#until i found the light on the other side

[alchemistc]

Let's goooo! 15. trembling hands

I already did this prompt but I've been steeping in a pile of blankets and a heating pad and miserable cramps for hours just thinking about this so:

"I just keep thinking about the last time you kissed me," Buck says, and he hates the waver in it, hates the way he has to set the neatly packed bankers box down on his island because his hands are shaking as bad as his voice.

Tommy gives him the kind of look he'd expect to see if he rounded a dark curve late at night and his headlights caught a deer crossing the road.

Total devastation lies ahead. Neither one of them gets out of this without a scratch.

He'd had a call, years back now. Some family driving home after an evening of movies and arcades and dinner, a nice newer SUV, a nervous creature who would have had plenty of time to cross into the woods but got stuck in the beam of light hurtling towards it. Until it tried to jump the vehicle right before impact.

The dad had died quick, Buck remembers. They'd only found that out later, though, because the deer hadn't died. Not then. Not right away. Not until after they'd arrived, because they'd watch the thing, stuck in the windscreen, panicked and dying and kicking.

Animal control didn't make it on scene until after the moms chest had been caved in.

Tommy's grip on the box in his own hands looks painful.

"It was just - it was the kind of kiss I figured we'd share a few thousand more times, you know?"

Nothing special, a barely there peck, an appetizer because they had places to be and they'd lost more than one reservation getting caught up before so they'd made it a habit of the greeting kiss being... quick.

"I just wish I'd known it was gonna be the last time."

It hurts to say. It hurts to think, but this one's been spinning on a loop every time he's got idle hands and an idle mind and it feels like Tommy should at least know that he -

"I have to go," Tommy says. He'd set this up with that excuse - I have some of your things, can I drop them off before work - like he could rip the bandaid and be done and Buck had spent twenty minutes folding and refolding the same pair of Tommy's sweatpants before he found the nerve to respond with a thumbs up.

"Yeah," Buck says, and takes a moment to drink in the sight of him a final time. Tommy's eyes dart to the hand still hanging at his side, fingers tapping out a rhythm against his palm, unlike the one holding onto his kitchen island like a lifeline.

This is it.

There's - nothing left to tie them together. No excuses to see each other again outside of random happenstance. He'd debated stuffing one of Tommy's zip ups into the bottom of his laundry basket for about ten minutes after Tommy let him know he was headed over, but that's in the box with everything else.

He has to look away when he realizes his vision's gone a little blurry.

"I'll... see you," Buck manages, and convinces himself he doesn't hear the blown out breath from where Tommy's standing.

He listens to the footsteps moving away. Hears the latch click and sucks in a breath so harsh Tommy has to hear it.

He remembers trying to shield those kids in the back seat from the sight of both their parents and wishes he at least had some bruises to show for the way his own chest feels like it's caving in.

The door clicks shut, and Buck turns towards it a second before he feels his chin being angled.

It's nothing like their first kiss, or the greeting kiss. This is the kiss he'd get when he couldn't shut the hell up about something and Tommy had to do something about it. The kiss they'd share when it became clear a movie wasn't holding his attention and Tommy pressed him into the couch cushions with a grin. The kiss he'd give when he was so overwhelmed by how he felt and didn't have the words to explain it so he'd poured every ounce of - of love into his lips and his tongue and his teeth because even if he didn't know how to say it he wanted Tommy to know.

It slows and settles into something soft and breathy and Buck lets the hand he'd curled over Tommy's jaw drop to his chest when they break it. Their breathing is shaky, and the hand clenched in the back of Buck's shirt shakes before he breaks the hold. Buck keeps his eyes closed. His throat is tight.

"That's - if I'd known it was the last one, that's the one I'd have wanted it to be," Tommy says, and then he's pulling away. Leaving.

The door clicks open and shut while Buck's eyes are still closed, and he stands there in silence for a good ten minutes until he's sure he can breath again. When he licks his lips he doesn't recognize the taste of the lip balm Tommy'd left behind there.

The box of Tommy's stuff is sitting on the end table.

It takes Buck four goddamn tries to type out a coherent text, with the way it's shaking in his hand.

You forgot to take your stuff, he sends.

Tommy's the kind of old school where he keeps his phone in the center console while he's driving, so he doesn't expect anything back immediately.

He refuses to let himself read into it at all. An honest mistake after leaving them both more hurt than the first time around.

He'll ask Chim to deliver it so they don't have to see each other again.

Forty-two minutes later, he happens to glance at his phone just in time to see the bubbles.

They disappear. Reappear. Disappear.

How forgetful of me.

And that's - that's all he gets for another five minutes. He nearly tosses his phone in the air when the bubbles come back, like somehow someone will have witnessed him staring at it hard enough to burn a hole through it.

Maybe you could bring it by sometime.

MVA, two adult males, significant internal injuries.

The bubbles are still there.

Think I may have forgotten a few of your things, anyway.

Buck doesn't believe that for a fucking second. He'd had a drawer, two hangers, a spot under the sink in the bathroom. Tommy's place had always reminded Buck how well suited they were, with how meticulously everything had a place.

Doesn't seem like you, Buck shoots back, and tries not to examine how close to the line of flirty he's being.

That was a terrible last kiss, Tommy sends back, almost immediately.

Buck's hands don't shake when he sends the next message. It's a blatant lie. It probably broke top ten. We could fix that.

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 1

I am not well versed in DC knowledge. I've read a bunch of the older comics but, honestly, these timelines are too confusing to say I have a firm grasp on what the fuck is happening at any given point.

Anyways, this is my story, I made a tumbler for it. I'll definitely upload again..

When the fly on the wall starts to spin webs of their own, can the bats catch on? Or will they be left to dangle in the web they've tangled?

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

You're hardly school aged when you wake in a strange place, vague memories of someone patting your head as you fall asleep. Then it was all blurry and you went from cold hard ground, suddenly, to a warm bed worth more than you've ever seen.

Laying still, staring up at the ceiling, you lay dazed until you hear the door starting to creak open. Quickly shutting your eyes you wait for the suspect to peak inside.

When his voice sounds, back on the other side of the door, you perk up, "Who's this? They're kinda cute." A boy, most likely a few years older than you.

When that deep, fear inducing voice reaches for you, you jump out of bed after it. "Apparently, my child." He couldn't possibly be talking about you, right?

You make your way silently to the creaked door. Peeping through to watch them. "Huh? What?? Like seriously???" Hands resting on his hips, a boy of black hair and lean physique gapes.

A tall man with a build as intimidating as his voice, "Yes, I've run a DNA test and everything." His large arms cross over his broad chest.

Mirroring the older man's stance, the boy questions, "So, who's the mom?"

"I'm still working on that.."

"Have you.. asked them?"

There's a heaviness lingering in the hall around them. "We don't know if they'll talk yet, not till they wake up." He doesn't like not having answers, clearly.

"Can they?"

Swinging the door open, you bark out at your own defense, "I knew how'd to talk!"

His shoulder shot up, face blossoming in embarrassment, "Oh, sorry." Sighing, he tries to appear nonchalant. "Well, heyyy.. kid.. My name's Dick.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he smiles, “Guess I'll be like, your, uh, big brother?"

Eyes widening, you step away from his grasp. Being in a strange place with strange people claiming to be your family was concerning. Even in your young mind, alarm bells rang loud and clear.

Like a light shining through your darkest times, his voice cut through the tension. “This may be all too much for,” A man, much older than either, rests his hand on your back, “the newly young master Wayne.” He ushers you gently back into the room. All gentle pats and kind smiles as he insists on you resting.

You never spoke about who or where you came from. It hurts to try, to think of the cold, the dark, the pain, the fear. Push out all the bad. Make it just go away. You just wanted it to go away. Wanted to take every memory of before and lock it up, never to be found. So, that's what you did, burying every painful memory. After some time, your young mind turned repression into suppression. Now, left with only bits and pieces, you couldn't remember even if you wanted to.

So, you’ll need to fill in the emptiness with this fresh start.

Life in the Wayne house started off joyfully. You found serenity in the solitude of the manor, disconnected from the rest of Gotham. When Alfred wasn't pushing tedious homeschooling work, you explored the massive house you'd be calling home. The quietude of empty ballrooms, winding halls and stodgy gardens was your respite. While it wasn't a place made for children, you felt at peace for the first time. The perfect home for a ghost with plenty of walls for flies and flowers alike.

Coming from unknown origins with no paperwork to speak of left you in a peculiar predicament. As a child was low grasp on the passage of time, you couldn't exactly say how old you were. Let alone when your birth date was. No one has ever bothered to tell you and if they have you certainly weren't going to remember. Infact, at Alfreds insists on a celebration, he comes to find you've never truly experienced a birthday of any kind. He had to correct this at once, give you a proper one with cake, singing and presents. It makes him wonder what sort of childhood you've been plucked from.

“Well, young master.” Alfred takes your hands as you climb the step stool next to him, “It's been a year now since you've joined us at the manor.”

Your hands slap onto the counter when you finally reach it. “Yeah, I like it.” Smiling wide up at the old butler, you babble on, “everything is so big and warm and it smells nice and I like when you cook and I wanna cook too and-” Alfred hushes your ramblings with a hand on your head.

“Yes, that's lovely, my child.” The other hand opens a draw nearby. “And that's what we'll be doing today.”

You tilt your head as the hand on it brushes over it and falls away, “Cooking?” Craning your neck, you try to peek at the cards he flips through.

“Well, baking, but yes.” He confirms, offering you a smile that's warm and sweet like his cookies, “Today was the day you joined the family, it's as good a day as any for a party.”

Your eyes light up, “A party for what?”

“Your birthday, my dear.” He chuckles softly at your look of awe,“Today will be your birthday, and every year I shall make you a cake.”

“Woah, every year?” You gasp as he hafs you the small stack of cards, each a handwritten cake recipe. While you can't read them yet, there are pictures of each cake pasted alongside the words. “That's a lot of cakes.. Can I help?”

“Whichever you like most we'll bake.” You're quick to pick one, waving the card around frantically, “I would be honored to have your help as well, young master.”

Alfred got to work with measurements, letting you pour everything into the bowls. He shows you how to mix, guiding you hand over hand when you struggle. You can't help spilling half of you what you're given, covering the counters. Sliding the pan batter into the oven, Alfred has you assist by wiping away your mess.

As he begins readying ingredients for frosting you ask, “Are those guys gonna join us?”

You're too busy scrubbing batter from your stool to see the way he deflates. “Unfortunately, your father and brother are tied up in something.” He sighs, taking the rag and finishing your job. With a sullen smile he hands you a measuring cup of sugar, “Perhaps next year.”

The night is spent merrily celebrating. When it cools Alfred frosts and decorates your cake. He places a number of candles, It's the first of many birthdays spent with just you and Alfred.

The next years were your first time in true schooling, a prestigious boarding school to boot. You couldn't remember seeing so many other children before. The eyes you received from strangers when given your new last name made your skin crawl. Deciding to forgo it in most encounters. Yet, for some reason to a great number of your fellow classmates, that fact seemed to matter greatly. If you met someone who insisted or withheld their friendship without, then you'd simply roll your eyes, never speaking to them.

You decided friends weren't important, instead making it your goal to not just succeed but to exceed. If this was your shot of a real family, you wanted to show them you were something capable. Worthy. You were hopeful, determined in getting close.

Only to be pushed aside at every opportunity.

“I got’ perfect score!” The words burst from you with such excitement you're bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Bruce doesn't even bother to look at the paper you're frantically waving at him. Simply mumbling as he places his mug in the sink, “Very nice.” Before turning to Dick, “Come on, son. It's time to go.” You thought maybe this was how a father was supposed to be. Cold, distant and hardly ever around for someone so small.

Alfred steps up from behind your slumped form. Plucking the paper from your dejected gaze. He hums softly before you hear a rap on the fridge beside you. “Wonderful job young master.” You smile for him as he pats your head. Happy to have at least someone’s acknowledgement.

From what your classmates say, a big brother will either pick on you or support you. Soon you came to find that living with Dick Grayson didn't guarantee you any of his time. Good or bad.

So, despite the terror that being center stage fills you with, you entered your school's spelling bee. The thought that maybe you could possibly impress them gave you just enough nerve.

“Hey, um, Dickie...” When you catch his sleeve, your teeth skin into your cheeks. He peeks over his shoulder at you, “Here, it's a competition.”

His nose wrinkles slightly before he smiles. “Spelling bee?” Not a real smile, you don't get those. It's a empty, meaningless thing that hardly lifts his lips.

“If you're not busy.” You clasp your fingers together, steeling your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” It’s thinly masked disgust if anything.

Time came to discuss bringing you into the public eye, an official declaration of your relationship with the Wayne's. Just the thought of it was unsettling, like placing a target on your back. The last place you want to be is the spot light.

“I don't wanna go. I won't go.” It was then in that moment, when the words left your lips, you could see it in his eyes.

A wave of relief Dick couldn't quite stifle, lip touching at the corner before turning to Bruce, “Maybe they're just scared of all those new people. With everyone looking at them, seeing them as your..” That uptick in his features falters slightly, “first child, technically.” Back then, you thought he cared. That this was actually for your protection. “It's a lot of pressure, maybe it would be better. For them, to stay safe.”

Bruce crosses his arms, examining his older child before looking back to the younger. “You have a point there, Dick.” You've twisted your fingers into Alfreds pant leg, half hidden behind him. “Fine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. It might even be for the better.” Neither of them wanted you there, thinly veiled behind words of care, never quit saying it.

Not once then did you realize. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, nothing you could show for. Nothing to make them see you, the real you. You couldn't provide them with anything, that made you useless.

“Very well, Master Bruce.” With a sigh, Alfred guides you away as the two leave. He was always the one in your corner. Before you even know this life would be a battle.

This give on the topic began your gradual slope into obscurity. In the hectic years of adolescence, you'd come to the conclusion that private schools are for snobs. You manage to convince the old butler, with baked goods, to allow a change of schools. Not wanting to slow your studies yet overwhelmed by your known family reputation. Public school seemed viable, no one had to know who you really were. There seemed to be no object, or real acknowledgment of this decision.

You used to believe, despite how they act, this was it, this would be your family and you could be happy. Surely, you thought, it's because you're new to them. It must be hard to connect, you found it quite difficult yourself.

So, you decided, you'll just need to put in more effort. Show them that there is something that you and they can do together. You took up everything you Alfred offered to teach you when he was around. You learned to cook, sew and clean the whole manor faster than the master butler himself.

Of course, he had other priorities, not just as your caretaker. Try as he might to keep you at the top of that list, he still has duties to attend. So, you would take your days, even weeks, alone with stride. A good time to build your skills on your own, finding new ways to utilize them. Hoping for something, anything, to bridge the gap with your new family.

“I'll be home late today, Al.” While you had gotten away from uptight private schooling, Alfred still set into a well funded school.

He gives a light chuckle of disbelief over the phone, “You have plans, young master?” Pinching the device between your shoulder and ear, you fumble through your first ever locker.

“It's just a club, I'll still need you to pick me up after.” With all your free time, you thought you'd use more of your growing skills.

“At your service my dear.”

You took time to catch on, years of peeling away from the background. Picking and pulling apart from the inside out, finding something that could peak their interest. Hoping to think twice, even once to turn their heads back to the lone manner.

That's how you found them, their secrets; and the life that pulled them as taunt in one direction as the other did. Digging for a way that you could connect from beyond the twice eye catching lives they live day and night. You were piled with reasoning when you found that special place in the library they all seemed to love. The idea of passing the security felt out of reach at the time.

Walking along the dark water line, looking out to the misty sky. You don't wish for misfortune, but you wait. When that light flickers on and that familiar symbol reflects on the dark Gotham clouds, your breath catches. Ducking alonge the rocky cliff wall by the large alcove, you listen to the rumble. You brace yourself as something in the shallow cave opens, the rumble growing.

Then you have your answer. The Batmobile comes billowing out of the cave, in its wake you hide. Long after its departure from the property, you emerge from your hiding spot. Slipping through the closing doors and wandering down into the bat cave.

Despite how they see through you most times, you're sure Alfred knows when you sneak in. So, appreciating this to be Alfred throwing his hand up and hiding his eyes for your sake.

It's awe inspiring to say the least, especially knowing you live above it every day. It felt like peeking through the lives of strangers and you couldn't look away. You don't know why he kept it from you but you didn't want to be shut out for knowing. Yet, you couldn't satiate your curiosity with just this visit.

You had told Alfred you had a meeting after a club and that you would be home late. For some strange reason he promised Dick would pick you up.

Water splashes up from a speeding tire as you walk along the misty Gotham streets, “Aw man, come on!” Of course Dick didn't show! Why would he? When has he ever?

Now, in this situation, Alfred would wish for you to call him for assistance.

“Over there! Look, look!” Across the intersection a pair gasps and squeals, fingers pointed up at the Boy Wonder. The last thing on his mind as he leapt through the night sky, was an unwanted sister.

If only Alfead could get everything he's ever wished for, but you're not a fairy.

Following gunshot and bangs you skirt around chaos, nearly avoiding an obvious outbreak of costumed thugs. You watch in ired fascination as they beat down each threat thoroughly. As the moon starts to sit lower again and the bad guys are carted away, you realize how long you've been gone.

You arrive at the gates in tune to be blown past by the Batmobile. Inside, Alfred gives you a look as if he knows every secret you've even kept. Thankfully he doesn't say a word, You're out of your damp clothes by the time the dynamic duo ascend to the manor.

For people of the shadows, they never could seem to see you creeping through them.

It's through this that you managed to learn about Barbra Gordon. The commissioner's daughter was someone you could only catch glimpses of from time to time. It was rare for you to catch her attention. Much too preoccupied with her work for the Bat, your father.

The batgirl's skill inspired your own delve into tech. Hacking, coding and even trying your hand at tinkering with new devices. Creations that you've jerry-rigged and hoped against hope that she would even glance at.

She's coming over today, you overheard dick say so. You've poked your head over the banister as you wait to spot the red head. Yet, once she's there, you freeze. Dick and Barbara push through the front doors together. Light rain chasing them inside from the sturing storm. Their foot falls followed by light laughter and easy chitchat. If only it was so easy for you.

You watch as your brother scurries off, promising to grab a towel. This is your shot. “Oh, um!” Words are coming from you before you even know what to say. Stumbling over yourself, you bumble over, haltung in front of her. “B-Barbra?”

“Huh, who?” At the ruckus you've made, she whips around. Head on a swivel 'till green eyes locking on you. “Oh! It's you.. uh..” looking you up and down she stumbles as well.

You have to give her your name, again.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Barbra looks off sheepishly, carting a hand through her hair. Hand flicking droplets from the ginger ringlets.

“It's okay..” that's alright, that's normal Even. You don't see each other all that often.. even though you remembered her name just fine. “I just want to ask you about some-” Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, she cuts you off before you can pull out what you want to share with her.

“I've actually got to-” Her mouth snaps shut before she thinks better of words, “Well, um, talk with Bruce.” She finishes with an awkward chuckle and mumbled “Y'know how it is. Always something with the Wayne's.”

No, “Yeah..” You didn't know.

You've never shared more than a last name with the Wayne's.

Patting your head she smiles, “Sorry again, hun. Maybe later?” turning away down the hall Dick had disappeared to. Even to the all seeing eye you were nothing but a mere fly on the wall.

Gothams streets were dark, dangerous, and the only place you could see them for more than a minute. You loved nights like this, when you could slip from the manor. Undetected by the inattentive gazes that should have kept a preteen like you home.

With this habit of bird watching, you found yourself looking more into your subpar self defense. Living in Gotham has given you a natural caution but all too often you've wound up in tight situations. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. Maybe if you show them you could do that, fight back, they might see you.

You put yourself out there over and over, “Uh, d-dad?” Alfred insisted you call him that, but it never felt right, “I've been doing, um, I have this..” taking a breath you force it out, “It's martial arts, could you come see me?”

Another paper half glance at before the typical, “I'll see what I can do.”

Apparently, there are some things even Batman can't do.

“H-hey.. I, uh, am doing..” You pull out the flier for your competition. inspecting it over before looking to see him. Half-heartedly glancing up from his comic, Dick gives you a once over before continuing to read, “Gymnastics.”

Finally his eyes hold yours when the word shoots from your mouth. For a second you think this is it. This is when you’ll finally have his attention. Finally make that long awaited connection with your big brother. “I'll see, why don't you ask Bruce?” Dick lays the paper on the living room table in front of him.

“I did... he said the same thing.”

The paper is still there when you come back later.

[revelboo]

Merry Christmas!Can we get something for Blaster?

Why not. I do like his Batman antenna. Just a note- I imagine the holomatter avatars look perfectly human. So perfect that they unconsciously freak real humans out. You look at them and your brain says, yep, that’s a human, while your subconscious is all animal instinct screaming that it’s not

Shoot Me In The Smile

Blaster x Reader

• Servos drumming on his console in the uncomfortable aftermath of Megstron’s broadcast, Blaster leans back and glances at Optimus. Listening to Ironhide’s belligerent disbelief that any Cybertronian would frag a human, his optics keep catching on the look their leader’s face. Knows that there’s more than a a few humans in the Ark. He’s seen them being carried about by their caretakers like exotic pets. But now he’s wondering about it. About Jazz sneaking out constantly and returning scenting like human. Of Optimus and Prowl both scenting much more strongly of the little organics than the other caretakers. And the almost pained look on Optimus’s face as Ironhide rants. They all have their secrets, he guesses. And he’s going to be late if he doesn’t go now.

• Putting your car in park, you press your forehead against the steering wheel. Count to ten to get yourself together, shut off the engine, and get out with a smile firmly in place. Pulling the awkward case out of the passenger side, you sling the strap over your shoulder and head inside. Spotting the rest of the band setting up, you throw up a hand in greeting and hear your drummer whoop at you. Making your way backstage, you start changing your clothes. Shedding yourself in favor of leather and glitter. Lining your eyes and painting your face until a stranger stares back at you. Someone who’s not timid, not terrified of crowds and overwhelmed by the noise and heat of the spotlights. The version of you that people actually like and you despise. “You should wear the wig tonight. They love it.” Turning, you smile weakly at your lead bassist, but oblige him. And it really is a stranger staring back now. All of you erased and gone.

• “Again?” Pausing at the door of his habsuite, he glances at Eject as the cassette frowns up at him in obvious disapproval. Because he has no idea how to explain the obsession. He’d found you on a local station, surfing the airwaves out of boredom. And realizing you were a local, that the bar you played out of was so close? He hadn’t been able to resist. Using his holomatter avatar to slip inside just to hear you play. Something about the dissonance in your music had called to him, wedging in his spark and his processor. Music almost frantic, pure rock and roll, but your vocals, ranging from sweet to haunting, are what had snagged him. “I won’t be out late,” he says as Eject vents and exchanges a look with Rewind, worrying about him.

• Lingering just off stage as your heart races, you study the see of faces milling about. And realize you’re looking for your guy. The one whose expression never changes, who just stares at you the whole time you sing making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You almost swear he doesn’t blink. That intense focus of his is unnerving. Fascinating and a little frightening. You can’t tell if he has a crush on you or if he’s deciding where to hide your body. As the lights dim, you blow out a shaky breath and move onto the stage with your band mates. Hand lifting to wave as you smile even though you’re shaking and can’t hardly breathe. This should get easier, right? Except it never does.

• Hiding in the woods outside the bar, he transforms into his alt mode so if he’s discovered while his attention is divided, all a human will see is a boombox, feeling the pull as he mass shifts down past what would be possible for a normal Cybertronian. Draining his reserves every time. Shivering slightly, he focuses on the avatar and it glitches into existence. There’s an errant thought as he walks to the bar. What do you think of his avatar? Do you like it? Generating an ID to show the human at the door, he makes his way inside, focusing to stay solid as he works his way to the front of the crowd. It wouldn’t do for someone to accidentally pass an arm through him and start screaming. And then there you are, guitar in hand, eyes closed as the lights dim and the spotlights bathe the stage in ruddy light. Hands shifting on the strings, your eyes open and unerringly find him as the music swells and you sing just for him. The crowd gone until it’s only you two.

They’re not patient at all

[uruncletobi]

♱⃓ Disciples of Wren | Chapter One ♱⃓

Descriptions: est. 1660 words, sapphic vampire fantasy

cw: mentions of death, blood

The creature came upon me with a strange sort of curiosity. A sharp eyed, cervine gaze and a body to match the face. In my state, I thought them to be frail. I imagined those thin legs snapping beneath their movement, but they didn’t. Each footstep echoed as it fell onto the chapel floor. Steady and refined, unfazed by the blood soaked pews; unfazed by my body being there at all. When they finally approached my position, I gathered what strength I had left and swung a pitiful blow at the creature. A small laugh fell from their mouth as they took a step back to avoid the punch. The sound was slick with pity.

My vision had siphoned down to pinholes and for a moment I felt a bit of relief at the stranger circling me. If they were real and not a figment of my dying mind; that is, if they were going to kill me, at least this would finally be over. The eyeing continued for a while. The sound of their heeled shoes annotating my shallow breaths, clunking like hooves on cobblestones. A pale horse; a reaper.

Then the distance closed. Like a flash of lightning, suddenly I could feel their breath on my neck. My whole body burned with adrenaline, but there was no where to run now. What solace I had found in the prospect of a timely death was rapidly being replaced with a primal fear. I would have thrown the thing off of me if I had any fight left but my limbs were numb. So I just lay at it’s mercy. Thinking an endless array of horrific scenarios, and if I should start praying again, but then deciding against it. What a pitiful existence; my last aching moments, wasted on questioning god and tallying every sin I’d committed. I remember wondering if a hell was waiting for me on the other side. I could have smiled, and perhaps I did. I hoped the depths of eternal damnation would be more gentle with me.

The ceiling of the little church looked so far away in that last moment. Stretching from me, as if I were falling or the building itself climbing up towards the sky. Rings of crimson clouded my vision. More and more, filling up the space until there was nothing else. Until I felt no more pain and the yellow light from inside the chapel was completely gone. It was as if I’d struggled into a deep sleep. The kind of slumber you only experience when you’re ill; heavy, and uncomfortable but sleep nonetheless.

When I woke up I was in no hell I could recall, but perhaps a new rendition of its horror. I breathed, and I lived, but my body was so still. There is a gentle hum of life we tend to ignore in our day to day but now that it was gone from me, I missed it. I searched my body over as if to ground myself, trailing my hands over my bare stomach and chest. More concerning than my lack of clothes was the rough stitches I found all over my wounds. Dozens of rudimentary sutures with the skin puckered at each knot; dark purple in contrast to my skin which appeared grey in the low light.

My eyes widened like black marbles in my face, darting about my surroundings. There was nothing but a small room that reeked of wet rot and various stacks of old scripture. Neither of which brought me peace. Neither of which gave clue to my previous or current plight. I grappled at the sheets on the small bed to cover myself as I sat up. They smelled like dust, just like everything else in the place. The skin around the stitches stretched insufferably with my movement. The searing that coursed through my body was unimaginable. I held my breath in fear I would let out a sound and partly in fear of snuffing the only light source I had to keep me company; a puny candelabra. I eyed the thing curiously as I inched my way towards it.

I lifted the candelabra and ghosted my hand over the surface of the bed side table, before reaching for one of the two drawers. I thought if nothing else, perhaps the piece of furniture hid a clue of what had happened to me, and if not that maybe a weapon. I hunched over the thing, gripping the little handle like it was a lifeline, before slowing pulling it open.

“I assume you’re looking for these.” The voice ripped through my prolonged silence like thunder. I clenched the sheets that covered me in one hand and the candelabra in the other, as I whipped around to face the interloper. The open door was peeled back revealing a darkened hallway, like an abyss. One that kept the owner of the voice safe from my view. All hidden, apart from their hands which jutted out of the pitch with my old clothes balanced in them.

“Don’t come any closer. Who are you?” My voice trembled as I spoke. In that moment my confusion frightened me more than the stranger in the doorway.

“How do you feel?” The voice spoke again, ignoring my question. “I imagine you must be quite confused by all this.” Confused was a gentle way of putting it. I was beside myself with questions, and the casual nature of the persons inquiry frustrated me.

“Where am I? Answer me plainly.” There was a lull after my demands that made the open door very unsettling. I felt exposed. Wether I’d liked to admit it or not, I was at the mercy of this stranger. “You’re in my home.”

“I said plainly.” My frustration was growing, as was my fear.

“Plainly stated, you’re in a chapel.”

Memories of the previous evening flooded my mind. I had run for miles to find the abandoned chapel, only for it to not be as abandoned as I’d hoped. They were waiting for me.

“The Disciples.” The words were hushed on my lips. I feared if I spoke too loudly, somehow they would hear me, discover me.

“I’m not one of them if that is what concerns you.” The strangers tone sounded vexed by even notion. Then there was a gentle crunch of dirt on the stone floors as they stepped through the doorway; finally revealing themselves.

A long, slender form appeared first. She was tall and well dressed. A high collar, button up tunic tucked neatly into slacks and hanging from her neck, a long beaded necklace with a large pendant at the end that dangled just above her belt. I admired her with a strange sort of awe and confusion.

Her prominent nose arched confidently towards me. Above that; a smooth brow sat, hanging over a set of garnet eyes that sliced through the rest of her features, capturing me. Her hair was pin straight and long; cascading black lengths that seem to reach down until they disappeared into the darkness surrounding her. I stared for a long while, unspeaking. It was as if my mind had chosen to forgive the current situation in favor of her. She was captivating. A type of beauty that transcended gender.

If it weren’t for the sound of her heels hitting the floor I might have stayed like that, unmoving. Though as she approached further, those calm, refined steps began to echo in my skull and more images started to resurface in my memory.

“Stop.” I whispered. I hadn’t intended to but I seemed to have lost my breath as I began to recognize the creature. I shoved the candelabra forward in an attempt to ward her off.

“I’d like to check your wounds if you’ll allow me.” She spoke calmly, but each word was tinged with annoyance.

“No! I remember you. You-“

She cut me off. “If you are remembering correctly, you will recall me sewing your body back up after those friends of yours made quite the carnage of you.” I was startled by her air of dominance. She did not raise her voice, nor her hand towards me and yet I found myself poised; ready to listen and obey.

“Let me explain myself. Lie down.”

And I did. The stranger took the candelabra from my hand and placed it on the table. “May I?” She asked, gesturing towards the sheet that covered my chest. “I’ll keep you modest. I just need to check those sutures.” I nodded hesitantly as she lifted the sheet and began inspecting my injuries.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Victoria.” She replied softly. She was focused, meticulously poking and prodding at each stitch; pulling small cries from my throat with every inspection.

“I’m Irene.” I choked out between the pain. “Well, Irene you are healing as well as I could’ve hoped for, but I need to go get something to cover these. Stay put.”

“Wait, you haven’t explained a thing to me. How do I know you will return?”

“We’re not strangers any longer, Irene. Have a little faith in me.” She murmured while covering me, then turned around and left the room. The door remained open but somehow my discomfort was not eased.

When Victoria returned she carried a large bundle in her arms. “These are new clothes for you to change into. While I don’t recommend you leave, I am not keeping you prisoner either. If you wish to stay this room is yours for the night.” She placed the bundle in my lap and headed for the door again.

“You’re leaving again? Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” The woman turned did not turn around to reply but only stoped briefly in her motion.

“Come to me tomorrow. Rest now.”

And I did.

[hedwig221b]

Can we get a Twilight tease for Chrimus 👹🫶🏼🙏🏼🎄🎄

merry crisis! 🎄 here, have a whole chunk since I'm not posting fics anymore this year

“…and it’s not sunny, which is the perfect weather, you know, because it would blind anyone. And the ground is not slippery so everything would be fine and dandy. And you trained so hard, like, I don’t know how they listen to you—”

“Can you, please, breathe?” Derek smiled.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his forehead with shaking fingers. Absently, he kicked the small rock, and it ricocheted off the wall next to the team’s locker room. Behind Derek’s looming figure, the school stadium was bathed in projector lights and a booming buzz of excitement. The sea of red and white puttered on one side, mirrored by the black and blue on the other.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, schooling his expression into an encouraging smile. “I just came to wish you good luck.”

Derek inclined his head, studying him closely. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothin’,” Stiles chirped, smacked a kiss on Derek’s cheek, and was about to sidestep him when Derek caught his hand. His fingers rubbed the inside of Stiles’ wrist, where the veins fluttered under the thin skin.

“What happened?” Derek repeated.

He spoke so quietly that Stiles struggled to hear him. Or was it the noise in Stiles’ ears?

Stiles breathed out harshly, rocking on his toes. “Dad knows.”

“About us?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Not an ounce of sarcasm was in Derek’s voice. He sounded ridiculously calm as if he did not care about the upcoming game, or Stiles' dad, or the Saturday meeting— “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Stiles snorted. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Derek arched his eyebrows. “I’d like to know your family. And I want him to know who I am, to trust me with you.”

“God,” Stiles shook his head, swallowing harshly. Pins and needles poked his fingers until Derek caught them in his steady warm grip. For a minute, they stood in silence until the anxiety ebbed away to a manageable level. Stiles cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s going to be alright,” said Derek, sliding his hand into Stiles' one. “He’s going to like me. We’ll form a coalition and call it Stiles’ Worriers. Get it?” Derek poked him in the stomach.

“Stop.”

“It’s because we worry about you. And care about you.”

“I get it.”

Derek smiled lightly and opened his arms. “Come here.”

Stiles folded into his embrace like a wave into the sand, dissolving into his strong body, and letting Derek hold him. Just for a bit, Stiles thought. Just for a second…

Closing his eyes, Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck and breathed. The wolf’s hands stroked his lower back, his chin rubbing against Stiles’ temple.

Slowly, Stiles’ heartbeat calmed. The lodge in his throat eased.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said hoarsely.

Derek chuckled. He leaned away, cupped Stiles' face, and kissed him properly. Stiles could already taste the victory on his tongue.

“Go to your seat, okay?” said Derek. “Have fun watching me win the game for you.”

Stiles huffed as the grin took over his freshly kissed lips. “I will. Seriously, good luck, though.” He stepped around Derek, letting their hands fall apart.

“You’re all the luck I need,” said Derek, making Stiles laugh at the cheesiness.

When he climbed the bleachers, everyone stared at him. At least, that’s what it felt like. Hundreds of eyes followed him as he entered the ‘VIP’ section and sat between Allison and Lydia. Hundreds of mouths murmured about Stiles’ dating life, debating whether it was good or bad that he and Hale were together.

Allison handed him a red scarf, which she had knitted herself. It was a token of initiation, she said with a smile.

Stiles wrapped it around his neck, then let Lydia rewrap it so that he ‘wouldn’t bring shame to her name’. They rose when the team ran out on the field, grinning hard, and hollering.

And when Stiles caught Derek’s bright gaze, he found it hard to care about those hundreds.

[heliswife]

𝖎'𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘 🎄 s.coups x reader

for: @cxffecoupx (I was ur secret santa ehe ;3)

warnings : kys jokes, enemies to lovers, roommates to lovers, i project my student council election trauma on yn, I also don't know what both college and snow are like, making out but nothing further

wc: 1.6k + 0.3k epilogue ; 1.9k total ♡

It hasn't even been a month in of your second year of college and you were already about to kill yourself.

Why exactly? Because you and your roommate, who had grown to be one of your best friends, have to leave the dorms and be separated.

“What do you mean I need to move dorms? What's wrong with this one?” You complained to your RA.

“Sorry y/n, but your dorm has a high chance of having a mold infestation, we're going to need to get mold remediation.” The RA answers with the most bullshittiest reason you could think of. Why would there be mold in your dorm? 

Okay, maybe your roommate forgot to throw away the expired cheese that's been in your fridge since last school year, but still! It was complete bullshit!

What was worse than that was that your new roommate was none other than the student council president himself, Choi Seungcheol.

If it was just any ordinary student council president, you wouldn't mind that much. But this was the guy who you ran against and lost to. By a lot. This was like rubbing salt in a reopened wound to you.

“You're y/n, yeah?” He asks as if he doesn't remember who you are once you appear on his doorstep with all of your stuff.

“Yeah. Guess we're roommates now.” He takes a few steps from the doorway, allowing you to enter.

“Mhm, guess we are,” Seungcheol carries some of your bags in the dorm for you, a kind gesture for someone like him.

“Say, Seungcheol, how's student council treating you? Would've been better with me in it.” 

His eyes narrow at your remark. “Being student council president is really fun, actually! Everyone loves me, maybe that's why I won the elections,” He taunts, a wide smirk on his face.

“Whatever, Seungcheol,” You snap, giving up on the battle you started. “Where's my room?”

“Are you usually this much of an ass? You should be lucky I offered to take you in, otherwise you'd be on the streets.” Seungcheol guides you to your room, which is also… his room? “I only have one bedroom. I wasn't expecting to get a roommate, I'll sleep on the floor.”

“I don't need your pity, I'll sleep on the floor. At least until we get a new bed.” You sit yourself down on the carpet of your new bedroom. 

You look around, and it's a pretty normal bedroom. It's decorated with some posters of bands and pictures of him and his friends, but it’s not overly decorated to the point where it's cluttered.

“This bed is uncomfortable anyways, I think you should sleep on it,” Before you could respond, Seungcheol picked you up and threw you on the bed. You bounced up a little from the impact, and Seungcheol took your place on the floor.

“I despise you.”

“The feeling's mutual, y/n. Now, what do you want for dinner?”

You were going to strangle this bitch.

Months had passed since you started living with Seungcheol, and the atmosphere was still thick (though not as tense as before) with you two. 

It wasn't as bad as before, though. The two of you found a routine and stuck to it. You two would stay away from each other, only talking when necessary. 

It felt a little odd though, seeing Seungcheol in such a domestic light. He was sort of attractive while making dinner, a silly thought in the back of your head that you'd only keep to yourself.

The air has been getting colder lately, and the snowflakes whirling to the ground, covering the once green grass in a thick sheet of white.

“The snow is nice, isn't it?” Your roommate asks, appearing by your side completely out of the blue. You perk up and turn your head to him. Though he was talking about how nice the snow was, he was looking directly at you.

“Yeah, it's pretty,” You awkwardly reply. “Are you going back home for the holidays?”

“I'd love to, but can't. You?”

“I am, it'll be a nice break, two weeks without you.” As if the world hated you, your phone dinged. You checked the notification and your smile dropped. “My flight back literally got canceled.”

“Karma's a bitch,” He says, but takes it back once he sees the sad expression on your face. “Sorry. I guess you're staying here?”

You sigh, “Yeah, I guess so. It's going to be snowing a lot today, weather told me there would be at least 20 centimeters of snow today.”

“So we can't go outside either. Meaning I'm stuck with you inside the house.” Seungcheol's conclusion was your worst nightmare. Being stuck at home alone with him for two long, long weeks. “The snowfall is getting more intense.” 

You look outside the frosted window, the trees dancing in the heavy winds. 

Then, an odd sound from somewhere in the house. “I'll go check it out.” Seungcheol offers, and comes back a minute later with a frown.

“What was it?” You start biting the inside of your cheek anxiously.

“Our heater broke.” He states. “I'll tell the RA and ask them to fix it.” 

“What do we do in the meantime? Oh god, I hate this, why did I have to move out that day..?” You pace back and forth around the living room, but you're suddenly stopped by Seungcheol's hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n. We're going to figure this out, okay? I just texted the RA and I'm waiting for a response. Go get all the blankets from our room, ‘kay?” The way he ordered you around was kind of hot though you'd rather die than tell him that.

You gathered all the blankets from the bedroom and threw them down on the floor. “Now what?”

 Seungcheol organizes the blankets so they're all in a neat stack and lifts them up for you. “Get in the blankets, and we'll huddle together for warmth.”

“I am not going close to you.”

“Do you want to die?” You don't say anything and just crawl in the pile, Seungcheol following after.

You lean to your side, resting your head on his shoulder. “You're warm…”

“Weren't you complaining about this a second ago?” Seungcheol says, but really, he likes the affection you're giving him right now. 

“Shh, you're making me feel colder by yapping,” You wrap your arm around his. 

“Good grief.”

The next few minutes are silent. Then, a few tears start to spill out of your eyes. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” Seungcheol's tone is different from the other times he's talked to you. It's more heartfelt, more sincere. Almost as if he didn't hate you. 

“I don't know,” You sniffle, “A lot has happened in the past few months, huh?”

His arm is now around your shoulder, rubbing your arm up and down in an attempt to soothe you. “Yeah, I know you didn't want this to happen, but-”

“Cheol?” You interrupt him. You move the arm that was wrapped around his to wipe a tear from your cheek.

“Yeah?”

“I think I might like you.” The words come out as a shock to the both of you. Even you hadn't expected yourself to say that.

“That's surprising. Think I might like me too,” Seungcheol deadpans, but the glare he receives from your teary eyes makes him realize: this is serious. You're being serious. “Oh shit, y/n, I like you too. Seriously, I do.”

“For real? I thought you hated me?”

“I thought you hated me?” 

You're about to say something in response, but then it hits you. You did hate him. “I did at first because I was jealous, but then when I moved in with you I started liking you and so I kept covering my feelings up and-”

“Y/n. It's alright.” It's Seungcheol's turn to interrupt. “I get it.” He smiles at you before bringing you into a hug.

“Can we kiss?” You're half-joking, half-serious, but you're really hoping Seungcheol takes it seriously. 

And he does. His lips on yours feels like a dream come true. You can feel his smirk against your lips as he slips his tongue in.

It's messy, a passionate embrace of two lovers, but it's just what you need to warm you up.

Before one of you two could take it further, there's a buzzing from Seungcheol's phone. He ignores it the first and second time, but on the third, he moves his lips and checks his texts.

“It's the RA,” He informs, wiping the mixture of yours and his drool from his mouth, “They're going to come once the snowstorm gets less intense. We still have some time.” He winks at you, butterflies getting sent to your stomach.

For once, you're not mad about it. “Okay then, let me just tell my parents something.” You take your phone out and open the family group chat you have pinned to your contacts.

“Flight got cancelled,” You write, “I won't be coming home for Christmas.” You end the text message with a frowny face before turning your phone on do not disturb. “Now, where were we?”

Maybe being moved to a different dorm was a good thing after all.

“Finally, it's Christmas,” You say, putting the star up on the Christmas tree that you and your roommate (now boyfriend since the events that day) share. “Ta-da! We finished!”

“It looks great, doesn't it?” Seungcheol replies. He's currently holding you up so you can reach the top of the tree. Once he puts you down, both you and him marvel at the sight of the heavily decorated tree.

“Mhm, I got you a present too,” You go over and dig through your bag, handing him a bunny plushie holding a heart. “D'you like it, Cheolie?”

He inspects the cherry red rabbit in his hands, “It's adorable. I got you something too.”

“What is it?” Seungcheol gives you a gift bag in your favorite color, decorated with hearts. 

You open the bag in eagerness, revealing a book you've wanted for ages. “You knew what I wanted? I love you so much,” You thank him, hugging him tightly.

“Of course I remember what you wanted,” Seungcheol gently ruffles your head, “How's your family doing?”

“They're doing good, they really want to meet you,” You tell him, and he grins in response.

“We could do that next break, but let's hope that your flight doesn't get canceled again,” He remarks, laughing at your pouty face, “Even worse if our AC breaks.”

“We wouldn't be able to huddle for warmth like last time though, I'd distance myself from you.” You punch him in the arm. 

He retaliates by putting you in a loose headlock, only letting go once you start frantically apologizing. “No matter the weather, I'd want to stay close to you, cause I love you.”

“How romantic, I love you too, darling.” You had always believed winter was your least favorite season, but starting this year, it would be your favorite.

(hohoho! 🎅 merry xmas to everyone who celebrates!)

[scar-crossedlvrs]

A Secret Santa Gift for @vaaaaaiolet

featuring Leon S. Kennedy + christmas morning + forced proximity ( loose interpretation tbh ) + a reference to a christmas movie!

A/N: I want to profusely apologize for how late this is! I had something else written completely and absolutely hated it, scrapped it and now we’ve got this which i’m a million times happier with. I genuinely hope you enjoy this vivi, i feel so rusty when it comes to writing so the only thing i can do is hope you enjoy! and to everyone that participated in @leonsecretsanta , y’all did some amazing work and i can’t wait to enjoy it all

includes: agent reader. disappointing circumstances. being stuck in a hotel room for the holidays

wc: 1.2k

“Damn it.” 

Your eyes flicker to your work partner across the room just as he tosses his earpiece onto his bed in frustration. Steel blue eyes meet your confused gaze and Leon can’t do much but offer you a shrug. 

“Evac won’t be here for another twenty four hours.”

You stare, mouth falling open slightly in astonishment. “No way, It’s Christmas Eve. They can’t just leave us here.” 

It had already been a day since the two of you had completed your last mission, sharing the best hotel room that the D.S.O. was willing to shell out on the other side of the country. Hunnigan had promised that the two of you would be back in time to spend Christmas in the comfort of your own home, but now? They decided to wait until 11pm to let you know that you wouldn’t be making it home in time for the holiday at all. 

It wasn’t as if it was the first time they left the two of you stranded like this. 

“Apparently, everyone else gets the pleasure of a half day. They forgot about us.” 

You groan, falling dramatically into the plush of your own queen bed, face smushed into the low quality hotel comforter. Leon can’t do much past helplessly watching your plight in silence for a few minutes before sitting himself on the edge of your bed, a comforting hand finding a perch on your shoulder blade. 

“It could have been worse.” his words weren’t as comforting as either of you wished they could have been, but it was enough to make you right yourself into a seated position beside him. Even if it was just to shoot him an annoyed glare. 

“Easy for you to say.” you grumble. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes in response, standing up with a pat to your shoulder. “Just take a shower, get some sleep. We’ll figure out what to do about this in the morning.” 

Inhaling sharply through your nose, you nod. “Yeah, you’re right. Nothing we can do about it now anyway.” 

You begrudgingly stand, sulking your way to the bathroom to wash away the disappointment and wind down for bed, and when you emerge clean and in a slightly better mood, Leon is nowhere to be found. 

Strange.

—

You awaken the next morning to the sound of shuffling. Eyes peel open in the soft morning light, the curtains having been drawn open in order to allow the sun to shine into the dingy hotel room, brightening it up ever so slightly. Letting out a soft groan, you let your eyes fall shut once more, remembering exactly where you are in the moment. 

“You awake?” Leon’s voice rings out. “Merry Christmas.”

You flop onto your side, prying your eyes open once more to see him seated on the edge of his bed. He hadn’t returned back to the hotel room by the time you had fallen asleep, so part of you was surprised to see him here clad in a green sweater. As you right yourself, he holds something out to you with a halfhearted smile. “Here.”

Bleary eyed, you take the red bundle and inspect it further. It doesn’t take much to identify it as another sweater, the matching pair to the one he already had on his frame. Brows furrow for a moment as your sleep ridden brain slowly begins to piece things together. 

“Just change into it and we can have some breakfast,” Leon ushers, motioning you towards the bathroom as he stands, turning his back to you rather suspiciously. 

You shrug, tossing the covers off of your body before placing your feet onto the cool, carpet covered floor. Standing, you glance towards the man once more to find him glaring at you, a finger pointing towards the bathroom in a silent command. 

“Fine, fine.” you grumble softly, shuffling your feet as you make your way into the bathroom to wash the sleep from your eyes and dress yourself in your new gifted sweater. A pretty little red cable knit number that you probably would have put back in favor of something with a little more festive flair, but it was definitely more pleasant to look at than the dull black you already had on. 

The moment you left the bathroom, you halted in surprise at the sight before you. The first thing that caught your eye was the miniature tree placed on the desk in the corner of the room. Lights twinkled around it, reflecting off the small red and green baubles that decorated the branches. Tracing the perimeter of the room, you noticed the cheap paper snowflakes plastered to the window as well as a cardboard santa propped in the opposite corner as the tree. Leon had turned on the dinky television, now playing some stop motion animated christmas film you hadn’t watched in years. You hadn’t even made it to the “breakfast” spread atop his bed by the time you could feel yourself grinning from ear to ear. 

“I take it you like it?” Leon perked up at the sight of your smile, unable to hide the one that was growing on his own lips. “I know it’s no Kevin Mcallister at the Plaza Hotel, but I figured it was better than nothing.” 

You nod, turning to meet him with bright eyes. Without warning, you throw your arms around him, catching him by surprise. It takes a moment, but his own arms fold around you. You squeeze him tightly in your arms before taking a step back, face warm in embarrassment at the sudden physical contact shared between the two of you. He doesn’t seem to mind it however, instead leading you to the impressive selection for your holiday breakfast ( what appeared to be a variety of snacks emptied from the local gas station’s shelves ).

“How’d you manage this?” you question, taking a moment to sift through the pre-packaged pastries and snack sized bags of chips.

“Well, you seemed to be really disappointed about this situation so I thought I’d do something to make it better.” he started, propping himself on the edge of his bed. 

“Not why, how?” you snort softly, nudging him with your hand before sitting down beside him, packaged cookie in hand. 

“Oh, well after you went to shower I got the idea for all this. Spent half the night hunting for somewhere that was even open. Thank god for gas station convenience stores.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You got everything from a gas station? Even the tree?” 

Leon nods, reaching behind him to pluck out a bag of chips for his own meal. “Remind me we need to take that back before we get picked up. They made me pay an arm and a leg for it and still want it back.”

You nod, silently taking in the hotel room around you that suddenly seemed to be much less miserable than it had been last night before turning your gaze back to him. “I don’t have anything for you.”

He shrugs, “I don’t need anything, just knowing you’re not miserable is enough.” 

You smile softly once more, attention turning to the colorful characters on screen. Taking a bite of your cookie, your head falls to his shoulder. 

“Thanks.”

[leftoverghosts]

in the valley of shadow

hades!art x persephone!reader. past art x tashi.

"I'd rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else."

warnings: dark obsessive art ala hades. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. not beta read.

nori says: sfw—i know i said blurbs would be nsfw, but obsessive art takes a lot of me!! crazy to get this same quote for him twice, but i had so much fun!!! as always, xoxo.

word count: 2,000?~

You were twenty three, freshly graduated and just beginning to dip your toes into the world of professional tennis. The bright lights, the buzzing crowds, the endless possibilities—all of it felt like a dream. But among all the faces and all the players, one stood out to you like no other.

Art Donaldson.

Seven years your senior, he was a legend amongst Stanford Alumni and seemed to embody everything you strived to become. His confidence on the court seemed unshakable. Yet, there was something about him that held a shadow, a darkness that made you wonder if there was more beneath that perfection his wife demanded of him.

You first crossed paths with him at a Donaldson Foundation event—an annual gathering where up-and-coming talents like yourself were invited to volunteer with children who had an interest in tennis.

You’d always admired him from afar, reading about his triumphs, watching his old matches, and marveling at how effortlessly he dominated the game. But meeting him face-to-face left you speechless. His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see right through you.

"How’s it feel to be the next big thing?" he asked with a knowing smile, his warm voice enveloping you.

It was a simple question, one you could have easily answered thanks to your media training in college. But as you looked into his eyes, something inside you stirred.

“I’m just starting out. Still have a long way to go,” you gesticulated wildly, trying to appear humble.

He chuckled, a sound that was full of harrowing amusement. “We all start somewhere, but not all of us get to where we want to go.”

You smiled nervously, but the words stuck in your throat. He was magnetic. Something about him made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt before.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From then on, whenever you found yourself in the same vicinity as the Donaldsons, Art would make a point to seek you out. Your discussions were never long, but they always left you feeling exhilarated.

When you won, his compliments were overflowing. But when you lost, his analysis of your gameplay felt like a puzzle, filled with subtle warnings. You told yourself it was just his love for the game and his drive to push those around him to be their best.

It would have been easy to romanticize his intensity, to make excuses for the way his eyes lingered a bit too long or how his questions about your career felt overly personal, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He was married, you knew that.

Tashi was always by his side, a constant presence that kept him grounded in the public eye. But there were moments when you could see the cracks in their united front. They manifested in the way he looked at you during the press events, or how he’d make a point of saying goodnight to you in crowded rooms when the evening grew late.

You convinced yourself that it was all harmless. That Art saw something in you, as a fan and a mentor of sorts. A fellow athlete who could understand the sacrifices, the pressures of the game.

He had a way of making you feel desired, whether it was a fleeting touch on your arm or a lingering look that made your heart race. You wanted his attention, and he gave it to you. But you were naive enough to believe it was just admiration.

It wasn't until later that you realized Art wasn't someone who admired from afar— he wanted to consume you.

There was a moment—a turning point—that you would look back on, your heart in your throat, wondering what you’d been thinking.

You were alone in a back hallway of a hotel during a tournament. Tashi was elsewhere, surrounded by other players and the media, and Art had found you, waiting for you just outside the elevator.

“I saw you play today,” he said softly, tenderly moving away the hair from your face. He was too close for this to be considered friendly, but you didn’t push at him. “You have something, you know. Something special.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush under his touch.

"With the right team behind you, you could be more than just a player," he continued, pressing you against the wall as his voice dropped even lower. "You could be everything. Let me help you."

It wasn’t the words that alarmed you. It was the way he said them, as if he had already planned your future for you. The weight of his gaze felt like chains.

“I don't need anyone's help," you blurted out before pausing to think. “I’m doing this on my own.”

Something shifted in Art's expression, for just a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. He wasn't just the fierce and intense athlete you idolized; he was human. “You don’t have to be alone.” He brushed his lips against yours softly, “I can show you how much more you can be. How much more you can have.”

And that was when it hit you—the real reason you were drawn to him. It wasn’t the tennis. It wasn’t the accolades or the fame. It was that, for the first time, someone powerful had noticed you. Someone who could offer you everything— success, the world, and something darker and more alluring than you ever imagined.

But before you could respond, before you could step closer to the edge of that precipice, a voice called from down the hall, pulling you back to reality.

It was Tashi, her tone commanding, and when Art turned to look at her, there was a fleeting trace of annoyance on his face.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he offered you a small, almost sad smile, and then turned to walk away.

You stood there, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

You had slipped from his grasp. For now.

But you knew that Art was a man who didn’t let go easily.

And sooner or later, he would come for you again.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The locker room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Another win on the court meant nothing to you, as the weight of failure in your personal life pressed against your bones. Your racket bag sat slumped against the bench, abandoned like a forgotten piece of yourself. You rubbed at your temples, exhaustion and frustration clawing at you in equal measure.

“You played well,” came a voice from the doorway, warm and unmistakable.

Frightened, you looked up.

Art stood there, leaning casually against the inside frame of the only exit. He was dressed impeccably, as always—dark slacks and a perfectly tailored dress shirt you had given him, made him look more like a businessman than a retired athlete. His piercing blue eyes, with that gorgeous speck of brown, were locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

In one hand, he held a bottle of pomegranate juice— your favorite drink.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped, though you already knew the answer. Art was not one to listen to mortal things like court orders.

“I’m your coach, remember?” he shrugged, stepping inside as the door swung shut behind him. “It’s my job to be here for you.”

You stood up, putting the bench between you and the man who you hoped would soon be your ex-husband. “I told you I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you anymore.”

If anything, your words seemed to amuse him. “You’re upset,” he said calmly, as though addressing a child. “You’re not thinking clearly. I’ve done everything to help you—your sponsorship, your career, your success. That’s all because of me.”

Your stomach turned, upset that you were unable to deny those words in their entirety. “You manipulated me. You isolated me from everyone who mattered. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Those distractions?“ Art’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady, one of his eyebrows raised in question. “You think they cared about you the way I do? No one else would go to these lengths for you. No one else could understand you like I do.”

“This isn’t understanding, Art. This is control.”

“Control?” he echoed softly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. He was a man full of contradictions—each calculated move wrapped in a smile. For every decision made without your knowledge, there had been a kiss or a whisper to try and soothe your apprehension. It had worked before, and there was no reason to believe it wouldn't work now. To him, this was a tantrum that he was tired of waiting for you to finish. “Is that what you think this is? No. This is love. Love that no one else will ever be capable of giving you.”

“I’ve heard this before, Art. You’re hurting me like she hurt you.” You did not have to say Tashi’s name to be understood by him. She had been the one before you, the one who had owned him, in a way that still haunted him, even now. The thought of her, the reminder that Art’s heart had belonged to someone else, made a bitter knot tighten in your chest. It wasn’t just about jealousy—it was about the fear that he would never truly be yours the way he had been hers. “You still think about her,” you accused, your voice trembling with inadequacy.

“It’s not her, it’s you,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m always thinking of you. I’d rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else.” You sucked in a breath, upset that his declaration excited you and he knew—he knew the power he held over you, and he would never relinquish it.

He had already decided your fate. He was your captor, and you were his prize.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice fearful but resolute. “You can’t stop me.”

Art’s gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something crack beneath his calm facade. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a chilling certainty.

“Try,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice, low and laced with menace, seemed to echo in the space around you. “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t something you can just walk away from. Not anymore. We’re married.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap, the truth of them shattering the last vestiges of resistance in your chest. Art wasn’t just a man obsessed with you. He was a man willing to destroy everything in his path to keep you by his side. The world you thought you could escape to was gone. You were his wife, bound to him in ways you hadn't yet fully understood until now.

You frozen in place as he took a slow step forward, and watched as his gaze was drawn to the small but noticeable tan left behind by the missing wedding ring on your finger. His brand.

You could sense his anger just by the way his lips slightly parted as he reached for the bottle of juice and unscrewed the cap, taking a slow, deliberate sip before offering it to you. You gaped at the bottle in his hand.

A rush of panic flooded your chest, but before you could speak, Art closed the distance between you. His fingertips brushed against your cheek as he forcefully pulled you towards him, crushing his lips onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, as if he were pulling your very soul from your body. His tongue slipped past your lips, and you whimpered, caught in the web of his obsession.

The taste of pomegranate juice lingered on your palate, sweet but tainted, just like everything else Art had ever given you.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, his breath warm against your skin. "We are one. As we were always meant to be."

Your pulse raced, heart pounding, as you tried to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on you was relentless. He wasn’t letting you slip away again, not after everything he’d done to claim you.

And with every second you stood there, you could feel the walls closing in, just like the dark, silent underworld that had already begun to welcome you home.

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Cereal

Bucky Barnes x Single Mom! Reader

The Boy looks upon the many shelves of cereal. Some are bland, some are sugary, and others are healthy. Some have cartoon characters on the box, and many have real-life heroes. With all these heroes, he still couldn't find his. The boy sighed, his lips quivering. He wipes his eyes before his tears even begin to slip.

"Honey?" his mother called for him.

"He's not here," His voice shakes and tears spilling over.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she gently moved him to the side out of the way of after customers.

"H-he doesn't have o-one." He points to the shelves as he begins to cry. She tucks his face into her stomach as she takes a look at the shelves for herself. And her boy was right, his hero was not amongst those on the shelve.

"I'm sorry," she tried to rub his back, providing some comfort. " We'll look at different stores. Don't worry."

"No," he cried. This was the third store in a week, and they still hadn't found it. He was tired, and he knew they weren't going to find it. Frustratedly, he snatched off his prosthetic arm and tossed it down the aisle. ( Moments like this made her grateful she bought plastic).

"Absolutely not. We don't throw things." The round of gasps and how quickly the aisle emptied told her all she needed to know. They would not be making any purchases here today.

Wiping his tears, she stood up to retrieve the arm, only to find a man holding it.

"Excuse me, that's my son's." He was a tall, big man in a baseball cap, thick coat, and leather gloves. And in those gloved hands was her son's prosthetic.

He hands it to her, and she gives him a small thanks.

"How'd he lose it? If- If you don't mind me asking?"

She took a deep breath. This was going to go one of two ways. The educational route and she'd possibly teach this man something new or bashing route, and this man would get disrespectful, and she'd probably have to call security or the police.

"He didn't lose it. He was born without." She moved to her son, tucking him into her side. His cries had stopped, but his tears were still streaming.

"I ....there was an accident and lost mine." The man said, massaging his left hand. She didn't understand why he was telling them this. But she did appreciate him sharing a piece of him. " Why is he crying?"

"He has a favorite hero. He's like him, and we were trying to find his cereal or his snack or... just anything with him on it. We can't seem to find him anywhere."

"May I?" the man asked, motioning to her son, asking permission to approach him. She granted it and watched as he kneeled in front of her son, who was still tucked into her side. His tears had dried, and he seemed to be in ...awe?

It wasn't until the man removed his gloves, then cap, that she realized who he was, and she felt like an idiot. She had been researching this man with every free moment she had ever since her son declared him to be his favorite and just like him. And she couldn't tell the difference between him on stage and him in a baseball cap.

Embarrassing.

"Hi, my name is Bucky, what's yours?"

Her son whispered his name as he blushed. " That's a cool arm you got their bud."

"I have another one that's cooler. It has space on it," he said as his mother kneeled, putting it back on his elbow.

"That does sound cooler. Mine doesn't really have anything on it." Bucky said, pulling up his sleeve to show off his metal appendage. The son gasped in amazement as he stepped forward, his little fingers reaching and tracing the gold and black plates. The man watched him carefully as he touched and stayed very still.

She would have corrected her son's rude behavior any other time, but right now, with the awe on his face and the smile on Mr. Barnes's face, she didn't want to interrupt. Plus, she was as in awe as the fluorescent lights made it shine—both the arm and his smile.

"A friend made it for me. It's made of a special metal called vibranum."

"Like your friend's shield?" He whispered as he pulled away.

"Exactly," he whispered in return as he stood up. She stood up as well.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes. That was very kind of you, and we really appreciate it."

Bucky is fine, Mrs?" he said.

"(Y/n), (Y/n) (L/n). No, Mrs. No husband," she regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. But that didn't shut her up. " There is no one else. Just me. Just us."

Bucky gave a soft smile and nodded. " I'm sorry to hear that." He didn't look or sound sorry. "Listen, Um, I volunteer at this rehab for kids, and they have a lot of programs there, so if your son wanted, he could come join." Bucky pulled out a flyer from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it over to her. It looked to be a place for physically disabled children.

"This looks nice, actually. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. My number is on the back if you need any help with the program or stuff. or just ... Want to hang out ." Bucky cringed on how that came, but she just smiled and laughed. She turned the flyer over to see his number was indeed on the back.

"Oh"

"Hopefully, I'll see you two there."

"Definitely, I mean, yes. We'll be there, won't we, buddy."

"Will you be there?" The boy asked.

"As long as the world doesn't need saving, I'm there every other afternoon."

"Hopefully, the world doesn't need saving when we come by." she teased.

"Even if it did, I'm sure the others could handle it on their own. I wouldn't leave a doll like you waiting."

Doll.

Doll. She didn't know how, but with a single word, the man nearly put her on her knees. Suddenly, her heart had quickened, and her legs were shaky. And the way he bit his lips after and looked her up and down. Was he trying to devour her with such a stare? When did the atmosphere change?

A little squeak brought them both back to reality and reminded them of their little audience. No flirting in front of the babies.

"We'll be there, Mr. B...Bucky. We'll be there." Taking her son's hand, she turned to leave before stopping and saying, " I'll call."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Bye-bye," the boy waved to his hero with a big grin on his face. As he watched them walk away. His cereal crisis was long forgotten.

[psiqueromance]

Morning, simp. l.mk

The brightness of the morning sunlight through the curtains woke you up before your alarm clock dinged. You lifted your head from the pillow, unable to move any other part of your body due to the arm firmly gripping your lower back. You patted the nightstand until you found your cellphone, sleep still inhabiting your body too much to pick it up gracefully. The brightness of the phone made you close your eyes for a few seconds to get used to it, then you opened one of your eyes and groaned when you saw that there was only one minute left until your alarm clock could ding, the hopes of being able to sleep a little longer quickly leaving your body.

After turning off the alarm, you placed your head into the pillow again, sighing deeply before turning your body towards your boyfriend. Mark slept peacefully on your side, his arm around your body and his sightly mouth open, a few low snores coming out of it occasionally. You smiled, brushing the hair that partially covered his eyes.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, you gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Hesitantly, you pulled yourself out of Mark's grip, placing your feet on the cold floor, stretching your arms as you stretched, feeling your muscles relax from the night before, a smile on your lips as the memories flashed through your head.

Your moment standing up didn't last long, feeling two hands wrap around your waist and quickly pull you to the bed, you let out a startled cry, falling onto the bed next to your boyfriend. "Mark!"

He laughed in his hoarse morning voice, his eyes still half-closed, but the mischievous smile lighting up his face. "Where you think you're going so early?" he asked, his voice lazy, but full of affection. He made you return to the initial position, with his arm around your body, now with his face buried in your neck.

"Where I always go? Work." You protested, but your hand found its way into the man's soft hair, slowly caressing him the way you knew he liked. "Baby, I need to get up. Now."

"Five minutes..." he whispered in his husky morning voice into your neck, his arms wrapping you in a warm embrace.

You smiled, kissing the back of his neck. "But I don't have five minutes," you tried to get out of Mark's grip, failing miserably. "Mark!"

He climbed even higher on top of you, placing his body between your legs. "Dude, just five minutes!" he said, removing his head from your neck, kissing your lips. "I'll drive you." He murmured against your lips, trying to convince you.

"And...?"

"And I'll buy you breakfast at your favorite coffee shop, now let me kiss you," he rolled his eyes, kissing you slowly, one hand on the right side of your kiss and the other on your cheek. He tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss, feeling you wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him closer. Your hand went down from his neck to his abdomen, feeling his body through his shirt.

He broke the kiss, kissing your cheeks and nose before smiling at you and saying, "Good morning, babe."

You smiled, lifting your head a little from the bed to peck his lips again. "Morning, simp."

[4linos]

whispers of the heart

bang chan x gn!reader, (+ slight han jisung x reader)

synopsis/request: caught between two people who matter most, one person must navigate a sea of jealousy, love, and confusion to find a way forward.

wc: 3178 (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥)

It was late, and the practice room was dim save for the glimmer of exit signs and a few scattered lights that remained on. The group had ended their practice minutes before, yet the enthusiasm lingered in the air. The members were relaxing, cooling down, and talking casually. You were sitting on the floor with your legs crossed and your phone in your hands, attempting to catch up on messages from your friends. The low murmur of voices was almost comfortable, a sense of familiarity that you had come to like since starting your relationship with Chan.

But tonight… something felt off.

Jisung had been quieter than usual, his attention seemingly divided between the group and you. You hadn't noticed it at first, but now when you notice the way he looks at you, something makes your stomach tighten. It was a different lingering, softer than the typical fun taunting that characterized your friendship. Your glance briefly met his, and he quickly averted his sight, but not quickly enough for you to notice the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. You grimaced slightly, pushing off the emotion, but your eyes couldn't help but return to him. Jisung had always been friendly to you, just as Chan was, and you had never doubted their friendship until now.

However, Chan hadn't missed a single thing. He had been watching you and Jisung from the corner of the room for the last half hour. And with each passing second, the gnawing feeling in his chest intensified. He'd seen how Jisung laughed at you when you made a joke, how his hand lingered on your shoulder as he passed by, and how he laughed at your every word as if you were the only one in the room. Chan had always trusted Jisung and knew that your bond was unbreakable but today it felt like everything was shifting.

He sensed something was wrong when Jisung made a comment about how cute you looked when you smiled, which was far too intimate for someone who was supposed to be a friend. Chan's fingers tightened into fists at his sides, and the talk around him faded into the background as his mind raced.

No. It couldn’t be. Not Jisung.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Lingering glances. Jisung constantly found a reason to be near you. You and Jisung talked to each other with the ease that Chan had always assumed was only reserved for him.

He had to know.

"Y/N," Chan said, his voice cutting through the noise like a sudden chill. You looked up, startled by the change in his tone. His eyes were hard and guarded, and he couldn't get rid of the knot in his stomach. "Yeah?" you asked, your voice rising with anxiety as you noticed his demeanor shift. "I need to talk to you," Chan began, his eyes narrowing in a way that made your stomach turn. He approached you without waiting for an answer, his posture tight, and the air between you two felt thicker he signaled for you to follow him to another room.

You stood up following behind quickly, your heart racing. "Is everything okay?" you said, fully aware that something was wrong. "Is it true?" Chan asked simply, his stare piercing yours. "Is what true?" You took a step back, the confusion rising in your chest. "That Jisung... he has a thing for you," Chan murmured, his words sounding forced through tight teeth. His voice, which had before been steady and comforting, now had an edge you hadn't heard before.

You blinked, stunned, as the weight of his words sank in. "Chan, what are you talking about?" you said, your heart sinking as the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place.

"I saw the way he was looking at you. The way he talks to you," Chan continued, each word heavier than the last. "You can’t deny it. There’s something between you two. I feel it. What is it, Y/N?"

Your mouth went dry. You could feel the panic rise in your chest as you tried to comprehend what he was saying. "Chan, you’ve got it all wrong. Jisung’s my friend. He’s always been my friend."

But Chan wasn’t listening. His eyes were burning now, the jealousy creeping into his voice. "Friend?" he scoffed, voice rising slightly. "Do you think I’m blind? You two are too close, Y/N. It’s been happening for weeks, and now it’s like he can’t even hide it anymore." His voice cracked on the last word, and you saw the pain etched into his features.

You felt a rush of guilt and confusion. What exactly was happening here? Why was this happening right now? "I'm not… I'm not doing anything wrong," you said, your voice shaking. "Chan, you have to believe me. Jisung is just a friend. He's always been just a friend.” Chan's expression faltered for a second before he let out a bitter laugh. "Can I trust you? Do you think it’s that simple? I've been watching him look at you like that, and you expect me to just pretend everything is normal?"

You stepped closer, desperate now. "I swear to you, Chan, there is nothing between me and Jisung. I love you. Just you." You reached for him, but he drew back just enough that your hand barely touched his arm. "I don't know," he said quietly, his voice cracking now. "I don't know if I can believe you anymore." The words hit you like a slap. "What?" you gasped, your heart breaking as the reality of the situation hit home. "Chan, you need to understand. It's just you.”

His eyes softened for a minute, but he quickly looked away, raking his hand over his face in annoyance. "I don't want to hear it right now," he said quietly to himself. "I need some space, Y/N." You had the sensation that the ground underneath you was giving way. "No… Chan, please." But he didn't look back at you. He simply continued walking toward the door, his steps heavy and his body tense with emotion. You stood there, frozen, as if your reality was gradually dissolving. Everything you thought you understood and trusted was slipping away. And you could not fix it. Not now. Not like this.

The door snapped shut behind him, leaving just the echo of your own heartbeat hammering in your chest. Alone. In that instant, you were left with only the crushing weight of uncertainty. And the dreadful, gnawing feeling that you might have lost him. The seconds stretched like hours, the silence stifling and thick in the aftermath of Chan's departure. You stood there, stuck in place, still attempting to grasp the weight of the encounter. The words hung in the air, filled with unspoken emotions and confusion.

I need space.

You couldn't get over the sight of Chan walking away from you. The expression in his eyes, which was a mix of pain and anger, lingered in your mind like a ghost. The door clicking shut was the final nail in the coffin, ruling off any chance of immediate reconciliation. You pondered chasing him, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the realization that the damage had already been done, or you understood that pressing him right now would not benefit either of you. You sank back onto the floor, your knees pulled up to your chest, the phone still in your hand. but it suddenly felt useless. The screen was a flurry of unread messages from your friends, who had no idea what was happening.

You’d never imagined this happening certainly not with Chan, and certainly not with Jisung. But here you were, caught in the middle of something that felt so fragile, so broken.

What had you missed?

Your thoughts drifted back to the moments with Jisung. His lingering glances. His subtle touches. Was it possible that you had been blind to it all? Could it be that his feelings for you had evolved into something more, and you hadn’t even noticed? No. You shook your head. You couldn’t have known. Jisung was always playful, always teasing. You never thought that it could mean something deeper. And now, facing the consequences of that assumption, you didn’t know where to begin to fix things.

Your phone buzzed in your hands, the screen lighting up with a new message. It was from Jisung.

Jisung: Y/N, I need to talk to you.

Jisung: You have a minute?

You looked at the message for a long time. Talk? You weren't sure whether you were prepared for another conversation like the one you just had with Chan. But Jisung's message caused you to hesitate. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get answers. But what if what he said made matters worse? What if he confirmed what Chan was scared of? Your thoughts went in circles. What was the right thing to do?

Before you could decide, you heard the door to the room creak open again. You tensed, half-expecting it to be Chan, maybe returning to apologize. But instead, it was Jisung, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He stood at the threshold, his posture stiff but not unwelcoming.

"Y/N," he started, his voice softer than you expected, as though he too didn’t know how to approach the situation. "Can we talk?"

Your heart sank. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear him out, but you weren’t sure if you could.

Jisung took a step forward, his expression earnest, as though he was aware of the delicate nature of the moment. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear. I never wanted to cause any tension between you and Chan." He paused, taking another step closer. "But I’ve been feeling… something for a while now. And I think you know that. I know it’s confusing, and I should’ve said something sooner. But I didn’t want to make things weird."

You swallowed and spoke with a shaky voice. "Is it true?" He froze, his eyes widening slightly in response to your question. "What do you mean?" "Do you... do you like me, Jisung?" You weren't sure you could handle the response, but the question needed to be asked. The uncertainty was oppressive, and you required clarity. You needed to grasp what, if anything, was going on between you two. Jisung's eyes softened and the tension in his body dissipated as he took a gentle breath. "I... I do. But I didn't mean for it to be this way. I'm not trying to get between you and Chan, Y/N. I just—" He stopped, then added with a sheepish smile "I'm just not good at hiding things."

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded slowly, processing his words. "And Chan?" you asked, your voice small and vulnerable. "I know it’s messed up," Jisung admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never wanted to hurt him. He’s like a brother to me. But things have gotten complicated. I should’ve told him. I should’ve told you, too."

You felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, confusion, and yet a strange understanding that perhaps none of this was entirely Jisung’s fault. It wasn’t just about him, it was about all three of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jisung's phone buzzed, and he immediately glanced at it. His eyes flashed with something unreadable before he put it away. "I think I need to talk to Chan," he said quietly. "And I think you should, too. We have to work this out. All of us." You nodded and stood up slowly. The weight of the moment seemed heavy, yet something about Jisung's sincerity made you believe that there was still hope for understanding, for mending the torn threads of your relationships with both him and Chan.

"I'm scared, Jisung," you said gently, your voice shaking. "I don't want to lose either of you." "I don't want to lose you either, Y/N," Jisung whispered quietly, moving closer. "But I think we all have to face this. Together." You nodded, wiping away a tear that had fallen down your cheek. Maybe the truth may sting. But maybe that was the only way to fix what had been damaged. With that, Chan, Jisung, and you would have to confront the difficult conversation ahead. The path forward remained unclear, but for the first time that night, there was a glimmer of optimism that things could be fixed.

The tension in the room was palpable as you and Jisung exchanged a short glance, both of you knowing that whatever followed next would be a turning point in your lives. Your heart was still heavy, and Chan's words echoed in your mind.

“Do you think I'm blind?”

“I don't know if I can believe you anymore.”

You needed to fix this. You couldn't just let things fall apart until you completely understood what was going on. "I'll talk to Chan," you responded calmly, your voice solid despite the fluttering in your chest. "You should, too. You can't let this get worse between you two."

Jisung nodded, his face a mix of regret and determination. "Yeah. I will do that. I don't want things to get weird between us, Y/N. I didn't mean for it to go this far. You gave him a faint, timid smile. "Me neither." He paused for a bit before saying, "I’m sorry Y/N. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable by putting you in the middle of this. I didn't know what else to do." "I understand," you said softly. "I just need to talk to Chan." "I can't lose him."

Jisung’s eyes softened as he met your gaze. "You won’t lose him. But you’ll need to be honest with him. And with yourself. Just… try to make him see the truth."

You nodded, knowing he was right. Whatever was happening between you and Jisung, it had to be addressed. But Chan was the one who mattered most. You needed to make him understand. You walked to the door, heart pounding with each step. The hallway was quiet, eerily so, and the air felt thick with anticipation. You found Chan just outside the practice room, standing with his back to you, his posture tense as if he were still wrestling with his thoughts.

You stood there for a time, unsure what to say. But you couldn't stay silent any longer. You needed to be really honest with him. "Chan," you said gently, your voice shaking as you moved closer. He turned, his face still etched with frustration and hurt, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed you. "Y/N," he responded coldly, almost as an accusation. He tried to keep it together, but you could see cracks in his resolve. "Please, just listen," you urged. "I understand this seems horrible, but please understand. I love you, Chan. Only you. It’s always been you."

Chan's jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak right away. You could see him weighing your words, the pain in his eyes conflicting with his feelings of betrayal. "Then why… why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me? Like you’re closer to him than you are to me?" The question hit you like a blow to the chest.

How could you explain this?

"I never wanted to make you feel that way," you said, your voice breaking slightly. "Jisung is my friend, Chan. He’s always been my friend. What you saw… it wasn’t what you think."

Chan’s gaze hardened. "But it wasn’t just tonight, Y/N. It’s been weeks. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you laugh when he talks to you. It’s different. You’re different when you’re around him." His voice cracked, and it was clear that whatever strength he had left was rapidly crumbling. "I don’t know if I can compete with that. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore."

You took a step forward, your heart in your throat. "I’m not asking you to compete with Jisung. I’m asking you to trust me. Trust us. There’s nothing more between Jisung and me. But I can see how it might look like that from your side. I didn’t know how to handle it, Chan. I didn’t know how to talk to you about it because I didn’t want to hurt you."

Chan ran a hand through his hair, frustration laced with pain. "And now it’s too late. You didn’t think I’d notice? I’ve been with you through everything, Y/N. I thought I knew you. But now it feels like I don’t know anything anymore."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Please don’t say that. Please. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You are enough. You’re everything to me."

He swallowed hard, eyes avoiding yours for a moment as the silence between you grew unbearable. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, raw. "I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to believe."

You could see the cracks in his armor now, his vulnerability beneath all the rage and pain. He was as terrified as you were. "I don't know what to do either," you said quietly, taking another step closer and softly grabbing for his hand. He hesitated for a while before allowing you to take it, his fingers quivering in your grip. "Chan," you murmured softly, "I want you to believe me when I say I love you. And I am not going anywhere." For a long time, neither of you spoke. You could feel the weight of the situation hanging between you, but the contact of his hand offered you a small glimmer of hope. Maybe it was not too late. Maybe it wasn't the end.

"I need some time," Chan finally said, his voice heavy but more gentle now. "To think. To figure it out. But I do not want to lose you, Y/N. I'm not sure if I can handle this." You nodded, feeling tears fall down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them at away. "I understand," you replied softly. "Take as much time as you need. But please know that I'm here. I am not going anywhere." He nodded and squeezed your hand gently before drawing away. “I will be around. When you're ready, we can talk more…about everything."

With a heavy heart, you watched as he walked away, disappearing down the hall. The air felt lighter, but only just. You weren’t sure where things stood with Chan or with Jisung, but at least you had started the conversation. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to begin mending the fractures in your relationship.

You took a deep breath and wiped away your tears, knowing that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But for the first time that night, there was a glimmer of hope.

Now you just had to figure out how to rebuild everything, starting with the two people who meant the most to you.

//

asks are always open if you have a question, concern or request!

💡masterlist wip request list.💡

[stqrryeyez]

Manicure

pairing: Captain John Price x gen!Reader warnings: nothing!! just fluff and possibly ooc Price(?). I haven't written anything in two years, so this has a high possibility of being awfullll synopsis: taking care of your husband by painting his nails. 1.3k words.

“I would sweetheart, but you know I can't.” he states. Which was fair. You understood it was a shot in the dark question, just a sliver of hope that he’d agree. You’d expected this response anyway, not that Price’s masculinity was that fragile - far from. Painted nails just wouldn’t suit his line of work and wouldn't suit his general aesthetic.

You dropped the whole conversation, forgetting about it until the next time you got around to painting your own nails. Clear polish. It wouldn’t violate any of his dress codes or interrupt his image, but he still got that little bit of time to relax and get taken care of, rather than just him taking care of you, on top of all the paperwork he had stacked up on his desk. You wanted to treat him, take his mind off his seemingly unending workload for a while. 

 It was just past 10PM when you had caught him, the sun now firmly set and the moonlight glimmering through the still open blinds of his office, the only other light illuminating the room was the Scheele’s green banker’s lamp at the corner of his desk. The amber light highlighted the dark circles he was sporting, his head resting in one hand whilst he scribbled away at the pages with the other. He was glaringly obviously overworking himself, to the point of exhaustion. You couldn't help but feel sympathetic for him, witnessing the state he was in was heartbreaking.

 “John?” 

“Yes, love?” he replies, moving his head to look at you, quickly wiping the tiredness out of his left eye, his gaze holding admiration and pure love for you. 

 “How long are you going to be? I have something I think you might like.” you question, not wanting to disturb him too much, but in the same breath, hoping he was nearly done so that you could finally spend some time with him, take care of him for once.

 “Give me fifteen minutes sweetheart, then ‘m all yours for the rest of the night.” 

 Within the fifteen-minute wait (which only ended up being ten due to your husband’s impatience), you settled on the sofa, the little bottle of nail polish on the side table, yours and John’s favourite tv show on in the background, focusing on that until he was done.

 At his call of “Love?”, you patter back into his office, carrying a nail file and the little bottle of clear polish, just hoping he’d agree this time. You hid the items behind your back, sitting down in the seat on the opposite side of the sturdy, walnut desk he slaved hours of his life away over.

 “So, I know you said you didn’t want me to paint your nails because of work, but I have an idea if you’ll hear me out.” you offer, waiting for his response.

 “Go on…” He adjusted himself in his seat, encouraging you to continue, indicating that he might not be against the idea, just that he needed to know what you were planning.

 “Found this whilst I was cleaning the other day,” you say, taking out the nail polish and showing him, putting it on the desk for him to inspect. “Clear polish. Doesn’t affect your style or your job, and it tastes like shit so you might be able to stop biting your nails so often.” You knew he had a nasty habit of doing that when he was anxious, so to be able to minimise that would benefit him greatly.

 John studies the bottle for a little longer, holding it up towards the light, his brow furrowed in that way he always did when he was thinking. He nods subtly, handing the bottle back to you approvingly and holding his hands out palms down, not saying a word.

 “You want to talk about what’s vexing you?” you ask, angling the light over his hands so you could get the best view of what you were doing. As he lets out a heavy sigh, he begins to talk about work, something about “Laswell’s got me workin’ around the clock.”, and “So much fuckin’ training next week, there’s a mission being sorted in Afghanistan with Sheperd, so need to be prepped for that.”

Nodding along with his drawl, putting some words of advice in when you felt was necessary, you filed his nails down to a uniform length, making sure they all matched each other, smoothing out the nail beds, eliminating the top layer of his nail so the polish would stay on for longer. 

His calloused hands in yours were heavy, grounding, solid, yet his touch was feather-light, gentle, silk. Eventually, the conversation petered off into silence, the sound of both your breaths encapsulating your hearing, the steady rise and fall of his chest just in your eyeline as you opened the bottle of polish and began to coat his nails with the liquid.

You start from his left pinky, his hands curled perfectly around your own, easily manipulated by your touch, silent commands you mutually understood. Half-lidded brown eyes struggle to stay open when you look back up at his face, cleaning a little excess polish that spilled over onto the lateral nail fold of his fingers with your thumb. His cerulean irises latched onto yours, the adoration in his eyes evident in the way he looked at you.

Focusing back on his hands, you complete the final swatch on the right pinky, recapping the bottle, then hooking his fingers over your hands, blowing gently on the polish to dry them quicker. “Fifteen minutes and they’ll be fully dry. Sofa?” you ask, wanting to move out of his office to somewhere a little more comfortable, get the man out his space and into yours at least once today. Watching him nod softly, you arise from your chair, opening the door for John. 

“Ladies first,” you giggle, making your husband laugh, the rumble from deep within his chest finally emerging. You hadn’t heard him laugh properly in days but it felt like it could've been a lifetime without. The sound of his laugh could have cured the worst of diseases just upon hearing, seeing the way his eyes got those little crow's feet round the corners and his top lip disappeared into his moustache made him look as if he was glowing, like he was radiating pure gold. 

Following him into the living room, you watch as he plops down onto the sofa, desperately trying not to smudge his nails on the fabric of the throw cushions. You place yourself down in his lap, his hands hovering awkwardly over your shoulders, your back against his chest. You take one of his hands in yours, blowing cold air gently on his nails to dry the polish faster, just wanting him to get comfortable. Whilst waiting, you put on the newest episode of the tv show the two of you were watching together, sinking your body into his. 

Finally, you feel his hands come to rest in your hair, trusting his judgement that his nails were dry, his nails running over your scalp. The constant, rhythmic motion of his hands circling your head were like a silent lullaby, restoring comfort that you hadn’t felt in months since he’d been away on missions. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep in his arms, the unfaltering rise and fall of his chest and the ever-present warmth of his body encapsulating yours working better than any sleeping pill ever would. 

However, just before the realm of slumber consumed you, you felt a light kiss to the crown of your skull and a hushed “Thank you, love,” in your ear.

[skay-ali]

The Forgotten Daughter

well I finally did it.

first of all merry christmas and enjoy the chapter

Dear family

This may be sudden... I don't even know why I'm writing this letter anymore, it was supposed to be about the big decision I made that would change my life, but even so I don't know why I'm leaving explanations.

My plan was always to never see you again, each of you, I still feel very hurt by everything, although I know that these words will not make a big change in you.

But enough berating them, I'm not racking my brain to find the right words for a letter full of complaints.

I was always a girl who avoided problems or at least I like to think I was, Father, brothers and my dear confidant Alfred, despite getting into big trouble.

The lights were flashing brightly, the music at full volume filled the room, it was very hot due to the sweat that all the bodies were emanating, you watched all the visitors of the club go crazy with euphoria after a few drinks and continued with a long list of crazy things, you On the contrary, you decided that it was one of those depressive days, where you spent your time seeing the bad side of everything and being miserable.

You didn't follow your friends to any of their craziness; on the contrary, you stayed in a place at the bar away from everyone, along with a few glasses full of a low-grade cherry-flavored liquor.

You still taste the light cherry flavor on your palate. There were so many liquors on the shelf, many of different sizes, appearances, names, years and strengths, you wondered if anyone ever drank them all, if there was a person who in his miserable, boring, short life provokes every liquor on the restaurant's menu. bar.

You looked away when you heard the sound of a chair being moved, you saw a man taller than yours, with a somewhat abrupt but attractive appearance. You took another sip from your glass and returned to your thoughts as you watched the people on the dance floor doing stupid things.

Or so you tried, but by discreetly observing the actions of the man near your seat, it was enough to capture your full attention, to what that guy does in his notebook with his pencil.

“What an artist,” you addressed the subject sitting one seat away from you, “what are you doing in a place as crazy as this?” You turned your gaze to the man with blue-black hair, as you watched him take a sip of his drink and draw with his pencil.

Their eyes connected when the man decided to leave his world and pay attention to your beginning of interaction, he couldn't look away in time, although you didn't blame him, you did the same before because of the curiosity you felt when he saw him, you felt like everything was coming together.

He paused, just him and you, as if the two of you were the only ones in a large room of strangers.

A smile left your lips when you saw the man's dazed attitude, he was so lost in himself that it seems that he forgot about your beginning of conversation until a moment later.

Still, you were afraid that it wasn't nerves that the man was feeling but anger or annoyance at your interaction with him.

“Even if you don't believe it, inspiration can be found in unlikely places… Or even sometimes a muse” came those calm words from his thick but reassuring and animated voice.

You were relieved to hear him speak, but those words that had no sign of annoyance or complaints.

“uhh it's like that... I only saw this place as a garbage dump full of vices” you didn't know how you were still trying to maintain an interaction with that person, perhaps prolonging the feeling of company instead of the one of loneliness sounded more attractive.

“You should look at it from other perspectives, so you'll find things like this” you saw him tear a page out of his notebook without blinking and put it on your forehead.

You were surprised to see your drawing on the paper. Every feature of yours delicately captured with each stroke of the pencil on the paper.

“wow you left me speechless for a moment” you disconnected your gaze from the sheet you had in your hands.

“You are actually a great artist” the drawing was extremely beautiful, you never considered yourself a very beautiful woman, it was common for you to see all your flaws before your best qualities, seeing that paper where you felt that in that drawing you were perfect caused you a feeling emotion and a passing confidence.

However, you couldn't get it out of your head to see yourself drawn in other ways on paper, like a cartoon or Japanese version of yourself; before this moment, you never even had the chance to sit on a bench and wait for an artist to draw you. .

“What's wrong with that face, you look disappointed, maybe you're kidding me” you heard him joke.

“No no… no… on the contrary, I really like it” you quickly defended yourself, afraid of offending the man.

“It's just that..” you felt shy when explaining your reasons, especially when he had an attentive gaze on you.

You saw his eyes wait expectantly for your words.

“You know, the drawing is beautiful, but… even though it sounds silly, I wish I could see myself more in a cartoon or comic” you laughed nervously, after your babbling.

“ahh, are you a comic book lover or something?”

“Yes, well it's something like that” you liked to read some series in comic magazines from time to time, but you preferred mangas, you hid this preference, you weren't going to receive a few words of displeasure for that or start a debate about what genre it was.

Better, much less explain what they were if I didn't know what you were referring to.

“I think I can fix that,” the guy said with an animated and funny voice.

You watched him, fascinated, by how he held his book with enthusiasm, his hands moved quickly from one side to the other on the white sheet, the pencil was handled quickly, you could tell that he had a lot of experience with the ease with which he did it.

It was a long night, between different conversations and laughter with the new guy you met, the night became more tolerable with the man by your side.

Between drinks and meaningless talks, laughter on both sides, silly dances on the floor full of people, just two fools doing the most pathetic steps they had plus some little improvised old waltzes, it ended in a new day with two sleepless but falices talking in a viewpoint of a building that showed the entire city.

Oh, father, you don't know how enchanted I was with that man I met on one of my many outings to parties, I was stupid and childish, but I still allowed myself to dream and love.

You didn't expect to meet again with such a man with whom you managed to connect, but that's how it happened, destiny somehow led them to meet.

You liked having a new person in your circle, with whom you managed to get along so well.

From talking about his work as an artist, giving his opinion on different comics and mangas that they knew, talking about animation to becoming hoarse from speaking with so much emotion and passion with long monologues.

They visited many hidden places in the big city in their days of adventures, even if they were alleys that were not very crowded, now that you think about it, such a careless action was very crazy, but the beautiful places, with new views, like an alley full of colorful fabrics and with different designs that hung over the street, the walls of a neighborhood full of drawings with different artistic techniques, but with many bright colors, the tall buildings that showed views of the entire city.

The days of movies with crazy plots, but that had you glued to the screen to see what happened next.

The rare meals from the carts or street stalls, which they consumed without problems while they sat to observe the lights of the city or the dark sky, accompanied by silence, but the two of them together.

In that moment where the two were together and talking, you felt that they were exchanging many words of great importance to both of them, but seen from other perspectives they were nothing more than insignificant.

That's what love did, right?

And all for one crazy night where you hope to go crazy on alcohol, after sinking into a self-compose for your life.

You will never be able to forget when he gave you his name and you gave him yours... well, half of it, you admit to having lied to him, even if you regretted it, you already knew the problems they would bring you later.

Well at least that's what you thought, you had no idea of ​​the true consequences.

You only thought about the fear of telling him your real last name, that he would look for you and know who you really were, you were afraid that he would see you differently, no longer a strange girl he met in a bar, but the daughter of a millionaire with a history. questionable life, the mere thought of him using you was too much.

So you avoided him by mentioning the amazing last name “Wayne” and mentioning a fake one.

More specifically, that of your false identification, something crazy that you did in your wild adolescence was left to be useful in your future, that false identification that you made with your friends from school to visit different clubs, you used it when you became independent, so that no one It will bother you in your new life.

“_____ , _____ Jones” unsurely you stated your name, you still remember when you made the false identifications with your friends and among all of them you were looking for a new name and surname for the others, you kept your name and they gave you the last name of the protagonist of the book of fashionable at the time because of the film that adapted the story.

A mental chuckle caused you to remember this along with the taunts they threw at you about where your diary was.

“Kayle, Kyle Rayner,” the boy smiled as he introduced himself.

You followed his smile, something in his ended up infecting you. Just two fools in a bar telling each other their names and being ignorantly happy.

It's a shame that that happiness ended some time later, when you never saw Kyle again. Even with a card for him to contact you, you never heard from him.

You woke up happy, in his apartment, the day after spending a night together, alone, without any sign that the man was home, without any note or notice, you waited excitedly for him to return, but he never did, even when you left a message. letter and ways for me to contact you again if the ones they already had didn't work, you never knew anything.

Maybe it was all an adventure and you got carried away... they never clarified what they were, hell maybe he didn't even consider you a friend.

But you and I know, father, that all the fairy tales one creates end quickly, most of the time in the worst ways.

I ended up with a broken heart, still, I kept good memories... and her.

I know it is late, very late, as it has been for many years, but I must confess it, because no parents and siblings would want to know it in the worst possible ways….

Alice Wayne, my dear baby….

You leaned back in your chair as you wrote the last sentence, you did it, you wrote what was overwhelming you so much, the beginning of the letter.

Your eyes burned, a few treacherous tears running down your face.

Your family, your passing love and your beloved daughter always made you sensitive.

It wasn't something you could avoid.

You leaned your head on the headboard of the chair, letting all the blood flow to your head, something strange you used to do to clear your head, you looked at the ceiling and the walls around you upside down.

You noticed the crib on the side of the room near your desk where you were writing.

You saw your baby sleeping calmly, a peaceful face with no signs of discomfort, he was an angel.

Your little angel, and your light... you knew you would do anything for her, like you did right now.

I think if we are similar in some way father.

I ended up having a daughter through carelessness like you did to me.

I need to ask you a big favor father and not only of you but also of the whole family, the biggest and most important one I will do in my life.

If something happens to me... if I end up in big trouble or I no longer exist, any situation that prevents me from taking care of my beloved daughter.

Please watch over her.

Make sure she has the best future, a happy life with everything she needs, that she can grow up as a girl full of light, that she is always kind, wise and with a loving family.

If that's not something they can give you, find someone who can give it to you.

Take care of my treasure, my only happiness, my only family... I know I left a long time ago without saying anything and returned in a hurry to their lives.

Maybe one day they will call me selfish knowing the path I took to leave little Alice to them, the decision I decided to make was not easy, but I did it because I want the best for my little light.

We are all selfish and mean, I was all my life, since I knew that my happiness only depended on me, that I was alone in this world, that only oneself can save oneself.

I think I still am by thinking that I can force them to do something about my problem, I can't force them to take care of someone or take responsibility for a short period of time, turning their lives upside down.

But maybe... with all the love and affection that you could ever see felt for me, I can make you consider helping me and fulfilling my difficult request.

Father, brothers and Alfred... I never said it because of all the anger I felt, because of everything that happened in the mansion, which devastated my thoughts with a lot of anger, forgetting everything I had and made me have a comfortable and pampered life.

Thank you.

Well, he's the father and maybe a future yandere, it's a possibility.

after an exhaustive investigation into possible characters to occupy this role in the series.

although there may be other possibilities with other characters....

Like I tried with the penguin's son, if ___ had decided to hang out more with villains and they adopted her or became her godparents.

Tag list: @kore-of-the-underworld @vanessa-boo @jsprien213 @delias-stuff @vanilliona @bat1212 @yanrandom @Quiarst @palabra de niño salvaje @el termino @leo227 @sirenethblog @ masa para galletas @blueberry19000 @con seguridad

[sofisweb]

　₊　　　˙　　⠀⠀✦⠀　　　˙　　₊　 Distracted

Fluff 𓈒⠀　˙　　₊　reader x Daryl

set during the farm era

Daryl had decided to go and find something to hunt, and with her worrying-self not wanting him to go alone she followed him. But today, the forest seemed unusually empty. No tracks, no sounds of animals,thankfully not much walkers and just the distant rustle of leaves. It was frustrating, but Daryl didn’t let it show. He just kept moving, his eyes scanning the trees, the ground beneath them.

A nice and cute river caught her eye and a small smile appeared on her face as she nudged him gently with her elbow, “Hey Dar’.” she called out softly, not interrupting the quiet.

“What?” He spoke up with a huff, now his voice interrupting the silence. Her gaze stayed focused on the source of her attention. “I think I found something! C’mon.”

She tilted her head to the direction of the ‘thing she found’ before rushing over to it, a bothered groan and chuckle escaping his lips as he followed her a few steps ahead.

A small, clear river wound through the trees ahead of them, its surface sparkling in the late afternoon light and she immediately went over, turning around to face Daryl.

“It’s just a river. We ain’t here for sightseeing.” He grumbled with a scoff, looking off to the side and scanning for any walkers.

“I know,” she said, already walking toward the river’s edge. She couldn’t help it—there was something calming about it. “Give me a moment, I need a rest.” She murmured, her hands resting on the rock she sat on.

Daryl let out a groan as he stepped over to her, “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, “We need to keep moving.” She looked back at him as she rolled her eyes. 

She suddenly got an idea, she leaned down over to the water which caused him to raise an eyebrow in confusion. She splashed some of the water onto him, letting out a laugh.

“Seriously?” He huffed as he took his crossbow off his back, placing it carefully down on the ground as his eyes didn’t leave her.

“Yeah. You need a bath.” She chimed back, crossing her legs as she leaned back while resting her hands behind her. Daryl scoffed at her with an eye roll.

One thing led to another and now they were attacking each other with water, “Daryl I swear!” She yelped, scooping up water as she threw it at him. “Ya’ s’dead.” He grumbled, a small smirk creeping up on his face as he pushed her, causing her to tumble into the lake.

She gasped as he did, her hands grabbed onto Daryl, pulling him down with her as she let out a laugh, she pulled him over to her as she moved further down into the lake, causing him to get in the same state like her.

“You look like a wet cat.” She teased. “Ya’ done for.” he grumbled as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

They didn’t find anything to hunt that day, but as they made their way back to the group, both of them soaked from the river and carrying nothing, except for their weapons hands- and due to their current state they were trying their best to sneak back into the camp without causing any attention.

Until a voice was heard off from the side. “So, uh... what happened with you two?” Glenn asked, obviously confused as he took the image of them two in.

And just as she was about to speak up Daryl gave Glenn a pointed look, his usual rough edge back in place. “None of your business, man.”

 “Just seems like you two got a little more than a hunting trip out of it.”

“You should’a seen Daryl, looked like a wet cat.”

giggles

[lushrue]

currently in my priceghost era and wanted to write something with price as the more submissive one

cw: nsfw, oral (m/m), light scent kink, sub space

john sat back in his chair, huffing out an exasperated breath. fireworks exploded behind his eyelids as he dug the heels of his hands in, trying to push out the ache of eye strain. a cursory glance at the clock on his desk revealed that it had been six hours since he’d sat down to start on the mountain of paperwork on his desk. six hours of rifling through mission reports, briefing memorandums, and recruit personnel files. six hours of squinting to read tiny print because he wasn’t old enough to require reading glasses, thank you very much.

he could feel the familiar burning pain creeping up into his shoulders, a reminder of the horrid posture he’d been sitting in the whole time. he felt stiff, unnaturally so. on top of it all, he felt tired. it wasn’t his usual training-all-day-and-shouting-at-unruly-sergeants type of tired. this sank into his bones, gave his skeleton a weight it didn’t have before. even the thought of dragging his heavy body all the way back to the barracks made his back ache and his temples pulse.

his mind had been running a million miles a minute for the past week. it seemed like there was an urgent task lurking around each corner, waiting to demand his full attention. nothing could wait until tomorrow, nothing could be put on the back burner until something else was completed. everything needed done yesterday and he found himself struggling to keep up. if only the world would stop spinning for five minutes, he thought to himself. then I could catch up. it was at that moment he remembered the one man who could bring his world to a halt, if only for a little while.

price had a complicated relationship with his lieutenant. the two of them were…something to each other. they’d both chosen not to put a label on it, simply for the fact that it didn’t need one. their relationship was symbiotic, one hand washing the other for the sake of cleaning both of them. it was a fact of nature that simon was there for john in the ways that he needed, and john repaid simon in turn. in their eyes, relationships like that didn’t need a label. barnacles don’t call the whale it hitches a ride on their lover; a clownfish doesn’t commit to the anemone that provides it shelter. they simply exist in this moment in time to serve a purpose for one another, and that was that.

the captain raised himself from his chair, dragging his heavy feet down the hall towards simon’s office. john knew that simon was up to his nose in paperwork just the same as him. the two of them had talked at length over a pack of cigarettes about how a paper trail was inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst. they both had a nasty habit of putting it all off until later and having to burn the midnight oil more than once to make up for it. his knuckles rapped four times against the door, the rhythmic pattern of it identifying who was knocking. simon had developed it, a way to know that the person on the other side of the door was important enough to put down the pen.

he was met with a gruff “come in” from the lieutenant, his fingers trembling slightly as they closed around the doorknob and twisted. when he pushed the door open, the sight of simon, maskless, greeted him. it was rare for simon to go anywhere on base without at least the balaclava on, but the state of his hair showed that he’d just pulled it off. on nights like these, simon didn’t wear it. it was far too important to john to be able to see his face. simon’s eyes were soft, gentle, as they took in the way john stood in his doorway. shoulders slumped, the lines on his face deeper, the bags under his eyes heavier. simon could read any man like a book, but when it came to his captain, he knew things no one else had ever gotten close enough to know. there was a look in john’s eyes, a certain helplessness that was reserved only for him.

“rough night?” simon asked, leaning back in his office chair and nodding to John to close the door. john did as instructed, a dry chuckle bubbling out of his chest. “you don’t know the half of it,” he replied, voice raspy. he sounded as worn as he looked. it reminded simon of the dirt caked into the tread of his boots, stomped on a thousand times before finally getting to rest. simon just grunted in reply, picking up the pen from his desk. he made a small tick on the report he was reading to mark his place before turning his full attention to his captain. “would you like to talk, or not talk?” simon asked, his words laced with a meaning only the two of them could discern. john met his gaze, a weight seeming to lift off of his shoulders as he made his decision. “not talk.”

simon nodded in understanding, the movement curt and quick. it was almost tactical the way the two of them moved around each other. simon took up his position on the small sofa in his office, parting his legs shoulder-width apart. he took one of the pillows from beside him, holding it out to john as he circled around to his own position. john took the pillow, placing it on the floor between simon’s feet, and lowered himself down onto it. he grunted as his knees hit the tile floor, the blow gratefully softened by the fabric and stuffing. they’d quickly discovered that it was a necessary part of this routine.

“you solid?” john looked up to find simon’s eyes on him, the deep brown of his irises laced with concern. the captain swallowed down the lump forming in the back of his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “solid,” he replied, his tone short. he didn’t want to concern himself with how he felt. not now, not when it all felt too big to handle. simon simply nodded, raising a hand to rest on the back of john’s head. he guided it to his thigh, letting john rest against him for a moment. john didn’t want to talk, and that was fine with simon. he usually did all the talking on nights like these anyway. hours upon hours of silence left him with a lot to say.

“you deserve this, y’know,” he said, stroking his fingers along the length of john’s scalp. “deserve to put down the reins for a bit, have someone else take ‘em up.” john shivered under simon’s touch, goosebumps rising on his arms. it was never true in his own head, but when simon said it, john drank it in like it was gospel. he nodded, his cheek rubbing against the fabric of simon’s fatigues. “i deserve this,” he repeated softly, voice strained with the weight of the emotion he was keeping in.

simon nodded in approval, pleased with john’s acceptance. in the beginning, when they’d first started this little ritual, the captain had done everything he could to keep simon at arm’s length. he’d never stay for long once he’d been given what he needed and eye contact was scarce. now, john had reconciled with the fact that sometimes, he didn’t want to be in charge. sometimes, he needed someone else to tell him what to do. taking orders was as natural as breathing for him, especially when giving them felt like a burden he couldn’t bear. “that’s a good lad,” simon praised, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “you know just what ta do, don’t you? meltin’ in a puddle at my feet.” john’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, turning his head to press his face into simon’s thigh.

simon just chuckled. his boy could be awfully shy when he wanted to be. “look at me,” he commanded. john felt a shiver down his spine at simon’s tone. it wasn’t the same one he used with the sergeants, or when he was training the recruits. it was reserved specially for him, a low timbre that rattled around his brain and dislodged any unwanted thoughts still hanging around. the captain turned his head up, hazy blue eyes meeting simon’s dark chocolate ones. “so beautiful. ya know tha’? most beautiful thing on God’s green earth, on your knees for a nasty bugger like me.”

john wanted to protest, to assure simon that he was far from the nastiest bugger he’d ever knelt for, but the words wouldn’t come. thoughts swirled around in his head like smoke, thin and incorporeal. he tried to grasp at them, but his hands went right through. all he could do was hum and shake his head. simon shook his head, lips rounding in a soothing shushing noise. “don’t think. let me do tha’ for ya.” he placed a finger under john’s chin, stroking him like one would a cat. john’s eyes fluttered shut, letting the feeling of simon’s calloused trigger finger against his throat lift the weight of reality that hung heavy on his shoulders.

slowly, john’s head started to drift off into a much nicer place. it was softer, gentler. mission reports and recruit files fell to the wayside, briefings and emails and memorandums were long forgotten. all there was, in this moment, was him and simon. simon caught every moment of john’s slip, the way his jaw went slack and his eyes stared beyond him. he admired the way john’s eyes seemed to sparkle, admiration shining bright in them. when the stresses of the outside world fell away, all that was left was simon. the lieutenant shifted his hand, dragging his finger up john’s jaw until his hand came to rest on the crown of john’s head. the weight was comforting and grounding, keeping him tethered to the earth.

“tha’s a good boy,” simon praised, his thumb stroking john’s scalp. the captain practically purred, pressing his head up into simon’s touch. it felt nice and his one-track mind wanted more of it. simon shifted on the sofa, sweatpants growing tight. something in john’s far-away gaze made him chub up, the way he was so vulnerable and trusting beneath him. here, simon held all the power. “jus’ needed a li’l stress relief, hmm? needed your simon to get ya through.” john nodded, drool leaking against simon’s thigh.

simon chuckled at the sight, reaching forward and wiping some of the spit from the corner of john’s mouth. with a gentle motion, he pressed his thumb to the seam of john’s lips, pressing insistently. john’s mouth fell open and simon pushed his finger in, letting his thumb rest against john’s tongue. the way his lips closed around the digit made simon groan. he’d quickly discovered that his boy had an oral fixation, always needing something in his mouth to keep him occupied. all those damn cigars, he’d figured. john hollowed his cheeks, eyes fluttering shut as he bobbed his head on simon’s thumb. he whined low in his throat when he realized it wasn’t quite what he needed, shifting impatiently on the pillow.

“settle, lovie. i’ll give ya what ya need soon enough. jus’ wanna enjoy the sight of ya.” simon leaned back against the sofa, utterly transfixed by the man in front of him. john’s tongue curled around simon’s finger, teeth lightly scraping the skin. with his eyes heavy-lidded, he looked the very picture of debauchery, letting go and giving simon his soft underbelly. drool pooled in the corners of his mouth, wetting his lips and cheeks. if simon thought hard enough, he could pretend that it was his cock between john’s lips instead. he groaned aloud at the mere image, cock tenting his sweats. he used his free hand to push the waistband down, dragging his boxers down with it.

john opened his eyes, teeth digging into the flesh of simon’s thumb as he caught sight of what he truly wanted. he could smell the musk coming off of the lieutenant, thick and heavy in his nose. he pulled his head back and released simon’s thumb, leaning forward to mouth at his cock. his tongue trailed along the protruding vein at the base, humming softly when simon shivered with delight. simon’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut as his cock twitched. precum dripped down his shaft, the tip red and angry at having been ignored thus far.

simon cupped the back of john’s head, coaxing him to look up. john met simon’s gaze, baby blue eyes pleading for permission. “this what you wan’, baby? want this fat cock down your throat?” simon asked, voice rough and gravelly. john nodded, the stimulation of his cheek against simon’s cock making his thighs clench. he couldn’t find the words, mouth moving to beg, but simon shushed him. “none o’ that. not gonna let my best boy go without,” he cooed, adjusting his hips so that the tip of his cock laid against john’s lips.

john’s tongue darted out, lapping up the precum that was beading up. it was salty and bitter, but he drank it in like the sweetest ambrosia. simon moaned loud, the sound coming from low in his chest. he’d long since given up on trying to be quiet on these nights. there was hardly anyone around, and if there were any nosy recruits, he’d shut them up with latrine duty. “tha’s it, right fuckin’ there,” he groaned, hips bucking to press his cock deeper into john’s mouth. “take it all, lovie. know you can, so good for me-”

simon’s words were cut off when john took him to the hilt, the captain’s throat rumbling with a satisfied moan. electricity shot up his spine, simon’s hands scrambling for purchase on the sofa. the pleasure was heady, thoughts dissipating like clouds and the room spinning like a carousel. as pent up as he was, it only took a few minutes and a well-timed swallow for simon to lose himself. he spilled down john’s throat, pearly-white spend shooting into the back of his mouth. john drank it down, needy moans vibrating around simon’s cock as he sucked him through his orgasm. 

the moment simon’s soul came back into his body, he eased john’s head back, tapping his cheek to coax him to breathe. john was panting, eyes glistening with tears from all the times he’d gagged. his cheeks were flushed, a cum-drunk expression on his face. simon was satisfied, and it seemed john was too. needs fulfilled for each other, symbiotic relationship solidified. john took his moment of rest, catching his breath before parting his lips again. simon acquiesced, placing his softening prick on john’s waiting tongue. there was no need for pleasure, no work to be done. the two of them could rest here like this for as long as they needed, basking in the glow of the moment they’d shared. “good boy,” simon praised breathlessly, petting john’s hair. “keep it warm for me, tha’s it.”

a few hours later, once they’d parted ways and john had settled in for bed, he found a different kind of weight had settled on his chest. perhaps these nightly routines were more than just quid pro quo, but no matter. simon could help him figure it all out later.

[perseidlion]

A Gift From Death - A Dead Boy Detectives Payneland Christmas Short

Every ghost in the world received a gift from Death of the Endless once a year. Most didn’t know who was responsible, and few would ever guess it came from her. The timing varied, but it was almost always associated with the most special time of the year for any particular ghost. 

For Charles and Edwin, it was the early hours of Christmas morning. Not for any religious reasons, but for the magic that surrounded the holiday and the way the whole of London was decked out in its festive best. 

They had found out about the gift by accident in the third year of the Agency. Since then, they’d developed a Christmas Eve routine as the minutes ticked closer to midnight. 

“Come on, mate! Get the tree plugged in. It’s almost time!” said Charles as he finished pouring rich, decadent hot chocolate into a pair of Christmas mugs. His had a jolly elf while Edwin’s had a 3D relief of a Christmas tree with stacked presents for a handle. They’d received them in payment for The Case of the Haunted Ceramic Frog during December of ‘91 and had been using them for their Christmas ritual ever since. 

Edwin dug around underneath the tree for the plug for the lights. He pushed it into the socket, but nothing happened. “Bollocks. What is it now?”

“Must be a dead light somewhere in the strand,” said Charles. 

They’d found a box of Christmas decorations when they set up the office. The strand of lights were easily from the 70s, if not older - which meant they were the sort where if a single bulb was burnt out, none of them would work. 

“I hate to say it, Charles. But I don’t think we’re going to have lights this year,” said Edwin with a sigh as he examined the tree with his hands perched on his hips.

“Hold on…” said Charles as he squinted at the fresh-cut tree decorated with ornaments they’d received as payment for cases over the years. It was an eclectic collection of handmade and artisanal ornaments mixed in with a box of glass orbs in blue and red that had been in the box with the lights. “I think I see a missing one up near the top.”

“How the devil did you spot that?” asked Edwin as he squinted at the tree. 

“I’ve got sharp eyes, don’t I?” said Charles with that charming, thousand-watt smile of his. Then he clapped and darted over to the cardboard box with ‘XMAS STUFF’ written on the side in Charles’ terrible handwriting.

While Charles searched for a box of spare bulbs, Edwin pulled over a footstool. 

“Hurry along! It’s nearly midnight,” said Edwin as he stepped up onto the stool. He took hold of the strand with one hand while he held the other out and down expectantly.

Charles found a small, nearly disintegrated plastic bag and then dug out a spare red bulb. He pressed the bulb into Edwin’s waiting hand. 

With a neat little flourish, Edwin lifted his hand and  twisted the bulb into the empty socket. The moment he did, all the lights flickered on and the tree lit up with the warm glow of multicoloured Christmas lights. The brilliant greens, golds, reds and blues bounced off their collection of ornaments and made each one sparkle. 

At that moment, the antique clock in the corner chimed to mark midnight. With each strike, Edwin and Charles gained new sensation.

With the first strike, they could suddenly smell the sharp scent of the pine Christmas tree.

With the second, they could feel heat radiating from the woodstove in the corner that was stoked for the occasion. 

The third brought breath to their lungs. The fourth, beating hearts in their chests. With each chime of the clock, they got closer to life until they were fully human once again.

Edwin was so distracted by life returning to his spectral form that he missed the sound of groaning wood. The stepstool which had no issue supporting a ghostly form couldn’t handle the weight of a living being. The leg gave way and he found himself toppling toward the floor with a very undignified squeak. 

Somehow, Charles managed to catch him before he hit the floor and gently guided him back to his feet. “Easy, easy! You all right?” On impulse, he reached up to touch Edwin’s cheek.

“I’m…I’m fine,” Edwin stammered.

They touched a dozen times a day in all sorts of casual ways. Or rather, Charles touched Edwin and Edwin allowed it. But something about this touch was different, and not just because he could feel the heat of his hand on his face.

Charles too, felt something shift in that moment. He held Edwin’s weight for a moment longer, then helped him regain his footing. He lingered close, gripping forearm to forearm with one hand, the other still touching his cheek. He stared into Edwin’s eyes and squeezed gently, caressing the muscle of his arm beneath the cotton shirt. His stomach tightened with nerves and anticipation and he felt his cheeks flush. 

Something that had begun with Edwin’s confessions on the steps of Hell had been lingering in the background of their relationship - unspoken and unremarked upon, but building like an ember on a bed of dry kindle. Nothing had changed on the surface, but with each passing day, and with each glance and casual touch, something shifted in Charles. 

Edwin returned the forearm grip and stared at Charles with his eyes wide and hopeful. With each moment they stood in silence, their brief time as corporeal beings drifted away. Their hot chocolate and fresh-baked cookies sat nearby, steam rising from the mugs, adding a sweet tinge to the spruce and crackling fire in the air. 

Edwin closed his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of nuzzling Charles’ hand. He knew at any moment, he would withdraw the touch. 

Or so he thought.

Instead, Charles felt a revelation wash over him. He kept hold of Edwin’s arm and shifted closer until there was barely any air between them. He swallowed down the nerves in his stomach, then slid the hand from his forearm to loop around his waist. He splayed his hand across the small of his back beneath his blazer, tracing fingers over the knit of his sweater vest. He breathed in deep with his mouth slightly open. 

Edwin’s eyelids fluttered and his knees went weak, but the hand on his back kept him steady. He turned his face further against his hand and bumped his nose against his palm. Then he risked pressing the tiniest of kisses to the pulse point of his wrist.

That was all it took for Charles to find a well of courage he didn’t know he had. He leaned in and intercepted Edwin before he could kiss his wrist again. The first proper kiss was a gentle thing - a testing peck. But once he had a taste of Edwin’s lips in full sensory glory, he immediately craved more. He pecked him twice more, then leaned in for a proper, deep, romantic kiss.

Edwin clung to Charles for dear life as what he’d wished for for decades finally came to pass. In between the gentle pecks, he let out a shuddering sigh - a whimper and a sound of surprise in one. When the full kiss came, he leaned into it fully. A pair of tears slipped down his cheeks, tracing cool rivulets down his neck until they soaked into the collar of his shirt. He gripped the sides of Charles’ jacket with white-knuckled intensity and leaned his weight against him.

Charles and Edwin kissed each other sweetly and with unlocked longing as the minutes ticked on. Their bodies grew warmer and the lights of the Christmas tree danced off their skin and reflected in their eyes. 

But Death’s gift was fleeting. At five minutes past midnight, the sensations started to slide away like the dimming of a candle. At first, they lost the scent of the tree, then the warmth of the fire. The last to go was the warmth of each others’ bodies and the gentle moisture of their lips. 

Even as the numbness of a ghost’s existence settled back in, they continued to hold one another just as tightly. Slowly, they lifted off the floor until they floated midair in front of the Christmas tree. They rotated around in a stepless dance, drifting in a slow circle as they remained intertwined. 

“I…think I was waiting for tonight to do that,” said Charles after a long, long moment with no sound but the crackle of the fire and the distant hum of London traffic. “Not consciously, but…maybe I just wanted to feel the first time. Properly.” 

Edwin clung to Charles and rested his head against his shoulder. He didn’t care that he could no longer feel the warmth of his body or the thrum of his heartbeat. He knew he was holding him, and that’s what truly mattered. The memory of that kiss would replay in his mind with all the ghost kisses to come.

And there would be many to come.

“Happy Christmas, Charles,” Edwin whispered as if he was afraid speaking too loudly would break the spell of that moment.

“Happy Christmas, Edwin,” Charles replied. Then he kissed him again.

---

If you enjoyed this fic, I would appreciate it if you dropped a kudos and/or a comment on Ao3! I have lots more DBD fic, too.

Merry Christmas!