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thefallennightmare · 2 days ago

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The Ties That Bind Us: Two

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit.*

•Parings• Noah Sebastian x Soulmate!Reader

•Word Count• 6,766

•Warnings• fluff, language, talks of death/cancer, angst, depression, dark thoughts, soft!Noah, smut that will include unprotected p in v, oral with both male and female receiving, hand jobs, and fingering. Pretty tame smut in this.

•Summary• Growing up, Noah’s grandparents told him the story of why everyone wore a red tie around their wrists and while theirs glowed while his didn’t.

“Yours will glow when you meet your soulmate, Noah.”

When someone moves in next door and catches Noah’s eyes immediately, he sees the red tie around her wrist glowing only to see his remains red. Convinced she’s not his soulmate, Noah tries hard to stay away from her yet small moments between them start to blossom. So much so, he can’t ignore the tie that binds them together

•Authors Note• Fair warning, this one will hurt.

SERIES MASTERLIST

TAG LIST

Song choice for the chapter just incase some of you won't know the lyrics

READER

“Eric?” I called out into the house as I stepped foot inside, two paper grocery bags in each arm.

A quiet house always worried me because I was never sure what I would walk into. Whenever I went out without Eric, I made sure to constantly check the bind on my wrist to make sure it would still glow. My worst fear was the flow fading back to the pale red when I wasn’t with Eric. I knew it was inevitable especially with his sickness but there was this small sliver of hope inside of me that I clung to every day that we would be fine; Eric would be fine.

Kicking off my shoes, I walked down the long hallway of our ranch style home towards our bedroom to notice the door was cracked and the soft sounds of the television echoed in the air.

“Eric?” I spoke again, pushing open the door all of the way to see my husband laying in bed with a white fluff ball on his chest.

“Ghost,” I sighed with my hands on my hips. “What did I tell you about laying on your dads chest? He can’t breathe with all your fluff on top of him?”

Eric chuckled, which seemed to take a lot of strength, but he did his best to play it off. “It’s fine. It’s a little pet therapy.”

It had been a few weeks since we moved to Los Angeles and with the stress of the move and Eric’s rigorous chemotherapy, he felt like he needed some sense of comfort. So two days ago, we visited the local shelter and adopted Ghost. A two year old Maine Coon cat that left his fur on every possible surface. I never was a cat person but the moment I saw light return to Eric’s eyes the moment he held Ghost, I knew he needed the cat more than my dislike for them.

Although, I’d never admit outloud how cute Ghost was.

“I picked up some stuff for dinner. Are you hungry? I could make some soup,” I asked Eric after I laid in bed next to him.

He left a weak kiss on my forehead. “I’m alright, my daisy. Don’t have much of an appetite.”

Even with his nickname for me, I frowned when I remembered how this morning's chemo took a lot out of Eric, hence why he’d been laid up in bed all day. While scratching Ghost’s chin, his favorite, I snuggled up closer to Eric and finally paid attention to what he’d been watching.

“Flipping through Twitch channels again?” I couldn’t help but giggle.

It was one of Eric’s favorite things to do. Watch other people live stream themselves playing video games. He used to do it years ago, before he got sick, and now that he didn’t have the energy to continue it Eric made the time to watch others.

He nodded while wrapping an arm around me, tattooed fingers grazing up and down my arm. I did my best to cherish these moments because I wasn’t sure if it would end.

It will end, Y/N. The doctors said-.

Forcing those thoughts away, I let time and silence pass between us as Eric clicked through different twitch channels, him casting it from his phone to the television above the fireplace in our bedroom. But when I saw a somewhat familiar face pop up on screen, I held a hand on Eric’s to stop him from changing it.

“Wait. Isn’t that our neighbor?” I asked.

The lines in Eric’s forehead creased as his ember eyes studied the screen for a moment. “Huh, it is. Noah Sebastian. He’s the one that’s in a band.”

I gazed up at Eric with confusion etched on my brows. “How do you know that?”

There was a smirk underneath his mustache. “I talk to the neighbors, Y/N.”

Playfully rolling my eyes, I settled back into the bed so we could watch the live stream of our neighbors. Eric seemed fine to watch as well since Noah was playing one of his favorite games; Super Smash Bros.

Besides the short conversation with Noah when we first moved in, I never spoke more than a few words to our neighbors. Besides the occasional hi or nice weather today. I wasn’t a very sociable person unlike Eric who always stopped to talk with anyone. Even with his sickness, he always found the time to go outside and talk with the neighbors.

Noah was playing with someone I hadn’t recognized, only for Eric to tell me that it was one of Noah’s bandmates.

“Nicholas,” Eric said. “He plays bass in the band. Nick plays the drums. They live in Virginia. The other roommate with the long hair and accent, Jolly, plays guitar.”

I hummed during this little lesson about our neighbors. “I always wondered where Jolyl was from because of his accent.”

“Sweden,” Eric informed. “Their band, Bad Omens, is about to release their second album. Which is why we hear music most of the day.”

“What about the other two roommates? Jesse with the fruit and the other guy?” I asked.

“Michael. They're in their own separate bands.”

I nodded once the conversation seized and settled in again, watching the twitch stream. It was a calming vibe, even with Noah’s chaotic game play. When a loud crack sounded, Eric and I both broke out in laughter when Noah and Nicholas freaked out about a candle exploding on a shelf above his bed.

“Oh shit, it’s on fire!” Noah bellowed while jumping onto his bed. “My whole shelf was on fire, dude!”

“How many people live in this house?” I asked when we watched a group of guys walk into Noah’s bedroom, him explaining what happened with the candle.

Soft snores filled my ears causing me to glance up at Eric to see he’d fallen asleep, Ghost still on his chest. I left a kiss on this cheek and removed the beanie from his head so he could sleep comfortably. He used to have a head full of hair but since he started chemo, Eric shaved it off and wore the black beanie cap any chance he could.

Reaching for his phone, I quickly followed Noah’s twitch channel and clicked off the television.

“Are you hungry, Ghost?” I asked the feline as I rose from the bed, him following behind me with a harsh meow while we let Eric sleep the rest of the night away.

NOAH

The sounds of the birds in the trees signing their soft songs brought a sense of peace and familiarity as I sat and lounged on one of the chairs in my backyard, browsing through my phone. The autumn winds blew through my hair and I reveled in how it brought a smile to my face. Summer came and went, taking with it the hot California heat and I could not be happier. I spent more time outside rather that in my bedroom because of it.

Also for the off chance I caught sight of my neighbor.

It had been almost a month since Y/N moved in. Since both her and Eric moved in.

Her husband.

Her soulmate.

While I chatted with Eric a few times, I rarely spoke with Y/N besides the occasional pleasantries. Even though I found her to be attractive, I continued to tell myself not to let the feelings grow more than that. She was married, her red bind glowed bright along with Eric’s. They were meant for each other, I couldn’t interfere with that.

It wasn’t what was laid out for my life nor Y/N’s.

And I had to admit, Eric was a pretty cool guy. He seemed to have heard of not only Bad Omnes, but Chief and Erra as well. He used to be in a band when he was younger but had to step away a couple years ago.

When they first moved in, we saw Eric outside quite a bit whether it was to work on the yard or write in a journal. Now, almost a month later, I’d seen Eric one or twice.

Shifting in my seat, I let out a groan of annoyance when I received yet another text from whatever her name was. It didn’t seem to bother her all that much that I couldn’t remember her name because she’d been texting me nearly every day asking if we could meet up. Each and every time I would either come up with an excuse or ignore her.

Maybe if I sent her a screenshot of her contact name, what’s her face, then she will get the hint.

Was that mean? Of course.

Did I care? Not entirely.

A muttering slew of curses caught my attention and setting my phone down in my lap, I glanced towards my right over the fence line to see Y/N standing in her backyard. She wore a pair of biker shorts that showed off her long legs and an oversized shirt. Her hair was up in a very messy bun on top of her head. The entire outfit gave way that she was about to do some kind of yard work.

Also the fact she was fighting with the lawn mower.

“Stupid old piece of shit,” Y/N grumbled while kicking it. “You started fine for Eric two weeks ago. Why won’t you start now?”

For a moment, I watched her try to start the lawn mower, all while sporting a shit eating grin. I wouldn’t admit it outloud but watching her struggle made my heart flutter.

“Please just work for me,” she nearly whined while throwing her head back up to the sky. “I need one good thing to happen for me today. Please.”

A slight frown pulled at my lips when I heard the sadness lace her voice so almost quickly, I rose to my feet and walked over towards the fenceline we shared.

“Everything alright?”

Y/N jumped at my voice, a hand over her heart as she peered over at me. The fence wasn’t high at all, coming to my waist so we were able to see over it perfectly fine.

“Uh,” she hastily tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sitting up straighter. “Yes. Well, no not really. But I don’t want to bother you. I can figure it out on my own.”

My brow raised as I rested my arms on the top of the fence, leaning my top half over into her yard slightly.

“Are you sure? I’ve heard you call that lawn mower quite a few choice names in the last few minutes.”

Y/N’s shoulders fell and eventually she nodded. “The grass is slightly overgrown and I got a letter from the HOA this morning that if I don’t cut it by the end of the day, they’ll charge me fifty bucks a day until it’s cut!”

I grimaced. “Yeah, they’re quite nasty with things like this. One time, we didn't bring in the garbage can because we were on the road so no one was home. It was out on the curb for three extra days and we got charged $100.”

“Just a couple of middle aged women who aren’t getting any action from their husbands or their pool boys so they take it out on someone who doesn’t even have a working mower,” Y/N said.

Both of us broke out in laughter, the mood between us lightening. It was weird how at ease I felt talking with her even though this was the most we've spoken since she moved in a month ago.

Quickly, I dared a glance down to the pale red bind on my wrist before looking at hers which continued to glow bright. Showcasing her love for Eric.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I motioned towards her yard. “Do you usually cut the grass yourself?”

Something flashed in Y/N’s eyes as she kept something buried deep inside of her. Her bottom lip twitched and the muscle in her jaw jumped but whatever plagued her mind she was quick to mask it with a forced smile.

“Eric’s busy and back in the midwest we lived in a condo so we always had someone to do our yard work,” Y/N explained.

I nodded with a hum before pushing off of the fence, taking off my sweater to reveal a tank top underneath. I didn’t miss the way her eyes widened at the sight of my tattoos, her gaze lingering on the one on my neck.

“Woah,” she muttered under her breath but was fast to change up her suddenly aroused tone. “What are you doing?”

Tossing my sweater over to the chair I was previously sitting on, I looked back at her with a smile. “I’m going to cut your grass for you.”

Immediately Y/N shook her head. “No, Noah. I can’t have you do that. Our yard is quite big and the grass is overgrown. It will take you the rest of the afternoon.”

It was true.

The grass reached her ankles and her yard was a tad bit bigger than ours. But that's all it was, just grass except for a small garden bed In the ground that seemed to grow one kind of flower.

Daisies.

“It’ll take me less than a few hours. We have one of those nice riding mowers. I just put on my headphones and make it go by faster,” I said.

The way she bit her bottom lip in ponder made something twinge inside of me. She looked absolutely beautiful with the sun above her casting her in a golden aura. I marveled as it gave her a halo and as a certain word threatened to spill from my lips, I instead reminded myself that she was married to her soulmate. All I could be to her was her neighbor. Maybe even a friend.

“Thank you, Noah,” she finally spoke and I could see the weight physically lift from her shoulders. “You don’t know how much this is going to help me. I’ll even pay you, as a thank you.”

I waved her off. “Don’t even worry about it. All I ask for is an ice cold beer.”

Now it was her turn to grimace. “Well, you won’t find that here. Eric and I don’t drink.”

There was something underlying in the way she spoke about Eric but I dare not pry so instead I gave her another wide smile.

“Lemonade works too.”

“That I can do,” Y/N returned my smile.

Two hours and three cups of lemonade later, I was standing in my bedroom freshly showered with a towel hanging low on my waist. I meant it when I said mowing Y/N’s yard was easy especially with our riding mower. She often came out to check on me but mostly stayed inside. As I was cutting the grass on the side of the house, passing their bedroom, I noticed Eric laying in bed. Anger rose inside of me for a moment when I thought he was being lazy, that's why he didn’t want to cut the grass. But when I saw the medication and bows of untouched soup on the table next to the bed, I realized he must have been sick with a cold, that’s why he couldn’t cut the grass.

It was when I parked the mower back into my garage and I was shutting it behind me did Eric finally walk outside, gripping the posts of his front porch.

“Thank you, Noah. It means a lot that you’ll help Y/N out when she needs it.”

I ran a hand through my long locks, working out the knots it gathered from having it tied up in a bun. “Of course. Although, I will admit it was kind of funny watching her struggle and call your piece of shit mower names.”

Eric laughed a hearty laugh albeit weak before giving me one more nod, heading back inside.

NOAH

Groaning as I worked out the sore muscles from my earlier gym session, I stepped inside my bedroom after my shower and dropped my towel to step into a pair of briefs then sweats. It was just before six in the evening and I knew I needed to talk with Jolly at some point about the finishing plans for our two week tour we would be leaving on in a few weeks.

It had been nearly a week since I cut Y/N’s grass and almost every night, we all found ourselves sitting outside for a few hours of the night chatting. Some nights we would hang out in their yard, Eric joining us as well, and other nights Y/N would venture over with a dish of whatever dinner she had cooked that night. Whenever she came by our place alone, we often asked where Eric was and it was always the same answer.

He’s not feeling all that well.

Tonight I had plans on streaming on twitch which meant we couldn’t enjoy the autumn nights outside together, which was something I needed. Because the more time I spent with her, the feelings began to grow stronger. Especially with what happened between us moments ago.

When I returned from the gym, I stepped out of my car with my gym bag slung over my shoulder and only wore my work out shorts. The gym session had been intense and my body still ignited with heat so I decided not to wear a shirt on the drive home. Y/N had returned from a run and stopped at the end of my driveway when she caught sight of my shirtless form. She wore a simple sports bra that seemed to hug her breasts perfectly and tight shorts. The muscles of her stomach glistened with the sweat that lingered and the thought of grazing my tongue over her salty skin passed in my mind briefly.

We stared at each other for a long moment, both of us not saying anything, as new tensions began to form between us. It was unknown to me so like I’d always done when I was around her, I looked at my bind on the off chance it was glowing.

It wasn’t.

So instead of dwelling on the disappointment again, I struck up a conversation with her. Wondering if she wouldn’t mind exchanging numbers because with the entire household leaving on their own respective tours in a few weeks, no one would be home and we were in need of someone to keep an eye on the place.

Y/N agreed and after we exchanged numbers, she bid me a farewell with a tentative wave over her shoulder. I watched with blazing eyes on her perfect ass as she walked up the steps to her house, shutting the door behind her.

Now I stood in my bedroom, the window open to let in the chill autumn air as I tried desperately not to text her because deep down, I knew it was a line I shouldn’t cross.

Why was I so enamored with her? Why couldn’t I think of anyone else but her?

It should have been easy to forget about Y/N in the way I had been thinking about her, yet here I was wondering what she was doing right at that moment.

A gruff meow pulled me from my thoughts and I snapped my head to the white ball of fluff that seemed to materialize at my feet.

“What the fuck!” I cursed, nearly jumping onto my bed.

I would have been more freaked out if I didn’t know who the cat belonged to. I’d seen him hanging out in the window sills next door and one night while we all hung out in Y/N’s back yard, he ventured out to lay in Eric’s lap. We found out that those two were bound at the hip and Y/N even joked that she was the third wheel in the marriage to Eric and his cat.

“Ghost,” I sighed while picking him up into my arms. “How did you get over here?”

All he did was purr in response so after setting him on my bed, I had no choice but to text Y/N.

“Was this all part of your master plan?” I teased the cat as he curled up on my pillow while I typed up a message.

Me: Hey it’s Noah. Missing something?

Attached to the text was a picture of Ghost curled up on my pillow.

Y/N: Son of a bitch. I am so sorry, Noah! I don’t know how he keeps getting out. Jesse told me a few days ago he found Ghost sunbathing in your hammock.

Me: Don’t apologize. We don’t mind his little visits.

Me: I can bring him back home. I’m sure Eric is missing him.

As I waited for her to respond, I busied myself with throwing a shirt on and setting up everything I needed for my twitch stream later, all the while Ghost slept soundly on my pillow.

When my phone buzzed on my desk, I snatched it so fast it nearly slipped through my fingers.

Y/N: No rush! Eric and I are actually headed out to dinner so we can scoop Ghost up after. If that’s alright?

Even though my heart dropped at the image of Eric and Y/N going out together, I replied.

Me: More than alright. Just text me when you’re on your way back and I’ll have him ready for you.

Her texts seized after that so leaving my phone plugged into the charger on my end table, I was about to head to the kitchen to find something to eat when something through my bedroom window caught my eye.

Directly across my bedroom window was Y/N’s and I stood frozen with wide eyes as I watched her step into her room with a towel wrapped around her. Her hair was wet, sticking to her face and back as she turned away from me; oblivious that I could see through her window.

Before, Y/N would have her curtains closed, not allowing me a view inside. But for some reason today she had them pulled wide open. I stood frozen in time as she dropped the towel, showing me the swell of her ass. My cock throbbed in my shorts and as much as I wanted to ease away some of the tension with my palm, I couldn’t move. Time was suspended as I continued to stare at Y/N as she moved about her room naked. Her skin seemed to glimmer even with all of the distance between us and as much as I tried to ignore the way I was beginning to feel for it, it was futile.

My heart pounded when she was near and far. My cock ached to know what her cunt felt like. My hands were desperate to feel the weight of her tits in them. My mouth craved to taste her own.

Y/N was perfect in every single way. She was gorgeous as the aura followed her around the bedroom, outlining her with imaginative wings.

“She’s married, Noah,” I groaned while running a hand over my face, forcing me to turn away from the window.

With my eyes closed, I didn’t see the way the pale red bind around my wrist flashed gold; only for a moment.

READER

“In the pounding feet, in the streets below, and the window breaks. And a woman falls, there's something wrong, it's so hard to believe that love will prevail,” my voice sang quietly as I stepped inside the house through the patio door.

I had a bouquet of fresh daisies from the garden ready to prep and put in a vase, along with the other four spread out through the house. I absolutely loved daisies, them being my favorite flower. It was the bouquet of flowers Eric got me on our first date so they hold a sentimental place in my heart. Even though we didn’t have much of a garden here yet I knew I wanted to grow daisies.

Once they were settled nicely in the vase, I dragged my tired feet down the hall towards my bedroom. The last few weeks had been so amazing and adventurous, it was beginning to creep up on me. Eric had been feeling great, nearly back to his old self. Well, not completely. The cancer was still spreading through him but the chemo seemed to be slowing the speed in which it spread. I wasn’t sure what exactly changed in Eric or where this surge of energy came from but I didn’t complain.

We started going out and exploring the town we lived in; going to farmers markets, walking along the beach at sunset, going to movies, grabbing dinner at a greasy diner that probably wasn’t healthy for either of us but we didn’t care. We both were happy, more in love than our wedding day.

While I’d been outside tending the garden, Eric was out picking us up some dinner. I was hesitant to let him drive but he assured me that he was only going down the block to one of our favorite Greek spots. He would only be gone for twenty minutes.

After I set the daisies on top of my dresser, I went about tidying up the bedroom. Just as I was about to pull the curtains shut, my eye caught sight of Noah across the way in his own bedroom. I could only see half of his bed and desk but with what I could see, he was sitting on the edge of his bed with a guitar in his lap. I couldn't see his face, only his fingers strumming along the strings. Both of our windows were open so I could hear his voice carry over into my bedroom as he sang.

“If I’m there to catch you when you fall you'll have a friend down in hell after all.”

Swallowing thickly, I yanked the curtain shut and sat on the chair at my vanity, trying to calm the heat that rose to my cheeks. I wasn’t sure what shifted between us in the last few months since I first moved in but it was nice having him, along with his roommates, as friends. I know Eric appreciated it too. Having a group of people that didn’t know about his cancer so they didn’t give him the usual looks of sympathy.

Seeing Noah in his bedroom was the first time I’d seen him in weeks since he left for tour. I’d been listening to his band, Bad Omens, and while they weren’t the usual music I listened to, I still found myself transfixed with Noah’s voice. They only had two albums out and I was desperate for more.

I couldn’t explain it but talking with Noah, I found myself falling deeper for him. Not in a romantic way but with a connection so deep it would be nearly impossible to break the farther along our friendship grew.

The front door opened and I quickly rose to my feet, skipping down the hall to smile at Eric who not only had a bag of food in one hand but a rather large bouquet of flowers in the other.

Not just any flowers but daisies.

I giggled while taking them from him, allowing him to capture my lips in a kiss. “You do know we’re growing daisies outside, right?”

He shrugged while setting down the food on our large kitchen counter and shrugged off his tan jacket to hang it on the back of the stool.

“It’s not the same as buying one to surprise you with it,” Eric said with a wink. “Hungry?”

I nodded. “Starved.”

Once the new flowers were set in a vase in the middle of the kitchen counter, I sat with Eric as we ate. Every so often I caught him staring at me with a look of love in his eyes. Those dark orbs bled with his devotion to me.

I wiped some food crumbs out of his mustache with a giggle. “You’re so in love with me you don’t realize you have food all over your face.”

He kissed the inside of my palm once he captured it. “I love you, my daisy.”

Every time he spoke his pet name for me it made my world spin, my heart leap into my throat, and warmth spread inside of my veins. I never felt a love like how I had with Eric. He was my everything and I would literally die for him.

Not if he dies first.

Pushing away the harsh thought from my mind, I played with his glowing bind, trying to remember the good memories between us. I wouldn’t succumb to the darkness that lingered.

Eric was fine.

He would be fine.

We would be fine.

When he went to clean up, I hastily pushed Eric’s hands away. “You rest. I’ll clean up.”

Even though he’d been feeling stronger these last few weeks, I knew he wouldn’t say no to some rest. So as I cleaned up our mess from dinner, Eric looked through our rather large record collection before setting one in the player and soon an all too familiar song graced my ears.

Oh, it won't rain all the time. The sky won't fall forever.

Looking over to Eric who stood in the middle of our living room with his arm outstretched towards me, he had a lazily smile on his face. He’d taken off the black beanie he always wore, showcasing his buzzed head.

“Will you dance with me, my daisy? It’s our song,” he noted.

I pulled at my dirty sweats and messy hair. “I’m not dressed for a dance, Eric.”

“Are you kidding me?” His jaw fell agape, appalled that I would say something so insane. “You look absolutely breathtaking, Y/N. Even more so than on our wedding day.”

Tears welled in my eyes when I saw the way his hands shook but didn’t want to ruin the mood. Eric was glowing with happiness and life. He hadn't wanted to dance in so long, especially to our song. I refused to deny him this.

Linking our fingers together, I allowed him to pull me into his chest and I rested my cheek against it. His heartbeat was slow but erratic. I followed his lead like always as he swayed both of our bodies to the song. I let myself relax for the first time in so long, always worrying about if the chemotherapy would work, if Eric would survive, or if our binds would break away without me knowing.

Eric must have sensed I was thinking those dark thoughts again because he gently lifted my chin up to him, laying a firm kiss to my lips. It was quick, almost too quick, and I didn’t want it to end. This was the first time in a while that we shared a kiss that wasn’t just a fast peck. I opened my mouth to let his tongue explore and I moaned into it, reveling in how he tasted. His scent engulfed my senses when my hands slipped up his chest to behind neck, locking them in place.

I felt the hardness of his cock against my lower stomach so I broke away from the kiss for a moment, breathless. Ever since he started chemo, it was hard for Eric to get an erection. I spent most nights touching myself or using one of my toys, every so often he would watch. I tried to touch him, only for it to do nothing for him. He reassured me it wasn’t me, it was just the chemo.

“Eric,” I sighed. “I don’t want to rush you.”

He lifted me off the ground with a slight ease and I squealed while wrapping my legs around him.

“What are you doing?” I asked when he started carrying us towards our bedroom.

“It’s been too long, Y/N. I need to feel you again,” he said while kicking the door shut behind us.

As much as we loved cuddle time with Ghost, we didn’t need him trying to sneak in at this moment.

Laying me on the bed, Eric kissed me again with more force than the last one and I grazed my teeth over his bottom lip.

“Are you sure?” I asked after pulling away briefly.

“Y/N,” he leaned closer to me. “You’re the only thing that matters to me right now. Please let me have this. I need this. I need you.”

Without a second thought, I crashed my lips to his and pulled at his shirt, doing whatever I could to deepen the kiss. Breaking away from me, Eric began biting and sucking at the sweet spot of my neck, our movements becoming familiar with each other all over again. He remembered exactly where to touch or kiss that would set me off, in the most euphoric way.

My name fell from his lips when I started to rut my hips into his, trying to scratch the itch that only he could scratch. As our clothes fell away and our bodies connected, his cock fitting inside of me like a glove, I etched the way he felt against me inside of my mind.

Afterwards, with the sheet lazily thrown on top of me, I watched in bliss as Eric sat on the edge of the bed. His bare back tensed as he rested his elbows on his knees, taking a deep breath. The red marks that littered his skin were still visible thanks to my nails.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder at me with a fox smile. “Just tired. I can’t remember the last time I gave you three orgasms.”

I winked. “It’s been awhile. I missed the way your tongue felt.”

Eric squeezed my ankle. “I’m going to get some water for us then we can maybe watch some twitch streams?”

“I love how it has become our nightly routine,” I said with a small laugh.

Every night, we would snuggle up in bed together to watch twitch streams; mostly Noah’s. I always found myself laughing at how unhinged he was, something Eric noticed but never saying anything.

Eric rose from the bed with a groan but soon his large body collapsed to the floor with a thud, making me scream out in horror as I scrambled over to him.

“ERIC!” I cried, kneeling in front of him. “Eric, baby. Are you alright?”

He didn’t say anything and ice cold fear filled my veins when I realized his eyes were closed.

“No, no, no. Please, no. Eric!” I sobbed now, letting out a wail when I laid a hand on his chest.

NOAH

All I could feel was my body falling deeper and deeper, succumbing to the darkness that surrounded me. I couldn't breath, nails clawing at the skin of my throat as I tried to call out for help.

Yet no one could hear me.

There was nothing but inky blackness while my body continued to be thrown through whatever void I found myself in. I spun in the air over and over until I felt bile rise in my throat but did my best to keep it inside. If I threw up, the sheer intensity of the wind would cause it to smack me right in the face.

A spark of color broke through the darkness and I let out a gasp, hands outstretched to reach for the red string. My fingertips brushed along the thread and I could almost taste the victory of being able to finally leave this void. Only for the string to wrap around me in quick loops. It began to tighten around me, forcing my arms to the side as I did what I could to fight against it. Seconds later, the red string snapped apart when a sudden weight sat on top of my chest, stealing whatever oxygen I had left in my lungs.

Blinking my eyes rapidly, it took me a moment to realize that I had been dreaming and the weight I felt on my chest was not because of a red string, but because of a white fluffy cat whose blue eyes were staring into me.

"Ghost," I groaned while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Does your mom know you're over here? Again?"

The cat simply meowed in response before curling up against my neck.

"I should probably bring you back to Y/N before she wonders where you ran off to this time," I mumbled, excitement filling my veins at the prospect of seeing Y/N.

We’d found out there was a small enough hole in the shared fence line that Ghost would slip through to venture back and forth between the houses. At first, Jolly offered to fix the whole so Y/N and Eric didn’t have to worry about losing Ghost but Eric was quick to wave us off. He said he didn’t mind his cat coming for visits as long as we didn’t. Somehow in the span of a few weeks, all six of us ended up with shared custody of Ghost. Michael wasn’t too fond of the cat at first but took a little warming up before he didn’t mind waking up one morning to see the cat on our couch.

Although, it had been awhile since we last saw Ghost. Y/N had mentioned that he was spending more time with Eric which was fine because it technically was his cat but I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss the cat.

We’d just returned from our east coast tour a few days ago but due to the lack of sleep I had, I spent the time catching up on sleep because we were about to leave for Europe next week. Only this tour would be longer. We’d be gone for three weeks. Thankfully both Jesse and Michael would be home this time around so we didn’t need Y/N to keep an eye on the house for us.

Y/N.

I hadn’t seen or talked to Y/N since I arrived home a few days ago. She texted me once while I was on the road to tell me that she gathered all of our mail into a box and planned to give it to the first one of us she saw.

While I was away, all I could think about was the memory of her naked, more so her ass. It plagued me like a disease, taunting me that I was unable to do anything about it. I had to watch from afar as she walked around her room naked. I wanted to be the one that was able to touch her.

She’s married, you dumbass. Stop thinking of another man's wife naked!

“Alright, let’s get you home,” I sighed towards Ghost after motioning him to follow.

When I stepped out of my bedroom, the sound of someone pounding on the front door shook the bones of the house and I appeared int he living room just in time to see Jesse rise from the couch.

He’d been lounging on the couch with a bowl of pineapple chunks on his bare chest and his cat pajama pants, the one his girlfriend gifted him.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked as the pounding continued.

Jesse shrugged while walking over to the front door. “Don’t know. Some chick has been yelling your name for the last few seconds.”

Fuck, if it’s whats her name I might just jump off my roof.

Ghost seemed unbothered by the banging on the door because he simply made himself at home at Jesse’s previous spot on the couch. When the front door opened, it felt as if the air was stolen from my lungs when I took in the sight of a broken Y/N; eyes red and puffy. Tears streamed down her face along with makeup and her hair was disheveled. I briefly saw red marks littering her neck but that wasn’t what had my attention currently.

It was the bind on her wrist that was flickering.

“Y/N,” I appeared next to Jesse. “What’s going on?”

Her broken eyes bounced between us before settling on me. “It’s Eric! I-He-I can’t!”

She blew out a shaky breath before grabbing my hand, leading me out of the house towards hers.

tags: @artificialbreezy @blueskylinesx @dominuslunae @lobolocaamo @lilcrazy011 @badomensls @shayeanna-ashlie @supersquirrel1996 @missduffsblog @nicelittlenightmares @curse-bearing-hips @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @chey-h @idontwantthemoney @heyyoplayer @amelia-acero @xmads-omensx @poisongirl616 @theanarchymuse95 @trvshdxddy @thisbicc @losingmyselfinthoughts @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @klutzy-kay24 @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @collidewiththesavannah @tosoundlessdarkistare @rumoured-whispers @dontwantthemoney @montgomery-929496 @respectfulrebel l @chaoticwineaunt @fadingangelwisp @english-fucker @99png @Koskeepsake @lunabuna991 @sorrowsofsilence

#tina talks #noah sebastian #bad omens #the ties that bind us noah sebastian #noah sebastian x soulmate!reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian soulmate au #soulmate au #noah sebastian fics #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fics #bad omens fanfictions

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poguelandiarafe · 3 days ago

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that's what friends are for | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x bsf!reader

warnings - fluff, mature language, mentions of weed

summary - you're spending the evening with your friends at rafe's beach house. based on the song above.

masterlist

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the summer evening air of kildare smells like a mixture of weed, suncream, and the remnants of the barbecue from earlier. the sand under your feet feels cool now, compared to how it practically burned your skin when you first arrived hours ago. you watch as kelce tackles your best friend jade to the ground, both of them erupting in laughter when topper flops on top of them.

you hear someone shout your name from behind you, so you turn to lock eyes with your other best friend, rafe. he's carrying another pack of beers and a bottle of something else. as he sits down next to you, you see it's a small bottle of tequila. a spirit you always regret drinking in the morning.

"oh dear." you laugh, shaking your head at him as he drinks it straight from the bottle.

"want some?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"in a minute."

a shiver runs down your spine as the breeze picks up. your bikini top and short shorts not being the greatest outfit as it gets later and colder. leaning over rafe, you pick up the shirt he'd just taken off and pull it on over your head. you don't know where yours is, assuming it's in the pile of clothes over by your other friends.

"can't be doing that, princess," he starts, voice low but playful, "one day i'll get the wrong impression."

you roll your eyes and shove his shoulder, having gotten used to his flirty comments over the many years you'd known him.

"shut up." you smirk, cheeks unintentionally turning red.

the next twenty minutes consist of you and rafe taking turns drinking the bottle of tequila until it's basically empty, laughing at god knows what while letting the alcohol take over.

you're sufficiently drunk by now and see no problem suddenly standing up, even as you wobble slightly, and order all your friends to come skinny dipping with you. immediately, jade and you take off running towards the sea, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake.

"come on guys! don't be boring!" jade shouts, waving over the guys.

the water comes as a shock to your system as you run up to your hips. you see jade up to her shoulders, despite how cold it is, so you force yourself to go further in and splash water at her. this prompts her to splash it back at you until you're both splashing around like five-year-olds.

from the safety of the beach, the guys watch the two of you, debating whether they should join you or leave you to it. it's a short-lived debate, with kelce pulling his shirt over his head and earning a whistle from jade when he makes his way over to you both.

"you're crazy!" rafe calls out, shaking his head but grinning all the same.

you playfully spread your arms, challenging him when you shout back, "come on cameron, not scared of a little water are you?"

jade echoes your teasing, throwing in a casual, "afraid it'll shrink?"

kelce finds this hilarious, throwing his head back in laughter, and even topper can't help but join in. your gaze is still locked on rafe's, narrowing your eyes to get him to break.

eventually, he does, muttering under his breath something about how 'you'll be the death of him'. he kicks off his shoes and jogs into the water, peeling his shorts off and throwing them with his shoes when he's submerged up to his waist. topper follows suit, wading slowly into the water.

your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, almost not expecting them to do it. for a minute, you get distracted by the moonlight illuminating rafe's broad shoulders and defined abs, but you're soon brought back to reality when he's standing in front of you, head tilted to the side.

"happy now?" he asks, his voice teasing.

you hum, playful smile on your lips, "yes, very."

and then, without thinking, you grab the back of rafe's head closing the distance between you, and press your lips to his. for a second, he's surprised, but his brain catches up to the situation and reacts by gripping your hips to pull you closer. the kiss is desperate, intense, and a bit messy. when you finally pull back, both of you are breathless and wearing matching smiles.

"that the wrong impression you were thinking of?" you quip, looking up at him through your lashes.

"something like that." he replies, an arm wrapping around your shoulders.

the kiss lingers in your mind as the night goes on. all the alcohol has since been drained, empty beer bottles scattered around where you're all sat by the fire. jade sits cross-legged opposite you while you're next to rafe, leaning your head on his shoulder.

eventually, the fire dies down and you all decide to head back inside. even though there's only five of you, it's chaos. topper, jade, and kelce are arguing over who gets the spare room and who's sleeping on the sofa whereas you're content knowing you always stay in rafe's room.

you're curled up in rafe's bed, still wearing his shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms you'd left here last time you'd stayed. the other three are still arguing about where they're sleeping, but you couldn't be bothered with it, a headache already forming. rafe lays beside you, watching you as you stare up at the ceiling.

"regret the tequila?" he teases, laughing when you nod with a pout.

"always." you groan.

he chuckles, shaking his head, "get some sleep, i'll be here to look after you in the morning."

"i hope so, it's your fault i drank it in the first place."

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gold-onthe-inside · 2 days ago

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count the odds

who? spencer reid (s8) x bau!reader summary: you reflect on the past year at rossi’s annual nye party, which brings you back to your relationship with spencer, and all the different ways your lives could’ve gone, and the odds of you both finding each other. content warnings: none, really. slight mention of r being distant from her family, kissing

There’s something about the BAU that blurs the days together - the long hours and late nights. You’ve stopped living day to day and in bursts of three days, sometimes five if the case requires that kind of time. You sleep when you can, if you can. Some holidays you can’t escape from. Valentine’s is enthusiastically celebrated by Penelope, dressed entirely in pink and white, clasping a box of chocolate covered strawberries that she’s only too happy to feed Morgan. You fear when April comes around, Derek and Spencer’s childish insistence on fooling the other putting you on edge so much that you spend the day in Penelope’s lair.

Easter’s a new one, hosted by JJ and Will, which is really more an opportunity for everyone to day-drink while you and Spencer entertain Henry, Michael, and Jack as they hunt for chocolate eggs in the park, scrabbling on their hands and knees like dogs trying to remember where they buried their bones, and dragging the two of you along to help them. At one point, Henry insists that Spencer lift him on his shoulders like Derek does, just so he can search a tree, no matter how hard Spencer reasons that the Easter Bunny would never hide them that high up because bunnies can’t climb trees, but there’s no fighting a 4 year old’s will.

Halloween is the one Spencer looks forward to all year, the day he sheds any pretence of professionalism, and you’ve never cared much for the holiday since you met him - you’ve always dreaded the spike in crime rates that time of year. You don’t clock the year passing you by until then, and your heart always squeezes when he insists on spending his favourite holiday with you, but everything blurs together after that. Your family knows better than to beg you to come around for Thanksgiving and Christmas, too many years have passed for you to be any more than a distant relative who they call on birthdays. Even that has dwindled to a text lately, and you don’t particularly mind - you’d have quit this job a long time ago if it mattered that much. You have more peace of mind now, and the sting of disappointment in you has long since faded.

Instead, you sit across from Spencer in one of Rossi’s spare rooms, to get away from the noise and the hubbub of his party. In truth, it felt like any other day, Spencer trying and failing to get you to play any kind of game that you know he’d win for sure — “There’s no fun in it when you’re better than I am,” you protested.

“But the only way to get better is to play,” Spencer replied, a slight whine in his voice, slender fingers shuffling cards.

“My ego can’t take it,” you said, pulling your feet up. “Can’t we just play Snap?”

“No way, my hand went completely red last time, you get too aggressive,” Spencer complained.

“Crybaby,” you retorted, smiling at him teasingly.

”Said the abuser,” he replied, just as quick, but he indulged you anyway, starting to divide the stack between you. “I swear, if you hit my hand, I’m never playing this game with you again.”

”It’s hardly intentional,” you said, taking your stack. “You’re just slow.”

He does his best to not smile at you giddily, he just can’t seem to help himself. There’s something about you that makes the time pass quicker, that lifts his mood, makes him feel like he’s floating on air. He likes watching the way your brow furrows in concentration, the way your skin glows under the soft light, so he’s already losing the game, not providing you much competition. He supposes that’s the other reason you always win at fast-paced games. By the time he actually registers the matched cards, you’ve already slapped it, his stack growing larger as you both play. It finishes far too quickly for your taste, and you’ve lost interest, letting him reshuffle the cards. He watched you lean back in your seat, your gaze on his hands.

“Do you think in another life you would’ve been one of those casino dealers in Vegas?” you asked, and it’s something that’s crossed his mind before. If he didn’t have the IQ he did, if he hadn’t gotten into CalTech when he did. It wasn’t a thought he liked.

”I hope not,” he said.

“So, then what?” you asked. “A cowboy?” You remember overhearing his conversation with JJ, about owning some farmland and a couple of cows, which was ridiculous to you. He was far too obsessive over personal hygiene, and the lack of libraries would have horrified him. For a brief moment, you wondered what he might look like in a Stetson.

“Not realistically.” He focused on dealing the cards, trying to ignore your gaze, feeling like an insect under a microscope.

“You don’t think about all the different lives you could’ve led?”

“I used to,” Spencer said honestly. “But I kind of like this life.”

”What changed?”

You swear your heart stopped when he looked at you. “You did,” he said plainly, like he hadn’t just reached into your chest and wrapped his slender hand around your heart.

“Oh,” you managed to get out, picking up your cards while checking your hand wasn’t shaking, putting the scrambled pieces of your brain back together as you sorted your cards. It was a habit of his that was gonna give you a heart attack one of these days, how he’d say something so earth-shattering as if he was telling you the time.

“I mean, that’s how it works, right?” Spencer continued casually as he sorted his cards. “If the slightest event in our timeline had changed, we would never have met. So, in a way, the odds of us being in this room at this moment playing cards exactly as we are in another universe are so slim… It’s infinitesimally small. A butterfly could flap it’s wings and we wouldn’t know each other.” He looked up, familiar hazel eyes on you while you focused on your cards, trying to regulate your breathing. “You okay?”

”Uh-huh,” you managed, tucking hair behind your ear, staring at your cards. “I think I’ve forgotten how to play gin.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out if you’re acting strange, and if you are, why. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in the faint blush that rose on your cheeks. As he watched your gaze remain fixed on your cards, he realized what he’d said. It’d completely flown over his head – he was just stating a fact, after all. “Are you blushing?”

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“Oh, you so are,” he teased, setting his cards down and looking at you properly. You were usually unflinchingly quick, making him dizzy trying to keep up with the quips, so to see you blushing and fumbling was a rare sight. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. It was a new look on you, one he wanted to catalogue and study.

”Just… shut up and show me how to play,” you said.

He picked his cards up again, holding in a smile as he looked down. “Alright, I’ll go easy on you,” Spencer said, not looking at you as he rearranged his cards. You watched as he started to lay his cards down, explaining the rules as he did. He was being particularly patient, you observed, more patient than he needed to be, and you were sure he knew that you understood how to play. You just needed a distraction from the current rush of feeling in your body as you slowly recovered from his previous words. If he knew what kind of effect he had on you, he would be insufferable. You let him rattle on, nodding, trying not to focus on the shape of his mouth or the smooth timber of his voice.

And then you can hear the cheer of the countdown outside, the rest of Rossi’s guests, including your team, all gathered in his backyard, Derek and Will setting up the fireworks, and you pulled Spencer to his feet to watch from the window. Spencer stood next to you, his shoulder pressed against yours as you watch everyone gathered outside, counting down until midnight. A smile tugged on his lips, and he caught himself staring again as the countdown grew closer. 10 - 9 - 8 - He could almost hear the thrum of your heartbeat, 7 - 6 - 5 - He leaned just fractionally closer to you.You felt the shift of his body next to you as his shoulder pressed against yours, and you wondered if he did it on purpose or if it was subconscious. You glanced over, breath catching in your throat at how close he was to you. 4 - 3 - 2 - He could feel the heat from your body, just a breath away. You kissed him first, warm and soft, the whistle of the fireworks followed by a crack as loud as a gunshot, brilliant lights scattering over the sky.

A gasp escaped his throat as your lips met his, the familiar feeling of your body against his making him dizzy. He didn’t have a chance to react much before the loud boom of the fireworks rang out, the sound like music in the background of his chaotic thoughts. He’d kissed you before, he’d done more than kiss you before, but it still took him a moment to realize this was happening. His hands went to your jaw, pulling you closer to him as he responded, a shudder running through him.

You pulled away for breath, your hands at his waist, looking up at him. “Happy New Year,” you murmured, smiling.

He still had one hand on your jaw, breathless, heart trying to burst out of his chest. He was staring down at you like he’d never seen you before, taking in the way your skin glowed in the reflection of the fireworks, the shape of your lips, now pink and slightly swollen from the impact of the kiss. “Happy New Year,” he replied in a whisper.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine

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occamstfs · 20 hours ago

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Talismen V: World Peace

And so the world ends with a wish unless Alex and Nicky are able to abate men changing in every corner of the world. CEO's get their hands dirty, academics find their wild side, journalists go local, pianists get angry. And you, well who can say what happens to you.

Happy new year! Hope you enjoy the grand finale of my little 2.5k special :) As ever, Yours! -Occam

The air around the trio is almost vibrating from the energy emanating off Nicky’s Talisman. Simon’s eyes flicker around the cafe as reality almost begins to fracture. Some intern’s tray of drinks becomes a fifty pound free weight as his arms grow with grotesque haste to keep it balanced in the air, sleeves tattering before dissolving into the static mists. In the corner a struggling sci-fi author’s hands become inseparable from his keyboard and green binary scrolls across his pupils, skin shifting sicky metallic up his arms. Behind the bar a barista twitches as his face grows furry, sharper nails quickly tear through a cheap apron.

Still struggling to reconcile the transformation witnessed at the gym, Simon shakes off his curiosity and turns his attention back to his love just as Alex reaches out a hand to steady his friend who is struggling to breathe under the weight of reality. Alex, more with it than either man and far more aware of what may, will, and cannot happen puts a gentle hand on Nicky’s shoulder and tries to help the magus understand. Reassured by the simple human act. With the helping hand Nicky finds himself to see the metaphysical tendrils stretching from the Talisman on his neck.

Pulsing, stretching, growing. Alex and Nicky both watch as, bereft of any input from the man wearing the necklace, the power within is simply shooting indiscriminately to every mind and body it can reach. At once, both men realize that regardless of how little they know about the malevolent charm around his neck, Nicky needs to direct its power somewhere or it will work of its own volition.

Realizing its bearer is about to issue ground orders, shockingly, all the disparate ribbons and strands of energy return at once. The cyborg gasps for breath with new half synthetic lungs, two men who had never met awkwardly stammer as they find themselves half-nude making out over their americanos, the barista apologizes for getting his hair(fur?) in a drink.

None of the named characters get half a chance to notice the halted changes as Nicky is suddenly being suffocating outright, filled with power returned. Like a constrictor he is choked by the sheer presence of this energy flying back into the amulet, every vein is visible and pumping brighter with each passing moment, his skin feels tight and he almost seems about to burst with the eldritch potential within him. Tendrils squeeze his mind like a vice, eager to run with any haphazard half-baked wish that makes itself known.

Alex sees fear behind his friend’s eyes of red as Nicky chokes out, “I- I don’t know what t- to say” He turns to see his boyfriend, and reality fractures just a tad. Nicky sees him as the powerful man he is and always has been, but behind that there’s a wry bookish nerd who never hit the gym. He remembers a conversation long ago with this different, can’t be past, version of Simon. He’s clearly annoyed, they’ve been debating this for a while, “you can’t- you can’t just wish for anything, a genie’s whole thing is twisting your wish babe. Be-” In the memory Nicky interrupts, “I know. I know. It’s just- in my mind I can’t justify not trying. It- Three wishes, one of them has to be like, world peace. Or uh, solving hunger or something?”

And just like that, just as soon as it began, the vision fades, edges tinge red as the meek other Simon rolls his eyes before returning to the man Nicky knows him to be. The man with the world on his shoulders chokes out a sigh. The wish does need to be grand enough to dissipate all this energy after all. Scarlet tears thicker than blood drip down his face, maybe it’ll all be okay, “I wish, grgh- W- World Peace.” Time and reality stutter as the amulet processes the command input, red energy shoots from the Talisman like solar flares, venturing far enough to scrape patrons in the cafe, molding outfits sculpting new muscle before returning back to the now vibrating amulet.

Nicky grasps it and closes his eyes. From the central gem of the Talisman red shoots like a beam, straight through Alex. The deliverer’s face is grim as it hits him, demanding he return to the harbinging work he finished moments ago. Steeling himself for the part he is to play he notices a glimmer behind the matte red eyes of his friend and an idea strikes both at once, perhaps there remains hope yet. Looking at his new callused hands he is potently aware that there is impossible power within this artefact, but can it truly affect the whole world? Alex grits his teeth and plans to embody the wish Nicky bestowed, distilled into him, Haste.

Alex feels himself being carried away by the beam, nodding at Simon and Nicky he shoots off, turning to try and race ahead of the storm of will as it tears through city blocks, and countryside, through cabins and campus libraries, morphing men into their wildest dreams and steamiest nightmares. No time for Alex to watch every one despite an itch at the back of his mind to do just that. He needs to get ahead of this, he needs to accelerate, he needs to overload it. Unstuck from time or space he finds himself in a New York City penthouse, standing beside some grimacing man looking out over the city. He did it, he beat it here, now he’s setting the pace.

Fractals of the beam reflect in the polished windows of the skyscraper, surely shooting off to grace the lives of those sitting in suites across the city. But as it nears the top, as it nears Alex, it almost seems to slow. Giving him time to take in this office, and observe what is to become of the smug man, Mr. McCarthy, scowling as he looks out over the city, looking down both figuratively and literally upon the population he sees as beneath him. Clad in a pristine, tailored suit he almost laughs as he imagines the lives led by the pour sods he grinds underfoot.

Despite himself and his mission, Alex’s eyes glimmer with rage, perhaps there are indeed changes that ought to happen. Just as the thought occurs the manifestation of Nicky’s words shoot into the room like wind, rushing past Alex before slamming into the haughty businessman and curling around him. The witness can almost see on the rich man’s fabric where the tendrils squeeze in tight.

Eyes widening with fear, he drops the glass of exorbitantly priced whiskey he was drinking to claw and something he cannot see. Every inch of exposed skin is filled with warmth that quickly races under his clothes as well. Muscle boils under his skin and he falls to the floor, cutting his cashmere trousers on the shards of glass. Only concerned with his own appearance, this shocks him out of his pain. McCarthy forgets whatever stroke or seizing just struck him and scoffs at what sloppy misfortune has sullied his wardrobe.

Grumbling to himself he stands and finally does he see the man standing in the room watching him, “Ughh you must be the help. Clean up this mess, now.” He scowls and straightens his tie before realizing how weary he feels, his arms heavier than they should feel and brow covered in sweat. Is it this little degenerate’s fault, was I drugged? He grabs his handkerchief and wipes his sweaty face, ignoring as it scratches against stubble that he would never allow to grow.

The thought’s almost laughable, sweaty and unshaven- like some common laborer! McCarthy indeed laughs once more at the image, his hand raised to hide any emotion on his face from Alex as the impudent lout seems to neglect the order given. He opens his mouth to chastise the shoddy employee, but then both men hear the sound of fabric tearing resounds through the room.

McCarthy’s eyes look down and he falls to the floor once more as he sees his hand. Barely changed as of yet but clearly thicker, rougher, and still changing. Hairs begin to creep up his wrist and poke out of fingers that grow fat and unelegant. He grabs at his arm and finds his dress shirt has torn as his hidden bicep grows bulkier.

Alex smiles as he sees the man scrambling on the floor grow frantic. His other arm soon enough bulges larger as well, this time tearing both his dress shirt and suit. “Shit!” The titan of industry tries to stand but falls forward as his chest bursts into existence. Weighty pecs begin to pop buttons off into the spilled whiskey. The 200 dollar bland haircut on his head begins to retract and shift messy as stubble stains his doctored jawline. “Help me you- you- Grah!”The sound of his suit ripping and tearing grows louder and more frequent as he tries to remove it as his back widens and his arms continue to bulk to a point that the garment’s survival is impossible. Alex’s expression matches the smug one of McCarthy not moments ago as he sees hair poking through the torn fabric and a thicker brow juts out to shade his eyes. His eyes grow a darker almost blood red as something in his stomach quivers at the sight, “I think I’m helping you just fine Mr. McCarthy. Or hm, I suppose you’d prefer to go by Duke now hm?”

The corporate fiend writhes and rather than attempt to salvage his luxury clothes, simply begins to tear them off his new sculpted form. Free of its silken trappings, the muscle begins to pack on at an explosive rate. Thick curls cover his harried pecs before racing over spherical shoulders and bulging traps to cover his sculpted back. Bursting free from matching pants his thighs pattern with bulging veins starkly similar to the same tendrils that launched him into this new life.

As a beard covers the financial officer’s face Alex sees the man’s eyes glaze over and he stands to a height a few heads taller than what he enjoyed in a life now gone. Scratching at his stomach Duke groans and squeezes at his head with his free hand. The witness averts his eyes from the thick new cock pointing directly at him as he instead looks past Duke to see his new life laid out like a book. No longer some rich asshole who prides himself on pushing others down to get ahead but a man whose hands are scarred by countless days of strenuous work for others.

Smiling as he pages through the story of Duke Carter’s new life he hungrily sees all that Nicky’s will has changed for the better in just this one case. Filled with contentment that perhaps this is not so bad an event after all. He finds himself drawn into the vision, seeing the young man grow into the hunk that stands before him now. Speaking of, Duke seems to be coming to his senses, “Hey there uh, young fella? Yew know what I’m doin’ all the way up here?”

Alex tilts his head and only then realizes that only a faint trail of the Talisman’s magic remains here. It continues to work throughout the largest city in the states, but the head of the surge has shot on while Alex was distracted. Gritting his teeth he stumbles through a farewell to the confused, changed man and races out the window. Duke is of course concerned at the man jumping from the top floor of a skyscraper but once done, the sweaty laborer can scarcely remember meeting him at all. Looking around the suite as the whole building creaks and begins to change into the HQ of a nonprofit, his phone rings and he smiles as it seems the chance to lend a helping hand is on the horizon.

For his part Alex is soaring over the sea. Struggling to catch up he decidedly ignores his desire to stop at the few cruise ships and scattered Atlantic islands that the beam shoots through, surely fulfilling desires and morphing men along the way. Flashes of tourists losing their native tongues as they find themselves at home in the Azores and cruise ship pools becoming foam parties sear into his vision but he keeps pace with the racing wish. Looking forward, Alex sees the spell almost torn between two potentialities. To preserve itself it’s going to split in two to hit each continent they were rapidly approaching.

In one world he sees the larger going to Africa and becoming unstoppable just from the sheer numbers game. Clenching his jaw he reaches out and tries to control the path as if it were lassoed. Keeping a grip on it he forces the split to occur early and steers the larger proportion North while trying to keep an eye on the latter speeding off towards West Africa. He almost splits his awareness in two as he tries to focus on both before realizing that he’s already being dragged through the capitals all across Europe. Dublin, London, Madrid, and Lisbon fly past, all to varying degrees overcome by the storm of change.

Alex struggles to breath under the pressing weight, the existential need, to go observe what is becoming of dirtbag chavs as their little crews shed their jumpsuits and their haunts convert to gayborhoods. He fights the urge to see Spanish academics venture into the countryside and become burly bearded farmers. Ignoring bodybuilding Italians shredding their beards and built bodies to become twinks more than happy to bottom. As Nicky’s will continues to affect more people it becomes harder for Alex to resist his compulsion to witness and spread the change himself. Feeling a need to nip it in the bud, he strains himself to pull ahead of the surge once more.

Maintaining his grip on the storm, he has an idea to stop it and steers it to a rural Bavarian peak where a lone tourist looks out over a lake. In an impossible stroke of luck the man wistfully utters a wish, “Man. I wish- I wish that I could spend more time in nature.” The tendril swiftly averts course to the man and Alex uses its momentum to steer it directly through him and into the center of the lake, far from any life besides the backpacker and himself. While the tourist, Finn, begins to change Alex allows himself indulge and witness. Using the gratification gained to hold the throbbing tendril in place. No idea if this would achieve anything nor time to wonder what even it would do. For now he must simply hold and watch.

Finnegan was probably less than prepared for this day trip. His roommate at uni was driving him up a wall enough to force him South on this uncharacteristic escapade into the Alps. He’d never really appreciated the wild but as soon as he began this trek he wondered how he could possibly overlook the serenity. The cold air stung his lungs as he wandered through the serene trails and stumbled upon this massive lake where he takes a load off. Hands scratch into dark earth as he adores the sight before him, an otherworldly force screams through the air above him as he speaks his humble wish and is filled with transmutative energy to become a man who will spend more time in nature.

The coat which has been struggling to do anything against the elements is suddenly working overtime as steam begins to rise from the man now panting on the overlook. Hands numb from the cold burst the seams of mittens as he quickly disrobes and frees his thin upper body to the mountain air. Finnegan’s hips flex against his tight thermals as his package immediately understands what it means to become one with nature, quickly hardening into a cock that would be nigh impossible to hide. And a strange thought flickers through his changing mind, why would he ever need to hide his cock anyway?

His lithe arms begin to balloon with weight as his hands can't help but shove into his pants and explore a more sensitive dick and quivering balls that begin to send hormones coursing through him. Finn grimaces as he struggles to kick off hiking boots far too small for his new wide soles, rough from trending on dirt and stone. Never too much of an eater, the young man’s torso begins to bloat and strain his shirt as the rigors of the outdoors demand he get some more meat on his bones.

Arms that have likely lifted nothing heavier than a textbook bulge larger as his stomach continues to put on mass, bloating into a strong, manly torso. Pre covered hands begin to scratch at his meatier chest and barrelling gut as a garden of body hair begins to grow. His sticky fingers pull at the curls lengthening on his bulkier stomach and he delights in the sensation, the scratch, the drag of darker hair now patterning his heavier form.

His neat hair pulls shorter, darkening and growing greasy as it shoots down his cheeks, creating a stubbled chin strap before it becomes an outright beard. Finn grunts as he feels his newly hairy back on the earth behind him. His hands find his cock once more as his nose finds his tangled pits and the trove of musk within. Bucking into the cold air he languishes in his first load spilled on his journey to be a man of the wild. Hearing similar grunting in the nearby lake he looks to find Alex struggling barely above the water. Sniffing and finding the floating man alluring, he furrows his brow and hops in a canoe to go meet him.

Running the numbers Alex is sure that countless men and women have already been irrevocably sculpted by wishes haywire. As Finn approaches he too continues to change. Beard thickening and sticking out from his face as body hair spreads like wildfire. At the same time, the energy Alex is wrestling with almost begins to crystallize. Finn grows burlier and bulkier, every disparate patch of hair from his meaty fingers to his longer toes races to meat in one mighty jungle of fur as he continues to pack on muscle. The watcher’s hands burn with effort as he forces the storm of energy to stay still, to forfeit being an aspect of metamorphosis and lock it in this state, in this locale.

Near enough to shout out, Finn opens to speak to Alex, as he does a grunt falls from his mouth. What need has he of complex thought or language, why is he out on the lake anyway, fishing? Finn scratches his pit and smells his hand as Alex strains for just a moment longer and then there’s a flash as the strange beam solidifies outright. Manifesting as a spire in the center of the lake, surely still holding the transformative power of the talisman but, for now, immobile. In the back of the once delivery man’s mind he can sense the other half shooting through Oman, preparing to launch itself towards the Indian subcontinent. He needs to go now.

Finn doesn’t really listen as the man shadowed in crimson asks something important of him. Memories of his architecture lectures and school projects begin to fade and he doesn’t quite mind, seems better to get his hands dirty and protect this little smidge of paradise anyway. Protect, pursing his lips and looking at the spire he floats near to, protect? His eyes narrow at the malevolent spike, not of the world. He scratches his still lengthening beard, he’ll watch this too, make sure nothing funny happens.

Alex once more shoots across continents, soaring over slavic streamers finding themselves doing a little more than gay-baiting and Maghrebi men finding new ways to appreciate the male ideal. He’s not quite sure how long this has been going on, but as he catches up to what remains of Nicky’s will that at least some parts of the world have become aware of what’s going on. The Indian military is mobilizing to some degree to prepare an emergency response and while hemorrhaging tendrils continue to create shooting stars of transformation down towards metropolises and hamlets, when it sees such lofty forces gathered it has no recourse but to beeline right towards them.

When he signed up to be a foreign correspondent Logan Hopsworth never wanted to end up in India, let alone doing military coverage. And yet here he was. The team back home has been radio silent for a few hours but when his unfortunate host nation declares a national emergency he hits the field to report on- ? Logan doesn't quite know, he’s refused to learn the language and plans his time here to be a stepping stone soon forgotten.

He forces a fake at the cameraman as he’s sure the local hire is always trying to film his bad angle. Suddenly there’s a red flash and Logan scoffs as the camera operator gasps and turns his lens on the crowd of uniformed men behind him, “Uhmm!? Hello? Your marks right here Nikhil?” When he keeps his lens focused on something other than himself, the ‘reporter’ crosses arms and turns to see what’s so important. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The performatively macho men of the nation that has time and time again declared themselves the most powerful in the world are suddenly stripping and finding their nearest platoon mate to fuck.

“Jesus Christ! It’s like a fucking pornographic flashmob!” Logan drops his microphone and tries to make sense of what’s happening, “Nikhil are you getting this shit!?” Turning back he sees the flash of red soar past again, this time hitting his assigned cameraman who drops his equipment and begins groaning. Clutching at his headset the cam operator pulls at his clothes as to Logan’s less than discerning eye he seems to suddenly be wearing something a few sizes too small.

Never concerned for anything more than his own hide Logan screams his usual sign off and turns to run, “THIS HAS BEEN HOBSWORTH REPORTI-” Though before he can finish Alex’s wrangling of the wish does one more round, going squarely through the reporter before the harbinger shouts in success and the force veers off towards China.

Logan coughs and clutches at his chest as he feels like he was just hit by a train filled with glimpses of everything he could have been. Presenting at the NYE drop, doing court reporting in Australia, recording slice of life stories in Tokyo. Instead he’s here. His spirits deflate as he smells spice on the air and his chest fills with warmth, and then his chest fills his shirt.

Well of course he’s here? Where would he rather be? Ignoring the sounds of rapturous lustful disregard a few dozen feet away he gasps at the thought. Lakhan’s hands shake as he looks down to the dark hair that begins cresting across his forearms. Like countless men across the world, and the army behind him, the reporter quickly takes off his shirt to see what is becoming of him. Ever thin and hairless he is aghast as his thin shaved pubes begin racing up his torso and darkening into a black treasure trail he would never be rid of.

He tries to tear at his growing hair before noticing that its growth is not the only change occurring. Across his exposed torso splotches of his skin begin to darken, turning a shade of brown just like the cameraman still growing behind him. He begins to hyperventilate and hold to the identity he knows he should have before realizing he can’t even tell if he’s turning into Lakshan or if Lakshan’s turning into some pasty white asshole.

With each frantic breath the changes continue to race, he clenches his eyes shut as the irises shift to a brown and his coiffed blonde locks darken and shift into a look he’s seen on countless Bollywood stars throughout the years. While his skin continues to tan he realizes that he’s also beginning to grow, blanketed under a healthy coat of chest hair, pecs begin to fill out his upper body while powerful biceps flex. He’s always been quite a bit more inclined to work on vanity muscles after all.

His pits fill out with dark black curls enough for deodorant to never quite reach the skin beneath, not that he cares of course. All that time at the gym is to make sure he never escapes a man’s notice, his musk is simply another way to make sure everyone knows he’s the boss. “Fuck!” He shouts with a deep Pradesh accent, it’s where he grew up and went to university after all, “मैं बहुत सेक्सी हूँ! (I’m so hot!)”

Starting to turn himself on just from thinking about his own tightly packed muscle, Lakshan pulls at his pubes and moans as the movement makes his far larger, veiny cock bounce in the air. His eyes turn to the cameraman who similarly has finished changing into a powerful bharati man of stature. The two men approach each other and just like the horde to the west find more pleasure in a good fuck than they’ve experienced in some time, perhaps ever.

Above China, Alex wrestles to keep the wily manifestation of Nicky’s wish under control, also does he realize that he hasn’t had a second to plan what exactly he is to do after keeping it on course through China. Thinking it safe enough to take a breather for half a second, he loosens the reins to come to the conclusion that he should just steer it back to Nicky. With even the slightest deviation however the wish forcefully bolts downward towards Shanghai.

En route, the tendril discards as many strands as it can across another cradle of civilization, perhaps making it easier for Alex to manhandle but what does it care, it’s not sentient. It is power manifest, it simply must do. Why should it mind as it is taken through a concert hall at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music. It is not out of malice as it passes through Shen Hao that he flubs a key press and fails to recover. Though would that it had the awareness to know it brought about more than an auditorium of change it would certainly feel delight.

Hao’s face burns as red as the static that shoots through him. His eyes stare at his keys knowing how many long hours have been spent perfecting this etude. It was a mistake he’s never made, not one out of juvenile haste or shoddy hand placement, one that simply should not have happened. If he were trying to make the mistake again he would surely be unable to, such a flagrant err is anathema to the virtuoso.

And yet, he’s a professional, he takes a deep breath and returns to the piece. He will do it right this time. But then, his hands cramp. He shoots long and bites his tongue enough to draw blood as his pinky plays an E rather than an F. That- That shouldn't be possible. Hao looks down in shock to find that it is indeed impossible, or it would have been, had his fingers not stretched longer. His palms wider, his fingers fatter. This must be a nightmare.

The pianist shifts back and the bench creaks under his weight, he turns to nod an apology at his audience and is unable to see how many are watching him stumble through this should-be cake walk. Pulling at his collar as he sweats under the spotlights, Hao finds himself unable to get a finger under the tight neckpiece. God he can barely breathe. He clears his throat and pulls hard, the sound of him tearing through the buttons echoes through the auditorium just like his misplayed notes resound through his own head.

He feels his chest growing, straining his tuxedo, but refuses to look. His arms sting as meaty biceps begin to fill the sleeves and make it difficult for him to even ambulate enough to play the piano. It’s no matter, he’s a professional. He’s suffered for his art before and he will force himself to do this. He stretches his fingers and even this movement sends a few tears down his arms. Good, that will only help his range of motion.

Getting in position to play, he finds his hands thrown off as his wrists stretch further out from strained sleeves hugging his new forearms and biceps like a second skin. He just needs to be aware, that’s all. His arms are longer, that’s fine. Just do it right. Sweat trickles down his thicker neck and joins the litany of wet patches clearly visible on his white button up. He just needs to get through this. He just needs to be perfect.

Hao takes another deep breath and buttons burst from the sheer width of his pecs. Grimacing, he ignores them plinking against the piano and resolves to begin and- Uhh. He doesn’t remember the notes. That can’t be. The sound of blood rushing through his ears is overwhelming, his suit too tight, his mind too slow-

His meaty fists slam into the keyboard, sending a dissonant cacophony throughout the hall. Silent despite the impossible horror of the man clearly growing into some steroid filled monster on stage, this act of rage elicits gasps. Hao tears off his tuxedo revealing a tattoo covered chest and a body that would make anyone drool. Turning to the audience he sees nothing but red. They saw his mistake, they saw him grow into this oafish form. He- he knows what he must do. A new song fills his mind.

Turning to the keyboard the ivories stain crimson as he begins to play a new song, one that demands the attention of every student and professor present for his recital. One that echoes through the lobbies and halls of the building. With every mellifluous note the tune fills them and begs they continue to mindlessly adore him, and as it continues they too begin to change. An erhu musician snaps his bow as Hao’s melody creeps into his practice room, staring confused at sheet music he’s barely able to read. Behind the curtains his assistant professor finds her himself wanting, needing more of his artistry as a problem he’s never had before begins to strain and lift his skirt. His judge in the audience forgets the notion that he should ever critique the stud’s work as it’s simply so clear there is nothing more to life than enjoying Hao’s presence and performance.

Flying above the Pacific Alex is already soaring past Hawaii by the time Hao takes his bow and bathes in the adoration of an audience truly handcrafted to laud him. Nearing the cafe that Nicky has hopefully not left, Alex finds himself with more than enough will to ignore the presumably final waves of transformation he flies above. An older man on Oahu dons a stetson and years just fall away as he becomes the white hat he always dreamed to be, some squirrely student in Baja California lights a syllabus ablaze as his uniform stretches to become tight leather gear as he begins a bear club where the university co-op once stood.

And then he’s flying over countryside he knows all too well, shooting past the city he circles back and spirals back down to earth for the final time. In his mind he sees the cafe as it sits now, mostly empty, Simon having dealt with whatever cyborgs, werewolves, and overly horny stock traders in the vague time passed. So too has he barred entry from any of the wandering patrons of Jirou Heroes and any of the other clearly wanting hordes lost to their lusts.

This of course does nothing to stop Alex as he pilots the energy back to the Talisman that cast it out. Ramming it straight through the chest of a catatonic Nicky, the glimmering Talisman clatters to the floor across the cafe, leaving a sound of laughter echoing through the heads of the three men present. World Peace. Foolish. Foolish. You think this over? Your will will continue to be enacted whether you change your sad little mind or not! You demand the world have peace and so it will! When every soul sings praise and plays fool to their most basal lusts and primal urges then, then there will be peace you whelps-

Nicky stirs, groaning. While Alex will certainly have words for sending him upon an odyssey across the world however this shakes out, the caster has clearly had his work cut out for him here. Simon looks at his boyfriend and nods, helping Nicky to wobbly feet as the so far unchanged man stumbles over to grab the talisman yet again. The blazing voice in their minds is muted as his hand covers the gem and Nicky ushers forth one more wish, a demand. “Give me the strength to destroy this.”

Until this moment his previous work has continued almost unabated despite the efforts of Alex and Nicky chasing and controlling from afar. Men and once women have continued to have their senses heightened and minds dulled to the end that they all may end up puppets of what or whomever pushed this artefact, this power unto Nicky. That they all might become Talismen themselves.

In fact perhaps even you were in the process of changing. Your mind numbing as you typed away at a spreadsheet, as you scrolled through social media, as you waited in line for lunch. Like a buzz the alien hunger began within you, slowly displacing your priorities, cancelling meetings, skipping class, hitting up clubs despite having work the next day. All the while your form begins to corrupt.

Perhaps you as you sat in a park noticed a strange itch under your collar as hair began to inch above your neckline and up the small of your back. Shorts straining as thighs bloat and a cock that isn’t even erect fills the crotch of your pants enough to burst then and there. Anxiety fills you, or it would, were shame a preoccupation of your lust filled mind. The same story goes for every person around as they too struggle to control the new beasts hanging from their waists.

You who midgame shivers as your screen flashes red before moments later tossing your setup across the room in a rage as your clothes no longer fit and your interests realign to fighting and fucking. As your shredded outfit reforms to the trademarked uniform of your favorite character, becoming a second skin to yourself just as much as them.

You students racing to complete last minute assignments in the library as books on shelves melt into liquor bottles and carpets stained with decades of spilled beer. Sidling up as you grow larger to get in with jocks who dizzily stumble as their muscular bodies compress to become those of hairless twinks, hungry to sample your new rod.

Is there something wrong with giving people what they so desire, turning them into something greater than what they are, what they could be? So what if they lose their minds, their genders, species, sentience? Are not some people made to be used already? What difference does it make if they do so as a person or object, plasticine skin is sure to last longer.

Nicky struggles to hold this all in his mind and ignore it, returning to the point of it all. He needs to stop this. He sees the world changing and stays the course. Changing himself into something, someone powerful enough to destroy the Talisman. His hand widens to completely hide the amulet in his palm, red beams of light struggling to pour through the cracks in his fingers.

Almost muted to even his own mind the Talisman cries out Nownownownow let’s just wait a minute! Surely you don’t want to give all this up, I mean c’mon now kid! There’s a flash as the first crack appears in the talisman’s gem, not strong enough yet Nicky grits his teeth and continues to grow, forcing all his might and attention towards silencing this voice that sounds increasingly like the shoddy wizard that foisted this accessory upon him. Dontcha wanna make the world better what happennnnd to thaaAAt!?

He grimaces and shoots up almost a foot in height as he forces his two fists together, he vibrates with the dispelling of this seemingly all-powerful object. NONONO! You don’t know what your doing just one more wiiiiIIII- And red dust falls from Nicky’s now brutish hands. He looks down with a sigh and takes in his new form, torn clothes scattered at feet bursted from his favorite shoes. Though even as he notices they begin to knit themselves back together and he realizes this clearly isn’t over.

Though not consciously his fault, as the man who began this impossible new world order, and one who clearly still exercises some limited control on reality he has quite the mess to clean up. There remain other, newly created artefacts scattered throughout the world that less than scrupulous people will be drooling to get their hands on, and no one knows how to fix this better than the two people who saw the world change. Simon’s moral support will also be gravely needed.

It takes quite some time for the world to even try to begin rebuilding. Though freed from the imposed shackles of lust thrust upon them by the Talisman, many who changed simply find themselves truly taken with the hedonistic lifestyles their new forms encourage. Despite whatever mustache twirling plot the amulet had in the end, many were indeed changed for the better after all. For now the trio simply travel the city, nation, and world to help clean up the most pressing loose ends and prevent another outbreak of transformative disaster. As to how successful they are to this end? Well, that is simply a story for another day.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #hair growth #reality change #personality change #racial change #muscle tf #straight to gay #masculinization

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melankkholy · 2 days ago

Text

anyone who knows what love is (will understand)

✎ Legend has it that the better you spend your last day of the year, the merrier your whole year promises to be. As superstitious as it may have always sounded to you, after a night without your boyfriend Leon, who abruptly left for “work” one night, perhaps you will change your mind about that particular wisdom.

cw(s): very angsty lol, fem! reader, smut but make it established relationship, t!t sucklings, lots of praises and metaphors, some lyrics from some specific songs cuz why not, p0rn with feelings obv, fingerings, p in v, MDNI

Late December in the city, the sky is gray and the air is tacky. You find yourself drifting in and out of sleep. In the mornings, cloaked in faceless clouds, you let the pale sun scorch the grass, and sometimes the hexagonal lace of snowflakes rattle your kitchen window. They are the only friends you have alongside the bitter mug of coffee you brew after you open your eyes to the dawn. For the last few days, you’ve been no different from a protagonist who could be the subject of the words written on any page of a book in which Dostoevsky describes his essential loneliness. More precisely, since the day Leon walked out that door. Your soul’s silence is deafening, yet there’s none but you in this very house.

Who knows where he has gone?

The joys of a romantic relationship with someone like him at first tasted delicious, and it left a taste in your whole chassis like a rare fruit that you were sure was not even from this terrestrial world.

And sometimes, while you lay in bed, lost in dreams only God could understand, Leon’d slip away from the four-cornered plot of land you shared, that would always be your “home.” So quietly, so effortlessly, that you’d never suspect he was silently slipping into the night.

That’s what happened a week ago, and that’s what happened for the first time in weeks. Just like this morning, your arm that you threw out to wrap him in a good morning hug landed on his pillow with an idle and poof sound.

He’s been gone for exactly a week. Hasn’t been answering his phone; the line is always busy, and after failed attempts, you stare at your screen for a couple of hours, followed by his long, inane apology messages.

“At work. Give me a sec. I’ll call you right back.”

Wrapped in a relapse, this endless repetition of drama brings you to your knees. You keep watching the washing machine, its whirring and spinning, like some mechanical symphony. The phone rests heavily on your lap.

The clock strikes ten in the evening, and your eyes are raw, bloodshot from hours of staring at the unmerciful glow of the screen. The beeping of the washing machine cuts through the stillness, a mocking Bronx cheer to the cavernous emptiness inside your head. You rise from your knees, groggy, and load a few pieces of linen into the dryer.

The rumbling of your stomach has no hesitation in reminding you of your worldly responsibilities. You find yourself back in the kitchen as you realize that you’ve been on a cup of caffeine all morning.

The nagging hope that maybe Leon will show up this evening pushes you to toss a little more pasta into the boiling water. Tonight. For sure. He must show up.

Otherwise, you’ll take your leave.

You ladle yourself a spoonful of the meal you’ve prepared for both of you, then sit at the table with two chairs. The chair opposite you is an empty, silent sphere.

It’s eleven o’clock, and you chew and swallow your morsel until the lump in your throat tightens, refusing to go down. A dismal dinner tonight. The wine is thick as blood, but… it’s flat, uninspiring. The end of the year, and you’re dead alone.

There’s no energy left in you to answer calls from your family, even though you’ve been repeating the same things for a week straight, doing nothing else. Wake up, drink your coffee, do your vacuuming, cook for the evening. Bet your boyfriend is on his way.

But he’s never on his way.

Just as the clock strikes twelve, the afterglow of the snowfall lingers in the air, blending with the flashes of thunder from fireworks meant for the Fourth of July. A riot of colors, wild and unrestrained. Every shade is tangled and merged, each hue reaching out for the other. Everything that was meant for each other finally comes together tonight.

By the casement window, you entomb yourself in a troglodytic corner. It feels as though a year has slipped away since your boyfriend vanished without a word last week. The frost-bound gusts of snow from the foothills of the mountains have descended upon the city in a blanket of fog, yet the dark gray gloom seems to have done nothing to dampen the spirits of the people outside.

The streets are teeming with joy, faces glowing beneath bundles of fur and mohair. They hold hands or hurl balls of fluffy snow at each other—men, women, and children. Their laughter rings out in the same exuberant vein as their voices when they counted down to the new year.

Enough with all the peeping.

You do envy them, because you once had a heart more floriferous than theirs. Yes, it’s trivial, this foolishness of pinning your welfare on a single man. But the heart knows better. Reason and logic are pushing up daisies.

So, you close your window and crawl into the saffron-colored sheets, just in time to spend another night alone.

This is Leon for you. He’s nowhere again. He owes you countless debts for the night. He owes you, big time.

The avenue grows quieter and comatose with each passing detail of the late night. It’s a white orchid night with the first day of the new year in January, and the sky sheds its amber harmony to a royal blue. As the sun prepares to greet the city, the sound of keys jingling at the front door of your apartment vouches for the intruder’s safe intrusion.

Leon steps into your home at five in the morning and the odd minute before dawn. The space is haunted by an ageless calm, the grey walls of the room adding a suffocating dullness to the atmosphere. Nothing is in sight—neither you nor your adorable Van Cat that you adopted many months ago.

Hanging his jacket on the coat rack in the foyer, careful not to make a sound, Leon hangs the keys onto their holder.

He’s a piece of work; he’s a dirtbag, and to face you like this, with his sores and boils, is the most humiliating indignity he can ever indulge in. He’s thought about telling you many times. If he does tell the truth, what can it do but forge a stronger bond between you?

If the DSO regulations weren’t so fucked up, he could have told you everything that was up in his head and everything else that was weighing him down. You’d listen to him forever. Besides you, he has no one else to turn a sympathetic ear to him.

When Leon opens the bedroom door softly, the sight of the silhouette in the corner of the bed sends a cold blast of chill down his spine. Here he is, right in front of you. Every time, even though you yearn to desert him, you never quite dare, because every time, the sublime, untouchable magic of something draws you here, into this vicious spiral. Yet he… He doesn’t deserve you, without knowing, without understanding, and yet you’re condemned to stay here, voiceless and stiff-necked.

Sleep has forsaken you, perhaps. The filth of everything beclouded in this world that passes before your eyes hangs over you like rotten thoughts seeping from every corner, and Leon’s the only one to blame for it all. But, unfortunately, you don’t even have the gumption to reproach him. Maybe the root of this whole putrefying relationship was somewhere right here, in that eerie limbo. That limbo that is ready to wrap around you like a snake, implacably heinous.

Neither the creaking of the door nor the thud of his boots bouncing inside can alert you anymore. When he sits on the edge of the bed, his unaccustomed presence forces itself on you—his strange weight, his attention that doesn’t belong to you. In that fleeting moment, you wish you hadn’t turned your face to him, in those most vexatious moments of all, when all you have to witness is that breath he takes.

A terrible ennui has possessed him, like a pallid shadow. The blues in his eyes have taken on those scarce, moonless shades of blue you hardly ever see, as if he carries all this overload—the cumulative weight of years—inside him. In those blues, your reflection is eclipsed.

To see your reflection in his eyes… To be privy to this singular pleasure for weeks. It’s beyond words, but to experience it is hell descending on an already hellish world.

The knots in your throat refuse to let you spill your words. Even if you could, you would be shouting at him in an embarrassingly shrill volume, which would only serve the narrative of you playing the role of his already downtrodden damsel in distress in his estimation.

You don’t want to be forward; you don’t want to cut corners. You savor this with all that’s inside you. The bittersweet road to a possible breakup and the most precious fragments of your mind, the scenarios hidden in the corners of your thoughts, still playing out in this bed.

You’re biding your time.

“Are you cheating on me?” Clear and unequivocal, but the way your lower lip quivers is another nuisance. Leon never thought he’d hate himself quite as much as he did at this juncture. Is he worth your tender tears? For that vent hesitating to flow, trembling with a mulish intonation?

No. Not at all.

Every second counts. You can’t read him, and the pall of obscurity is a parasite that wriggles inside you; it eats you. How poisonous. How venomous.

“Never.” Leon shakes his head in disapproval. Funny how you’ve gotten to the point where you can now tell whether he’s fibbing or not by the look in his eyes. What an honor.

“Where have you been then?” You pose the question with the desperation of a raving lunatic, bleeding and lost of all hope. Surely you must have startled him, for seeing him recoil pains you, too.

“Work.” He slashes it off curtly.

“Work? The hell are you, Leon? Fucking Batman?”

Leon’s eyebrows carve a grimmer furrow.

“Like you’d understand if I spit it out.”

“I can’t understand because you won’t tell me!”

You don’t know it, but he’s dying. You’re his salve, but your rebukes are toxic piles of tribulations that sap the life out of him. Even so, you’re in the right. Anyone else in your shoes would do the same. In fact, they’d walk away without giving any heed to all this. Why would anyone have a pash on Leon Kennedy in the first place?

He doesn’t make a fuss; his eyes are drawn to your trembling hands clutching the sheets, and he’s like a dog being berated by its owner.

The problem is you can’t handle it. Never. You could never give up on him. Walking away is never easy anyway.

The crude stitches on his right eyebrow, patched over a gash, attest to something he confronts every time he leaves you. You’re not blind. Your boyfriend is a man who is up to no good, but why is it so hard for him to clarify matters with you?

“What’re you so afraid of?” The question, now trickling out in a calmer whisper, reaches its destination.

“Nothing.” He lies, looking you straight in the eyes. How dare he.

The only thing he’s afraid of these last days is losing you. This thing, this house, that cat and everything else.

You don’t care. You pull his face closer, palm resting amenably on his cheek—your inmost sincere search.

“You’re a big big liar.”

Beautiful in your hands, but out of your hands, he’s something entirely different. He’s like a temperamental child.

He sows tender kisses into your open palm. Warms your bones. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your boyfriend like this. Now he’s in your hands and in your arms, no more Potenkim villages to hide behind. All that is right and all that is wrong is yours for the taking, and nothing is meaningless with him.

“Fuck me.” A dusted whisper of his demand leaks through his kisses, tangential to your skin.

He’s a pretty straightforward guy, to be honest.

As you gawk at him, he lifts his head and winks at you, as if he hasn’t made you vomit blood for eons. It’s a figure of speech, surely, but he gets the gist. Truly.

“Ride me.” Once again, he describes what he needs. Sweet talk, after all, is the snake’s way out of the pit.

It’s absurd to hold back, especially in these precious last waking hours you share. All you do is look at each other, timid, esurient, and uninhibited. The profound coveting and the overwhelming silence of homesickness and something about nostalgia.

You promptly pull back the duvet and, on your knees, and reach for him to chastise at his frost-kissed lips.

As forewarned, he doesn’t back down. In a fraction of a second, he reciprocates the kiss and winds his arm around the delicate curve of your waist. Congratulations. You’re on his lap, ass snug against the rough palming of his maneuvers. When you retaliate by pulling up the hem of his t-shirt, he, in return, pushes a thrust of his hips against you. The sizzle of his whispered “fuck!” rips through your ear. The hand at your waist inches upwards and lingers on the outline of your breast, and he palms the supple flesh carelessly.

Frenetic pairs of hands are everywhere, pawing through each layer of clothing, solely focused on the kiss or the lingering zest of wine from New Year’s Dinner on your lips. The razor-edged gasp from your mouth wafts across his lips, and he takes a brief pause from the kiss to undo your bra. Tentative yet fulsome kisses alight at the center of your chest—a tiny mitigation for your little broken heart—one you’re more than capable of forgiving him for. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Wet and warm kisses ramp up from the center of your chest to your fleshy curves. Across your ribs and higher and higher. You expect the same treatment and reverence for your beautifully diamondized nipples, but then he suddenly bites down on your sensitive nipple.

“Oh, fuck you!” Your hissing voice crackles with the throes of torment.

A characteristic grin spreads across his face as he slides his hand down the elastic waistband of your panties. He tastes the wetness on his fingers, and you already find yourself shifting your hips closer to him. Unlike his cold touch, your pussy radiates warmth, and Leon relishes it, torn between biting his tongue and stifling a little groan.

“You’re always wet for me, aren’t ya? Even when you hate me, even when you fucking love me.”

Reflexively, you shake your head and implore him with a mock pleading frown. Your cheeks are tinted with a mauve splash of tint, and your lips are pressed tightly together. A strange sorrow grips you, standing on the precipice between hating him and loving him—a catharsis that’s tailor-made for you.

“Didn’t you just want me to fuck you?” You grit out.

“Mmm. No kidding. I still do. Just wanted you on my fingers first.”

“Been gone for some weeks, angel.” His whisper burns into your skin as he gently presses his finger into your slit. “Let me take a good look at you.” It’s as if he’s testing you. Almost instantly, you greet him with a tight grinding of your hips. Leon knows he has to give it his all. And so, he pushes his ring finger inside your drenched cunt, his thumb lingering on the pillow of your clit—his muscle memory hallowed.

“Let me make it up to you.”

It’s not that simple, of course, but right now, you’re the one sucking his fingers inside you. Blaming it all on him is silly anyway.

The sheen of slickness, the familiar tightness stretching around his finger, and the burning desire in your eyes are more than enough incentive for him to move forward. The heat in your stomach intensifies as his pace quickens. The thought of his finger filling you with your own cum shames you so deeply. No shit. You weren’t that “enamored” of him.

“Save it for the best, sweetheart.”

Irrespective of the ultraviolet and blueberry bags under his eyes, his dirty humor in the early morning hours is such a Leonian rollercoaster. The sheer pressure of his erection against your thigh jolts you, a flash of realization. Oh. Shit. You’re really bouncing on top of your boyfriend, riding his fingers.

Letting your boyfriend lap his sugar-coated finger against your lips, you don’t hesitate to take it in your mouth. Dumbstruck by the moment, Leon observes you with iridescent eyes brimming with mischief as your tongue orbits around his finger.

Now, it’s easy to get what you want from him when you want it. For the first time ever, you peel off his jeans and lift his t-shirt slightly to see the scars hidden beneath his layers of clothes. His color is so blue, the richest shade. His scars, his eyes, even his thoughts and pills—they’re all part of him. Your touch, something new and aglow, is something he ratifies you to lay on him.

Beneath you, though, he smiles at you, pretty and unvigilant as he withdraws his finger out of your mouth. Oh, what could he be hiding from you?

If only you knew.

“Eyes up, doll.”

There’s not a second of disgust on your face to protest him. He fishes out your panties and folds them in the palm of his hand, as you lower your hips towards him. He doesn’t move, only watches you arch, a moony curve, and the tip of his cock glides a smooth entrance.

“So tight—fuck! So fucking flawless,” he breathes, his words satiated with tenderness, slightly patronizing but wrapped in arrant affection. You adjust yourself, taking the girthy volume his cock deep inside, so so costively. The rest follows as he undulates his hips from below, making you feel like a dumb-fucked fool in the best way.

Always supportive, always there for you—that’s his motto. But does he know how much you try to memorize how he moves inside you? The pattern of his golden lashes fluttering every time you dip your hips for him? How your heart races each time? How about you? In your warped mind, do you have the remotest idea that every time he pounds into you, of how he holds himself back and keeps you at arm’s length so that he might not hurt you?

“You still won’t tell me where you’ve been.” You tap a sob against his chest, but it’s a façade, a mask for how much you’re affected by the situation.

So that serious talk will come in the middle of everything. He’s really going to have to do it.

“There’s only one thing you need to know.” He’s so out of it, dyspneic. So much so that his skin is bathed in the valedictory waves of the morning sky and the blue gleams, rendering his skin milky as fig’s blood.

“Whatever I do... is for you now.” One faint whiff just after the succeeding one. Lips parted and flushed like pearl pomegranates.

That’s what kind of an answer that is. The languor of his words just sticks to you. The cock that digs in and throbs inside you is another story, of course—are you falling in love for the first time or dying here?

Leon can’t perdure like this. He can’t.

He pivots your body around, albeit he’s well aware that the fleshy tugs on your ass are slugs that perforate your dewy skin.

The roles are reversed in a heartbeat; you now are thrashing beneath him, buried in your flowery-scented sheets and squelching mattress.

His teeth sink into his lips, and his jaw, working its way up your collarbone, races across the pulse-drumming veins in your unguarded throat.

“Please. Tell me the truth... yourself.” You beg, so to speak, just against the shell of his ear.

“Need to know.”

The words go where they are going, but Leon can’t help himself and takes a single bite of your tender skin. Hard, reckless, certainly, judging by your fingernails marring his biceps as you carve thin and grisly lunula trails. Custom-made, just for him.

“Sh-shit!” he stammers gruffly against you, where the piquant scents waft from your inner bosom. So, you really are angry with him, pinning him down and all. You’re such an asshole, Leon. That’s what he thinks. Of course, you’d grow indignant with all the shit you’ve been through because of his ebbing and flowing assholism.

Before you can pepper him with another question about where he’s been, his stroke on your cervix cuts off your breath; your sobbing and puffing sounds break into shrill whimpers.

“Leon! Fuck!”

His name is a litany on your lips; it’s nothing without you, nothing without your breath mingling with his. Your walls flutter around him, and he swipes his thumb across your puffy clit with a delectable token, his forehead melded with yours.

“I fucking love you—’n promise you—I’ll tell you everything.”

You cum before him, plummeting into a deep, profound oblivion as he recognizes the ending of his languid thrusts. He can’t go on like this; it would be a miracle—the kind of miracle they write about in those religious tomes—if Leon could last much longer with your lovely pussy walls squeezing him like this.

Still, he’s not done. He churns inside you, trying to pour himself out to the last drop, give you all of himself. His breath jabbers in serrated gasps as he stills, paradoxically, and buries the sharp end of his jaw on your shoulder blade.

Not a syllable from you or him transiently, only the soft chirp of the morning winter birds outside, the distant meow of your cat in the kitchen—everything seems to fade away in the causatum of your ephemeral serenity.

“I’m... listening to you.”

He can’t distract you from the subject and from finding the certain replication you’re counting on, can he now?

“I’m still inside you, and you’re still going on about my job?”

He can barely flex his eyebrow, cross-examining you.

You nod in response, and yes, you know you’re being ludicrous. You screw your face in a sour pitch. From him, you elicit a deep, vibrant snort of chuckle.

“Gotta make breakfast first,” he says, lulling your face in his hands dotingly. “Just for you.”

“And you’ll tell me everything and anything?”

“Yep.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

With a butterfly fugacious kiss on your forehead, he pulls out of you, and then the heat of his lips brushes on the tip of your nose. Bodily-liquids do strain the newly-washed sheets as the dewiness drips down on the velvety tissue of your thighs.

“I know I’m pretty useless,” he does impeach himself and lowers his gaze between your thighs, “I’m the reason you had a shitty last day of the year, but let me make the first day of your new year extra sweet. Just this one day.”

Upon a small pinky promise kiss against your navel, he smiles at you, and you smile back at him. This is the ultimate make-or-break moment for him and you hope he uses it wisely.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy x fem reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #a03

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kateswallofweird · 2 days ago

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EX-BOYFRIEND DICK GRAYSON . . .

dick grayson x reader who drinks coffee (though the coffee doesn't rlly add to or take from the plot so !); cw angst ish, highs and lows of a relationship

💭 a reminder that love isn't supposed to hurt. it might sting and it might be rough, but it isn't supposed to ache. take care of yourself and protect your heart xo

PART 2 HERE

being in love with dick grayson was like hot chocolate on a cold winter night and the first fall of snow upon season's change. he was warmth and light laughter. he was diving into the deep end of a pool and coming up for air when you thought you'd gone too far. he was brightness—your single star against the cerulean backdrop of the vast night sky.

but loving dick grayson was also silence after a long night. it was watchful eyes and rising tension despite your confusion. it was changing topics and a dismissive laugh, empty and unsettling. it was the cold creeping up and blanketing you in a chill you couldn't escape. it was midnight blue—a darkness that didn't seem all encompassing until you were stranded in the middle.

loneliness is a gut punch when you're surrounded by love but kept from it by distance. it's the hurt you feel at night, the ache that grows in your heart. it's knowing that things are over before it is, and the final act of desperation before joy evades you and light slips through your fingers. it's drowning without water and suffocating in your own desolation.

"i'm sorry."

your relationship had ended with a simple apology and unsaid words. there were no tears shed, no screaming match, no final attempt to stay together. there was only bitterness (of a love so great lost) and the sad realization of the end upon you (one long time coming).

but that was two years ago. things were changed. you were changed, and you had healed (though his initials were still etched into you). dick grayson was a thing of the past, or so you were convinced.

"it's . . . it's been a while, hasn't it?"

crackly like his connection was weak, his voice filtered through the speaker of your phone from your inbox of messages left from missed calls. he'd changed his number.

"i got a new phone and changed my number this morning. some wayne stalker situation. and bruce, he said to call him first, but i—" he laughed lightly like he couldn't believe himself, "i found myself dialing you instead. apparently, i still have your number memorized."

and you stilled in your kitchen, nursing your mug of scalding coffee, because what if you moved and you realized all of this wasn't real?

"i've been thinking a lot these days . . . about you, about us." he took a deep breath. "i messed up. i see it now. i'm sorry."

memories of your fights fought to the front of your mind, the scars his sharp words brandished on you and the fresh wounds your insults left on him. loving dick grayson was worth it, but it certainly wasn't easy.

"and i miss you. i hope that isn't too selfish of me." he cleared his throat, and you set your mug down to pick up your phone. "oh, it's dick by the way . . . in case you happen to have any other ex-boyfriends hitting your line. not that i'm wondering." he mumbled something under his breath that the phone didn't quite pick up, but a smile betrayed you. you could practically imagine his sheepish expression.

"so goodbye i guess," he said, his voice a lot closer to the microphone now as hesitance rang thick. "and um now you have my number, which i realize now you may not want, but if you ever feel some urge to, uh, call me—you can, and i'll answer. no matter what."

the line clicked and the message ended, leaving only the ghost of dick grayson and a whisper of your ex-boyfriend in your kitchen.

💭 how are we feeling dick grayson nation? attacked? comforted? good? bad? well there's going to be a part 2 (it's on the way!) so hang on tight ig!

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defmaybe · 28 minutes ago

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That's So True

12 Days of Christmas: Day 10, January 3rd, 2025

aespa’s Uchinaga Aeri/Giselle & Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

5.3k words

Christmas Masterlist

The chatterings of the party goers fill the house, with a faint hint of Gracie Abrams’ That’s So True hanging in the air. The place reeks of cheap perfume (you added the cheap part by yourself, you really don’t know which is expensive and which is not), beer, and rum.

You’re somewhere in the house, playing a game with your friends, and your friends of friends. The bottle spins, as the players are watching it expectantly, anticipating the next candidate for truth or dare. It slows down, and the sounds of people’s breath hitching can be heard as the tip of the bottle goes near them.

(The stake here isn’t anything more than shame, really. Still, it’s a pretty huge predicament for college students.)

Finally, it stops, claiming Yoo Jimin as its victim. You watch her whine in slight disappointment, but there’s a glint, there’s a glint in her eyes that shows something more—excitement.

“Truth,” Jimin says.

You’ve always considered yourself lucky to be within Jimin’s radius, even if it’s just being a friend of a friend. There’s the obvious—her gorgeous, angelic features. You swear you can just look at her face all day without doing anything else, and that would’ve been enough for you.

Then, there’s her personality. It’s another thing you’ve always admired. She’s a leader, a goddamn 4.00 achiever, the perfect epitome of a student. She’s a debate team president, and now she’s sitting in the same circle as you, playing truth or dare, ready to be asked the most embarrassing questions.

“So,” Beomgyu begins, tapping his knees in a rhythm. He’s the faculty’s drummer, after all. “Alright, I couldn’t think of the question. My bad, guys”

The others watch Beomgyu with a slightly annoyed expression (they still love him, of course).

“Don’t start if you don’t know how to continue, man,” Jimin scoffs, turning to others for a spark to her question. “So, anyone?”

Nothing seems to run through your mind at the moment. You’re not an idea kind of person, to say. Your mind is blank.

“What is the worst–” Taehyun utters, but he seems lost on where to go next. The words hang in the air without closure “–fuck.”

“Is that fuck an exclamation, or it’s a part of the question, huh?” Jimin playfully teases him. “I mean, I can answer that if it’s the latter~”

God, she’s so charismatic.

Taehyun chuckles. “I’ll go with the second choice, then,” he says.

Jimin lets out a mischievous smirk. “Well, this is about two years ago, more or less,” she starts her story, as everyone in the circle gathers around to listen intently.

“I was fucking a guy, riding him like crazy. He was whimpering and moaning and all that stuff, you know? I thought he was perfect, being a submissive little slut like that,” Jimin says, an expression of wrath forming on her face. Fuck, she looks so hot when she’s mad. “I’m still mad at him, goddamn it.”

You only nod along with the story like the others, listening to her carefully.

“Everything was going so damn well. God, I even remember how he moaned like a bitch, ‘Nghhh~ Jimin, your pussy feels so good. Jimin, I’m your little man-whore, nghhh~’, like that,” Jimin mocks the poor man’s words while also mimicking the riding movement. You can see her breasts moving along with her motion.

This is fucking arousing. You’re starting to feel the tent inside your pants forming. Imagine being Jimin’s little man-whore like that, watching her tits jiggling while she’s on your cock. A few more shots and you could’ve been drooling all over the floor, being a laughingstock for all of your friends like that.

“That–That’s a very vivid imagery, Jimin,” Minjeong adds. The others are nodding along with her.

Jimin shrugs. “Guess I can be a bit–shameless, you know?” she says with a giggle, making the crowd smile along with her.

“Alright, back to the story. I was riding him, and he was moaning,” Jimin continues. “Everything was going fine. Then he fucking slapped my tits.”

You can see Minjeong clenching her lips, hard. She’s trying not to burst out in a huge laughter, so is Taehyun, so is Beomgyu, so are a lot of other guys in the circle.

Jimin shoots the crowd a glare, whining in frustration, “Come on, guys! He fucking slapped my tits!” Jimin then slaps her chest softly, and that breaks the group.

The crowd erupts in laughter, unable to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation. Kai is already on the floor, dying from the hilarity. You can’t help but chuckle along with the guys.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!” Jimin shouts, but the laughing crowd doesn’t seem to care, still laughing. You watch as Jimin leans back, watching the scene unfold around her, annoyed.

“Hmph!”

“Alright–Alright,” Yizhuo says, still laughing. She then reaches out to her friend for the bottle. Yizhuo wiggles it in her hand slightly, before she spins the bottle again, bringing the crowd’s attention to the object. The bottle rotates. Everyone, mostly still smiling, are watching it with anticipation, ready to see who will be the next victim of the game. Gracie Abrams’ That’s So True seems to repeat itself. The DJ probably forgot to turn the repeat function off. The guitar rings around the house. The bottle continues to spin, continuously slowing down second by second.

And it stops.

At you.

Fuck.

“Since Jimin picked truth–”

“Yeah, I know,” you quickly cut Yizhuo off. “Dare me something.”

You glance around the group. The men are thinking. The women are thinking. They’re probably trying to imagine the most embarrassing thing they can do to you.

“Hmm,” Beomgyu makes a thinking sound before seemingly having an idea. “Grind on somebody’s lap for thirty seconds.”

Your eyes widen in shock, trying to comprehend Beomgyu’s words. “Grind?”

“It’s the worst I could think of without taking off your clothes,” he nonchalantly says, shrugging.

“He could’ve done it for thirty-one seconds, you know,” Soobin chimes in, and the circle erupts in laughter, as you watch the events unfold shyly.

“Ha–alright, man,” Beomgyu says, still giggling. “Who’s going to be the lucky person here?”

The laughter subsides, and the circle focuses their attention on you. You look around the crowd, all red and flustered. Fuck, what is happening?

“I–uh–”

“I don’t mind,” Jimin blurts out with a loud burp, eliciting a few giggles. “I’m already taking a lot of flak tonight, so–come grind on my lap, pretty boy.”

Your eyes widen once more, not believing the words that just came out of Jimin’s pouty lips. Is she–Is she inviting you to grind on her lap? Your mind goes haywire. Your breathing quickens. Fuck, you can’t focus.

“C’mon, you’re already a bitch either way.”

You slowly get up from the floor, all anxious. You walk towards Jimin, who’s invitingly spreading her legs wide, gesturing you towards her.

As you reach Jimin, you lower your plump ass onto her lap. Jimin’s hands creep up your waist, gripping you in your place. Your body shudders at her touch.

“Alright, someone get the stopwatch,” Taehyun says. Yizhuo would be the one to do it, setting the timer at thirty seconds.

Your ass is hovering just above Jimin’s lap, leaving a small space because you just can’t bring yourself to. Suddenly, Jimin pulls you down onto her crotch, making you yelp.

“Nghhh!”

Jimin bursts out a laugh at your submissive response. Her hold on you is firm. She’s only allowing you to move sideways. Yeah, you’re definitely not leaving her before the timer runs out.

“Ready?” Yizhuo asks.

You take a deep breath on top of Jimin before replying, “Y–Yeah.”

“Alright, go!” Yizhuo then presses the start button.

Thirty seconds left.

You move on Jimin’s crotch awkwardly. Your hands find their grips on her strong shoulders. You feel the friction between your ass and her lap heating you two up in the space between. This feels so weird, yet so weirdly comforting. You somehow feel so safe on top of her like this.

“Mmm, just like that, bitch,” says Jimin, and you can only smile shyly in response.

Twenty seconds left.

Jimin starts to thrust her hips up your ass, making you bounce softly on her, her hands still gripping onto your waist tightly. You’re trying so hard to stifle your moan from coming out and embarrassing yourself.

You feel–reduced, reduced to her little man-whore, yet you find comfort in it. Your eyes start to flutter. Your vision is filled with stars.

“C’mon, moan for me. I fucking love it when men moan,” she encourages.

Ten seconds left.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s Jimin’s charm from below you. Your moans leak out from your lips as your movement quickens. You’re feeling like a bitch right now.

“Nghh~”

“Fuck, yeah! You’re putting on some show, pretty boy!” Jimin cheers, and that only spurs you on. Her hands are tightening on your waist. Your motion becomes more and more frantic. You’re revelling in the way she’s talking you down into her bitch.

“Alright, time’s up, guys.”

Your hands find purchase in her hair, as you grind her crotch recklessly. Your whimpers are echoing through the room. Through your narrowed eyes, you see Jimin watching you like a predator, smiling wickedly, taking in the view of her nasty little slut grinding on her lap like this.

“Guys.”

Your pants are tightened from the sensations pooling below your ass. Your whimpers become loud moans. You grind on her crotch as quickly as possible, and it feels so great, being reduced to her little man-whore like this. You swear that you can just do this forev–

“Guys!”

You’re snapped out of your little trance. It takes a blink of an eye, and you see Jimin laughing under you. Around you, the guys just watch in shock (there’s nobody filming, luckily), some having their mouths hanging open, some having their eyes widened.

“Time’s up,” Yizhuo says, showing you the zeroes on her phone.

“Oh, s–sorry,” you reply, before regretfully leaving Jimin’s lap. She’s still laughing under you.

—

You chug in a cup of beer, and another, and another. You’re still trying to make sense of what just happened earlier. You just grind on top of Yoo Jimin’s lap recklessly, moaning and whimpering on top of her.

God, you were such a bitch.

“Hey.” Suddenly, a sound comes from your back, sounds familiar. You turn back to face its owner.

It’s Aeri, right hand holding her beer cup.

“H–Hey,” you reply nervously. The image of your intimacy with Jimin is still playing in your head.

Aeri shoots a look of concern towards you. “Are you okay? You seem a bit–red,” she asks.

“I–I’m okay, just a little drunk,” you answer, trying to brush her off the fact that you were just dry humped Yoo Jimin minutes ago.

“By the way, the guys were just talking about you,” Aeri says with a giggle. Her thumb is pointing towards your friends’ group that are trying to impress the women. “You grind on Yoo Jimin’s lap?”

Fuck.

You can only stand still in your place, unable to move a limb.

Aeri laughs at your petrified reaction. “Oh my god, you’re such a slut!” She gives your shoulder a friendly slap.

“I–It was a dare, Aeri,” you say apprehensively. That’ll prove fruitless, of course. She’s already thinking you’re a slut. She’s still laughing at you for doing so.

You wouldn’t call Aeri your closest friend, even if the distance between you and her is smaller than that of you and Jimin. You two greet each other in class. You two greet each other outside of class, but that’s it, nothing more, nothing less.

Aeri is more of a carefree type than Jimin. Getting a B is already an achievement for her. She drinks twice a week, stays over at somebody else’s place once a week. Her friends would call her a slut, and she’d happily accept it.

“Are you going to grind on someone’s lap again tonight?” she asks, giggling. “Or maybe eating some ladyfingers~”

“My god, Aeri.” You slap her shoulder softly.

“Alright, see you around!” Aeri says. You wave at her, and she waves back, before she disappears into the crowd again.

Why are you even here?

—

You’re sitting alone on the bed in the house’s bedroom. There’s a Little Fish poster on the wall. The owner sure has some taste. A few vinyls are stacking on top of one another near its player.

You’re trying to comprehend what just happened earlier. You were grinding on a popular girl’s lap, then another one came in to mock you. Oh god, it’s over.

A knock on the door pulls you out of the destructive cycle you’re in, at least.

“Yes?” you utter, and the door opens.

It’s Jimin. She’s peeking through the space between the door and the wall, as if to make sure that no one else is in the room but you (well, there’s no one else here). She then quickly enters the room, closes the door, and starts walking towards you.

“Uh–okay?” you say, puzzled by how she’s acting.

“Heyy,” Jimin greets you again. She seems a bit more–drunk?

“Hi, Jimin.” You figure that you should apologize to her. You just embarrassed her and yourself like that, and her nonchalant reaction may have been a mere defense mechanism!

“Look, I’m sorry about that dare. I should’ve controlled myself better. I’m sorr–”

Your train of thoughts is derailed by her fingers invading your mouth, making your entire body shudder in surprise. Your eyes open wide at her action. Fuck, what is she doing?

“Strip, now,” Jimin orders, drunkenly, fingers playing with the insides of your wet cavern, before she pulls them out, leaving you empty.

“Wh–What?”

“I said ‘strip’, bitch boy. What the fuck is so hard about that?” Her eyes are barely open.

“B–But–”

She plunges her wet fingers into your mouth again, stifling your slutty moans and whimpers. Her hand reeks of alcohol and something that screams her.

“Slut,” Jimin drunkenly utters, before using her free hand to unbutton your shirt, slowly revealing your abdomen inch by inch. “Just–ugh–be a good boy and listen to me, alright?”

You are starting to get lost in the haze of desire, and you can say nothing but nod at her filthy words. Your hands go to your belt, hastily unlocking it from your slutty waist. Your pants come off a little too easily, now pooling on the ground. Your cock only has your boxers left to cover it.

“A slut with a big cock–” Jimin chuckles, using her free hand to stroke your cock from the outside, and you can only moan into her filthy hands “–fucking perfect.”

You’re still sucking on her fingers enthusiastically, like a common whore. Your hands can only sit still by the sides. You don’t dare to touch her body again yet after what happened out there.

“You can touch my tits, you know. You’re standing like a rock, and it’s fucking weird,” Jimin says, and that gives you the permission to her voluptuous breasts.

Your hands start softly, from merely wandering on her tits from top to bottom. You can feel the bra underneath her midriff shirt. It’s barely containing her chest. God, fuck, she’s huge.

“You fucking love my tits, don’t you?” Jimin asks, fingers still busy exploring your mouth. “Strip for me and I’ll let you suck on them.”

You then stammeringly pull your boxers down to your ankles, freeing your cock from its tight confinement. It springs free in excitement, and you just can’t wait to plunge it into Jimin’s puffy cunt.

Your shirt follows suit as Jimin finally unbuttons it completely. You quickly get rid of the restrictive garment, and now, you’re completely nude in front of Yoo Jimin.

“Great body,” she says with a giggle, finally taking her fingers off your slutty mouth. Jimin then takes your hands towards the hem of her top, pulling it upwards, revealing the black bra that’s barely able to contain her tits. They’re almost spilling from the confinement. Fuck.

“Yeah, I fucking know they’re big, slut. Just–wait a sec,” she sneers, as her hands reach towards the back of her bra, hastily unlocking it. And with that, the garment comes off. You’re greeted with the sight of her breasts hanging gorgeously in front of your face, with brown nipples topping them. Her nipples are already hard, so ready for you to–

“Mmm~ s–suck it, slut,” she groans, her body trembling before you, hinting the pleasure she gets from this. Her hands press you harsher into her tits, wanting you to take in the taste.

Jimin reeks of the earlier alcohol, with a hint of salt on her nipples. She has been sweating a bit. God, imagine if you get to taste her after a workout, her body slick, shining with sweat. The salty taste on her tits permeates your tongue. You get to taste her sweat like that. What an experience that would be?

You keep sucking on her tits like there’s no tomorrow. When you suck on one side, you’ll use a hand to knead on the other, feeling the divine softness in your hand. You’re hungry, and only Yoo Jimin’s breasts can satiate your burning hunger.

“Wh–What a bitch,” Jimin sneers, but that only drives you further into the seemingly unending lust of yours.

Suddenly, Jimin grabs onto your hair, yanking your head back to face her beautiful features. It hurts, but in Jimin’s hand, your cock only grows harder and harder.

“Alright, get on the fucking bed,” Jimin orders, and you quickly complies with it.

Jimin follows you onto the soft bed, climbing onto it while her eyes are roaming your pliant body. She’s almost drooling at the sight, seeing you all being submissive for her like this.

She quickly discards her shorts and her already-drenched panties, and you can only watch her show in awe. Her pussy looks nothing short of puffy, so mouthwatering.

She then climbs on top of your pliant body, ready to fuck you senseless on your cock. She lines herself up with your length, before slowly lowering herself down.

At the first contact, both of you groan with the intense pleasure coursing through your bodies. Her pussy feels utterly diving, so fucking tight. Your breaths come out in a stuttered rhythm. Your entire body trembles in pure bliss.

“F–Fuckkk~” you mewl. Your mind can barely register anything but the tightness of her pussy enveloping your thick cock.

“Y–You goddamn s–slut, why is your–ugh–cock so b–big?” she moans, her body shaking in the pleasure you’re giving her.

“I–It’s g–genetics,” you answer her coyly.

Jimin bursts out a laugh on top of your cock, clearly amused by your reply. “God, you’re such a bitch, aren’t you?”

You can only shyly giggle. She’s almost at the hilt now, but the pleasure is already too intense for you.

“G–God, you’re so damn tight, J–Jimin,” you utter, unable to make sense of her otherworldly grip on your cock. God, she’s so tight.

“Th–Thanks,” she replies, her voice still stern. Her hands are drawing lines on your chest with her neatly-manicured nails. The sensation is just too much—on your abdomen, on your cock, on your mind.

Finally, she’s at the hilt. She screams in pure ecstasy. You’re splitting her open with your cock. Both of your eyes are fluttering in bliss. This feels so good.

“Oh f–fuck, you’re so–so big!” Jimin shouts. You watch as her hands are shaking on top of you, unable to handle the sheer size of you.

You say nothing, instead creeping your hands up her pillowy breasts, adding another hue of sensation to her. You start to play with her nipples, making her body spasming on top of you.

“G–Goddd~” she mewls.

Jimin then moves back up. Your cock reappears from the base once more. The feeling around your cock is ecstatic—her inner walls grazing your cock like this. It’s insane.

“Nghhh~” you moan, trying to comprehend the feeling.

“I–I’m going down now, s–slut,” she says, before ramming back down. The sound of flesh slapping into each other echoes through the room.

“Fuck!” Both of you scream in unison, involuntarily.

She moves up again, then down, then up, then she finds her rhythm on your cock. Her pussy feels unreal. She’s gripping you like a vice, so tight, so right. Without knowing, you’re plowing into her pussy with reckless abandon.

You pound her roughly with any force you have, aiming to fill her womb with your salty nectar. The sounds of moaning and flesh slapping rings through the room. The room reeks of sex. Your hands creep up onto her big breasts again. They feel so soft in your hands, and you decide to give them a firm squeeze, making Jimin’s body writhe above you.

“G–God, y–your hands, s–so good,” she says, voice barely above a goddamn whisper. Her back arches. Her eyes are fluttering. She’s falling apart.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your trance. Your motion comes to a halt in surprise.

“Heyyy, I know you guys are in there~”

Fuck, it’s Aeri.

Jimin quickly covers your mouth with her drool-stained hand, not wanting you to alert Aeri of your presence. She’s still grinding your cock recklessly, and you’re doing your best not to moan like a slut (even if you already are).

“I–It’s–ah–just Jimin here, A–Aeri,” Jimin says, trying to hide the fact that she’s using you as her fucktoy. Though the evident stutter in her voice gives way.

“C’mon, Jimin, don’t hog him just for yourself. I wanna use him too! Pleaseeee~” Aeri pleads. You can feel the desperation coming from the outside.

“Ugh, this fucking woman,” Jimin scoffs, hips moving on top of you in a hypnotic motion. Her breasts are jiggling as she moves. “Just–don’t forget to lock the door!”

You hear a happy giggle from the outside. The door opens, and here comes Aeri, still in the same clothes as the time she called you a slut earlier in the night. Though she’s already in the process of hiking up her crop top up. Her bra is slightly visible.

“Wow, Jimin, he’s already inside you? Naughty, naughty girl!” says Aeri as she closes the door. A loud click is heard.

“Tsk, says the college’s slut,” Jimin scoffs, before she goes back to riding the soul out of your pliant body.

“God forbid a woman be a little slutty, I guess,” Aeri sneers before taking off her crop top.

Aeri’s cup size, though not as large as Jimin’s, is still pretty damn impressive if you’d weigh in on this topic in the men’s circle. Her bust is also barely contained by her lacy bra, can’t see why someone wouldn’t be caught within her presence.

Your eyes are glued to the barely contained breasts of Aeri’s, despite being buried deep in Jimin’s cunt. Aeri sways her hips playfully, pulling you into another trance. It doesn’t stay for long though. Jimin calls you back into action with a flick on your taut nipple.

“Hey! Don’t–mmm!”

Jimin plunges her fingers into your mouth for the umpteenth time, it still works, of course. You’re still sucking her slender fingers like a whore (you’re a whore, her whore). Your hands roam over her body to have a grab on her large bust hanging gorgeously above your face.

“Fucking wh–whore,” Jimin sneers, unimpressed by your antics, although drowning in the pleasure of being touched by you. She seems to really want you as hers, doesn’t she?

“Ngmm~” you can only whimper out.

“Oh, come on, Jimin. Don’t be so harsh on him!” Aeri protects you, as she slowly takes off her bra, waiting to use your body in some way. “Don’t want him to cum so fast. You know how much of a slut he is, right, baby?”

You nod sheepishly with Jimin’s fingers still inside your mouth. Degradation only makes you cum faster, and you wouldn’t want to piss Jimin and Aeri off by cumming before them.

As Aeri’s bra comes off, you’re greeted with her perfect breasts. Her dusky nipples are already hard, ready to be sucked and nibbled. You’re so ready for the second pair of tits for tonight.

“Oh, c’mon, Aeri. You’re distracting him!” Jimin whines, her hands are trying to divert your attention back to her bouncing on your cock. It works, sometimes. You can see Aeri giggling in the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, alright, how about–” Aeri takes off her shorts and panties in a single swoop, putting her mouthwatering cunt on display for you “–I sit on his face.”

God, she looks so delicious naked like this.

Back to her latest words first, though. Did she just say she’s going to sit on your face?

“Seems fair,” Jimin replies, gesturing Aeri to your vacant, unused face.

“Wait, I can’t–”

“You can, slut,” Jimin commands. Her voice is stern. Her pace on your length remains reckless, trying to coax the cum out of your full balls. “Don’t think you have any say in this, bitch. Tonight’s my–no–our night.”

You only whimper in response. You’re going to get double-teamed by Jimin and Aeri, and you couldn’t be happier than this.

Aeri then climbs onto the bed, approaching you like a predator eyeing its prey. She puts her legs on both of your sides, caging your head with her meaty thighs. Her pussy is just right above you. And slowly, she lowers herself onto your face, ready to suffocate you with her cunt.

“Oh god,” you utter, so lost in the throes of pleasure Aeri is about to give you.

She lowers just one of her knees close to your head. You’ve seen a video on this before. It’ll help the woman to not get tired too quickly. Her pussy is so close to your face now, and you can do nothing but stick your tongue out, ready to eat her out.

“Oh, and,” Aeri says, halting her motion slightly, making you groan in disappointment. “Do you want to kiss me, Jimin?”

“Ah, not my thing. Sorry,” Jimin replies with a polite smile, keeping her movements erratic on your cock. God, this feels so good.

“It’s fine,” Aeri says, before completely sinking herself onto your face, making you take in her taste.

“Fuckkk~” Aeri screams. Her body is shaking in the pleasure you’re giving her. Her hands grip onto the sides of your head tightly. She doesn’t want to let you go.

It’s not hyperbolic to say that Aeri’s taste is insane. You’re completely hypnotized by her flavor on your tongue. She has the perfect amount of saltiness, and the perfect amount of musk. Aeri’s pussy is driving you haywire, even if it’s in a different way that Jimin is making you feel.

“So–perfect for–a facefuck, god!” Aeri shouts, starting to ride your face like it’s hers (it’s hers).

The sensation is unreal. Jimin is trying to pump cum out of your cock with her grinding motion as if you’re her fucktoy (you’re her fucktoy), while Aeri is riding the shit out of your face as if you’re her fucktoy (you’re her fucktoy). The scent of her pussy is filling your nostrils, and you can’t help but grab onto both women’s breasts.

“Goddd~” Aeri groans, body shaking on top of you. Jimin says nothing but letting you play with her tits, though a few whimpers are leaking out of her lips.

Aeri’s juice tastes so damn good, and you’re happily lapping her up hungrily. Her juice is running down your chin to your neck, creating a filthy trail on your pretty face. You’re revelling in her taste. You’re revelling in the way you’re pleasing her. You’re revelling in the way she fucking keens on top of you.

“S–So, you’re not all just a pretty face, huh?” Aeri asks, her taut body trembling on you. She keeps riding your face frantically. God, she really is going for it.

You answer with an even more intense movement of your tongue, making Aeri scream on top of you. She grinds on your face even faster and faster.

Inevitably, you’re going to reach the precipice. You can feel the heat pooling in your crotch. You’re going to cum inside Yoo Jimin’s pussy!

“Nghh~ g–gonna cum,” you say. It’s barely coming out with Aeri’s cunt on your mouth like this.

You hear Aeri giggle softly above you, body trembling in pleasure. “Well, this is rather fast, isn’t it?”

“You’re late, Aeri,” Jimin says, slightly dissatisfied with Aeri’s complaints. “Maybe you can come here instead of whoring out while he’s balls deep inside of me.”

Aeri giggles again. “Fineee~ just let me know when you guys are fucking.”

“G–Girls, gonna c–cum–nghn.”

Both Jimin and Aeri quicken their pace on top of you, chasing their own orgasm. They really want to cum with you, don’t they?

“A–Alright, I’m c–close–ah,” Jimin utters. You can hear her frantic breathing from below. Her grip on your waist becomes tighter. Your left hand alternates between her breasts, giving them the treatment they deserve.

“M–Me too,” Aeri says. Her muscles tense up under your touch. Her brown nipples are harder than ever. The three of you are going to cum at the same time!

“Nghh, I–I’m so c–close, girls. C–Can I cum inside you, J–Jimin?” you ask. The feeling is irresistible now. You’re so, so close.

“F–Fucking fill my–my womb, bitch,” Jimin scoffs, her voice stern. “Breed me like–like the whore you are.”

Her words spur you on, as you thrust up into Jimin’s cunt as fast as humanly possible. Your mouth ravages Aeri’s folds recklessly.

Jimin would be the first to break. Her cunt gushes out clear liquid onto the bed. Her body spasms on top of you. You can feel her wetness pooling on your stomach. Aeri follows suit. Her squirt leaks out of her pussy onto your face as you happily drink it. Both of them scream, forming a cacophony that fills the room.

“Yes! Yes! Fucking–Fucking love this cock.” Jimin shouts. You aren’t so sure who’s going to hear that, but you don’t care. You’re about to cum inside of her.

“G–God, I’m painting your face so good!” Aeri says.

You let go. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into Jimin’s womb. You’re breeding Yoo Jimin with your cock. Your entire body writhes under both women’s bodies.

“I can feel it twitch inside me!” Jimin says excitedly, softly raking your body with her nails.

Your eyes flutter in ecstasy, unable to make sense of the sensations on your body. There’s the feeling of Jimin’s ass on your cock. There’s the feeling of Aeri’s thighs on your face. There’s the scent of sex and sweat filling the room. That’s So True can still be heard. It just won’t stop, will it?

Finally, you come down from your precipice. You’re panting along with the women, trying to catch your breath in this post-orgasm bliss. Fuck, that felt good.

“Slut,” Jimin sneers, getting off from your cock at the same time as Aeri unlatches herself from your face. “Bathroom, now.”

You quickly comply with her order, getting off from the bed and walking towards the bathroom. You feel so submissive, so pliant, yet it feels so right, being their little bitch boy like this.

“One more round?” Aeri jokes, giving your ass a slap, making you yelp.

“Oh, definitely,” Jimin says, determined in her voice.

“M–Maybe, I gotta take a break.”

—

#giselle #karina #aespa #giselle smut #karina smut #aespa smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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brucebocchi · 2 days ago

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Ranking 2024 anime, Pt. 2: #40-31

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i do this for free and am currently between jobs. you can find part 1 of the list here. thanks!

Alright, on we go to the list proper. The first post was probably whiplash-inducing, going from a bunch of shorter stuff I loved to whole seasons I hated, but we can only go up from here. I watched a lot of anime this year, as the numbers indicate, so there's a little positivity to be found even in the lower rankings.

As always, OPs are linked in the series titles. Watch them, they're almost all great.

40. Metallic Rouge

One of the biggest disappointments of the year, one which I didn’t think could be outdone (and I’ll get to that one shortly). Metallic Rouge had so much going for it as a Studio Bones original for its anniversary, and managed to fumble all of its promise and goodwill in slow, agonizing fashion.

It’s a shame, too. Metallic Rouge still looks awesome; the character and mech designs are excellent, the space-cyberpunk aesthetic is undeniable, and the animation can be terrific when it counts. The story, on the other hand, is so completely asinine that I was sick of this show before it ended. I’ve mostly forgotten what even happens, partly because it was that infuriating to keep up with, and partly because I feel like the writers forgot too; the bulk of any actual story felt backloaded into the last two or three episodes because they focused too hard on vibes for a while. I think they were trying to go for some “G-Witch by way of Detroit: Become Human” something or other, but all of it rang hollow. I’m still not sure whether it needed more runtime or better writers. Probably both.

Not worth your time. Just watch the OP and imagine a better show than what we got.

39. Mysterious Disappearances

I’ve thought so little about this show since it went off the air that I don’t really have anything new to say. Looks pretty lousy most of the time, not that interesting, oddly horny, and the plot structure gets kind of cloying after a while.

I know I harped on that last point when I reviewed it at the end of the spring season, but something funny happened after I did. Back in July, I mentioned that I took issue with the formula of “we encounter a paranormal anomaly, it’s identified as a yokai or urban legend, we learn its tragic backstory, our protagonists give it closure, and we move on” because it felt manipulative after I realized that it happened with every arc, and then I went ahead and read DanDaDan, which basically does exactly the same thing but a hell of a lot better. Comparing a middling work like this to DanDaDan of all things feels unfair, but they cover pretty similar ground. Maybe it’s sharper writing, or maybe it’s just a more engaging work. Who’s to say?

I’d also said in my review that Mysterious Disappearances unintentionally gives off the vibe of a poorly-archived mid-2000s series, but I hadn’t realized just how right I was: It turns out that studio Zero-G just went ahead and made up its own ending even though the source material is still ongoing. Better shows did the same this year, but the studio and I seem to have the same level of faith that this anime’s ever coming back.

38. My Deer Friend Nokotan

Honestly? Fuck this show.

I’ve already gone into what I did and didn’t like about Nokotan after it went off air a few months ago and I don’t care to revisit that while it’s still relatively fresh. Not nearly as funny as it pretended to be, yet still not even confident in its own sense of humor. The OP's still a bop (calling it "Shikairo Days" was a genuinely great joke), and a small handful of gags do land, but not enough to prevent this from being a massive disappointment. At the same time, Nokotan was still somehow not the biggest letdown of the year.

37. Uzumaki

This was the biggest letdown of the year.

When an anime adaptation of the legendary Junji Ito horror manga was first announced in 2019, it was hard not to get excited. Even when I’d mostly fallen out of anime fandom, I knew damn well who Junji Ito was and I knew Uzumaki. Adult Swim was funding the project, a prestige studio in Production I.G. was handling the animation, and they even nabbed Hereditary composer Colin Stetson for the score. Ito’s manga is famously very difficult to adapt well, and it looked like we finally had a project being taken seriously. Delays and radio silence in the ensuing years were disappointing, but I was willing to be patient if it meant everything was being handled right. When the trailer dropped this summer, it looked like it would be worth the wait.

And for one glorious episode, it seemed like everyone’s patience paid off. Uzumaki’s debut episode was one of the most visually arresting pieces of animation I’ve ever seen: The entire look and feel was faithful to Ito’s inimitable style, from the meticulously detailed linework to the stark black-and-white color grading of his manga’s pages. On top of that, the animation itself was absurdly good; the process of rotoscoping 3D motion capture seemed arduous, but the end result was beautifully lifelike for a story where that quality could only serve to instill further terror. Several of the most iconic images from the early chapters looked incredible in hi-def motion. Sure, the pacing was a little fast, but this was a four-episode miniseries. We could deal. This was just too good.

And then came the second episode.

I’m not going to over-elaborate or relitigate every single thing that went wrong here, because it’s a lot. Uzumaki was in development for a long time, and that five year gap between announcement and release included several detriments to the production process, not the least of which being COVID, animation production changing hands between several studios, and new leadership for Adult Swim’s parent company that now favors profit over product, especially when it comes to animation that doesn’t involve DC characters. Plenty of us figured that all of these delays and a run of only four episodes meant that they had the time to hammer out all the issues and give us the best possible product. That, unfortunately, was not the case.

Responding to complaints about the decline in animation in the second episode, executive producer Jason DeMarco (who, to be blunt, has overseen several mediocre-to-awful anime products released under the Adult Swim brand, including my bottom-ranked anime of 2023) claimed in a quickly-deleted Bluesky thread that there is indeed a higher-up to blame and that they were left with an ultimatum to either drop Uzumaki after just one episode, let it go the way of so many other Warner Bros non-releases under David Zaslav’s disastrous leadership, or release the whole miniseries in its half-baked state. They went with the third.

So, what we got was an uneven, often sloppy work; another mediocrity to throw on the pile of failed Junji Ito adaptations. All goodwill established in the first episode is soon undone by wonky character models, uncanny walk cycles, and movement that looks like PNGs being dragged across a background at the most inopportune times. Plenty of viewers, myself included, were willing to overlook the accelerated pacing after the first episode, but that issue was thrown into stark relief by the second when entire chapters of the manga began playing out simultaneously, and one was even reduced to an afterthought for a cheap “scare” at the end of episode three.

Not that I thought Uzumaki necessarily needed a full 12-episode season for a proper adaptation or anything; Ito’s output can often be light on story, and dragging it out too far risks losing interest. What makes Ito’s stories actually work, though, is a proper sense of setting and space to let tensions rise. That didn’t entirely happen here; while the atmosphere of Kurozu-cho does plenty resemble what we’ve seen from Ito’s pages, and Stetson’s atonal saxophone does a lot of work to raise the level of unease, things just kind of happen. Few things really get the chance to land as intended, in part due to the production quality cheaping out at climactic moments.

This was the last anime I finished this year even though I’d watched the first two episodes after they aired and it went off the air in October. I was looking forward to the last two episodes that little. There are still bits and pieces of great animation and faithful adaptation here and there, but not enough to regain any goodwill from the second episode’s wheels visibly falling off. Maybe it’s finally time to declare Junji Ito’s works unadaptable once and for all.

Definitely watch that first episode, though. At this point I kind of wish that’s all we’d gotten.

36. Hokkaido Gals Are Super Adorable!

Straitlaced Nice Guy moves to a new town, laid-back gyaru from his class immediately takes a liking to him, a couple other girls enter the picture, shenanigans ensue, and a slow-burn romance begins in parallel. Nothing special on paper and nothing much more special than that in execution. The setting is lovely, though, and it really made me want to visit Hokkaido one day. Nicely done, tourism board.

If you watched this and were put off by it, I don’t blame you; I probably would’ve been too if I hadn’t decided to read ahead in the manga. I will say this, though: If you liked Hokkaido Gals even a little, read the manga. It’s a minor investment, but if you can get over the halfway mark, it gets surprisingly good and has a really lovely ending.

The anime, on the other hand? Meh. Doesn’t look super great and didn’t have enough time in 12 episodes to overcome most of the issues the source material had to move past to get to what made it worthwhile. It would take another season or two to get there, and that probably isn’t gonna happen. Great OP, though (I'm starting to repeat myself, I know). Just read the manga.

35. No Longer Allowed in Another World

Boasting one of the most audacious premises for an isekai I’ve ever seen, No Longer Allowed in Another World doesn’t shy away from the implications of an Osamu Dazai isekai, has the dark humor to match, and provides some fascinating commentary on the type of person who tends to consume wish-fulfillment isekai. Unfortunately, the presentation was a little lacking and threatened to lose my attention several times. I think the idea is much better on paper, to the point where I might test that theory and go read the manga.

34. The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic

The next dozen or so anime in the rankings fall into a category of either “well-made anime that I found kind of frustrating” or “middling anime that I kind of enjoyed.” The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic is very much the latter. It’s a standard isekai on paper; demon king, special powers, what have you, but it has a likable cast and laid-back vibe for much of its runtime that made it pleasant enough to watch.

As I said after the winter season, I really liked that Wrong Way spends a lot of its early story ensuring that the protagonist expends the time and effort necessary for him to become the hero he’s meant to be instead of the narrative just handing it to him from the start, which instantly sets it apart from most other wish-fulfillment isekai. It’s far from the best-looking anime I watched this year, but it has a mid-00s throwback look and feel to it that works more to its benefit than in Mysterious Disappearances. Nothing groundbreaking and a little too backloaded, but an enjoyable enough experience and one I’m looking forward to seeing come back.

The only really upsetting thing about this show is that Atsuko Tanaka (Major Kusanagi, Bayonetta, Kainé), who was tremendous as the intimidating Captain Rose, is no longer with us. She was an exceptional talent with an iconic voice who will be sorely missed, and future seasons of this show won’t be the same without her.

33. Go! Go! Loser Ranger

Though not a bad anime by most metrics, I still consider Loser Ranger a minor disappointment. It mostly looks great, and “what if The Boys was a sentai series” is a killer premise, but the story so far is extremely frontloaded. Almost too much happens in the first four episodes, and then the bulk of the last arc of the season takes place in a goddamn parking garage. I’m still annoyed by that. Still looking forward to season 2, but I wish the debut season had been 24 episodes to avoid the sour taste in my mouth.

Did you hear that echo? Yep, that's me telling you to watch yet another OP. Easily the best part of the show and one of the best of the year. Tatsuya Kitani can't keep getting away with it.

32. Astro Note

2024 turned out to be a banner year for Rumiko Takahashi’s older works making their way back to modern screens, and one of those entries wasn’t even hers.

Astro Note is an overt homage to Takahashi’s less-famous romcom Maison Ikkoku, which ran parallel to Urusei Yatsura for most of the latter’s run. Like Ikkoku, Astro Note follows a down-on-his-luck young man living in a boarding house full of bizarre miscreants who only stays because the manager is super pretty. Unlike Ikkoku, and unbeknownst to our protagonist, said manager is actually an alien who is practically turning the house over to find a secret alien MacGuffin.

This show looks lovely and has a delightful cast and some surprisingly moving subplots, but it’s nothing too special otherwise. There are some fun creative flourishes here and there, like the alien stuff shown in flashback being made to look like an older space opera anime, but aside from a very fun turn near the end of the season, Astro Note rarely rises above the level of simply “pleasant.” And that’s fine, but it doesn’t quite live up to the material it’s aping, and what we’ve ended up with is just a nice distraction.

I’m so glad I finally decided to read Maison Ikkoku though.

31. Shangri-La Frontier, second cour

It’s been a running joke for me that the more I watch Shangri-La Frontier, the less I’m sure whether I like it or not, and now with 25 episodes in the tank, I’m less sure than ever. The back half of the debut season improved on a few of the things that annoyed me about its first cour by focusing more on the high-quality action and introducing minor stakes to the proceedings, and then everything else surrounding it made it feel no less like I’m just watching a guy playing a goddamn video game, and the stakes still mostly seem to amount to "he wants to be good at it."

You may notice that I didn’t include the second season in this review, and that’s because I flat-out didn’t care to pick it back up. I’d been busy during the fall season and continuing a show I didn’t enjoy that much just wasn’t a high priority. It’s continuing into January, so there’s time to catch it while it airs, but I’m still not in any hurry.

#anime reviews #metallic rouge #uzumaki

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seldomscilence16 · 18 hours ago

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Dream Au Gift Part 1

Been working on this for awhile as a gift for @hey-hey-j cause Dream au is taking over my brain! I think this will be 4 or 5 parts as I work to finish it. I have added a few of my own headcannons so I apologize in advance! I cant help myself :I anyhoo! Dream au part one! Go check out Hey's amazing art as well as other people contributions that have made this so much fun to experience in the dream au tag!

It's another gig, in another random establishment, in another town, with another random group of trolls. The shock of finding another Genre had worn off some years ago, and while it was still amazing to learn about the history of their worlds and vastly different lifestyles, he found himself wandering aimlessly, looking for that next place that’d allow him to play.

....

Floyd is singing.

He didn’t like to think of it as a ‘means to an end’, but sometimes it felt like it. Like there was no real purpose anymore, like he was forcing himself to continue as guilt pulled him further and further down.

His eyes glance over the crowd, some swaying to his tune, others ignoring it as background noise. Green meets pink for just a moment as his eyes move, before flickering back once more. He blinks a few times, as that familiar shock from years ago visits him again, as he takes in this new type of Troll watching him so intently.

A flush darkens their green cheeks as they look away with an embarrassed hand rubbing at their neck. And for the first time in a while, Floyd feels something.

Hickory has never heard such a beautiful laugh, nor has he laughed so hard in quite some time. He finds himself telling this mysterious troll things he’s never shared outside family. He feels at ease, he feels seen, he feels warm and… happy.

So maybe that's why, as his stay here comes to an end, he finds himself extending an offer to his fellow traveler.

A chance to see a few new sights, to hear new music, and to continue getting to know one another.

He’s pleasantly surprised at the ‘yes’ the other breathes, seemingly surprised himself. The smile that comes after is one Hickory promises himself he’ll make happen as often as possible.

A soft kiss pressed to his forehead brings a surprising amount of comfort, easing that ache just a bit. Hickory wraps a soft blanket around his shoulders and urges him towards the sitting area out front. He sits in the fresh morning air tiredly, eyes closed and head tilted back as that familiar contentedness wraps around him.

He never thought he’d feel so at home with someone again. But Hickory, no matter where they traveled, had a way about him that left him feeling warm and loved. And as he comes around him, a soft graze of his hand over his shoulders, offering him a steaming mug, despite his weariness he offers a smile.

“Headache any better?” Asked softly, as he takes the seat across from him.

“A little, yeah.”

The look he receives is concerned, and Floyd knows he must look a mess to garner such a thing,

“If you want me to stay-” A calloused palm resting atop his own hand.

“No no, you go.” He raises his own hand to intertwine their fingers, “I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t Hickory’s first job, nor would it be his last, Floyd wouldn't let a little headache stop the yodeler. He liked his work, he was good at it, and Dockory was there to watch his back.

Floyd knew he’d be back.

The place is a mess.

The destruction left in the wake of giants too much to comprehend beyond his panic.

No one has seen him.

But there is no… no sign of him either.

Which means Floyd was taken.

And Hickory would find him. He would find him. Because he was alive. He had to be.

Please…

Barb stares at the two yodelers warily.

Things had been… tense… since everything. She’d been apologizing a lot- awkwardly, stiltedly- and helping with repairs and the likes where she could. The Funk Royals had been keeping an especially close eye on her, but it felt more like what she remembered of her parents during childhood than anything else- not to say it didn't make her paranoid and want to curl in on herself simultaneously.

But during everything, she had been going out of her way to do things, to try and make amends. So for the two bounty hunters to come to her? Well it was a little odd.

She had held their music over their heads, dangled it on a string, on top of threatening them. These two were the first to approach her at all, and she wondered what was so important that they would come to her over a month after everything.

The shorter one speaks up first,

“Uh, thank you for seeing us, Your Majesty.” It's just as stilted as her own conversations had been, his accent heavy, and despite their short encounters, Barb knows this is very unlike him.

Or maybe not being under threat just made people act differently?

“Yeah, it's… chill. What's up?” Someday maybe she could talk as easily as the Pop Queen, or as elegantly as the Funk Leaders, or as smooth as the Techno DJ, or even as prettilly as the Classical Conductor.

But she doubted it.

The taller side eyes the shorter, hesitant,

“We… need some help.”

Reluctant.

Well. Barb knew how that felt.

She could do this. It'd be a step in the right direction right?

They aren't expecting mail.

And the critter delivering it is unfamiliar and gone as quick as he came.

The letter is written in swirly handwriting, pretty and slightly crooked. A contrast to the actual words, a threat, a warning, a plea.

A fake.

Despite the years, Bruce knew this wasn’t his brother's handwriting.

“You have to go.”

His wife, beautiful and magnificent, stands at the counter behind him, looking down with a concerned tilt to her brow. They’d talked about this a million times, but this… this was the first actual sign.

“It sounds like a trap.” He points out, a weak argument really, he knows he won't be able to stand by.

“Then you’ll be careful.” She turns, signaling to their friend, grabbing the small pack he’s had since the forest, and filling it with supplies.

“I can’t just leave you and the kids, the restaurant.”

“I’m pretty sure Cove has pink-eye, and the restaurant will be fine. You need to go Bruce.”

The pack is placed in front of him, their friend already standing at the bar hat on his head, Bruce takes a deep breath,

“I’ll be back.” He promises, his gut stirring with too many emotions.

“I know you will.” They share a kiss filled with reassurances and love and everything Bruce needs to go through with this.

“Where to Bru?”

“Somewhere called Mount Rageous.”

Part 2>>

#dreamworks trolls #seldomwrites #the dream au #Floyd angst #trolls floyd #flickory

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mastermindmiko · 2 days ago

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Third times' the charm

pairing: Sirius Black + reader

Summary: The two times you and Sirius didn't kiss on new years and the one time you did

For the sake of this story please imagine that Hogwarts classes continue in the new year, so they can have parties in the common room.

Warnings: none, I believe, but let me know

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! I hope everyone's new year is joyful and prosperous, enjoy 2025

Gryffindor parties always are booming to the point where we need several silencing enchantments in order to keep it quiet, merlin knows what minnie would do if she found out her house were sneaking in alcohol and the loudest muggle speaks any muggleborn could find (simply because a spell wouldn’t have the same effect as speakers).

Despite all that, my boys and I are always divided the same way we always are. James on the dance floor trying to woo Lily, Sirius trying to woo the third girl of the night, Remus playing poker, winning of course, how else would Gryffindor house be able to pay for the barrels of booze and the bottles of Firewhiskey. Peter watches Remus win, counting the money and telling them how much they need to pay the shady dealer that they got the alcohol from.

I am doing arguably the most important job of the whole party, playing the music. I’ve created many many many playlists and all of which are featured in Gryffindor parties. I play some ABBA (Lily’s request), Bowie (Remus’ request) and Queen (Sirius’ request). From the corner of my eye, I see James walk up to the desk where I have everything set up, the different CDs, the record players and of course the speakers.

“Hello!” James shouts, voice low to me from being so close to the speakers. He’s sweating a bunch from all the dancing and his cheeks flushed. If he wasn’t an athlete, I’d think he’d pass out, so many people with so little air with that much effort? I would’ve been long gone a while ago. I reply, “Hey, James, any reason you left your mission to come speak to me?”

“My mission was not abandoned, I just changed tactics.” He declared, and turned to give me some puppy eyes, that I thought only Sirius had mastered. I sighed, “Oh no.”

“Please, please, please, please, please-” James started to beg, holding his hands together, and I was sure that he was a second away from getting down on his knees. I unwound his hands, and looked at him in disdain, anticipating that he’ll tell me something that will make me jump off of the astronomy tower. I groaned, “No amount of begging will make me do anything you want James, if I don’t already want to do it.”

“That’s not true, last month, you didn’t want to turn all the Slytherin’s dinner back alive again, but you helped us-”

“No, I never said I didn’t want to do that, I simply said that I didn’t have the time.” I reply, and the record ends, so I quickly pull out another and place it on the record player. The music filled the room again, and Sirius came to join the discussion. He asks, “How’s it going with the Queen’s best hits album-”

“Not now, Padfoot, I’m in the process of making all my dreams come true.” James interrupts, and turns to look at me once more, he continues, “It’s a simple request really, very very small, very insignificant, you’ll barely even notice that you’re doing it-”

“Cut to the chase, James.” I huff, and he once again activates his puppy eyes. He pleads, “You would really be the best, the absolute best if you could play a slow song for me and Lily.”

“What?! James, a slow song? This is a party, no one wants a slow song.” I moan, and he juts his bottom lip out, pouting. Sirius gives him a little thumbs up from the corner of my eye, so they have been teaching each other. I smack Sirius’ hand down. James says, “I’ll dance with Lily and she’ll be my new year’s kiss and we will have a lovely year together, spending it in each other’s arms and-”

“I really do not want to know where that sentence was heading.” I cut him off, and Sirius throws an arm around my shoulder, I straighten up a bit. Sirius supports, “A slow sound would actually do wonders in helping me seal the deal too, love.”

“Ohh, speaking of which, who is the poor unfortunate victim that will have to spend the first second of the new year locking lips with you?” James asks, and I feel myself getting disgusted from the boys around me. Sirius starts to toy with a strand of my hair, and he replies, “Molly Prewett.”

“Molly Prewett!” I scream, and Sirius shushes me almost just as loudly as I scream the poor girl’s name. I protest, “Fabian and Gideon will kill you if you come near her, plus she’s a sixth year, and you’re two years younger than her, she wouldn’t even look at you, and she’s head over heels for Arthur Weasley who will also kill you if you come near her.”

“I can handle a few punches, Arthur's not here, and what the twins don’t know won’t hurt them.” Sirius refutes, and I roll my eyes at him. I huff, “And how exactly do you expect to get those two away from their sister.”

I look to where Fabian and Gideon are sitting on either side of their sister on the couch who is talking to her friend on the opposite couch. They’re always attached to the hip and they are always ready to defend their sister when it comes to anyone who is not a female. Sirius shrugs his shoulders, “Simple, we distract them by something they both want.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Gideon’s easy, you know how he’s been wanting Remus to help him with his poker game for years now, and Remus agreed to help. Fabian on the other hand wants something a little bit more difficult for me to achieve.” Sirius looks at me, eyebrows raised, suggestively and I furrow mine. James hums, “Ohh yeah I heard about those rumors too.”

“But alas my brother, they are not rumors, it is in fact true.” Sirius says, and looks back at me again. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, and I question, “What rumors?”

“Our dear, dear, fellow prankster and fifth year, Fabian Prewett, twin of Gideon Prewett, and more importantly, brother of Molly Prewett, likes you.” Sirius announces, smirking as my face flushes and I let out a squeal of surprise. I shove Sirius’ arm off my shoulder and it only makes his grin widen. I say, “But I’ve barely even talked to him, how can he like me?”

“Maybe that’s what he likes, you know the mystery.” James teases, wiggling his fingers in a spooky manner. I ignore the boy, and look back at Sirius. I ask, “I am not going to be a part of your game.”

“You’ll be helping your dearest friend.” Sirius tries, I shake my head and say, “Remus is my dearest friend.”

“Second dearest?”

“Nope. That would be James.” James punches the air in victory.

“Third?”

“Peter actually cause he doesn’t pester me with annoying requests.” I say, and Sirius huffs. He relaxes his shoulders and gives me a smile before grabbing one of my hands in both of his. He says, “For your very dear and close friend.”

“I am not going to kiss someone I don’t want to kiss and lead them on just for you to get a new year’s kiss from a girl that probably doesn’t like you and whom you’ll dump a few days later.” I stated, and his shoulders sagged. He opened his mouth to protest, but I gave him a firm glare.

“Well, at least help out my poor boy James, you wouldn’t want to break both our hearts tonight.” Sirius says, moving towards James, slinging an arm around his shoulder and both of them give me the cute puppy dog eyes that make me so very weak. I groan, “Ugh, fine. But only if the moment is right.”

“Yes, thank you, thank you, thank you!” James exclaims, and gives me a quick hug from over the table and I smile at his enthusiasm. He whispers, “Make sure it’s after an ABBA song so that Lily is already standing.”

I nod my head and he drifts off back to where he was, centre of the common room, shaking his body to the beat and lip syncing all the lyrics to Lily who looked around trying to avoid making eye contact with him but with a slight flush on her face. Sirius goes back to trying to get Molly’s approval as her new year’s kiss while I shuffle through the boxes of CDs trying to find any of them suitable for a slow song.

Sooner than I realised, the countdown starts. We are only two seconds in before Sirius comes sitting next to me rubbing his jaw in pain. I ask, “What happened?”

“Arthur punched me when I tried to get close to Molly, apparently he floo-ed in just so he could kiss her.” He groans and continues to rub his jaw.

Sirius looks at me quickly, and he perks up.

I look at him all confused, until I realise that he is starting to lean towards me with his eyes fluttering shut, hand reaching out to grab onto my waist.

I laugh at how absurd it is that he thinks I might actually kiss him. I raise my palm to cover his mouth, and he pouts underneath my palm.

“Don’t even think about it, Sirius.”

***

But the funny thing is, while Sirius didn’t think about it, I did.

Sirius always was my friend, just a friend, never in my life have I ever thought that padfoot, my friend since we were eleven and that is five years now could be anything more to me than just a friend, a comrade. Never in my life have the thought of something more even entered my head to even just cross it, until it did.

It simply just wasn’t my fault. There were three factors at fault here; Marlene, the suit and Sirius. It all started when we were sitting in the common room, as we always are. Lily, Marlene, Alice, Mary and I. The talk led to the conversation of boys. Somehow in a way unknown to me it led to Sirius. Mary chimed, “He is quite fit, you know.”

“No, I’d never thought about it really.” I shrugged my shoulders, indifferently. Marlene looked at me in an absurd way and she giggled, “Come on, you have to know that he is quite gorgeous, think about it.”

And I did. I thought about his long perfect shiny smooth black hair that always seems to fall in the most perfect way. His nose arched just right, and his cupid’s bow was very pretty. How his eyes are the perfect mix between a cold grey and a stormy ocean that could just make anyone fall to their knees. The next thing I knew, I blushed whenever he hugged me or came to sit flushed next to me.

To make matters even worse, there was a Slughorn dinner party, and while of course, I got invited because of my excellent potion skills, Sirius only got invited due to name recognition. He might not be good at potions, but any member of the Black family didn’t have to be. Sirius invited me along as his date, his reasons being: Everyone already understands that he and I are just friends so he can go with me, talk to any girl he’d like, rather than if he had gone with a date which then he would’ve only been able to talk to her alone.

It seemingly made sense in the realm of the boy world, a place where I would never like to be and didn’t put much thought into. It also took the burden of finding a date off of me, so really the invite was a blessing. The problem arised when Sirius had come down the stairs before the dinner. So, there he was standing, hair looking perfect, shiny black oxfords and most importantly a tailored suit that made him look so incredibly elegant, and, there is no other way to describe it, expensive.

Having Marlene already opened my eyes to the Sirius Black appeal, not drooling over him when wearing a suit was almost impossible. The night went on without a hitch, except for one. Sirius’ did not abide by his reason for him asking me to be his date. He didn’t talk to another girl the whole night, even when Slughorn talked about yet again one of his achievements. I might not have been super focused but I didn’t so much see him glance at another girl. I might be blindsighted to these kinds of things, but not only was that happening, but he also seemed closer to me than usual.

The usual being what I was used to with the boys. The arm around the shoulder, the occasional for a small moment hug, sometimes even a mocking kiss on the forehead. What was not the usual was holding my hand (albeit for a few minutes), and the kiss on my check that he left at the end of the night before I headed to my dorm.

That is why Sirius is the third fault because why would someone who is clearly such a womanizer and anti-attachment supporter choose his friend to be attached to for a whole night, ignoring the complete existence of the previously mentioned reason for the date in the first place.

It would be completely and utterly foolish of me to say that I have no regard for Sirius’ that would be a lie, we are friends, close friends, and I sometimes look at him and want more. I blame that on his looks, it’s a wonder how generations of inbreeding the ancient and noble house of Black did not lead to deformities but rather elegance and beauty. I also blame it on his carefree attitude and the way he can make almost anyone laugh at any given moment despite what was going on in their heads.

Not to mention the fact that he is much deeper than what most of Hogwarts perceived him as, what I perceived him until lately. See, the invite to Slughorn’s dinner was only the beginning of a myriad of ‘adventures’ that I began to have with Sirius. Talks in the astronomy tower, late night snacks into the kitchens, and such. I want to ask him what caused the sudden change, but I was much too afraid to ask him, frightening him, and no longer seeing his gorgeous, beautiful face-

Maybe I liked him more than I led myself to believe, and all of these thoughts and memories entered my head because once again, just like twelve months ago, I am standing in the exact same spot, and I say, “We are not doing this again this year.”

The two boys both begged me for the same things as last year, but this time a little different. I start with James, “Remember what happened last year during the slow dance that you requested? Lily danced with some innocent boy that she might’ve actually liked and what did you do? Hex him! You hexed him! Lily didn’t talk for a while didn’t she? (not like she usually talks to you anyways…) Why do you think that repeating the same actions another time will lead to a different outcome?”

I huff and turn to Sirius, “What is up with you and this need you have for a new years kiss? You didn’t get one last year didn’t you? And didn’t this year turn out fine? Stop trying to get that kiss of yours from girls who you don’t want anyways. Doesn’t a new year’s kiss only matter if you’re getting it from someone you like?”

“Well, I-” James starts, but Sirius presses his index to James’ lips, hushing him. He clears his throat then says, “I’ll go first, prongs. The new year’s kiss isn’t simply about locking lips with some random girl. It’s about giving out goodluck into the new year, setting the tone for all the upcoming relationships, ensuring that I don’t spend a year filled with loneliness!”

He huffed and walked away towards the common room exit. My eyebrows shoot up, stunned at Sirius’ outburst on something so pathetic, or at least it seems that way to me. As I’ve come to learn, the things that Sirius’ cares about are cared about for a reason that he doesn’t usually share. I need to go check up on him. James starts, “I think you should-”

“On it, James.” I move around my setup and table and head towards the exit of the common room. James scoffs from behind me, “Why is no one letting me finish my sentences today?”

I close the portrait of the fat lady behind me and I see him leaning against a wall cigarette in hand. He sees me walk up to him and he puts the cigarette out, he knows how I hate those things. He turns to look the other way and I sigh, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t reply and I see him twitching to reach for another cigarette, he folds his arms instead. I ask, “Can I tell you what I think at least?”

“Always, you know I love hearing you talk even if you’re psychologically analyzing me.” He chuckles at the end, I find myself smiling a bit myself. I clear my throat before starting, “I wouldn’t know much about superstitions and all of that, but I’m sure none of what you said is that important to you except for one thing. The part about loneliness?”

“Sirius, I want you to know that the love- the relationship we all have together, it’s unbreakable, and nothing as small and insignificant as a kiss at a specific time during the year is going to change that.” I reassure him, and reach out to place a hand on his shoulder.

He sighs, “Never in my- I’ve never had um this feeling of security in all of this, and when I was younger, I had no one, but well, Reggie-Regulus be we all know how that turned out, and I just want some sort of guarantee, some sort of reassurance, I guess that I won’t be lonely, just to calm me down a bit. If a stupid kiss can help with that, then why not?”

“I get what you mean, Sirius.” I say, and give me a smile while rubbing my hand over his shoulder. He reaches out to grab my hand, and softly grabs it in his delicate and long fingers. He presses a soft kiss to the palm of my hands. Lips hovering over my skin and his hot breath warming up my cold hand. He whispers, “Thank you, darling”

His thumb brushes over my skin, and he looks at me with those beautiful eyes. My whole soul feels like it’s humming and vibrating from the contact. I swear that he inches a little bit closer and that for a split second, I feel his eyes lower from mine to my lips. It’s enough for my breath to get caught. The moment, too delicate to break so I whisper back, “You should probably try and find that kiss now, midnight is in less than a minute.”

His movements pause, I think this is it, until he pulls away completely, taking two large steps back. The cold engulfs my body once more, and he nods his head before walking right past me and into the common room. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, I’m almost completely sure that I hadn’t read the moment wrong.

I hear them start the countdown.

I take my two steps towards the common room

I wave to the fat lady and I say the password

The door swings open and-

Sirius is kissing Marlene McKinnon

***

That relationship didn’t last long, two weeks to be precise, and just after it ended within only four days, Marlene got together with Dorcas Meadows. The ‘fallout’ if you could call it that, was entirely my fault. I had previously thought that my feelings for Sirius were purely infatuation, but after spending the first half an hour of the new year, crying while Remus held me because Remus always knows about things like these, I realised they may be deeper than I had known.

Nothing changed, it just went back to how it was before. We all hangout together as a group, Sirius and I alone? Not so much anymore, so the same as to how it was. Sirius tried, many times, to get me to engage with him, but I couldn’t. I should’ve pushed my feelings aside so as to not hurt him, but I felt as though I was the one doing all the hurting.

This new year, there was no party, you would think that the last new years’ Gryffindor Hogwarts party for the marauders would be the biggest and the loudest and the craziest, but this new year was spent differently. There was a party going on, it just didn’t involve us.

I’ve only ever visited Dumbledore’s office a handful of times during my time here at Hogwarts, I wasn't as much of a trouble maker as my friends who knew the office layout by heart, and became close friends with our headmaster’s phoenix. It was some sort of initiation to some secret organisation, he called it ‘the order of the phoenix’.

Dark times were upon us, and everyday the dark lord gets stronger while we don’t do anything about it. People are dying, muggles are dying and muggle borns even. Soon the target will be on our backs, those who support those muggles. It would be crazy if we didn’t help, if we didn’t take a stand. When Dumbledore asks us to put our names down on an enchanted paper, I was the last one to write my name down. I couldn’t even grab the quill before-

“No.”

“No?” I turn to look at the source of the protest and there he is, standing, arms folded, looking very angry for some reason. He states, as if it were obvious, “You’re not joining.”

I look at him incredulously, and turn my whole body towards him to ask, “Why the hell not?”

“Oopp- um Sirius’ I think you outta take this somewhere else, if you’re going to quarrel.” Mary suggests from next to Lily. Sirius puts her suggestion deep into his head, and he grabs me by my hand. I stop him dead in his tracks and oppose, “We’re not going to quarrel, cause he doesn’t have a say in what I do or don’t do.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and before I could even try to process what was happening, he hauls me by my waist over his shoulder, and he takes me outside the office. I scream, “Hey! Put me down!”

He slams the door behind us, and he starts walking down a spiral staircase. My body jumps up and down and each movement has its own impact on Sirius’ shoulder. I groan everytime and I groan and shout, “Fine, fine, just get me off your damn shoulders.”

He does not listen to me and we reach the opening of Dumbledore’s office at the base of the spiral staircase. He lifts me up and sets me down in front of him. I scream, “What the hell was that? You can't just manhandle me like that, and you can't tell me what I can and can't do!”

“You can’t join the order! It's dangerous.” he says, and I roll my eyes, the fury building up more and more inside me. I shout, “And what it’s dangerous foe me, but not for anyone else? Everyone in there signed up! Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Alice, Frank, James, Peter-”

“I don’t need the list, I was there.” he says, and I can’t hear what he’s saying at this point, I continue, “Am I not as good a witch as everyone else there?”

“Merlin- of course not, you could beat any of our asses easy-”

“Then why the hell not?”

“You could get hurt.” Sirius says and his eyes narrow down at the floor at the tips of his shoes as if he just confessed something. I scoff, “And no one else is going to get hurt? The death eaters are going to try to harm me anyways-”

“Being in the order is a bigger target on your back, and-”

“Supporting muggle borns is reason enough for them to try to kill me, being in the order at least allows me to fight back.” I reason and Sirius isn’t having it. His arms folded and face red, “You can't die.”

"I can not keep losing you like this." He admits, and his voice cracks. It's enough to bring my anger down to a simmer. I sigh, "You're not losing me."

"Really?" He snaps, and he looks me directly in the eye for the first time in this conversation. He bursts, "You told me all that sweet bullshit about how our relationship is unbreakable and then you go and ignore me, sometimes you wouldn't even look at me, without so much as a reason why."

Shame seeps into my skin, I didn't think that it would impact him this much, I didn't think he cared about our friendship this much. He continues, "And you did this for nearly a year, a whole year! Do you know how terrible that was?"

It's my turn to look at the floor, and I stutter, "I-I I'm sorry, I didn't know -"

"I want a reason." He states firmly. Looking at me with a steady gaze. I take a moment and think, is this when I actually tell him?

"And, please...make it the truth." He says, and I sigh, "I would never lie to you."

I take a deep breath and admit, "You kissed Marlene Mckinnon."

"What?"

"Last year, your New years kiss was Marlene." I say, hoping I don't have to say more, that he will understand, drop it, and we can go on as is. He questions, "What does that have to do with us?"

"I didn't want you to kiss Marlene, I wanted you to kiss me." I finish, and I bite my lip anxiously. I look back at the floor, and I hear him say, "Oh."

I feel my eyes begin to sting with tears as the silence stretches. He takes a step closer to me, and he says, "Ten seconds left till midnight."

Great, I'm going to start another year off in tears. The thought makes me sniffle, a tear fails to escape as Sirius places his index under my chin. He tilts my head up, and I gasp.

His gaze is hyperfocused on one thing only, my lips. I feel time tick inside my head, second by second.

He leans into me, and I pull back

"I don't want you to kiss me just because of a New years kiss."

"I'm going to kiss you because I want you. I want you as all my New Year's kisses for the rest of my life."

He counts this time, each time more and closer to my lips. He whispers, "Three... Two...one."

His lips crash into mine, and all I can say is, finally.

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moeitsu · 2 days ago

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 27 - Words of Mine Long Years Ago

Summary: The journey to Annesburg is steeped in silence as tension brews. Arthur wrestles with his emotions and fights a losing battle to shield Kate from the oppressive weight of his sins.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

AN: This felt like a good place to end the year with Kate and Arthur. Some big news coming for them. 8k words.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw @yallgotkik @sawendel

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

The saddle was rough, cramped, and cold. It's hard leather biting into Kate’s thighs with every stride. Each jolt sent a dull ache rippling through her legs. The saddle horn pressed uncomfortably against her inner thigh, promising bruises by the end of their journey.

Belle, strong as she was, wasn’t built for two riders, and every step seemed to amplify the strain on both horse and riders alike.

The night deepened as they rode north, the cold growing sharper with each mile. It kissed her cheeks like a blade, slipping beneath her coat and settling in her bones. Her breath unraveled into the darkness, fragile silver threads dissolving into the black. The air carried the earthy scent of seasalt and damp soil, mingling with the musk of Belle’s coat and the faint tang of leather.

Above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars trembling like shards of ice against an ocean of ink. The crescent moon hung low, casting pale light on the road where shadows pooled like gateways into the unknown.

Around them, the calming silence was unbroken, save for the steady rhythm of hooves against packed earth. The occasional rustle of unseen creatures or the groan of swaying branches were all that reminded her of life around them. The wind carried the scent of frost that had yet to fall. Mingled with the aroma of moss and bark, as they journey through forests and plains. While the skeletal trees loomed, their gnarled limbs clawed at the heavens. As if they had spent their whole life reaching for it.

Belle’s warmth beneath her was a quiet comfort, her heartbeat in rhythm with her own, the steady pulse drowning out the expanse of the night.

Eagle Flies rode ahead, a blemish on the horizon, his figure melting into the endless void. Lorena’s black coat seemed born of the darkness itself, for she disappeared from sight with each stride. He had spoken little since their journey began, his words as fleeting as the warmth in his hardened gaze.

Yet earlier that night, Kate saw beyond the veneer of his stoicism. Past the anger that burned like the fires of hell in his chest. There, beneath it all, was a boy—one who had borne witness to far more than any child should in such a short life.

A soul shaped by tragedy, struggling to bridge the gap between what was lost and what might still be saved.

Behind her, Arthur’s presence was as solid and steady and real as the ground beneath them. His body leaned slightly to one side, peering over her figure. Ever watchful of the road ahead. The tension pressing into her back was like a silent confession of the sins he carried. As if involuntarily shouldering them with someone else. His soul desperately craves the comfort only hers can offer.

His arm tightened around her waist in intervals, and his calloused fingers moved in warm, deliberate circles, kneading against her side. The touch was reassuring, a small warmth amidst the cold. And yet she felt the tremble in them—in the way his shoulders tensed as if wrestling with dark thoughts that veered too close to home.

In his gentle touch she knew: when his thoughts grew too far, they found their way back, tethered by the light of her presence. Squeezing her body to make sure she was really here. In this shared quiet, with the night stretching around them, she felt the fragile, unspoken connection that held them all together. Like a scarf woven from the threads of sorrow, choking them into silence.

She felt his lips brush her ear, the soft stubble sending a warmth down her spine. A fleeting kiss that seemed more like an anchor for him than a gesture of affection. His breath was warm against her, a sharp contrast to the cold wind. There was a new kind of hollowness in his movements. A heaviness that wasn’t just from the physical demands of their life. It was grief, raw and consuming, lingering in the calm between them like a hurricane.

Hosea.

Lenny.

Their faces lingered like spirits in her mind, haunting her with every unanswered question. The words burned in her throat, desperate for release, but each time she tried to speak, they dissolved into the weighty silence between them. Why hadn’t Arthur said anything when he returned? Was he trying to shield her from the grief, or did his silence carry a deeper meaning; one he was trying to protect her from unraveling?

As Belle picked her way down the treacherous slope, Arthur’s arm tightened instinctively around her waist, a gesture both for protection and stability. The saddle bit mercilessly into her thighs, and she swallowed a wince, her body yearning for relief, for the chance to stretch and shake off the ache. In this moment the road ahead felt eternal.

“We should’ve taken three horses,” she muttered, strained with discomfort as she shifted in the saddle.

Arthur’s breath was a warm contrast to the chill, brushing softly against her cheek. “Not a chance, darlin’,” he murmured, serious but laced with gentle care.

Kate understood his concern, even if it gnawed at her pride a little. She’d been ill for a while, her strength waning and exhaustion growing. But riding Lorena wouldn’t have been a burden. Her mare had always been loyal and steady. She had carried her through years of solitude, their bond as familiar as her own heartbeat. Riding beside Arthur, with the freedom of her own horse, seemed far more bearable than this relentless strain.

“I’m serious, Arthur,” she pressed, though her voice betrayed her resignation. “I can still ride.”

To her surprise, a faint warm chuckle rumbled from behind her, his chest vibrating against her back. “Maybe I just want you all to myself,” he whispered, breath grazing the nape of her neck.

The words were as much as a tease as they were a plea.

Arthur’s words melted into her like the first touch of spring thaw, warming her even as her body protested the cold journey. His affection had a way of slipping through her defenses, his voice a tapestry that wove comfort into the aching silence of her heart. No matter where they were, or what kind of trouble they were in. Arthur always tried to be strong for her, to be the one who eased her pain and made her smile.

She’d missed him—missed him terribly. His absence had carved an emptiness within her, a void so vast she doubted it could ever be fully filled again. Only days apart, but in those hours her heart remembered what it felt like to lose the one you so desperately loved. Yet here he was, he had slipped through her fingers twice, and she wasn’t sure how much they could keep testing fate.

So much had changed in the time apart—so much loss, so much grief. And an endless stretch of uncertainty loomed before them.

Hosea was gone like the wind. Truly gone. The thought hit her like a punch to the chest, leaving a raw ache that refused to fade. She knew Arthur carried that pain tenfold, his grief buried deep beneath layers of silence and responsibility. Kate wondered if he knew about the gold bands that rested safely against her chest. Holding promises of a future that felt like it was slipping away.

Dutch, wherever he’d disappeared to, was slipping further into madness, his once-commanding presence reduced to a shadow of what it had been. The man Arthur once looked up to, now unrecognizable. The others—John, Javier, Bill, Micah—were like fleeting ducks scattering across the sky, their loyalties as uncertain as their futures. Arthur’s world was unraveling, thread by thread, and she didn’t know what that would mean for him.

Or for them.

Would Arthur leave it all behind now that his mentors were gone, or would he cling to the remnants of a fading dream? Could he move forward from this? Carve a new path for himself that wasn’t scarred with violence. And if he didn’t—if he remained bound to this life of danger and heartbreak…could Kate endure it? The constant fear, the lingering doubt, the gnawing dread of wondering if he’d return from each job, alive but one step closer to the grave.

These questions circled in her mind like vultures, waiting to feast on her when she was broken and bleeding. She knew he bore far, far, too much—shouldered too many burdens for a man who had already given more than his share.

A man who, before she came into his world, saw himself only as Dutch’s strong arm, a blunt instrument meant to protect and enforce. A man who thought himself incapable and undeserving of the love she so freely offered him from the beginning.

Kate felt his turmoil as if it were her own, an unmistakable weight that pressed against her body. It was in the way his arms tightened around her—not with tenderness but with fear, as if shielding her from an unseen threat. His silence told her everything she needed to know, louder than words ever could. She saw it in the way he buried his turmoil in his every movement, the way his shoulders sagged beneath the invisible load. She heard it in the tremor of his breath when he thought she wasn’t listening, the subtle cracks in a carefully maintained facade of strength.

Arthur was unraveling.

He clung feverishly to the frayed threads of his resolve, but she could see the fractures spreading. The helplessness of it, the sheer inability to save him from himself, made her ache in ways words could never touch.

Grief is a shadow that slips beneath the door, silent at first, but its presence swells and presses against the walls. The longer you ignore it, the more it grows. Until the air is thick with its existence and the very house itself trembles under its suffocating demand to be seen. To be felt.

He needed her, oh god he needed her. She could feel it like a blue flame, burning hot in the unspoken desperation between them—but his stubborn anguish kept him from reaching out to her. To shed the weight and let her hold him, comfort him, and protect him for once. His vulnerabilities were a locked vault, and only her patient heart held the key.

But would he let her in before it was too late? Or would he crumble under the weight of his suffocating guilt and grief, pulling her down with him into the abyss?

Kate exhaled softly, letting her hand drift down to find his. She threaded her fingers through them, grounding herself in his warmth. “Arthur,” she said quietly, hesitant. “Do you want to talk about what happened in Saint Denis?”

His arm tensed ever so slightly, and she felt the shaky breath leave his lungs before he answered. “It can wait, sweetheart,” he said, low and weighted down with the unspoken.

It wasn’t a refusal—but it wasn’t a promise either. His words were heavy with sorrow. And though it wasn’t the answer she wanted, she held his hand tighter, silently bracing herself for what she knew was coming. Whenever he was ready to face it.

Eagle Flies paused at the bottom of the hill, waving up to them. “I can see the lights of Annesburg!” he called out, a sharp voice carrying through the quiet stillness.

Arthur guided Belle down the rest of the incline slowly, never relenting his grip around Kate’s waist. “That kid is somethin’ else,” Arthur said after a moment, his tone soft but filled with concern. “All that anger and pride—he’s gonna get himself killed if he’s not careful.”

Kate tilted her head, watching Eagle Flies as he stood silhouetted against the faint glow of the distant town. “He’s in pain,” she said quietly. “Most of that anger was born from heartache.”

Arthur was quiet for a long beat, his jaw tightening as he stared ahead. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Reckon I know somethin’ about that.”

Kate turned to look at him, her heart aching at the sorrow in his tone. “And it’s eating you both alive.” Her words were as much a plea as an observation. Arthur didn’t respond, but the way his hand squeezed hers ever so slightly told her he understood.

Whether he’d let her in to help was another matter entirely.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

“I told you, friend, we ain’t got no vacancies,” the clerk said, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between Arthur, Kate, and Eagle Flies. His voice carried a thread of disdain, and his gaze lingered a moment too long on their young companion. “Especially not for the likes of… your kind.”

Arthur tensed, the weight of exhaustion and frustration tightening in his chest. He didn’t know if the clerk meant his own roguish appearance with guns and ammo strapped to his belt, or Eagle Flies’ heritage, but it didn’t matter. His patience was razor-thin, and the man’s tone was grinding it down next to nothing.

The cowboy stepped closer to the desk, his shadow stretching long over the clerk. “Funny thing about that,” he growled, pointing a finger. “You’ve got a rack full of keys behind you. Don’t look like a full house to me.”

The clerk’s lips pressed into a thin line, his bravado faltering under Arthur’s harsh glare. “Well… even if there was somethin’, it wouldn’t be suitable for—”

Arthur leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss that seemed to reverberate through the room. “I don’t give a shit what you think is suitable. We’re payin’ customers, and we ain’t goin’ nowhere. So, you wanna find out what happens if you keep irritatin’ me? Or you wanna try this again?”

The clerk swallowed hard, his confidence crumbling. His gaze darted to Kate, who stood arms crossed with quiet defiance, and then to Eagle Flies, whose stare was cold enough to freeze the man in place. “There’s… uh… a suite I can offer you,” he stammered. “Upstairs. But it’s only got the one bed.”

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He turned to Eagle Flies, his exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “You fine with the floor?”

Eagle Flies nodded. “I’ve slept on worse.”

Arthur looked back at the clerk. “How much?”

“Ten—,” the man hesitated, his mouth stuttering to speak before his greed got the better of him. “Tw-twenty dollars.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he reached into his satchel. “Twenty, huh?” he muttered, pulling out the cash and slamming it onto the counter. “Hope that buys you some sleep tonight, because if I had any less patience I’d have killed you right here and made my apologies to the lady.”

The clerk flinched, but snatched the money quickly, producing a key with trembling hands. Arthur took it without another word, nodding to Kate and Eagle Flies before leading them toward the stairs.

“Th–there’s a bath too. I’ll have someone bring up the hot water,” the man called out. “Oh, and breakfast at 7am!” Attempting to regain the friendly customer service he was supposed to provide. The group ignored him.

As they ascended, Eagle Flies murmured under his breath, “You’ve got quite a way with people, Arthur.”

Arthur let out a dry chuckle, though it carried no real humor. “Yeah, well… best you start takin’ notes.”

To say the hotel room was cramped was an understatement. The air is thick with the musty scent of stale wood and old tobacco. The walls were patched with faded wallpaper and scattered newspapers. Yellowed with age and curling at the corners. A single gas lamp hung above the bed, its flickering light casting trembling shadows across the floor.

The bed itself was narrow, but large enough for two. The mattress lumpy and sagging in the middle, covered by a rough, faded quilt that had seen better days. The pillow was thin, and the blanket smelled faintly of dust.

Arthur moved about the room, followed by Kate and Eagle Flies, as they surveyed their place of rest. The floorboards beneath creaked with every step, and the faint smell of coal smoke drifted through the window. A remnant of the machines and furnaces that ran through the town’s veins. The distant rumble of the mining machinery echoed through the little room, the constant clank and grind of steel on steel a reminder of the world that never slept.

Tossing his hat onto the bed with a sharp motion, the worn leather making a dull whisper as it landed on the quilt. Arthur could feel the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest that had been building ever since he got back. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be anywhere, really. He wanted to disappear. It was much harder than he anticipated, to not break down in front of her. He needed to be strong, at least until he knew they were all safe.

Arthur sank down onto the trunk at the foot of the bed, the old wood creaking under his weight. The fire crackled softly in the small hearth to his right, its flames dancing weakly. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the grit from the road, the exhaustion that seemed to sit deeper than his muscles.

Kate sat down on the edge of the bed with a weary sigh, her gaze never leaving Arthur as he stared into the flames.

Eagle Flies was standing by the window, watching the world outside, he cleared his throat as if sensing the heaviness in the air. "I’ll just…go get my bedroll from the horse," he offered quietly, but Arthur could hear the understanding in it. The quiet offer to give them space.

Arthur turned to Kate then, his eyes lingering on her as she sat on the bed, her silhouette framed by the weak light of the fire. She was still, quiet, taking in the room with that gentle, knowing look she always had.

It hit him then—how much he needed her. How much he always needed her. It was a longing so raw it curled tight in his chest, a burn that seemed to radiate through him with every beat of his heart.

It was a cumulation of the exhaustion of the road, the weight of the past few days, the ache in his body. And the grief. Christ, the grief that clung to him was like an old familiar presence. It felt far too big to carry on his own.

She looked at him, with those big beautiful eyes that felt like they were staring right into his soul. They looked like she wanted to say something, or wanted him to say something. His gaze traced her figure, the way her wind swept hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, the way she seemed to fill the room without even trying. Everything about her was warmth, a calm that he couldn’t find anywhere else.

Arthur’s throat tightened, and the words he longed to speak were drowned by the fear of breaking her heart, of failing her in ways he couldn’t bear.

Sitting there in the silence, the question stumbled from his lips like a wayward thought he couldn’t quite tame. "You—uh—you feeling okay? You want a bath?"

His voice was hoarse, a rasp that slipped out more naturally than he wanted it to. It was the kind of roughness that didn’t belong to his usual tough exterior, a crack in the armor he’d spent years constructing. The kind of pain that welled up from somewhere deep inside, somewhere he hadn’t been able to face, and now it was seeping through in the simplest words.

Kate shook her head politely, her hand grazing the bare skin of his arm in that familiar way she did when she was trying to comfort him. Her touch, even the lightest of gestures, pulled at something fragile in him, and for a moment, his resolve faltered. It wasn’t the exhaustion, or the sorrow weighing on his chest, but her—her presence, her understanding.

The way she seemed to know exactly how to reach the parts of him he tried so very hard to bury in the dark.

"Honey," her voice wrapped him in warmth, as if her words alone could soothe him. "I know they’re gone."

The simple truth of it. The finality of it, crushed him all at once. His face buried into the crook of her neck before he could think to stop himself. And before he knew it, his arms were around her, pulling her closer like he needed her to calm the storm inside him. The faces of the dead flickered in his mind, each one more vivid than the last, and the weight of it, all of it—pressed down harder on him.

She didn’t need to say anything else. Kate’s touch, her heartbeat under his hands, wrapped him in a fragile peace he hadn’t felt in days. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, but firm, holding the pieces of him together.

“You don’t need to protect me from it, Arthur. I mourn them with you.”

But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing had ever been simple, not for him, not for any of them. He squeezed his eyes shut against the waves of guilt threatening to spill over and drown him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice shaking, his chest tight with the sob he couldn’t seem to swallow down. "I wasn’t tryna keep it from you, I just…"

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her hands moving to rub his back, her fingers stroking the edge of his neck. Her touch was a balm, yet the ache in him remained, too deep, too long buried.

“Darlin’, you don’t understand—”

“Arthur,” she interrupted, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. His face felt puffy, eyes rimmed with red unshed tears, but there was no hesitation in the way she looked at him—no doubt in her voice. “It was not your fault.”

The words hit him like a blow to the chest, and for a moment, he wanted to shout, to argue, to scream. But all he could do was breathe. Because he knew the truth of it—the truth he carried. He was the one who’d led them here. All of it, every damn piece of it, his fault. His hands had stained this world in ways that couldn’t be undone.

“Kate,” he said, voice breaking, raw with something darker now. "I'm the reason you're goin' through this hell. It's my fault, because I can’t stop hurtin’ folk. I robbed that man...I killed those people on the riverboat, I put you in that jail cell..." His voice wavered, but the panic in him pushed him to his feet.

“I’m the reason they’re dead,” he added, quieter this time. “And I’m terrified that it’ll never change, that it’ll kill you too,” it came from his chest like it was the heaviest truth he'd ever spoken.

The anger, the guilt, the shame—all of it collided inside him, blurring into something unrecognizable, a tangled mess of emotions that consumed him whole. He didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Who was he, if he could not protect her? A man fraying at the edges, torn apart and put back together again and again. His stitches strained, the monster inside threatening to tear through what little remained.

It only took a little bit of love to remind him how big and empty the darkness inside him really is.

“Do you want it to change, Arthur?” Her question hung in the air between them. If only the answer were as simple.

Of course he wanted it, strived for it, yearned for it.

Like a storm inside him, one that he had been fighting for so long. But now, he couldn’t contain it. He could feel it breaking through, the pressure of it slipping through the cracks. A part of him wanted to let it all spill over, wanted to let the rage and self-loathing tear through him until there was nothing left.

“Course I do…but I can’t—“ the words caught in his throat. “I want to, it’s just—oh god.” He whispered, as the tide of anxiety and anger swelled in his chest. The faces of those he failed came back to assault his mind.

Arthur turned his face from her, feeling the panic attack coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Not again…not this again.”

This was the side of him he never wanted her to see. Could she recognize the man he battled with inside his mind? The man who’s been cut in half, and the man who is desperately trying to hold it together.

If the moment would ever come—he would regret it completely. He didn’t want to be that man, the one who drowned in whiskey and anger, the one who would kill mercilessly. He was trying to be better, trying to hold on to something that wasn’t just bitterness. But even so, everything he touched was stained with blood.

And something warned him he was dangerously close to dragging Kate down with him.

Before she could reply the footsteps outside snapped him back, and for the briefest second, Arthur felt the pressure ease, just a little. It was like the universe granted him a distraction. He could breathe again, even though the storm was still caged inside him.

He wiped his face with a sniffle, the rawness of his emotions barely held at bay as he tried to pull himself back together, his hands trembling slightly. "Gonna go have a smoke," he muttered, his shaky voice was rough, betraying his exhaustion.

Arthur turned his back on Kate, unable to meet her eyes, the weight of his fear and self-loathing too heavy to bear. He couldn’t face her now, not with all the broken pieces of himself scattered in the open. With a heavy sigh, he stepped toward the door, his fingers brushing against the pack of cigarettes in his satchel like a lifeline.

The door creaked open, and as he slipped through, Eagle Flies was already stepping into the room. Arthur gave him a silent nod, not a word between them, before slipping past him into the cold night. He needed the solitude, the smoke, something to dull the ache in his chest. But even as the door closed behind him, the shame gnawed at him.

A smoke? He felt like such a coward.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Eagle Flies stepped into the room, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots as the faint chill of the night followed him inside. He carried the bedroll slung over one shoulder and a bucket of warm water in his other hand, the steam curling faintly upward as he set it down carefully on the washstand.

The room was small, cramped even, but his eyes took it all in with the ease of someone used to making do with much less.

Through the mirror’s dusty glass, he caught sight of Kate. She was shrugging off her worn jacket, her movements slow and weary, as though the journey of the road here clung to her shoulders. She kicked off her boots one at a time, muttering something under her breath about how the heels had rubbed her raw.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes studying her reflection. There was something in the way her shoulders sagged—not just from exhaustion, but from the kind of heartache he recognized in her before they left. And then there was Arthur, or rather, the absence of him, hanging heavy in the room like a thundercloud that refused to break.

“You know,” he said finally, as he dipped the cloth into the bucket, wringing it out. “I’ve seen warriors face death with less hesitation than that man shows when it comes to looking you in the eye.”

Kate’s lips twitched into a faint smile, before returning to her exhausted state. “Arthur’s just… dealing with a lot. We both are.”

“Mm,” Eagle Flies grunted, setting the cloth aside as he leaned against the vanity, crossing his arms. “Seems we all have that in common. I heard him say they broke you out of jail. What’s the story there?”

Kate hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the bed frame as she sank down onto it. She exhaled softly, her voice quiet and steady when she spoke.

"Jail wasn’t the worst of it,” she admitted, looking at her hands. “It’s what happened after that’s been... harder for him.”

Eagle Flies tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Harder how?”

Kate glanced up at him, meeting his gaze in the dim light. "Arthur lost his father during the fight when they broke me out, and a close friend too. They meant a lot to the both of us."

The young man's expression softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face as he said quietly, “I see. I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice carried a weight that felt older than his years, burdened with memories he didn’t dare linger on for too long.

As he shifted his stance, uncrossing his arms and leaning them against the vanity, he tried to picture what it would mean to him to lose his father. The image felt distant, hazy, like trying to recall a dream he’d never had.

He’d never known his older brother, murdered by soldiers before Eagle Flies had drawn his first breath. His mother—her face was clearer, a sharp memory of warmth and laughter that had turned cold when he was still just a child.

The thought tightened in his chest like a snare. He didn’t need to imagine loss; it had been the constant backdrop of his life. His people had been running, hiding, and dying for as long as he could remember. Each camp seemed smaller than the last, the faces more drawn and hollow. Each journey felt like a march toward something final, something inevitable.

He glanced at Kate. Loss bound them all in its relentless grip, but it shaped people differently. For his father, it had weakened his resolve, turned him into a man who spoke with peace in his heart and fear in his voice.

For Eagle Flies, it was much harder to define.

It wasn’t just the people he’d lost. It was the land, the traditions, the stories whispered around dying campfires. It was the creeping fear that he was the last link in a chain stretched too thin, fraying at every edge. Every death felt like one more thread snapping, one more piece of himself gone forever.

Arthur’s grief had carved into her too, he realized, like water eroding stone. And yet, she was still here. Still standing, still trying.

Kate offered a faint, apologetic smile. “Arthur... he carries everything on his shoulders, you know? The guilt, the grief—it’s too much for him sometimes. But he doesn’t know when to put it down. I can see it in the way he looks at me, at everyone.”

Eagle Flies nodded slowly. “He’s a strong man, even if he’s a mess of one right now.” His tone was gruff but not unkind. “I’ve seen men in my tribe mourn like that. They hold it all in, thinking it makes them untouchable.”

Kate’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile, her eyes searching his face. “You sound like you’ve been through this yourself.”

Eagle Flies’ jaw tightened, his gaze dropping briefly to the worn floorboards. For a moment, he seemed to weigh the space between them, the trust lingering in her question.

“More than I’d care to admit,” he said finally.

“How do you handle the grief?” Her words startled him, gentle but piercing, as if she had reached into some hidden corner of his heart.

He understood now why Arthur had left when he did. Kate had a way of looking at you, of speaking to you, that made you believe you could unburden yourself in her presence. Even your worst sins.

Eagle Flies stared down at the cloth in his hands, his knuckles whitening as he wrung it out with more force than necessary. The water dripped steadily back into the basin tinged pink from the dried blood on his face. Each drop echoing in the quiet room. He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“I keep it inside,” he admitted. “Press it down, bury it deep. Tell myself I’m strong enough to carry it.” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he stopped wringing the cloth, his hands still as stone. “But eventually, it… spills out.”

He swallowed hard, his brow furrowing as his thoughts tangled together, memories of rage and sorrow flashing behind his eyes. “Sometimes it’s anger…sometimes it’s silence so loud it drowns everything else out.” His voice cracked slightly, though he masked it by dipping the cloth back into the water. “But by the time it comes, it’s too late to stop it.”

Kate hummed softly, the sound neither judgmental nor pitying. “Grief changes a person,” she said evenly. As if his words were a familiar truth.

The faint rustle of blankets reached his ears as she shifted, likely preparing to crawl into bed. Silence hung between them, heavy yet not unwelcome, like two people sharing the same burden without needing to speak of it outright.

Eagle Flies wrung out the cloth, and pushed off the vanity, crossing the small space between them. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone firmer now, “I think you’re good for him.”

She let out a quiet laugh, one that lacked any real mirth. “Sometimes I think I just remind him of everything he’s lost.”

He shook his head firmly, his voice certain. “No. You remind him there’s still something worth holding onto.”

The words hung in the air, settling over her like a balm. Her chest tightened, her breath catching as she met his gaze. There was something in his eyes—not just understanding, but hope, a rare and fragile thing for someone like him.

Before she could find the words to respond, Eagle Flies handed her the damp cloth. His expression softened, the faintest trace of warmth breaking through his usual guarded demeanor. “Clean up. You’ll feel better,” he said gruffly, stepping back toward his bedroll by the fire.

Pausing at his task, he glanced over his shoulder. “And don’t let him fool you,” he added, his voice carrying a quiet conviction. “That man needs you more than he’ll ever admit.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

After smoking nearly half a pack of cigarettes, Arthur carefully slipped back into the room, wincing as the old wooden door creaked on its rusted hinges.

The room was darker now, the oil lamp above the bed turned low. Only the faint glow of the small fireplace illuminated the space, the shadows flickering on the walls. In the dim light, Arthur could just make out Kate’s figure lying on the bed tucked beneath the quilt.

He moved soundlessly, his footsteps brushing against the floorboards as he approached the chest at the foot of the bed. Kate’s even breaths filled the room, a soft rhythm that brought him a small comfort. He sat down to tug off his boots, his fingers clumsy with fatigue.

A quiet voice broke the silence, nearly making him flinch. “We heading out at first light, Arthur?”

Eagle Flies had propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes catching the firelight as they studied the older man.

Arthur paused, his boot halfway off, and glanced at him. “Nah,” he replied softly, not wanting to disturb Kate. “We’ll let her get some sleep. She’s been through enough.”

Eagle Flies nodded, but his expression was unreadable. He shifted to lie back down, but Arthur’s voice stopped him.

“Listen, kid,” he rubbed a hand along his jaw, keeping his tone low yet firm. “When we get back to your home… you know I gotta tell your father the truth.”

The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as Eagle Flies sat up fully now, the blankets slipping from his shoulders. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What? Kid?” Arthur asked, tugging off his other boot and setting it down with a soft thud.

“Yeah.” His tone was sharper, more defensive. “I’ve killed more people than I can count, led more battles than most men in a cavalry…I’m not a kid.”

Arthur sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. I was killin’ folk when I was far younger than you. But let me tell you somethin’—back then, I thought I was a man too.”

He let out a quiet sigh that carried a wisdom beyond his years. “Turns out, I was still just a kid, pretending like I knew what I was doin’.”

Eagle Flies scoffed, the sound filled with defiance. “And what would you have me do? Sit back and watch as my people are slaughtered? Someone has to fight back.”

Arthur straightened, meeting the younger man’s fiery gaze. “No… but listenin’ to your father might be a good start.”

He’s so damn young, Arthur thought. So full of rage. He ran a hand through his hair, the weariness of the night settling deeper into his bones. The patience it must take for Rains Fall to guide him—it was something Arthur wasn’t sure he could ever muster.

There was too much of himself in this boy. Quick to anger, slow to forgive, and determined to prove something to a world that didn’t care.

But Eagle Flies’ defiance wasn’t just youthful arrogance; it was desperation. A man fighting to hold onto what little was left of the life he knew, even if it meant tearing himself apart in the process.

Eagle Flies' eyes flicked to the dying embers of the fire. “My father is tired,” a new sadness colored his tone. “He’s confused. He keeps pushing for peace when there’s no peace to be had.”

Arthur’s voice softened, though it carried a weight of authority. “He’s worried about losin’ you. And he’s right to be. Those soldiers were ready to kill you, and you gave ’em every reason to. What the hell were you thinkin’?”

Eagle Flies’ hands clenched into fists, balling the fabric of the blanket. “I was thinking about my people! Just like you think about her.” His voice rose in anger, and his gaze quickly darted to Kate, who was still asleep in the bed. “She told me about Saint Denis, about the people who died to free her. We’re all fighting for something, Arthur.”

He’s got a good heart under all that anger, Arthur admitted silently. The thought lingered as he sighed, damn fool. I just hope he lives long enough to figure it out.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, guilt pressing at the edges of his resolve. He wasn’t angry that Kate had told Eagle Flies the truth—in a way, it felt easier having someone else know. The secret felt a little less heavy now, though it still lingered in his chest like a wound that festered, refusing to heal.

“Yeah, well,” Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. “I just hope they know it wasn’t all for nothin’.”

Arthur’s fingers stilled against the worn fabric of his jeans as the words lingered, heavier than he meant them to be. Hosea and Lenny. They’d died for this, for her, for the sliver of a future where he and Kate might have a chance at something beyond the blood and chaos.

It wasn’t just guilt that knotted in his chest but the crushing weight of their belief in him. Hosea had always seen something worth saving in him; Lenny had fought with a hope Arthur had long since lost. If he let this slip away, if he squandered what they’d given, what had their lives amounted to? The thought burned through him like a brand, his chest tightening as he cast a glance at Kate’s sleeping form.

My darling Kate…the promises he made to her in that letter felt like a distant dream now. This was not the life he imagined for her, or for them.

A quiet life with the woman he loved was a priceless treasure, forever out of reach for a man like him, whose hands were made for taking, not holding.

The fire crackled, filling the quiet space between them. After a long pause, Arthur cleared his throat. “You uh… you got a lady back home?”

Eagle Flies face flushed a shade darker, his eyes dropping to the embers. “No… not really.”

A smirk tugged faintly at his lips. “What’s she like?”

Eagle Flies sighed, his voice hinted at a rare vulnerability. “Her name’s Halona. It means ‘Many Moons.’ We’ve been close since we were kids. My father wants us to marry, but… I refused.”

“Why?” His curiosity piqued.

Hesitating, Eagle Flies rubbed his fingers absently against the edge of his blanket. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Arthur mulled over the question, his expression distant. “No. But I reckon I came close…once.”

The answer felt heavier than it sounded. In the quiet that followed, memories flickered through his mind.

Mary’s soft laughter, the innocent smiles of Eliza and Isaac, and now Kate’s devoted presence. Life had a cruel way of giving him glimpses of love only to tear it away, leaving him with more heartache than he knew how to carry.

He wasn’t sure if he deserved any of it—the love, the fleeting happiness, or the sorrow it left behind.

“Me too,” the young man admitted quietly. “That’s why I won’t marry her. If I have her, it’ll hurt that much more when I lose her.”

Arthur felt the words like a punch to the gut. Christ, this kid’s too young to be thinking like that—too young to be denying himself happiness out of fear. It wasn’t right, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair.

Frowning, Arthur leaned back against the chest, searching for the right thing to say. “Kid, you can’t—”

The young man shot him a pointed look. “Don’t call me that.”

Arthur held up a hand in a silent apology, but his voice softened with a note of guidance. “S’just… that ain’t no way to live. Always fearing the loss.”

His voice softened with an ache that only years of regret could forge. As much as he hated to admit it, he saw too much of himself in the young man’s answer.

Too much of the mistakes he couldn’t undo, the chances he’d let slip through his fingers.

“Right,” Eagle Flies muttered. “Because you’re one to talk,” his tone carrying a hint of mockery.

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “S’cuse me?”

“I’ve only known you a day, Arthur,” he stated, holding the older man's gaze through the din. “But I’ve seen you wear that fear like it’s armor. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. We’re two sides of the same coin.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his voice firm. “Trust me, you and I are worlds apart. The last thing you wanna do is look up at me and see yourself.”

Tilting his head, Eagle Flies challenged. “What’s the harm in it? I watched you take down four soldiers with your bare hands, you nearly killed that clerk—”

“I am not,” Arthur cut him off, voice dangerously low, “the kinda man you wanna be lookin’ up to, kid.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Arthur’s stomach churned as the realization sunk in: Eagle Flies wasn’t just pointing out a similarity. He saw himself in Arthur, and that scared him something fierce.

The thought of this young man, full of fire and potential, ending up like him—a broken, bitter shell filled with regret—was unbearable.

Arthur stood abruptly, pacing to the edge of the room, his back to the firelight as he shrugged off his jacket and gun belt. “Get some shut-eye. We’ve got another long ride tomorrow.”

His tone was clipped, dismissive, as if shutting the conversation down could somehow erase the mirror Eagle Flies had just held up to him. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t.

The rustle of fabric reached his ears as Eagle Flies slipped wordlessly back into his bedroll. The sound as fragile as the budding alliance between them.

Arthur didn’t turn, didn’t risk looking at the young man who saw too much of himself in a wretched man. Instead, he took the revolver from its holster and set it on the nightstand. A small precaution. A routine so ingrained it had become second nature.

A pang of guilt gnawed at him as he gently pulled the covers back and slipped into bed beside Kate. The boy wasn’t asking for much—just a guide, a friend, someone to help carry the burden. But Arthur knew he couldn’t be that man.

Every soul who walked too close to him was either swallowed by the shadows he dragged behind or shattered by the fallout he caused.

The bed sagged and groaned beneath his weight as he eased down beside Kate. He hesitated a moment, the space between them filled with the steady sound of her breathing. Then she shifted, and as the warmth of her back pressed into his belly. All of those worries were tossed to the wind.

Sliding one arm beneath the pillow and other wrapping around her torso, he pulled her tight to his body. Her softness opened him in ways he didn’t think possible. And all at once, he felt the pressure returning. Pushing against the cracks of his armor.

His turmoil rises to the surface like an abandoned pot of coffee over a flame. Black liquid bubbling over and dripping down the sides.

It was like his grief could not escape her, in her warmth it demands to be felt. As if her heartbeat whispers secrets to his own, something beyond words.

Come to me. It pulses beneath his fingertips, warm and steady. As the sun chases the darkness, the line begins to dissolve.

With a shaky breath, he pressed his face to her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair. Breathing in her soul. His senses were overwhelmed in her presence, and he felt his throat tighten.

It felt like divine wrath, like some unseen force was pulling at him, reminding him he was cradling something he had no right to hold. For stealing from eternity.

“I need you.” He breathed out his heart against her neck. It was quiet, strained, a desperate cry.

Is it their time that’s hollow, or is it his chest?

Kate’s response was immediate, instinctive. She turned, drawing him closer, tucking his head beneath her chin. Gentle fingers threaded through his hair, slow and soothing. Sending shivers down his spine.

“I’m here,” she breathed back.

That was all it took. Arthur let his tears fall silently. The lines dissolving between each soul, as he will come to grieve as his own.

With everything he’s lost, he will love what’s left.

Happy New Year, Everyone! 🎉

I’m so grateful for this amazing community and your constant love and support for my work. Every comment and interaction truly means the world to me, and I’m endlessly inspired by all of you. My resolution for the new year is to be more active here, not just sharing my own stories but also exploring the incredible creations you’ve all posted. I can’t wait to connect more with this wonderful community.

As for this chapter, it felt like the perfect way to end the year. It was an emotional one to write, and while I originally planned to include the arrival at Wapiti, the pacing felt more natural to stop here. I hope you’ll agree it’s a good place to pause the story for now. Thank you again for all your support—Kate and Arthur are so dear to me. As are all of you. 💕

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