should do something about it or not. "Fuck it," He whispered to himself, soon warming his cock with his hands, and start to move up, then down repeatedly as you speak across the screen. To his eyes, it felt like he was facing you physically, something that he wanted, needed just for him to feed on. His continued motion caused him to finally finish, cum spurting to his face.

He tensed up again, and sighed, not cause of relief, but because of something else. He thought of something, and that something included you. He wanted you. So after that very thought, he immediately picked up his phone again, and called some of his "friends".

"Yes, sir?" the other guy on the line spoke, Nanami straightened his back, "This person named Y/n, search him up and find his details, call me immediately afterwards," he kindly spoke the the other, hinting something. "Noted, sir. I'll immediately report as soon as we find out." The line ended, Nanami sighed and leaned back to his chair, "I need you, Y/n"

The very next day your information was given to him. Your phone number, full legal name, age, location, everything. He wanted to call you for a "business proposal" of some sorts. He held the paper your number was written on. He was very hesitant at first, thinking you would feel weird talking to him. But at the end of the day, he dialed in your number, and pressed the call button. The ringing tensed him up, the continuous ringing gave him an unsettling feeling. The ringing soon came to a stop, for a warm voice to come up after, "Hello?" You said, seemingly confused of a sudden call of an unknown number. "Greetings, my name is Nanami Kento," Nanami spoke up, "This talk should be conducted physically, though I do not have the power to do that. Anyway, I'm here to propose a business proposal." He waited for a response, you were shocked that you were talking to the most richest business man in all of Japan, but you were unsure as to why he would ask you, a cosplayer, for a business proposal? "I-i'm sorry sir, but i'm afraid i'll have to-" "300 million yen, nothing more, nothing less." You of course is shocked, what is this job that could pay you almost 2 million dollars? And why does it have to be you? You were pretty tight on the budget, considering you used all of your money for costumes, "O....k?" you muttered slowly, unsure of your answer, before you could talk back, "Good, then that is settled, I will provide you my location, make sure to be there at exactly 7 p.m." The call soon ended. You're still in shock, what the hell is this guy thinking? Well, at this point, you don't have any choice but to go... I guess.

6:30, you arrived early before the expected time. You waited outside a grand, luxurious looking hotel. Was it a hotel, or one of his buildings? You shrugged off the question and waited. your peac was soon interrupted by two men in black, shades planted to their face. "Are you, Y/n L/n? Please come with us." The one spoke, you silently followed them across the wide lobby to an elevator. The ride was taking too long, "wait is this a penthouse?" you thought to yourself. And yes it was, what did you expect from the richest man to have? a rented motel? The elevators shifted open to reveal a modern looking room. A piano to the side, a fountain, and the biggest windows you have ever seen. Your eyes glowed with the sight you were seeing. Your sight seeing was soon cut off short by a tall man walking towards you, "Ah, your here. You two, leave." His voice was commanding, he sounded chilling. He patted you back, seemingly acted out to follow him.

He led you to a room, the smell of sandarwood filled your lungs. But what caught your eye was a costume, a bikini along with a semi-transparent babydoll dress. You didn't question it, but just decided to still follow him inside. He soon walked up to a piece of paper, along with a pen, "Just sign this contract, don't mind reading it all," You obliged and followed, signing it; what's there to lose? He then spoke up again, "I never told you this "business proposal", but it'll pay you a lot, doubt that you'll decline at this point," he muttered, slowly taking off his watch, walked near you and leaned in, "I want to fuck you." The words slipped out his voice made you flinch. Why would he want that? Would you just sell your body for money? "I-I..." you stuttered, "You have no choice anyway, you signed the contract." You sighed, but you also wanted it at this time. You blushed, and gave him a silent nod. That nod meant a lot to him, he chuckled caressing your jawline slowly. "I gave you a gift," He looked over to the lingerie, "Wear it for me," He whispered closely to your ears, this sent a shiver down your spine, but it made you crave him even more. You went up to it and walked towards the bathroom. Nanami sat down on a chair, "No, strip in front of me." You noticed the large mirror covering the entire wall behind Nanami. You followed, and took of your clothes piece by piece, and showed your hard dick. It was small, but Nanami liked that even more. Your blush made him feel a lot more tense.

A lot more hungry.

As soon you wore it, he rushed into you and kissed you. It wasn't soft, it was rough, leaving you no space and time to breath. He held your face, and you held his hand. This intense kissing session made you fall to the bed, with his arms grazing your figure. He kissed your neck to your collarbone. He took off the dress along with the bra, playing with your nipples as he kissed your body. Your moans made him become hard even more. You touched his hair, it was hard with the gel still intact and the sharp loose ends at every side of his head. You never knew you would end up this way, slutting over a rich man that's happening to be fucking you this very moment. His groan vibrated to your body.

His kissing soon came to a stop, and reached up to you, "Suck me" He commanded, his hand over your head. His musky scent made you fall into a trance-like state, something you must follow, something you cannot control. So you fully gave in, pusehd him down the bed, and zipped down his pants. You saw his enlarged dick spring out, precum spilling, matching the beat to his heavy breathing. You leaned in, and sucked. Your tongue was a professional at this, you never knew you could do such acts. You sucked in and out, circling around dick as the musk scent of his pubes covering his penis. You rammed your face to his dick, you don't care if you looked like a whore at this state, all you wanted was to taste him fully.

He held your head tightly, "Stop, I want to save my babies for your pussy," He smirked, lifting your head to face him. He carried you up, off the bed as you two stood in front of the massive mirror. He took off the rest of his clothes, touching your body like pottery, following your shape, your size, your curves, you. "You look so beautiful, darling," He continued touching you. Without any hesitation, he came inside of you. It was slow, but it felt painful to you. You didn't flinch, you wanted to feel him fully. You held in your pain, holding his chin down for him to look at you. Every thrust made you feel different, with his face looking at you every thrust. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked in deeply to your eyes, you looked different, you don't look the same. You wanted him, but do you really want this?

Thrusts soon turn into pushes, you leaned in to the mirror as Nanami held your body close to him. Hi thrusts grew stronger, more than you could handle. Your moans turned into screams, yells, but you liked it either way. Each thrust made you feel different emotions, sadness, happiness, anything. One last thrust, you felt something warm and wet come inside you. Your eyes felt like popping out. His chin rested against your bare shoulders, "You'l be living with me from now on. Don't worry about your life, I'll make it better, if you give in to me." You faced him, and rested your arms to his shoulders, "One question though,"

"Why me?"

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kujiba · 9 months ago

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【Mew Mew Bitch】

୨୧ — ꒰ Cat!reader | they/them prounouns | Sagau | cultish behavior

A/n: silly little idea after writing gore

Mondstadt / Liyue / Inazuma / Sumeru / Fontaine / Natlan / Snezhnaya

— Okay but Cat reader who gets thrown into Sagau

I like to imagine Cat!Reader gets worshipped like cats back in ancient Egypt lmao, In mondstat you're basically just chilling around roofs and stuff which makes the character's panick internally telling you to come down since its dangerous

But you couldn't give af so you just jump down and land on your two feet casually making the subjects look dumbfounded. You're still restricted though from the roofs since you could get hurt (as if)

Venti is DEVASTED he is unable to come close to you because of his allergies, bro is just watching you from afar like some wife investigating on her cheating husband

He does frequently assist you through wind currents and help pick stuff up from heights you can't reach, hearing you be thankful for him is worth sneezing so much!

You and diona are literally bff's with each other! Diano absolutely looks up to you like an older sibling and you look back at her as your own.

Whenever theres some drunk weirdo coming towards her with bad intentions you always just use your claws to scratch the persons eyes or any part of their body.

You're pretty confused by Diona's plans to destroy the wine industry that diluc runs but tag along anyway since there are pretty few people who are like you

Speaking of diluc, you actually visit him sometimes... Well not him but his garden, it's your #1 spot to hang around aside from the rooftops of people's houses.

Diluc eventually made a hobby to just watch you from the balcony or window of his home while drinking some beverages. He's pretty amused to watch you jump and catch butterflies or insects flying around his property, he occasionally stops you from eating them too. Much to your dissapointment

Klee is also one of your playmates, both of you adore going fish blasting or catching some interesting stuff from the forests to keep as little treasures or trinkets.

The only bad part is when you guys get caught by Jean and get put into temporary solitary confinement, but you guys past the time with drawing stuff you had capture or saw and make more plans to go adventure! Maybe even invite diona next time.

Two more people is Aether and paimon! You were pretty much just really hungry and accidentally began to nibble on paimons arm making her almost pass out thinking she was going to get eaten by you

You did eventually made up to them by cooking the two a meal which paimon happily accepted. Aether likes it whenever you're around, not just because you're basically the creator but also since you were great company to them!

While assisting them in a adventure you were able to track down multiple targets in a span of minutes just by your animal senses which impressed Aether because he won't have to go through so much trouble in bounties anymore

Overall, Cat reader best au because meow meow

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neuvilette-tea-party · 2 months ago

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Un coeur en demi-teinte (part 1?) Yandere x F!reader

Yandere Priest character and art by @meo-eiru. I love that man despite any logic or survival instincts.

There will probably be 2 or 3 chapters total (maybe idk), this chapter is more to set the scene.

Warning : none... For now

Father Micah walks peacefully among the stalls of the market, politely smiling at the passersby greeting him with respect, sometimes even bowing their heads to him a bit.

“Hello, Father.” They say.

Micah pursues his groceries, occasionally caressing the heads of some children running to him in awe, following him around like a celebrity.

He is a celebrity here, and Micah is deeply respected in this town. People come to him for his blessing, for his forgiveness, and advice. They come lost and destroyed but after a discussion with him, they leave the monastery rebuilt, new, serene...

People look up to him each time they are in trouble and follows blindly his opinion.

People were skeptical about this new technology called Phone Marty and some protested the installation of one in the town hall, descending the streets with signs, screaming that this object would bring decadence and destruction to the town. Micah intervened in favor of it and even agreed to put on a show to call the Bishop of the region in front of a public with a smile. He had a small speech arguing that this was the future and the town should follow, that he saw no ill in this piece of technology and the townies had nothing to fear about it.

Micah was not in the least surprised of the townies reaction. He chosed this city for a very specific reason after all.

The city is isolated between steep mountains and the first train station of the town is very difficult to access and was built 80 years later compared to the rest of the country. This city is like a bubble, blocked in the past and Micah saw an opportunity here.

To rule unquestioned on a small bastion.

With careful planning and politics, the young Priest carved himself a place in the town and gained immense popularity and influence over the population ruled by old rigid traditions.

Micah calculates his move carefully, even going against the Church’s wishes sometimes to base his power over the entire town. He fought for mandatory vaccines for children, getting vaccinated himself as an example, and helped eradicate the smallpox from the town that took so many lives before.

He fought for a mixed school for adolescents, choosing to trust them while their parents thought it would pervert an entire generation and the nation was distrustful of the process. He held the class in an isolated room of the Monastery, welcoming for free any young who trusted the project, allowing the young girls and boys to meet organically while the town slowly lost population due to low birth rates.

His project was fruitful.

A larger range of young earned their diploma and married soon after with their school sweetheart, bringing new babies to the town. The Mayor who did not believe in his idea and fought against him had to come personally to present his excuses and ask to work together for the betterment of the town

Micah accepted as he won what he wanted.

Power.

Power to reign supreme over the town.

Any new decision needed the young Father’s approval, any new Mayor needed his support to win. Micah decided what to do with the town, whom to accept and whom to ban from the town, which new law to install, and which one to repel.

Micah could model the town at his will, making it his personal kingdom and Eden’s garden for his personal enjoyment. People believed any word he said and he earned that power. People followed his lead like a dog obeys its Master and he used this power wisely.

Micah had everything to be happy.

Or what he thought he needed to have to be happy...

But as the years passed by, a growing hole appeared in his soul, devouring any sentiment he had in his heart. He felt dissatisfied and like something crucial was missing in his life.

Until recently, that is!

Until...

“Father Micah?” A young woman’s voice pulls him out of his reverie before a stall.

“Yes young Lady?” He politely smiles at her.

She blushes hard and searches for something in her pockets, taking out an envelope that she hands him, the face bright red. He considers it for a second before taking it gently. The envelope smells like rose and lavender.

Perfume cost a fortune in this day and age but this young woman still used it on her letter for him.

She bows to him, still red, and runs away to a circle of other young women waiting for her in the distance. Surely her group of friends.

Micah observes the envelope of a delicate pinkish color.

A love letter.

Another one.

He turns away from the girls and crumples it in his fist, throwing it away as he leaves the Market for the Monastery.

He has no use for this love or any love that came before it.

Micah crosses the town until a paper pinned on a pole catches his attention. On it, the portrait of a young woman he knows very well is drawn, offering a large sum of money for her capture.

“We still did not catch that witch?” Someone asks behind him.

He turns to an old man, taking support on a cane to stand still.

“The sheriff did not warn me that they did at least.” Micah explains, taking the paper in his delicate hand “So young... Who could have known such a monster was acting among us...”

“That angel of death! I hope she burns in hell!” The old man spit on the ground.

“This is a terrible thought, sir. Such desire could bring you down with her, be careful.” He warns.

The old man sniffs, but ultimately nods.

“Did we find new victims?” He asks.

“I cannot reveal such information, sir. The Sheriff trusts me with it.” Micah retorts gently

“You are the light of this town, Father. You should not let us in the dark like that, if even you start having secrets we are done for. Surely you know something!” The old man begs.

Micah pretends to look around them before leaning to the ear of the old man and starts whipsering.

“We think a recent death in the Monastery hospital might be due to poisoning...”

“Hell! She found her way in the Monastery hopsital?! This witch has no limits! She deconsecrates the church and the souls of the victims!” The old man rages.

Micah presses his finger on his lips.

“Of course, this info is strictly confidential for the investigation. I would not want it to spread in the town and cause a mass hysteria, can I trust you?”

The old man’s eyes start glimming mischeviously.

“I will be as mute as a tomb, Father.”

“Good. Go now, I must prepare for the Mass tonight.” Micah politely enjoins.

“Of course father. Another mass to pray for her victims’ souls?”

“I will hold as much as it is needed. Until we capture and judge her for her deed.”

The old man nod and walk away.

Micah smiles to himself.

The old man lost three grandkids to that woman and his hate for her is deep.

His hate for you...

Of course, he is going to spread the word to the town, enraging the spirits even more, starting a new witch hunt in the Mountains and the forests nearby.

Micah tears your poster off the pole and walks to the Monastery. He crosses it to gain his apartment, a small house in the garden of the Monastery, isolated and peaceful.

His castle in his kingdom.

He opens the door and locks it behind him immediately.

“Rosebud? (Y/n)? I am home.” He announces.

You open a door and come running into his arms, pressing you against his taller frame.

“Father Micah...!”

“Did anyone see you?” He investigate.

“No! I remained hidden like you ordered me to.”

“Good. You must not leave this house under any pretenses, you are not safe outside.”

You part from him, sighing.

“I know Father, I know... Did you talk to the Sheriff?”

“He is busy with a new case, unfortunately.” He explains, putting down the groceries on the table, “I will plead your case do not worry. But the spirits are boiling and vengeful, a new victim has been discovered.”

“I did not kill them! I did not kill anyone! You know that, Micah, don’t you?!” You beg with eyes wet with tears threatening to spill.

“I believe you, (Y/n). I do. But you know how the town is, you know how they think. It will be hard to clear your name of any suspicion.”

You lower your head defeated.

“I see...”

“I am with you in this trial, my child.” He takes your shoulder in his hand to squeeze it gently, a reassuring smile on his face.

“I know... Thank God at least you believe me... If you did not, I do not know what I would have done...” You sob, “I would be lost forever...”

“Dry your tears, my darling. I am working on it, do not fret.” He promises, pulling you to him to die his nose in your hair.

You smell delectable, just as he loves.

You press your feminine curves against his body in a desperate search for support, wiping a tear away.

Micah smiles to himself again.

Poor little lamb... So lost and fragile.

So adorable

So intoxicating

His darling

His rosebud.

His...

He cups your cheek to make you look at him.

“Come on now. I must prepare for the evening Mass, do you need anything?”

“Will you be gone for long?” You grab his hand desperately.

“No. 2 hours at most, as always.”

“Come back to me soon...” You beg, “I feel so alone in here.”

“I promise, my darling.” And he kisses your forehead tenderly.

Not your lips.

Not yet...

This is for later

For when you will totally be at his mercy, under his power.

Then he will break his vows and delight himself of your soul and body.

He will eat you up

Devour you until you beg for his mercy

And maybe he will stop

Or maybe not

He is a capricious man and he is demanding.

You did not know what kind of hell you entered when you got down that wagon train, when you entered that secluded town as an outsider...

But you are Micah’s hell

His obsession

His rosebud

His darling

He will have you, wether you like it or not

After all he reigns supreme.

And unquestioned.

#micah #yandere priest #yandere priest micah #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #male yandere #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #male yandere x y/n #yandere fanfiction #yandere priest x reader #fanfic #meo eiru #neuvilette tea party

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moonlight-joy · 3 months ago

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A Reckless Rescue

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: When a scandal threatens your reputation, Anthony steps in and claims you as his betrothed—even though neither of you have ever entertained the idea before.

Pairing: Reader/Anthony Bridgerton

Scandal could spread faster than fire in the ton, and tonight, it was your name caught in the flames.

You stood frozen in the candlelit ballroom, your breath shallow as Lady Featherington’s sharp voice rang through the air.

“Alone in the garden with Lord Bertram?” she gasped, her hand clutching at her chest in an exaggerated display of horror. “Why, the impropriety is unthinkable!”

The room fell silent. A sea of watchful eyes turned toward you, the weight of judgment already descending. Your heart pounded against your ribs.

It had been nothing—a misstep, an accident. A moment alone in the garden, barely long enough for a whisper, yet more than enough for ruin.

Lord Bertram, a bumbling and foolish man, had lost his footing in the hedges, and in the process, had grabbed your wrist to steady himself. The movement had been nothing short of ridiculous, but that did not matter now.

Lady Featherington’s voice carried through the hall. “A compromised woman has but one course—”

Before she could finish, a deep voice sliced through the noise.

“Enough.”

Anthony Bridgerton.

The crowd parted as he stepped forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. His dark eyes locked onto yours for the briefest of moments before he turned to the room at large.

“The lady is not compromised,” he said with absolute authority. “She is betrothed.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Lady Featherington’s mouth fell open, and Lord Bertram gawked like a fish caught in a net.

Your head snapped toward Anthony. “What?” you whispered, barely audible.

He did not look at you. His face was set in stone, his grip firm as he took your hand in his.

“You heard me,” he said smoothly. “We are to be wed.”

Your pulse pounded. This was absurd. Unthinkable. You and Anthony Bridgerton?

The ballroom swirled in whispers. If you denied him now, if you called him a liar, your fate was sealed. But if you accepted…

He had given you a way out. A reckless, impulsive, impossible escape.

And perhaps, just perhaps, you were reckless enough to take it.

The carriage ride home was silent.

You sat across from Anthony, the glow of the streetlamps flickering over his sharp, unreadable features.

At last, you exhaled, your voice a near whisper. “You did not have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

Your fingers curled into your skirts. “You hardly know me.”

“I know enough.” His gaze flicked toward you, steady and deliberate. “I know that the ton would have destroyed you over something so trivial. I know you did not deserve that fate.”

Your heart twisted—half in gratitude, half in something far more dangerous.

“But marriage, Anthony?” you pressed. “Do you truly wish to wed someone out of obligation?”

His jaw tensed. “It is done.”

You studied him. The viscount was a man of control, of measured decisions. And yet tonight, he had acted without hesitation.

“Then tell me why,” you said quietly.

His eyes darkened. “Because I could not stand there and watch them tear you apart.”

Something shifted between you, something fragile and burning.

But before you could grasp it, before you could say another word, the carriage slowed before your home.

Anthony straightened, his voice composed once more. “We shall announce the engagement formally tomorrow.”

You stared at him. “You truly mean to go through with this.”

He inclined his head. “I do.”

And with that, Anthony Bridgerton—your sudden, reluctant betrothed—helped you down from the carriage and disappeared into the night.

The betrothal announcement had sent the ton into a frenzy. The whispers had turned from scandal to shock—had the viscount harbored feelings for you all along?

You knew the truth. There had never been talk of love, of longing.

But something had begun to shift.

And you could not ignore it any longer.

It was late when you found him in the Bridgerton garden, leaning against the stone railing, staring at the stars as if they held answers.

“You are avoiding me,” you said.

Anthony turned, his expression unreadable. “I am ensuring your reputation remains intact.”

You stepped closer. “And what of yours?”

His lips quirked. “I am the Viscount. My reputation is unshakable.”

You studied him. “Then why does this feel like a mistake to you?”

His gaze locked onto yours. “Because it was reckless,” he admitted, his voice raw. “And reckless things…” He trailed off, jaw tightening.

“Terrify you?” you finished softly.

A flicker of something crossed his face. “Yes.”

Your heart pounded. “Then tell me, Anthony—was it truly only duty that made you do it?”

He did not answer. Not with words.

Instead, he reached for you, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his breath fanning against your lips.

“I should not want this,” he murmured.

But then he kissed you.

And everything changed.

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#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x yn #bridgerton x you

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primrosechronicles · 2 months ago

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"I Fear He might be Beast.. or a Troll."

A Telemachus x Princess!Reader requested by: @luckywitchsong

Summary : You a Princess is scared, for you do not know who identity of your fiance. Word Count : 1296 Credits to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers Part 2

“You are to marry the son of Queen Penelope Períphron and King Odysseus the Polytropos. In three months, you will be sent to Ithaca.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You sit in your bedroom, filled with the golden glow of Apollon’s light, its warmth wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Yet, in stark contrast, your mind is a cold wasteland, destroyed by a swirling tornado of thoughts about who this man could be.

You try to think positively, You know your parents! There's no way they would marry you off to a man with no class, he must be a kind man. Not like those rude men in stories. The ones who are usually nobility—entitled, arrogant… and unhygienic. Oh gods.

You stand up and start frantically pacing around the room, thinking about who this mystery fiancé could be. What is he like? Is he really like a manchild like you thought he would be or could he be the opposite?

A long sigh leaves your lungs as you lean on the balcony, you can only wait until the fates weave you and your future (hopefully kind) husband together.

Meanwhile, In a distant land, a young prince gazes out towards the horizon

The Prince sighs, longingly staring out to the sea, his elbows perched on the balcony's railings. He leans onto his hand as he daydreams about his future bride.

His parents had described his bride-to-be as a kind woman. Now, he wasn't foolish; he knew his parents understood what they were doing when choosing a bride whose kingdom's assets could benefit Ithaca. Yet, doubt remained. What if this woman was not what his parents had described?

But… she could be kind and intelligent… The thought of him marrying an intelligent and beautiful girl made his stomach burst with butterflies.

‘Oh Lady Aphrodite, guide me… ‘

3 months later….

Your ship arrived in Ithaca under the cover of night. The guards on duty had orders to provide temporary shelter for you and your companions if arrival occurred during the sleeping hours, ensuring a place to rest until morning.

You lay awake in your bed, unable to sleep as your thoughts are consumed by the identity of who you’re marrying.

These thoughts lead you to the Palace’s gardens, trying to find some comfort in this unfamiliar place. It’s cold— very cold, you rub your hands together in an attempt to generate heat but to no avail.

This weather is not helping your nerves. Mentally preparing yourself, you raise your palms upwards and pray to the Goddess of Marriage

Hear me, Queen of the Deathless Gods,

Consort to the Mighty Zeus

and Goddess of Marital Union, —-

“--- My Lady what are you doing..?” You turn around and see a young man with leaves in his hair and a blue blanket wrapped around his frame. You look at the man from the side of your eye. “Nothing.” You say in response, getting back to your prayer.

I seek your wisdom and guidance.

Please grant me a good husband.

A husband who is loyal— “My lady… while praying to the Gods is important, I feel as though that the God or Goddess you are praying to will be much happier if you weren’t shivering while praying..”

“I am not shivering.” You say as your shoulders shake from the chill of the wind. You raise your palms up to continue praying.

A husband who is— “But, you are... Shivering”

You let out an annoyed exhale, “I am not.”

“You are…”

“I am not!”

“You are!”

‘Sorry Queen Hera, I fear my prayer will have to wait.’ You internally pray as you lower your palms.

You turn around, annoyed; and raise an eyebrow at the man. “Good Evening um– Ithaca has harsh winds this time of year, I recommend you come back inside where it is warmer, or atleast have something to keep you warm…” He says as he offers his blue blanket to you.

You furrow your brows in suspicion, slowly backing away from the mysterious man. “I’m quite alright thank you…” but then suddenly, a wave of cold air washes over the palace. You shiver and instinctively hug yourself with your arms to shield yourself from the cold.

The young man walks beside you and offers the blanket again. “You say you don’t need it but your shaking shoulders tell me otherwise; please take it, I insist.”

You shakily reach out and take the blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Thank you,” You whisper. “For the blanket…”

You and the man stare out into the horizon, Selene’s moon casting an ethereal glow onto Poseidon’s deep blue sea.

“Your hands were stretched out… Were you praying?” “Yes.”

In the corner of your eye, you see him turn to you. “Why?” He asks.

“Well that’s oddly personal.” You look him up and down. “None of your business.”

You and the man stiffly stare back out into the distance, the whooshing of waves filling the awkward silence. You tiredly sigh, maybe you shouldn’t have responded rudely. “Because I am afraid, I am afraid of who or what he is, my parents have not told me any details of who he is.”

Your hands grip onto the blanket tighter. “I am afraid of my future, women who are often in arranged marriages tend to have husbands that are… goblins…”

“A goblin?” He asks, “or a brute.”

He raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue in thought. “Who are we speaking of?”

“The prince.”

“Not a peep of information from my mother and father, clearly they are hiding the fact that the Prince is a goblin or a brute.”

He smirks. “Understood.”

You gasp, a metaphorical candle lighting up above you. “Maybe you could assist me in running away from my fate!”

“A question please my Lady— you do not like brutes or.. Goblins? Does looks happen to be an important quality in marrying you..?”

“I do not care what he looks like, what I don’t like is having no knowledge of my future husband. Now—”

You walk along the side of the palace and spot a horse with a saddle on it. “Do you see that horse over there? By the torch? With your help I believe I could escape my goblin husband!”

“You want me to help you run to that horse so you may escape…?”

“I quite literally just said that.”

“Won't your entourage notice your absence?”

You wave your hand “I shall worry about that later, now– make haste!”

He breathes out and shakes his head. “I… have no desire to help you.”

You raise your eyebrows and stare at him in disbelief. “I am a maiden in need of saving.. You refuse? You refuse to help a maiden in distress?”

“I refuse when that maiden in distress is trying to horsenap a horse so that she won't have to marry me…” He says softly, a soft smile gracing his features. “Hello ____.”

A crashing tsunami of realization hurls into you. “Oh gods… Forgive me my Prince— I did not know..” You attempt a bow but he stops you in your tracks.

“Please, Call me Telemachus” He softly holds your shoulders, guiding your posture so that you would face him. “Not ‘My Prince’ or ‘Your Majesty’ Only… Telemachus.”

“Please Your Majesty—” “Telemachus.” He corrects you.

You cough to clear your throat. “Telemachus forgive me, If I had known that you were my fiance—” “You would’ve what? Not have told me your plans that you would steal a horse..?”

“....Well yes.” You say, He chuckles in response. “I deeply apologize, Your Majesty.” “Telemachus… well yes— ‘your Majesty’ but to you..? Always just… Telemachus.”

You exhale 3 months of anxiousness, what-ifs, and fears out of your body. He wasn’t a brute after all. He was just Telemachus.

A/N : Chapter 2 of my series "For the queen" will come out soon (not rlly soon but it is in the works!) sorry for not posting guys school has rlly been hectic lately.

#telemachus x reader #x reader #x you #epic the musical telemachus #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic the ithaca saga

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months ago

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Okay, your head canons (get it? Am so hilarious) with our dear big tittied viltrumites (Nolan, conquest, thragg. I don't think kregg has such big ones but we love him anyway?) was Amazing, loved them

But they got me thinking about a petvincible harem + the four of them 😮😮. Would it be chaotic asf? Yes, but what's better then like 20+ (I cannot keep track of all the invincible variants, but add your OC ones aswell cause I love them) pairs of man boobies? 4 more pairs of man boobies.

I just really like the idea of them all sharing a tiny three bedroom apartment with a working reader, it makes my little gay heart happy. I also like like the idea of big strong men getting dicked down, can ya blame me?

Thank you for reading my yap session my favorite gator 🤗🤗

I know these men hate to see me comin, they would never know peace.

i have like no gifs i can use for this stuff, so have these ones instead.

what should i call this group? they arent petvincibles, so... viltruwives?

At this point, readers neighbors gotta think he's in some polygamist cult, or that he's in some super kinky relationship, cuz he's got these four massive buff men coming and going. Whys that one wearing so much leather? (idk, I feel like Conquest would think leather is fancy, you can't tell me this guy wouldn't wear cowboy boots)

Nolan is used to being a husband on earth after having been with Debbie so long. Is he still with Debbie in this setting? Are they divorced? Is it an open relationship kinda deal, and she is also seeing Paul?

Well, this means Nolan already knows his way around the court. He knows how to clean, how to cook, how to grocery shop and take care of the home and taxes. Hell, hes still making money from the books he ghostwrote or wrote under a fake name, so he's the only one with an income outside of you

Kregg, I feel would quickly get an understanding of it all, would find a way to fake an identity, get a job, and start raking in cash. Hes crazy smart and all that, and he gives the vibe that he would be lethal in the business world. Homeboy probably works banking or finance. Or some other soul crushing job, where he gets to fuck over other people's lives. I feel he would end up a mean cook as well, after much experimentation.

Conquest? He gets to stay retired for a while. To just get to live, to experience and feel. Let him pick up hobbies, like gardening or even painting. It looks horrible, but being able to create instead of destroy would give him some kind of peace. I think he enjoys going on walks in the morning, like, walking normally, in his comfortable clothes. Gets himself a coffee, a bagel, sits in the park with his sudoku. Texts the reader good morning, wishing him a good day at work.

Thragg has the hardest time just being... part of the plebians. He would still see all of humanity as worthless insects, no, lower than insects. But the reader loves humanity, loves earth, so he puts up with it. He wouldn't want to work either, cuz that's for lowlives, but I do think he would end up doing something just out of boredom. I don't know what he would do, but he would have some job where he gets to bark orders, crush other people's hope and wishes, and exert his power. He probably works for the IRS..

Methinks reader is just enjoying himself most days. Like, who wouldn't love to come home from a long day of doing customer service, and just being able to literally dive head first into the pecs(tits) of the closest viltrumite.

Reader will never need a weighted blanket, he can just lay down on the bed, make grabby hands, and whichever viltrumite has the time just lays down on top of him. True peace and therapy trapped under such a large and powerful man. Gets all the stress of the day to melt right off.

At least two of them would try to talk you into getting a moustache... Nolan would be chill with you getting whatever, Conquest I think doesn't care too much.

You guys aren't secretive of your relationship, and you become a bit of a joke in your friend group for being such a dilf and gilf hunter. Nobody dares mess with you though, all four of your boyfriends look like they kill baby deer and drink their blood for breakfast.

Insert them also “working on your stamina” with you, cuz god are you gonna need it. I feel these four can be just as much as all the Marks combined. Age doesn't mean their needs have gone away, and now they actually have an outlet. The Marks are never older than a few hundred years at most (except for emperor mark). But these guys? They've gone thousands of years without just doing it for pleasure and fun (outside of Nolan), so, they got a lot of catching up to do.

reader has once again saved the universe by being kinda dumb and pathetically cute. build him and his broken dick a statue.

#gator rambles #petvincible #or are these also petvincibles?#invincible #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #nolan grayson x male reader #nolan grayson x reader #general kregg #general kregg x male reader #general kregg x reader #invincible conquest #conquest x male reader #conquest x reader #grand regent thragg #thragg x male reader #thragg x reader

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jezebelblues · 4 months ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐍 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭.

𝐂𝐖: requested exrry blurb (thank u anon!), slight angst, happy ending, fem!reader, actress!reader, unedited.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 5k

❏ HI ! it’s been such a long time :( but i’m hoping i’m finally through with writers block. i feel like this doesn’t exactlyyyy fit anon’s request but i hope u liked it even a lil bit! i’m not 100% happy w this but i really wanna get something out so this will just have to suffice. missed yall <3

masterlist

there are moments in every love story when the world rearranges itself, tilts just enough to change the course of everything. it's the way a cigarette burns unevenly when the wind interferes, how a misplaced step shifts the dancer's rhythm, or the way a train leaves the station one minute too soon. for harry and YN, their love had been both a symphony and a storm, a masterpiece constructed on fragile scaffolding. in its final act, it had unraveled quietly, with only the sound of two hearts breaking in unison.

they hadn’t spoken in two years. two years of silences punctuated only by the occasional headline, the brush of a photo on a magazine rack, his voice threading through the speakers of a café. the world, it seemed, refused to let her forget him. but there he was now, not a photograph or a memory, but him. real, palpable, standing at the edge of her periphery like a ghost who hadn’t yet decided if it would haunt her or let her go.

YN leaned against the balustrade, clutching a glass of something that tasted more sour than it should have. the event itself was a haze of champagne flutes and low conversations, an industry soirée dripping in muted opulence. her dress was a deep shade of dusk, clinging to her like a second skin, and she felt beautiful in it—had felt beautiful in it—until she saw him.

harry was dressed as he always was: an effortless mosaic of contradictions. the suit was tailored to perfection, but his hair, unruly curls with the hint of rebellion, softened the sharp edges. there was no mistaking the tilt of his head, the way his eyes skimmed the room with an almost reluctant ease. she wondered if he’d seen her yet, if he’d feel that same quiet thrum in his chest when he did.

as if on cue, his eyes met hers.

the evening wasn’t designed for heartache. the sky, opalescent and blushing, rippled with the soft hues of twilight. lights strung through the manicured gardens of the estate flickered like fireflies caught in some eternal dance, glasses catching the shimmer like constellations in orbit. laughter rippled through the space, every corner alive with movement and conversation, yet harry could feel only the staccato of his pulse, sharp and relentless.

he wasn't supposed to see her tonight. it wasn't part of the plan��then again, plans were always shaky things when it came to them, built on the hope that tomorrow wouldn't bring a gust strong enough to dismantle it all.

it wasn’t a moment of cinematic epiphany. there was no gasp, no clinking glass slipping from trembling fingers. it was quieter than that, heavier. their eyes had met, and the weight of two years folded between them like a tide coming in—inevitable, undeniable.

his gaze dropped to her hands, searching for a ring, as though her life might have accelerated in the time since they'd parted. nothing. his chest tightened with something unnamable—relief? regret? both?

the last time they’d been in the same room, the air had been filled with shouting and static. their words had ricocheted off walls that had once heard laughter. they had been too much and not enough, two meteors colliding, destroying everything they touched in their desperate attempt to remain whole.

she loved him. god, how she had loved him. loves.

their love had been big. not in the way people tell stories about epic romances, but in the way it consumed everything around it. they fought like gods waging war. they loved like the first spring after a century of winter. they tore each other apart and put each other back together, over and over, until they couldn't remember what they had looked like before.

they stood like that for what felt like hours but must've been seconds, suspended in a quiet kind of agony. the people around them blurred into shapes, the air alive with the hum of champagne-fueled conversations and the laughter of people who had no concept of loss beyond the polite kind—misplaced keys, a delayed flight, the end of a film they'd rather not have finished. the only thing that seemed real was the chasm between them—filled with every moment they'd ever shared, every word spoken and unspoken, every touch and tear and promise.

he was walking toward her now. she could feel it in her chest before she saw it—the air shifting, the atoms around her realigning themselves to make room for his presence.

YN was radiant, in the way she always had been— light incarnate. her eyes, the same shade of longing he remembered, tried not to meet his own, but of course, they did. she's only human, and humans have always been drawn to the things that ruin them.

“YN.” he breathed when he was close enough, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he wasn’t sure he was allowed to utter.

“harry.” his name tasted unfamiliar on her tongue, like a word spoken in a foreign language after years of disuse.

there were too many things she wanted to say, too many memories fighting to rise to the surface. she remembered the way his hands had once mapped her skin like a cartographer desperate to chart every inch. she remembered mornings spent tangled in sheets, the sunlight spilling over their laughter. she remembered the fights, the nights spent in separate rooms, the echoes of their own voices loud in the spaces between them.

“you look—” he started, then stopped, as though the right words had slipped through his fingers.

“so do you.”

silence bloomed between them, heavy and awkward, like a third presence neither of them invited. she takes a sip of her drink to fill it, but the taste is sour, bitter. or maybe that's just her.

he couldn’t tell how long they just stood there. time had a way of folding in on itself since her, the days bleeding into nights, the minutes stretching and collapsing all at once. einstein once said time was relative, but harry was sure he hadn't meant this.

his lips parted, “i didn’t think you’d be here.”

“neither did i.”

the truth was, she almost hadn’t come. it was only her publicist’s insistence that had dragged her out of her apartment and into this room filled with people who didn’t really know her. but now, standing here in front of him, she wondered if some part of her had known—had hoped.

there was a question hanging in the air between them, not uttered, but loud enough to fill the silence. had they made a mistake?

he remembers how they agreed it was for the best—right person, wrong time. they'd parted with a kiss that tasted of salt and regret, a mutual agreement born not out of lack of love, but out of too much of it.

but how could it be for the best when the air at home still smelled like her, when her name was stitched into the fabric of every song he wrote? he thought of the way she used to rest her head against his chest at night, the way her fingers traced lazy patterns along his skin, as if she were memorizing him in braille. the intimacy of it—the quiet kind, the kind that felt like forever—had undone him. no one ever teaches you how to live without forever.

the first time they met, they were children pretending to be adults. a festival in the desert, both of them younger and wilder, sweat-soaked and sunburnt and drunk on music. they danced in a crowd of thousands, but it felt like the earth shrank to the size of a postage stamp, and they were the only two people left. he had kissed her that night, tequila and the promise of something infinite lingering on his tongue.

“i’ve missed you,” he admitted, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

her heart stuttered, the words settling into the cracks she hadn’t known were still there. “me too.”

and just like that, the world rearranged itself again.

it had been three days, but the memory of her face still lingered on the edges of harry’s consciousness like the afterimage of a camera flash. no matter how many times he blinked, it refused to fade. he felt haunted—not in the dramatic sense of ghosts rattling chains, but in the quiet, insidious way grief lingers, reshaping the air around it. she had looked beautiful, devastatingly so. and when their eyes had met, he swore he felt time buckle under the weight of something he couldn’t acknowledge, not yet.

it was morning now, or what passed for it in january—a hesitant kind of light filtering through the clouds, pale and thin like it didn’t quite belong. harry sat at his kitchen table, a cup of tea cooling between his hands. the mug had been a gift from gemma years ago, the words world’s okayest brother faded from too many cycles through the dishwasher. he liked its imperfection, the way it felt worn and familiar. it reminded him of things that didn’t change, which was a comfort on days like these.

the newspapers were spread out in front of him, though he wasn’t reading them. his eyes kept drifting to the same headline over and over: YN stuns at charity gala, sparking reunion rumors. there was a picture, of course. she was outside, her dress a shadow clinging to her frame, her gaze distant and heavy with thoughts he couldn’t begin to guess at.

it was cruel, he thought, how the world always seemed to capture her in a way that felt so achingly intimate. even in the stillness of a photograph, she looked alive, as though she might step off the page and straight into his arms.

but she wouldn’t.

he hadn’t expected to see her, not after all this time. the last two years had been a lesson in avoidance—of places she might be, of mutual friends who still spoke her name with a fondness that made his chest ache. he had buried himself in work, in music, in anything that might fill the spaces she had left behind. and for a while, it had worked. or at least, it had felt like it did.

until three days ago.

“you’re brooding.”

the voice startled him, and he looked up to find jeff standing in the doorway, a coffee cup in one hand and a knowing look in the other.

“morning to you, too,” harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.

he raised an eyebrow. “you’ve been staring at that paper for the better part of an hour. do you want to talk about it, or should i just pretend i don’t notice?”

“not much to talk about, yeah?”

“uh-huh.” he set his coffee down and slid into the chair opposite him. “you saw her.”

“yeah.”

“and?”

harry sighed, “i dunno. s’like… seeing her again made everything i’ve been trying to forget just resurface. two fucking years of nothing and then—” he gestured vaguely, another sigh falling from his lips.

“you still care about her.”

“‘course i do,” harry said, almost sharply. “but that doesn’t mean it changes anything. timing wasn’t right—we missed out.”

jeff studied him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “you know, timing’s a funny thing. but things do change, harry. don’t lose something you never needed to lose in the first place.”

the words hit harder than harry wanted to admit. he didn’t respond, instead lifting his mug to his lips and taking a long sip.

the tea had gone cold.

–

the email arrived in the late afternoon, slipping into her inbox like an intruder she hadn’t invited. YN stared at the screen for a long time, her tea cooling on the windowsill beside her. she didn’t open it right away; instead, she just sat there, the glow of her laptop casting faint shadows on the walls of her living room.

harry’s name stared back at her, bold and impossible to ignore. two years of silence, and now this.

the day had started out quiet. she’d spent the morning working through a script, her highlighter uncapping and capping in time with the low hum of the music she had on in the background. a storm had rolled in sometime around noon, the sky turning the color of damp stone. she liked storms—their chaos, the way they reminded her of things bigger than herself.

she didn’t like this.

her thumb hovered over the trackpad, indecisive. opening the email felt like a betrayal of all the walls she’d built, but leaving it unread felt equally unbearable. the memory of seeing him at the gala, standing there like something carved out of memory and moonlight, tugged at her resolve.

so, she clicked.

subject: reaching out

from: hs@—

to: YN@—

i wasn’t sure if this was still your email. if it’s not, i guess someone else is reading this, which would be… awkward. but if it is you, then: hey.

i know it’s been a while. seeing you the other night caught me off guard. in a good way. you looked beautiful. not that that’s news or anything, but still. it felt worth saying.

i’ve been thinking about you. not in a way that expects anything, just thinking. like in the way you’re in the lyrics i write without thinking. or when i see a blank sheet of paper i think of the origami you’d make on a whim.

this probably sounds ridiculous. i don’t really know what i’m trying to say. maybe just that it was good to see you.

for old times sake: all my stars and moons,

all my stars and moons.

he used to say it with a lopsided smile, his voice soft, reverent, like it was the only way he could capture what she meant to him.

it wasn't just an i love you—it was a promise, a vow that she had been his beginning and his end. her reply had always been equally unorthodox, a kind of shared language only they understood.

she read the email twice, then a third time, the words tumbling through her mind like loose change in a pocket.

it wasn’t much. it wasn’t an apology or an admission or even an invitation. but it was something—a crack in the silence, a thread pulled loose from fabric.

her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind a cacophony of what-ifs. she didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if she should say anything.

the cursor blinked at her, patient and unyielding. YN rested her chin in her hand, staring at the blank reply box as if it might conjure the words for her. the storm outside continued its symphony, wind rattling the windowpanes in uneven bursts. it felt fitting—this chaotic, uncertain moment mirrored by the world beyond her walls.

she had typed and deleted half a dozen responses already, each one feeling either too much or not enough.

harry, she’d started, but even his name felt loaded, like a weight she couldn’t quite lift.

it’s good to hear from you. no, too polite, too distant, too not them.

why now? the most honest question, but also the one she didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

she leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply. part of her wanted to ignore it. to close her laptop, pour another cup of tea, and pretend she hadn’t read it. but that wasn’t who she was—not with him.

because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much they had broken each other, there was still that small, stubborn part of her that believed in the rightness of them.

she let her fingers hover over the keyboard, her thoughts coalescing into something that felt almost like clarity.

harry,

it is still my email. though if it weren’t, i’d like to think whoever got this would’ve found it endearing.

i don’t know how to describe how it felt seeing you again. unexpected doesn’t feel like enough. i wasn’t ready for it, i guess. not that anyone’s ever really ready to run into their past like that. believe me when i say that you looked even more beautiful.

your email was nice to read, though i’m not sure how to respond to it. i don’t know if i have the right words anymore, or if i ever did. but i’ve been thinking about you too. i’m not sure that ever really stopped, if i’m honest. it’s strange, isn’t it? how someone can take up so much space in your mind, even after so much time has passed.

it’s hard to know what else to say. part of me wonders if we made a mistake. you’re making me remember paper cranes on your coffee table, of mornings where the sunlight always seemed brighter on your side of the bed. remembering makes it harder to pretend like none of it mattered.

but it did. it still does. in ways i can't always explain, and maybe that's why i don't know how to respond. anyway, i guess i just wanted to say that it was good to see you, too.

forever and a day,

YN.

her finger hovered over the send button, her heart hammering in her chest. there was no taking it back once it was gone, no undoing the vulnerability she had laid bare. but she clicked it anyway, the whoosh of the email sending ringing loud in the quiet of her apartment.

forever and a day.

it had been her answer to him, her way of telling him that love wasn't bound by time or space, that it was infinite. it had been their secret, the thread woven through the chaos of their lives.

she didn’t know what would come next. maybe nothing. maybe everything. so, she waited—which only let things unravel further.

the emails became their lifeline over the past few days, a tenuous thread bridging the gap between the past and whatever they were doing now. it had started cautiously—polite acknowledgments, carefully chosen words that skirted too close to old wounds. but as the hours and days wore on, their messages grew longer, softer, laced with the quiet intimacy of people rediscovering the shape of each other.

harry had spent more time staring at his screen than he cared to admit, his fingers hovering over the keys as he tried to balance honesty with restraint. they wrote about everything and nothing—her latest film, a quiet piece shot in the polish countryside, his afternoons spent in the studio, the strange emptiness of passing the time during a break.

sometimes, they slipped into the past. little anecdotes laced with humor or wistfulness, as though they were tiptoeing around the weight of what they’d once shared. he’d told her about the tulips he passed by in the shop one evening, how it made him think of her, if he’d ever buy such a thing for her again—and she’d replied with a teasing remark about how he’d always overthought these things.

it felt natural in a way neither of them had anticipated, like a rhythm they’d rediscovered without meaning to. but beneath the easy flow of words, there was a tension—an unspoken question threading its way through every sentence: what now?

and then, her last email.

he’d read it three times before he noticed the address tucked neatly at the bottom, like an afterthought.

subject: RE: late night thoughts

from: YN@—

to: hs@—

i don’t know why i’m telling you this, but the tulips? i would’ve liked them :)

anyway, you’re right! it’s easier to write like this, but it also feels a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it? like we’re pen pals in some old novel. maybe we should talk.

here’s my address. i’ve moved since before everything happened between us. if you’re ever around, stop by. no pressure though.

harry had laughed aloud when he saw it, shaking his head in disbelief. she hadn’t given him her number, but her address? it was such a maddeningly her thing to do.

he stared at the screen for a while afterward, debating what it meant, whether he should go, what he’d say if he did. and then, as if fate had decided for him, he found himself standing in another flower shop the next afternoon, staring at a display of tulips.

the shopkeeper had been kind, if a bit amused by his indecision. “you can’t go wrong with red,” she’d said, handing him a bunch wrapped in simple brown paper. “everyone likes red, yeah?”

he’d nodded, though his mind had been elsewhere, spiraling through a thousand scenarios of how this meeting might go.

and now, here he was, standing outside her building with the flowers clutched in one hand, his other hand shoved into the pocket of his coat.

he felt ridiculous. what was he doing here, showing up like this? but the thought of turning back felt worse. he buzzed her apartment, his heart pounding as he waited for her voice to crackle through the intercom.

“hello?”

“oh, YN. hi! it’s harry.”

a pause and the breathiest giggle, so quiet harry wasn’t sure if it was her or the crackle of the intercom. “come up.”

once up, she opened the door before he could knock, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of her apartment. she looked different and yet entirely the same—her hair pulled back, her sweater falling loosely over her frame, the kind of effortless beauty that had always undone him.

“hi.”

“hi,” he echoed, offering her a tentative smile.

she glanced at the tulips in his hand, her lips twitching into a small, knowing grin. “you brought flowers.”

“yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “thought about daisies. or lilies. but tulips–”

“you overthought it.”

“probably,” he said, handing them to her. “but you said you would’ve liked them.”

she took the flowers, her fingers brushing his briefly. “i do.”

he hesitated, shifting on his feet. “you didn’t give me your number, but you gave me your address. thought that was funny.”

her laugh was soft, almost shy. “guess i figured if you wanted to talk, you’d show up.”

“and here i am.”

“here you are.”

she stepped aside, letting him in, her apartment warm and inviting in contrast to the chill outside. the space was a bit small but full of character—books stacked haphazardly on shelves, a record player in the corner, the faint scent of tea lingering in the air.

“s’bigger than the last one.”

she hummed, setting the tulips on the counter and reaching for a vase. “it’s cozy.”

he watched her move, his chest tightening at the familiarity of it all—the way she tilted her head when she was concentrating, the slight curve of her mouth as she arranged the flowers.

“i’m surprised you actually came over.”

“‘course i did,” he said, his gaze steady. “you asked.”

“i didn’t think you would.”

he frowned slightly, “oh,” he paused, “why not?”

she shrugged, turning back to the flowers. “it’s been a long time, i guess. people change.”

“how much d’you think changes in two years?”

her hands stilled, her fingers brushing against the edge of a petal. she didn’t look at him, but he could see the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath caught.

“i don’t know what this is,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“s’just us talking. that’s all.”

they settled at the island in her kitchen eventually, stools drawn close but not close enough. it wasn’t purposeful—not exactly—but the gap between them felt intentional in its own way, a hesitation they hadn’t yet learned how to breach.

the space was quiet, save for the soft hum of the rain outside and the faint creak of the wood beneath them. the overhead light pooled in warm, golden tones across the countertop, casting long shadows that blurred the edges of the moment.

YN fit into the space like she always did—carefully, like she was trying to take up less room than she was owed. one knee tucked against her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around it, while her other leg dangled from the stool, her toes brushing just lightly against the floor. she turned slightly, her side leaning against the edge of the island, her eyes steady but unreadable.

his own body had never been built for this kind of furniture—too long limbs, too much of him for the delicate frame of the stool. he had to spread his legs wide, one foot braced against the floor to keep himself steady, his elbows resting on the countertop. his fingers toyed with the lip of a glass left abandoned,something to keep them occupied, something to keep them from reaching for her.

and then she said it.

“you’ve written songs about me.”

a statement, not a question. a fact pulled from the quiet places of their past, dusted off and placed between them like an offering.

harry felt the heat climb his neck before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth betraying him with the telltale pull of a smile. a man of twenty-nine reduced to something pink-cheeked and bashful, like a schoolboy caught in the act. his dimples carved deep, his fingers tightening around the glass as if he could pour all of his flustered energy into the curve of it.

“see that head of yours hasn’t gotten any smaller.”

his voice came easy, light with humor, a well-aimed deflection meant to soften the truth. but the truth was written all over him, in the way his gaze lingered, in the way his body angled toward hers as if he couldn’t help but close the distance.

she laughed, and the sound curled into his chest, tucked itself between his ribs like something meant to live there. her cheeks had gone pink too, though whether from the warmth of the room or the warmth of his attention, he wasn’t sure.

she pressed her temple against her knee, a slow, knowing smile stretching across her lips before she murmured—“red wine and ginger ale.”

it was enough to knock the breath from him, to make something stir deep in his gut, something familiar, aching, unshakable.

his grip tightened around the glass, knuckles going white. because of course she remembered. of course she had caught that line, plucked it from the verse and turned it over in her palm like a rare coin.

it had been a memory—hers, theirs, tucked into the lyrics like a secret, hidden in plain sight.

a dinner in chiswick, years ago, where he had ordered exactly that, red wine with ginger ale, because he liked the way the bitterness and sweetness met on his tongue. she had looked at him like he’d just confessed to some great crime, her nose scrunching, her lips parting in that wide-eyed, incredulous way.

“you’re disgusting.”

he had laughed, offered her a sip, only for her to recoil in mock horror. and later, in the taxi home, when he had kissed her, her lips had curled into a smile against his, and she had whispered against his mouth—

“m’never letting you live it down, baby.”

and she hadn’t. for months. for years. because she had hated the drink, but she had loved him, and that was enough.

and now, here she was, saying it back to him, plucking the words from a song meant for millions and holding them up to the light, a knowing glint in her gaze.

“you remember that?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.

“i remember everything.”

the words settled in his stomach, warm and heavy. he stared at her for a long moment, the air between them stretching thin.

he could still taste the memory of her, even now. and he wonders if she knows she’s still his favorite lyric.

time continued to stretch around them, hesitated words and heavy pauses, stolen glances and knuckles that barely grazed each other in fleeting touches.

they moved after that, standing from the stools as if a forced step back would be enough space to stop what hummed between them.

she turned to face him, her eyes searching his. for a moment, the air felt electric, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

she lingered there, before her body angled toward the window as though she might drift outside. the soft light overhead caught the lines of her face, the curve of her shoulders.

she was beautiful in the way the stars were—distant but unmistakably present, a quiet inevitability against the darkness.

and just like the stars, she had always been there, even when he couldn't see her.

he crossed the room slowly, as though afraid that the floor might give out beneath him. his hands were empty now, his thoughts stripped bare. she turned slightly as he came closer, her eyes meeting his, and he could feel the pull of her, the way she seemed to realign the very fabric of the air between them.

YN could feel it, the frequency only the two of them could hear, a static that crackles in the air between bodies too familiar to be strangers, too distant to be anything else. the static that translated into pins and needles along their lips. the static, buzzing heat in their chest, not fire, not yet—but the ember that never fully died, flickering in the place where love was buried but never truly laid to rest.

"you came back.” she echoed from before, though it was less saturated in disbelief but rather dripping with solace.

he looked up, his throat tightening—the ache of déjà vu wrapped in silk. his body remembers before his mind does—remembers the press of his palm against the small of her back, the weight of his mouth against hers, the way her breath used to tremble when she whispered his name.

you never left he wanted to say, but the syllables tangled in his throat, thick as honey, heavy as grief. because she hadn’t—not really. she lingered in each pause between heartbeats, in the empty quiet of rooms too big and beds too cold.

so, he keeps his mouth shut. he leans in, nose barely grazing hers. she can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek as his head tilts, he can feel the tremble of her breath.

he was merely a shipwreck, his body leaning toward the tide even as his mind screamed to stay ashore. but the tide is warm, and the tide is her, and oh—how easy it would be to drown again.

the collapse of distance, the death of restraint.

the air between them is thick with ruin and remembrance, a graveyard of every night they spent apart, every moment they spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

but the body is merciless in its remembering.

her breath stutters again as his fingertips ghost over her jaw, tracing the path of old devotion, the map of a love that never truly faded. it’s not a hesitation, not a question—it’s reverence, the final breath before a prayer is spoken. and then—

then he kisses her.

it’s not soft, not gentle. it’s every unsaid word, every agonizing hour, every night spent staring at the ceiling wondering if the she felt it too. it’s the pull of gravity, of fate, of something written into constellations.

his mouth slants over hers like a plea, like an apology, like a man succumbing. and she—she meets him with a hunger that borders on violent, fingers fisting in his collar, dragging him closer, closer, as if she could consume him, as if she could crawl inside his ribs and carve her name there all over again.

it tasted like champagne and ripe fruit, like summer bursting behind teeth and getting stuck there. peaches, maybe, or strawberries picked in the height of july. his tongue slid against hers like silk against satin, heady—red wine drunk too quickly, the dizzied sweetness of berries crushed between thumb and forefinger.

it didn’t seek, did not demand; it reclaimed, a vow remade in flesh.

his tongue curled, coaxed, tangled in the wet heat of her mouth. it was slow, decadent—the first pull of opium in the lungs, the hush of velvet being drawn through greedy fingers.

and when he deepened it—when he pulled her flush, let the kiss bleed into something savored, something syrup-thick, cursive against the roof of her mouth—she tasted it:

forgiveness, the hands of a clock rewinding.

not spoken, not granted, but exchanged in the language of tongue and teeth. of breath shared between gasps, of bodies rediscovering the art of belonging.

when they part, it is not for lack of wanting.

it’s for breath, for sanity, for the simple fear that if they do not stop now, they never will. she licked her lips—not to rid herself of him, but to commit him to memory.

"YN.” he murmured, her name nothing more than a breath, a vow, a benediction.

she swallowed, throat tight, her pulse a bird trapped beneath her skin. she wanted to say something, anything—wanted to capture this moment in words before it slipped through her fingers like sand.

but there was no language for this.

there was no word for what it meant to be kissed like that—like time had never moved forward, like they had never parted, like the years apart were nothing more than a cruel trick of the universe. no word for the way his tongue had found hers, the way he had kissed her not just with his lips, but with the sum of his longing, the marrow-deep ache of missing her. no word for the way she had melted into him, the way her mouth had answered his like it had been waiting all this time.

so she didn’t speak.

instead, she pressed her fingers against his mouth, feeling the shape of his lips beneath them, like trying to hold onto a dream before waking. and maybe he understood, because he only smiled—soft, knowing, his hands still firm against her skin.

all my stars and moons, he had said once.

forever and a day, she had answered.

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