#why do i smell burning toast

[verse-and-vibes]

from the visionary minds behind Bendelgromp Candlecreek and jonkler (2019) starring quinoa penis comes PIDER-SMAM: A CROSS OF CIDER WURST

join mile moral in PART 2 of the ebic app denture when he fights THE POTS, with PETEB ACRE and introducing GAYDAY the BABY PIDER.

also moral mill is in lov with his gorlfrend but you wouldn’t know her she goes to another school. in another universe. also her name is GWANDA and she lov pills morals too.

but now GAY VAMPIRE PIDERSMAM is there, and he do NOT like the moral pills! he says that THE EVIL POT is destroy universe! I mean multiverse! cider wurst! mm bagel

SPRINKLE-DINK: A TOSS OF SPIDER DIRT is in theaters NOW!!

[lovverletters]

ILLUSION˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

❝IN WHICH ㅡ Your husband seems to have change for the better. Although is it really him? Or somebody else masquerading as your husband ❞

A/N : Unofficial comeback hihi !! I made this in 3 hours please don't judge my word vomit

T/W : bad relationship, mentioned of murder, not edited, yandere theme, twist at the end

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[name] sighed for ninth time of the day, everything is going horribly for them.

Early this morning, they had accidentally burnt the breakfast they were cooking for you and their husband, Mauve. He did not take kindly to it and yelled at them before leaving for his work.

It only worsen as they had forgotten their lunch and had to work on an empty stomach while their less than pleasant boss chewed them up for their failing performances.

Then, their car broke down and had to be towed away while they went home on a cab with the world most unpleasant driver ever.

It felt as if the world was against them. Pinning them against the corner like a bully demanding for their lunch money.

Now, they sat at the dinner table staring at the food that's slowly growing colder as they waited for Mauve to come home. As the clock struck 10 and their husband was still not home, [name] sighed once more before cleaning up the table.

Despite their very best effort to avoid addressing the glaring issue of their crumbling marriage, [name] couldn't ignore it anymore.

Mauve and them hardly resembled a married couple, they don't spend time with each other due to clashing schedule and even if they were free, they'd much rather be alone than with each other. The two of them would bicker and argue over unnecessary stuff, don't even mention being physically intimate with each other. They're practically practicing abstinence.

[name] has been the only party making effort to keep the relationship going but Mauve was not doing the same.

It is clear as day that the spark and love they have had simply dried up.

" I should just divorce him at this point .. " [name] muttered before falling into a deep slumber.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The next morning, they awoke to a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. [name] sat up in surprise at the smell and walking to the source of the wonderful aroma.

To their surprise for the second time, they sees Mauve flipping pancakes in his suit and ties. Upon hearing their approaching footsteps, Mauve turned over and greetes them with a smile.

" Good morning honeybun, I made pancakes for breakfast. Come take a seat " He plated the freshly made pancakes and placing it on the table.

Huh? Honeybun? Where did that come from?

[name] were puzzled at Mauve's odd behaviour. He glanced at them worriedly when he realised they had not yet taken a seat and had been standing at the doorway with a gaping mouth.

" What's wrong honeybun? Why are you standing there like you've seen a ghost " Mauve placed a gentle hand on their shoulder.

" Whㅡ what's the special occasion, Mauve? " they dumbly said.

" Hm? Don't I always makes us breakfast everyday? " He said, albeit a bit confused.

[name] blinked. Once. Twice.

" No? I'd always do the cooking " They replied with an equally confused face.

Mauve went silent before rubbing the back of his neck nervously with a sheepish smile.

" Ah, I don't? I was just messing with you honeybun~ "

They squinted their eyes at their ' husband ', feeling suspicious of his change of behaviour. Just yesterday he was yelling at them for burning his toast and today he's done a complete 180.

" You don't usually call me petnames either. What is up with you today? " They sat down on the chair and begun cutting up the pancakes.

Mauve closed his mouth once again and stayed silent, [name] could almost hear the cogwheels in his brain turning to form a response. After a while, he finally spoke with a deep sigh.

" Look. [name], baby. I've realised all these years I've been a dick to you and not treating your right " His voice quivered.

" Yesterday, I had an epiphany of sort and I don't want to lose someone as amazing as you, [name]. Will you give me a second chance in loving you? " He held their hand in a gentle grasp, his eyes reflecting his sincerity.

[name] was at a loss for word. They genuinely didn't expect to hear that from their husband. They were ashamed of the tiny flame that sparked within them at his words.

They were conflicted, however after contemplating for some time in their head. They finally made up their mind. [name] placed their own hand atop of Mauve's and gave him a gentle smile.

" I honestly don't know what happened to you yesterday but .. I'm willing to give us a second try to make it work " They said softly.

A grin broke out on Mauve's faceㅡ something they had not seen in years. He then pull them into an embrace and littered kisses all over their faces.

" Thank you, baby. Thank you so much " He happiky hummed onto their skin.

[name] couldn't help but grew flustered at his onslaught of affection. They were not used to it but it wasn't unwelcomed. They slowly reciprocated Mauve's hug and buried their face onto his shoulder.

Finally, something's going right for them.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

He almost felt bad for fooling [name] on thinking that their pathetic excuse of a husband could ever change.

For someone as successful as Mauve was, he is incredibly stupid for neglecting the most amazing spouse a person could ever wish for. Honestly, he felt his blood boils seeing [name]'s astonished reaction to him performing simple husbandry dutiesㅡ it shows that the bastard never treats his spouse right.

It disgust him greatly to be Mauve's döppleganger, to share the same likeness as him. But without it, he wouldn't be able to intervene and replaces him.

Nonetheless, he'd already removed Mauve's out of the picture. If there's one thing he doesn't regret is watching the light slowly dimmed from Mauve's eyes as he kills him.

Now, he shall fulfill his position as [name]'s husband, 'Mauve'.

THE END˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

[starsjulia]

leah vs the kitchen // leah williamson

a/n : more fluff!!!

warnings : traumatised beth, mentions of sex

The moment you stepped through the front door, you knew something was wrong. The smell… oh, the smell. It hit you like a wall. Burnt… something. Not “oops, I left the toast in too long” burnt. It was the “fire department might need to get involved” kind of burnt.

“Leah?” you called out cautiously, shutting the door behind you.

From the kitchen came a crash, followed by a very unconvincing, “Stay out there! I’ve got it under control!”

You snorted, shrugging off your coat. Under control. Sure. If Leah Williamson ever had something in the kitchen “under control,” you’d eat your own shoe. You’d been with her long enough to know: Leah was talented in many, many ways. Cooking was not one of them.

“Are you burning down our kitchen for fun or…?”

“Just—just five more minutes!” Leah shouted back.

“Love, I think you’re out of time.”

You followed the smell to the kitchen and immediately stopped dead. It looked like a war zone. A pot sat abandoned in the sink, still faintly smoking. Something unidentifiable bubbled angrily on the stove, its consistency closer to wet cement than food. There were bowls, pans, and splatters of something everywhere. Leah stood in the middle of it all, wooden spoon in hand, hair falling out of her bun, and a streak of sauce across her forehead like war paint.

“Leah,” you said slowly, “why does our kitchen look like it’s being exorcised?”

She whipped around to face you, eyes wide with a mix of panic and hope. “You’re home early.”

“You said to come home at six. It’s six.”

“Well, yeah, but like six-ish,” Leah mumbled, abandoning the spoon in the bubbling pot of doom.

You crossed your arms, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Is this… dinner?”

Leah exhaled loudly, running a hand down her face and smudging more sauce onto her cheek. “It was supposed to be. I watched two cooking tutorials for this, babe. Two.”

“Oh, you really committed,” you teased, stepping closer.

“I did!” Leah insisted, throwing her hands in the air. “But then I turned my back for one second, and the risotto—”

“Risotto?” You peered into the pot and grimaced. “Babe, that’s not risotto. That’s glue.”

Leah groaned, leaning against the counter in defeat. “I wanted this to be special. It’s our anniversary, and I thought, you know, candles, home-cooked dinner, romantic gestures… I was trying to impress you.”

You softened immediately, stepping up to her and slipping your arms around her waist. “Leah, you already impress me.”

She looked down at you, unimpressed by your sweetness. “You’re just saying that because I look cute with sauce on my face.”

“That too,” you replied, grinning. “But I’m serious. I don’t need a perfect dinner to know you love me.”

Leah sighed, resting her forehead against yours. “I do love you, though. So much it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” you teased. “Big England captain, embarrassed?”

“Only when it comes to you,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly.

The kiss lingered, warm and sweet, as Leah’s fingers skimmed up your back and yours tangled in her hair. For a moment, you forgot all about the smoke, the bubbling disaster on the stove, and the kitchen that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Leah kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and honestly, you were happy to let her…

Until the front door slammed open.

“Oi! Tell me there’s no food poisoning happening this time—”

“BETH!” Leah shouted, jerking back so quickly she nearly knocked you over.

There, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, was Beth, your toddler son perched on her hip, staring at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. Behind her, Viv peered over her shoulder with a grin, clearly enjoying the chaos far more than Beth was.

Beth took one look at the smoke curling from the stove and the sauce streaked across Leah’s face and muttered, “Jesus Christ. It’s happening again.”

“Beth, get out!” Leah cried, her cheeks turning beet red.

“I knew this would happen,” Beth said, ignoring Leah entirely. She turned to your son. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

Your son wrinkled his nose dramatically, pointing at the stove. “Mama, why are you burning food again?”

Leah clapped a hand over her face. “I hate all of you.”

You, on the other hand, were too busy laughing to defend her. Beth shot you a look. “Don’t laugh! You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Beth pointed an accusing finger at Leah. “Last time I babysat, I came back early and walked in on—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Leah warned, eyes wide.

“—unspeakable horrors,” Beth finished dramatically, turning to Viv for support. “I haven’t been the same since.”

Leah groaned, grabbing a tea towel and whipping it in Beth’s direction. “You’re so dramatic.”

Beth ducked out of the way, still clutching your son like a shield. “I am dramatic because I’m traumatized. I see them kiss now, and I flinch.”

Viv snorted, clearly unbothered. “You brought it on yourself, to be fair.”

“Why do you always come home early anyway?” Leah grumbled, narrowing her eyes at Beth. “You’re meant to be babysitting.”

“I was babysitting,” Beth replied. “But he wanted his dinosaur toy, so we came back to get it. And you’re lucky I did because I think you were seconds away from setting this place on fire.”

Your son perked up at this, clearly unfazed by the chaos. “Is the house gonna blow up?”

“No, mate,” Leah said quickly, shooting you a helpless look. “It’s not gonna blow up.”

Beth raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure about that, Williamson?”

“Out,” Leah hissed, pointing toward the door.

Beth grinned, finally setting your son down and ruffling his hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll take him to ours and actually babysit. You two… do whatever it is you do when I’m not here to stop it.”

“Beth!”

She only cackled, grabbing Viv’s hand and dragging your son back out of the kitchen.

The moment the door slammed shut behind them, Leah groaned, sinking to the floor. “I’m never going to live this down.”

You sat beside her, leaning your head on her shoulder. “You’re really bad at keeping secrets from Beth.”

“She has a sixth sense for interrupting,” Leah muttered darkly. “I swear she hides in the bushes waiting for us to kiss.”

You grinned, reaching over to tug Leah’s face toward you. “Hey, it’s okay. Despite the ruined dinner, the smoke, and Beth’s trauma, I still love you.”

Leah softened immediately, a lovesick smile spreading across her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you into her lap and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know?”

You smiled, turning to kiss her softly. “Even though I make fun of your cooking?”

“Especially then,” Leah replied, grinning against your lips.

And as the smell of burnt food lingered in the kitchen and Beth’s dramatic complaints echoed faintly in your head, you realized it really was the perfect anniversary, chaos, laughter, and all.

[lovermyme]

Was thinking about merlin and listening to mitski today and

Post revel where arthur reacts very well at merlins magic, unbans magic and merlin cant actually process that

Yeah, thats about "its just that i fell in love with a war, nobody told me it ended", he suffered too much to allow it to be this easy. Can u imagine? What do u mean arthur and the knights are laughing amused by him magically lighting the fire? It is a big deal.

Merlins saw many many sorcerers be cremated alive to be normal. He heard the screams and smelled the burned skin, the toasted meat.

I havent watched the shows in years but like, i guess he have a "privileged view" of the pire from his room too....... He thinks if uther did that on purpose, by giving gaius (the only sorcerer uther allowed to stay, in his conditions of course) this place of all in the castle...... Like a warning...

The only "mentors" merlin had where a dragon, that had been imprisoned for morethan 20 years. And a old man, that had been walking on eggs for more than 20 years too. They were shit at giving advices, yeah but. Its understandable at some point.

He has blood in his hands. Non sorcerer and sorcerer. Friends and enemies. Civilians. He released kilgharra. Fuck, he lied at the morgouse trials, about arthurs mother! Why is arthur ok w that? He think he is a traitor, of both his kind........

Bonus point if good mordred. Like, mordred adapting very well at the shift laws, and excited about doing magic in frnt of arthur and arthur liking it???? Merlin cant understand. He debated about killing this child.

bONUS BONUS POINT If merlin is struggling at doing magic in front of arthur and the knights, and arthurs doesn't know he is emrys the most powerful sorcerer to walk on earth aND YET IS SO AMUSED. And like, *merlin shaking while firing the fire* arthur and evryone: THATS AMAZING MERLIN 👏👏👏👏 And mordred is so confused

I need a fic like this

Mordred becomes court sorcerer because arthur thinks merlin is not powerful and everything (in a worried way not in a disposed way). Merlin is not jealous, he doesn't care about titles, actually he do like his job, its just about the irony of the thing. Mordred is so so confused.

He does his job amazing, he uses magic and its okay at doing it. When no one is looking. If someone, thats not gaius, is looking, he hardly can do.

He cant do magic w arthurs watching.

Unless its a Arthur's life treating situation.

Its not that he is actually scared of arthur, its just that he simple cant. Theres even a tecnical term for this. Its like a emotional block, but w his magic. He cant control it. He has been under pressure for so long he cant just let go ya know.

Ok, its my post, i like mordred, im gonna put my thoughts here.

Au where mordred was the one who changes arthurs mind about magic. Like, arthur is watching mordred, the one he know has magic and is a druid and asks him if he stills do magic and mordred thinks and chooses honesty and says "to make a fire when noone is looking" or some non harmful thing. And Arthur is like "a sorcerer can be a Knight, im shifting the law". And he shift the law and Merlin is like, was is that easy? *Mental breakdown * meltdown *burnout*

The thing is: it wasn't just because of mordred, like, Arthur's kingdom has been kind w the sorcerers already, not having burned a lot and no one in mordred presence, because arthur is a kind king.

And th thing is how mordred and merlin lived different lifes while in camelot, ya know. Even through mordred has heard stories and lost friends and family to camelots fire, Merlin lived in it.

Merlin, he is extremely suspicious about mordred coming out as sorcerer to arthur (because he is suspicious of mordred), he thinks maybe its a trick, to bring evil sorcerers to kill arthur, something, he even debates w arthur if shifting thelaw is the right choice. He feels awful about his position, but he cant process that everything is alright, he is so suspicious about everything and so scared arthur might put himself in danger.

He tells arthur he has magic after he lift the ban. Arthur is so confused because of merlins position about the law, but he is fine w merlin. And merlin islike "im gonna to protect u i promise, im super powerful", of course he cant prove he is powerful because this whole post.

Im tired now im stoping, but im still thinking alot.

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV , Part V

Summary : Your mind is a battlefield, a constant war between thoughts of Vi and the haunting memories of Ellie. Just when you think you’ve shaken one, the other slips in to take its place. And yet, no matter how desperately you try to keep Vi at a distance, she’s always there—like some kind of force refuses to let you walk away.

Warnings/themes : angst, trauma, heartbreak, meantions of death, fluff, kissing , yearning, both Vi and you being assholes to each other

Word count: 5.3k

“Is that really necessary?” you frowned, closing the creaky door behind you. The muffled noise of the bustling bar below faded as you stepped into the cramped room. “We’ve got plenty of customers already. Throwing a whole celebration party seems like a bit much for a shithole like this.” You shot a glance at Revek, catching the faint twitch of his expression. “No offense,” you chuckled, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Revek arched a brow, pulling a cigarette box from his pocket. “God, sometimes it’s painfully obvious you didn’t grow up around here.” He spoke through a low mutter, tapping a cigarette free. “One holiday. Just one. These people—” He lit the cigarette, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating his rough features. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve a night to forget about it. We all do.”

You rolled your eyes, holding your hand out for the cigarette. “I’m not saying people don’t deserve to celebrate,” you said, taking a deep breath . The cigarette smoke burned your lungs for a moment before you exhaled. “It’s just…” You trailed off, your words evaporating like the smoke in the air. Shaking your head, you handed the cigarette back. “You know what? Nevermind.”

You knew what the problem really was—you didn’t want to dress up, plaster on a fake smile, and toast to something you didn’t feel connected to. But deep down, you also knew why you were here, sticking around Revek. He was there for you when no one else was. The least you could do was return the favor.

“So,” you said after a moment, forcing a smile. “What do we need? Food? Drinks? Decorations?”

Revek’s lips curled into an easy grin as he exhaled another puff of smoke. “Just get a good night’s sleep, wear something that’ll turn a few heads, and get ready to have fun.”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” you smirked, passing the cigarette back. One last exhale, one last cloud of hazy smoke, and you pulled your jacket tighter around you. As you headed for the stairs, you glanced over your shoulder. “Don’t stay up all night, yeah? Try to save some of that cheer for the party.”

His laugh followed you down the creaking stairwell, echoing faintly against the worn walls.

The walk home was short, five minutes through the narrow streets of Zaun, weaving between patches of grime and bursts of chaotic energy. Your apartment wasn’t much—a sagging roof, flaking walls, and windows that hardly held back the bitter winds—but it was cheap. The streets hummed with life, as always. Shouts, laughter, the distant clatter of machinery—it surrounded you, chaos - that somehow soothed. Quiet terrified you. Silence was where thoughts crept in—unbidden and unwelcome. And you’d learned long ago that your thoughts were anything but gentle.

Pausing at your building’s stoop, you glanced back. The bar’s neon sign blinked faintly in the distance, its light spilling into the crowded alleys. Zaun wasn’t kind, but neither were you, and in its rough-edged way, it felt like home. The metal stairs groaned softly under your weight as you climbed toward your apartment. The wind whistled through the gaps in the railing, carrying the smell of oil and smoke from Zaun’s chaotic streets. From this angle, you could see the city glimpse of the city —grimy, alive, a restless pulse of neon lights and shouts echoing into the night. For a brief moment, you paused, gripping the cool rail. Looking down at the messy, relentless energy below, a strange sense of belonging settled over you. Zaun wasn’t for everyone, but for some strange reason, it was for you.

Your apartment greeted you with silence and shadow. The jacket slipped from your fingers, landing carelessly on the floor as your eyes scanned the small room. It wasn’t much—barely enough space to breathe—but it was yours. Your gaze drifted to the fridge. The grumble in your stomach reminded you how little you’d eaten today, though you hadn’t realized it until now.

Crossing to the kitchen area, you pulled open the fridge door. Grabbing some leftovers, you made your way to the couch, balancing the plate on the floor as you shuffled through your small collection of records. Fingers brushed over familiar album covers before settling on one. Placing it on the player, the first crackling notes filled the room, warm and comforting. You sank back onto the couch, letting the music wrap around you. But it wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts clawing at the edge of your mind. No sooner had you closed your eyes than Vi’s face surfaced, unbidden. Her sharp, determined expression. The hard edge of her voice, the way she filled a room with a rough, commanding presence .

You shook your head, frowning. Why couldn’t you get her out of your head? You barely knew her, and what little interaction you’d had wasn’t exactly pleasant. She was cocky, rude, and dismissive, sparing you little more than a glance whenever she bothered to show up at the bar. Then there were the girls—always someone new, someone eager. Yet Vi never lingered, always on to the next, like nothing and no one mattered to her. She lived with violence and anger simmering under her skin, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice. You’d seen it firsthand. Your fingers traced lightly over your right cheek, where she hit you. It hurt. It was an accident , but still hurt.

And yet, here you were. Thinking about her. Letting her stormy eyes and crooked smirk linger in your mind longer than you wanted them to. It made you angry—angry at her, but mostly at yourself, at how effortlessly she occupied a space in your head when you knew she shouldn’t. Rave of unsettling emotions started swirling around , you were desperate to find answer to one question. Why was your mind still lingering towards her?

You tried to brush her off from your head, concentrate on something else as familiar melody swirled in your ears. And before you realized, it was already too late.

𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

“Hey, hey, hey,” her raspy voice whispered, warm and familiar, as arms wrapped tightly around you. Her touch melted into you, grounding you when everything inside felt like it was spinning out of control. “Bad dream?” she added, her lips brushing your cheek with a soft kiss.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to calm yourself “It was mom and Hannah,” you admitted, voice cracking. You glanced up at her, the closeness of her body almost overwhelming in its warmth.

Her expression softened instantly, her green eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. “I’m here,” she murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Wanna talk about it?”

You swallowed hard, throat tightening against the weight of the memory. “My mind…” You paused, gripping her tighter. “It took me back. To the day they died. It was so calm that day. So damn calm, like the world was just waiting to pull the rug out from under me.”

Her fingers moved in soft circles on your shoulder, her exhale measured and comforting. “You have to let it go,” she said quietly. “The guilt…”

A hollow laugh escaped your lips as you looked down. “Easier said than done.” But you smiled faintly, even through the ache.

She shifted slightly, her hand tilting your chin so you’d meet her gaze. Her presence-was like standing in sunlight after a storm. There wasn’t a hint of judgment in her eyes, only care. Only her.

Here she was. The only person who could calm your storms. After meeting her, you’d finally begun to understand what people meant when they talked about moving on—not to forget, but to reach for something better. Someone better. She wasn’t just a person; she was your armor, light in the darkness.

“I love you, Ellie,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. You couldn’t look away, and you didn’t want to.A grin spread across her face, her freckles shifting as she laughed softly. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so tender it unraveled something inside you. She pulled back just far enough to whisper, “I love you too,” before claiming your lips again. Her kiss was slow, deliberate, pulling you into her, stealing your pain away piece by piece. You could still feel it—the way her lips felt against yours, the warmth of her body pressing close. No matter how tough she was, when it was just the two of you, she unraveled, revealing a side of herself no one else ever saw.

And it was impossible not to love her for it.

𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

Not again.

The memories came flooding back, wrapping around you like suffocating chains. You clenched your fists, trying to push them down, to silence the familiar ache, but it was no use. Your gaze darted around the room, landing on the record player. That damned melody still played, winding its way through your ears and dragging the past along with it. Ellie crept into your thoughts once again, as she always did when you least wanted her there.

It wasn’t fair. Not to you, not to the person you were trying to become. But the song stirred something deep within you—an echo of what used to be. Before you realized what you were doing, you’d slammed your plate down on the floor and rushed toward the record player. Your hands shook as you stopped the music with a force that left the silence ringing in your ears. But even that wasn’t enough. The panic had already rooted itself deep inside, clawing at your chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.

You couldn’t sit still. Not now. Not alone.

Grabbing your jacket from where it had fallen on the floor, you stormed out of the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind you. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed to go somewhere. The stairwell loomed ahead, but your steps were clumsy, your mind far away. The tension in your body made every movement feel strained, disconnected. That was probably why you didn’t see it coming.

Your foot hit something, or someone, and before you knew it, you were tumbling forward, catching yourself just in time with your hands against the concrete floor. The sting of the landing shot through you, but before the annoyance could fully set in, a low groan made you freeze.

You turned quickly, brushing the dirt from your hands. “Seriously?” you snapped, frustration spilling out. “Can’t you fucking pick a better place to pass out, you—” The words stuck in your throat as you finally registered the person sprawled behind you.

Her.

“Vi?”

She looked up at you, her expression a mix of exhaustion and drunken carelessness. Even in this state, she managed to smirk, as if she wasn’t sitting half-conscious on your staircase in the middle of the night.

“Hey there, Y/N,” she drawled, her voice raspy and uneven, her speech slurred.

Shock left you dumbfounded for a moment. Then came the anger. “What the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Are you following me?”

Vi let out a lazy, half-hearted laugh. “Follow you?” She paused to steady herself before smirking again. “Why would I ever follow you?” Her words hit like a slap, but it wasn’t just the insult that got to you. It was the way she said it so casually, dismissively, like you didn’t matter at all.

Your jaw tightened as you glared down at her. “Then what are you doing passed out outside my apartment?”

Vi blinked up at you, the haze in her eyes softening as she finally focused on your face. For a brief second, something warm flickered there, like she was actually glad to see you. “Because I live here,” she mumbled, tilting her head toward the door beneath your flat. Of course. The universe really had it out for you. Of course Vi lived here, right below you, as if some cosmic joke was at play. You cursed inwardly at the revelation. Why would she ever follow you? She didn’t care about you, and deep down, you already knew that.

“Oh,” you muttered, trying to mask the embarrassment seeping into your voice. “I’ve never seen you around.”

Vi gave you a half-shrug, her coordination barely holding together. You squinted at her, taking in the sorry state she was in—the alcohol practically radiated off her. “You look like you need some help,” you said, forcing a smug grin. “You reek, by the way.”

“I could use some help,” she admitted with a groan, extending a hand toward you.

You hesitated before squatting down to grab her hand. As you tried to pull her up, it became apparent just how drunk she really was. She stumbled forward, her weight pressing into yours, so close that your noses almost touched. The proximity made your stomach flip—a mixture of irritation, panic, and something you didn’t want to name.

“You’ve got to help me out here,” you said quickly, your voice sharp to mask the awkward tension.

Vi let out a small chuckle, her trademark smirk appearing as if on instinct. “Sure thing, pretty girl,” she quipped, her words making your face burn even as you rolled your eyes. Steeling yourself, you guided her toward her apartment door, her steps shaky and slow. The entire way, you told yourself you were only helping her because no one else would. Because someone had to. Definitely not because she still managed to pull you into her orbit, whether she deserved to or not.

As you stepped into her apartment, the air shifted. It was exactly how you imagined—dim, cluttered, and steeped in melancholy, bottles scattered like forgotten relics of whatever storm had swept through here. You shut the door behind you.

“Can you walk on your own?” you asked, a bite of judgment in your voice as you glanced at her.

Vi swayed where she stood, attempting a smile but only managing a lopsided smirk. “I can try,” she mumbled, her steps as unsteady as her voice.

“You need to splash some cold water on your face,” you instructed, your tone sharp. “It’ll help.”

She let out a slow exhale, the kind that spoke of exhaustion and annoyance, but she didn’t argue. She dragged herself to the sink in the kitchen. The water hissed as she turned it on, splashing it onto her face, washing away the traces of her drunken haze—or at least trying to. You stood there, watching her, your thoughts spinning like the needle on a broken record. Just minutes ago, you’d been fleeing your own storm, running blindly from the chaos of your thoughts and memories of Ellie that refused to leave you in peace. Then, as if the universe were playing some twisted game with you, you tripped over Vi of all people. The strange coincidence of her living right below you only fueled your frustration.

You told yourself you hated her for it—for the way she managed to replace one chaos in your life with another. But deep down, some part of you was almost grateful. That small, shameful part wanted her here, even like this. Even when she was impossible.

“Pretty girl.” Her drunken words floated back to you, uninvited, pulling at something inside your chest as your eyes darted to her again. You swallowed hard, trying to shake the moment from your mind. Vi finally turned the water off, not bothering to look at you as she walked unsteadily to the sofa and let herself fall onto it. You lingered near the door, torn between leaving her there and doing something—anything—to stop whatever spiral she was in. But walking out now wasn’t an option. It never was, not when someone was unraveling right in front of you. So you took a step closer, and then another. Her silhouette against the dim light felt heavier than it should have, her sorrow filling the room like a storm cloud. You hated how familiar it all felt.

“Feeling any better?” you asked softly, testing the waters.

Vi leaned back against the sofa, her head tilted to the ceiling, eyes barely meeting yours. “Depends on what you’re asking about,” she mumbled, her voice coarse and tired.

“The alcohol,” you said, forcing a weak smile, hoping to crack through the wall she always seemed to throw up. “Though I don’t think splashing water on your face is going to fix…whatever this is.”

It was a small attempt to lighten the mood, but it hit like a brick wall. Vi’s gaze finally locked onto yours. Her makeup was smeared, her usually sharp features softened by exhaustion, but those piercing blue eyes still cut straight through you. For a second, she looked like she might let you in, might say something real. Then, her lips curled, and her voice came out sharp.

“Save all that bullshit for someone else,” she spat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And there it was again. The walls, she didn’t just throw up defenses, she lobbed them like knives. You stared at her, your temper flaring as her words settled into your chest .“You’re such an asshole,” you snapped, stepping closer.

“You’re seriously going to treat me like this after I just dragged your sorry ass off the street?” Your voice rose, laced with frustration you couldn’t hold back anymore. “You were so drunk you couldn’t even stand. I could’ve just left you there, but no—I dragged you inside, and instead of a simple thank you, I get this? God, you’re pathetic, Vi.”

Her expression darkened, her jaw tightening as the words hit their mark. For a moment, she looked like she might fire back, but instead, she leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her hands clasped together. She didn’t speak, but the weight in her gaze was enough to make your chest tighten. The silence stretched on, thick with tension. You were standing so close now, the space between you feeling smaller and smaller with every passing second. Intimidation radiated off her, even slouched and broken like this. Yet, beneath it, there was something else. Something fragile she didn’t want you to see but couldn’t entirely hide. And that infuriated you even more. Because no matter how much she pushed you away, no matter how much she twisted your emotions, part of you couldn’t look away.

Then something shifted in her, as it always seemed to when the silence between you dragged on too long.

“Where were you running off to, anyway?” she asked, her voice softer now, though still carrying that faint edge of amusement. “You looked like a psychopath, sprinting out there like that.” A chuckle slipped past her lips, light but dry, like she was trying to mock you and not quite succeeding. You glanced at her, unable to fully brush off her words. Her tone—teasing as it was—held something else beneath it, something you weren’t ready to face.

“That’s… a long story,” you replied, your voice quiet, the weight of the moment anchoring you. You didn’t even realize you were sitting beside her now, close enough to see the way her messy bangs fell into her face. You sighed, chuckling weakly, “Let’s just say I was running away from my own mind.”

At that, her teasing demeanor softened further. Her gaze lingered on you, the faintest flicker of understanding crossing her face. For a moment, it was like she knew exactly what you meant, even though you hadn’t said a word about the storm of emotions inside you.

“Sounds familiar,” she murmured, her voice dropping lower. She paused, her tongue grazing the corner of her lips before she added, “Did you?”

The abruptness of the question caught you off guard. “Did I what?”

“Get away,” she clarified, tilting her head slightly.

“Well,” you exhaled sharply, aiming for humor to deflect the weight of her question, “it’s hard to run away from anything when your drunk neighbor almost sends you flying down the stairs.”

Her lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “You’re the reason the panic attack snapped out of me, you asshole.”

“And I don’t even get a ‘thank you’ for that?” she replied, her voice laced with mock indignation.

“Uh, no. Considering I didn’t get one for dragging you off the sidewalk, I think we’re even,” you said, smirking slightly.

Her laughter was faint but real, and something about the sound eased the tightness in your chest. Yet, as the silence crept back in, the air between you shifted again. It felt raw, vulnerable. Like neither of you could ignore the unspoken weight pressing down on both of you.

“I hate the taste of alcohol,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I despise it.”

You turned to her, surprised at the admission. She wasn’t looking at you but staring off at some undefined spot in the room, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her pants.

“Every sip reminds me that I shouldn’t be doing it,” she continued, her words slower now. “I know it’s not the way to deal with anything, but…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “But I can’t stop. I have to blur everything, make my head so cloudy that I can’t hear my own thoughts. Because if I don’t…”

You didn’t dare move, afraid of breaking whatever fragile moment had settled around the two of you. Her voice cracked just slightly as she finished, “If I don’t, I’ll go crazy.”

The room was still, but her words hung heavy in the air. You looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, you saw past the wall she kept building. Beneath the tough exterior and sharp words was a person held together by scraps and desperation, just like you.

“I get that,” you finally said, your own voice almost a whisper. “That’s why I moved here. That’s why I bury myself in the bar, pulling shifts until my body gives out. Because if I don’t…” You hesitated, your chest tightening at the memories clawing at you. “If I’m left alone with myself for too long, everything just… comes back. All the memories. All the sadness. The guilt, the anger. It all comes at once, and I can’t—”

Your words faltered, the weight of them dragging you down. You let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware of how close the two of you were. She was looking at you now, her blue eyes softer, her expression tinged with something close to understanding.

“Yeah,” she muttered, nodding slightly. “I know what you mean.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy but shared. Her proximity was grounding, yet it also stirred something in you, something you didn’t want to name.

Her hand lifted slightly, almost as if she was going to reach out, but then she hesitated, letting it fall back into her lap. Whatever walls had crumbled between you, there was still a gap, one neither of you seemed ready to close. One thing remained the same—she was still a mystery. Even though you felt like you’d peeled back one of her layers tonight, so many others were still hidden beneath the surface. You wanted to change that. Desperation simmered beneath your skin to know more of her, to unravel whatever story made her the way she was. But fear held you back.Opening up to someone else? Letting them see the real you? You weren’t ready. You feared it, even hated the part of yourself that was willing to risk it again. The last time you let someone in, it hadn’t ended well—your mother and sister’s deaths, your brother abandoning you, Ellie disappearing like smoke and taking a piece of your soul with her. Every time, you ended up alone, and the thought of repeating that cycle should have stopped you.

But it didn’t.

“Can I ask you something, Vi?” you said quietly, turning toward her. You hadn’t realized just how close you’d shifted until now, the space between you narrowing to an almost unbearable degree. Her warmth radiated toward you, faint but undeniable.

“Of course,” she replied, her voice surprisingly soft. The sound of it lingered, brushing against your thoughts like a feather.

You hesitated, unsure if you should ask what was on your mind, but the curiosity, the pull, was too strong. “How did you end up… alone?”

She exhaled, the question hitting her harder than you’d anticipated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, fingers twitching slightly as if she didn’t know what to do with them.

“It’s a long story,” she murmured, looking up briefly before glancing away again. “I wasn’t always like this,” she continued, her words measured as if each carried a weight she wasn’t sure she could handle. “I had… family. A sister.”

She paused, and you could see her battling with herself, unsure if she wanted to continue. Then she whispered a name: Cait.

The way she said it sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just a name. It was a memory, a ghost that haunted her, and for a moment, you thought she might choke on the word.

“Cait,” you repeated softly, testing the waters. The name felt heavy on your tongue, and you searched her face for a reaction. “She seems like… a heartbreak,” you ventured cautiously, your voice gentle as you tried to meet her where she was.

Her jaw tightened, and all she did was nod, as if even acknowledging it aloud was too much.

"Well,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been there too.” Your lips trembled slightly as you pushed out a name you hadn’t spoken in years. “Her name was Ellie.”

Saying it felt surreal, like you were resurrecting a ghost you weren’t ready to confront. For so long, you had buried her name deep, locked behind walls you thought would keep you safe. But tonight, those walls seemed to crumble.Vi’s hand brushed against yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, and it caught you off guard. You glanced down, surprised at how soft her fingers were despite everything about her seeming rough. Her fingertips traced yours, and then she intertwined her fingers with yours, so slow and deliberate that it sent chills rushing through your entire body.A simple touch, and yet it felt so different—so good. It had been too long since you’d felt this, a connection that felt both grounding and electrifying all at once. You looked at her, your gaze locking onto hers as she didn’t move, just let her fingers remain tangled with yours. Her eyes softened in a way you hadn’t seen before, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

Without a word, she leaned forward slightly, the space between you closing even more. It felt inevitable, like gravity was pulling you together. You mirrored her movement, hardly breathing as your faces came closer, closer still. Your noses nearly brushed, and her breath warmed your lips as your eyes fluttered shut.

Then panic hit, sharp and overwhelming.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Not again. It was too dangerous. Too much. The fear that consumed you earlier—the fear of opening yourself up, of being broken again—came roaring back to life, pulling you away violently. You jerked back, breaking the moment and standing so quickly you nearly lost your balance. Your hands trembled as you looked around the room, anywhere but at her.

“I… I should go,” you said, the words barely audible as tears burned in your eyes. Your voice cracked, and you cursed yourself for not being stronger. Vi didn’t move. She sat there, her expression unreadable but undeniably laced with sadness. She didn’t try to stop you. She didn’t say a word, and somehow, that made it hurt even more.

You opened the door, every part of you screaming to leave, but something—some force you couldn’t explain—held you there for one last moment.

“Um,” you whispered, not even sure why you were saying it, “Revek’s having a celebration party tomorrow. You should… you should stop by. If you want to.”

It was awkward, ridiculous even, and you hated yourself for offering something so trivial after what had just happened. But the words hung in the air as you finally stepped out, closing the door behind you. By the time you reached your apartment, the tears had already spilled over, cascading down your cheeks as you tried to keep your breathing steady. Whatever had just happened between you and Vi, whatever shift had taken place, it scared you in a way nothing else had in for a long time.

𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

Author note: Chapter II is out!!! I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think, it means world to me when you guys give me feedback and motivates me to do more .

[dorabellingham]

Prom — pt.2

warning: it's too long, it has two povs and it's kind of sad

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when after the disastrous prom and a broken heart you want to stay away from him or when after kissing the wrong girl he finally realizes who has his heart

may contain spelling and translation errors!

Y/n pov's.

The morning sun was streaming through the cracks in your bedroom window, but you didn't feel the warm warmth that usually cheered you up. Your head was heavy, and your eyes were still burning from the tears from the night before. The scene from the dance continued to haunt you: Amelia kissing Jude, and he didn't pull away immediately. The memory was like a knife stuck in your chest.

You didn't feel like getting up. Wrapped in a blanket, you just wanted to disappear for a while, but the sound of your brother's excited voice echoed in the hallway.

—Y/n! Why are you locked in there? —Keegan shouted from outside. —Aren't you going to school? What happened at the prom? I want details!

You sighed deeply, your heart beating fast. You knew you wouldn't be able to hide this from your mother, much less from the curious and stubborn Keegan. You decided you had to tell him.

After gathering your courage, you went down to the kitchen, where your mother was preparing breakfast. The smell of toast and coffee was comforting, but not enough to ease your anxiety.

—Good morning, darling. How was the night? —Your mom asked with a smile, but when she looked at her daughter’s haggard face, her expression changed to concern. —Darling?

—Mum… —You began, your voice weak. —Can I skip school today? Please?

The middle-aged woman put down the cup she was holding and approached her daughter, touching her face gently.

—What happened?

You bit your lip, feeling the tears threatening to fall again.

—It was horrible, mum. Jude… —You stopped, swallowing hard. —He… he kissed someone else.

Your mother was silent for a moment, processing the words.

—He kissed someone else? But… Jude is your best friend!

—Not only that —You corrected, wiping away your tears. —I like him, mum. I have for a long time. And yesterday... he was with Amelie, dancing with her. And then she kissed him. He didn't pull away right away. I saw everything.

Your mother pulled you into a tight hug, letting you vent.

—You don't have to go to school today, Y/n. Stay here. We'll deal with this together.

While your mother comforted you, Keegan appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed and his gaze inquisitive.

—Wait a minute. Bellingham kissed someone else? —His eyes widened, his mouth opening in disbelief. —That traitor! I knew he couldn't be trusted!

—Keegan, this isn't the time for this!

Your mother scolded, but the boy couldn't help himself.

—Sis, do you want me to punch him? Because I will! I can't believe he did this to you.

You let out a weak laugh, despite the pain.

—No, Keegan. Just… just forget.

—Forget? —He snorted. —How can I forget? He practically lives here. And now he does this?

While you were talking to your mother and brother, your phone began to vibrate nonstop on the kitchen table. Jude’s name flashed on the screen, along with a long list of notifications.

She looked at your phone and then back at you.

—He’s been trying to reach you?

—Since last night. —You sighed. —He’s sent me a bunch of messages, but I… I don’t know what to say.

—We want to hear those messages! —Keegan said, crossing his arms. —He has a lot of explaining to do.

You hesitated, but picked up your phone. The most recent messages read:

“Y/n, please talk to me.”

“I know you saw it, but it’s not what it seems.”

“Give me a chance to explain.”

"Y/n, please answer me."

—I don't want to talk to him right now...

You said, throwing the phone back on the table.

—And you don't have to —Your mom stated, taking your hand. —If he really cares, he'll wait until you're ready.

Your younger brother, however, couldn't contain his anger.

—I swear, if he shows up here, he'll regret it.

You sighed, exhausted both physically and emotionally.

—I just want some time. I want to forget all of this for a day.

She kissed the top of your head.

—And you'll have it. I'll take care of everything, darling.

Jude pov's.

The day you returned to school was the most anticipated and feared for Jude. He had spent sleepless nights, worried about you, wondering what you would say when you finally saw you. He hoped that somehow you could make up for what you had done. But when you walked into the classroom that morning, he knew immediately that things would not be as he dreamed.

You looked different. Not physically, but in your posture. Your shoulders were tense, your face closed, and the characteristic sparkle in your eyes seemed dull. As soon as you walked through the door, Jude tried to catch your gaze, but you completely ignored him, as if he were invisible.

When the teacher asked everyone to sit down, you raised your hand.

—Teacher, can I change seats?

Your voice was low, but firm.

Jude felt his heart tighten. You wanted to get away from him.

The teacher frowned in surprise.

—Any specific reason, Y/n?

—I don’t feel comfortable where I am.

There was a low murmur in the room, your classmates exchanging glances. The teacher hesitated for a moment before nodding.

—Okay, sit in the back, next to Mia.

You gathered your things without looking at Jude and went to your new seat. He watched every move, feeling a mixture of guilt and despair.

During class, he could barely concentrate. Bellingham was used to sharing laughter and whispers with you, but now you were so far away that it felt like there was a gulf between you.

During break, he saw you sitting with Lucy and Mia, but even from a distance, it was clear that you weren’t really there. Your friends tried to talk and cheer you up, but you just picked at your food, not smiling at all.

He tried to get closer, but Mia looked up, sending a silent warning: This isn’t the time.

Jude stepped back, but the uneasiness wouldn’t leave him alone. He knew he needed to talk to you, even if it was just to apologize again.

When he left, he waited for you in the hallway. You walked alone, with your headphones on and your eyes fixed on the floor. When he saw you, something in his chest tightened.

—Y/n, wait!

He called, blocking your path.

You stopped, but didn’t look him in the eye.

—What do you want, Jude?

Your voice was cold, distant.

He swallowed hard.

—I want to talk to you. Please, just listen to me.

You let out a bitter laugh.

—I’ve heard enough, Bellingham. Do you think a few words will change what happened?

—It wasn’t like you think. Amelie kissed me, but I…

—You didn’t do anything to push her away. —You finally looked at him, and Jude felt the weight of the hurt in your eyes. —You didn’t even think about me.

He tried to get closer, but you took a step back.

—Y/n, please. You’re my best friend. I miss you.

You shook your head.

—Friend? Is that what I am to you? Because, to me, you were so much more, Jude. But now… —Your voice faltered, and you quickly looked away. —I just want to stay away.

Before he could answer, you walked past him and quickly left, leaving him standing in the hallway, feeling emptier than ever.

In the days that followed, the distance between you only grew. You didn’t talk to him during classes, and during breaks, you continued to distance yourself. Even with your friends, it seemed like you weren’t the same.

Jude tried to find ways to get closer, but each attempt was a failure. He sent messages that went unanswered. He tried to “accidentally” bump into you in the hallways, but you would dodge them before he could even say anything.

He realized that his presence seemed to bother you, and that hurt him more than he could express.

At home, Jude couldn’t think of anything else. He revisited in his mind every moment he had spent with you, from childhood to that night at the dance. He hated himself for having ruined everything.

Denise, his mother, noticed her son's strange behavior.

—Did you and Y/n fight?

She asked, as he pushed the food around on his plate.

The older brother sighed.

—It was more than that, mum. I hurt her. And now I think I've lost Y/n forever.

Denise put her hand on his shoulder.

—If she's so important to you, don't give up. But sometimes the only thing we can do is give her space.

Jude knew his mother was right, but the idea of ​​being away from you consumed him. He wasn't sure if you would ever forgive him. And with every cold look you gave him at school, he felt like he was being punished for something he could never fix.

[tmntxthings]

you said your requests are open in your navigation post and i'm absolutely obsessed with your writing !! could you possibly do something with yandere mikey ? whatever you want !! i'm just starving for mikey content and i love the way you characterise him <3

一∑4ÆM。・゜・🐢🧡

author’s notes: ahhhhh thank you my sweet anon for the kind words, i’m a simple person, you say yandere, and i start writing 😂

warnings: dark au, yandere tendencies, erratic behavior, delusion, threats, intimidation, choking, unedited, angsty

song: 4ÆM by Grimes

—————————————————————————

It was late one night. Mikey rarely stayed up past 2 am but here he was, humming to himself as he made the two of you grilled cheeses. It wasn’t 2 but 4 in the morning. Everyone else was in their own respective rooms. You had doubts that Leo and Donnie were asleep. But you could hear Raph’s snores all the way in the kitchen. And Splinter wasn’t exactly a peaceful sleeper either.

“Should I heat up some soup to dip it in?” You offered going to where they kept the cans of microwaveable soup. “Ah sure!” Mikey agreed. As it so happened, the microwave was right above the stove where Mikey was working his magic.

But years of being in each other’s space had you easily crossing the boundary of personal space to get on your tippy toes to press the button that opened up the microwave and placed the bowl of soup inside. You set it for three minutes, clicked start, and then backed away.

The smell of burnt bread filtered through your nose and you looked over to Mikey to see that he was just staring straight ahead. Spatula in hand ready for flipping the cheese sandwiches but not doing anything at all. “…Mike? It’s burnin’” you said plainly.

He blinked, looked down and his blank expression morphed into one of horror. “Oh no no no!” In dismay he flipped to see the charred toast. His teeth clacked as he scooped it once more and went for the trash can.

“Wait wait I’ll eat it! Don’t waste it Angelo!!” You said hurriedly but he just looked at you with a bewildered expression before chunking it. “We’ve got more cheese and bread, I’m not feeding you burnt grilled cheese.” You crossed your arms. “All it needed was a good scraping on the burnt side and it would’ve been fine!”

He shook his head. “Trash!” He said with finality. He got to work whipping up two more. You let it go. And the two of you situated yourself at the kitchen table, soup in between you both as you had your own respective sandwiches. You were starved so you chowed down right away. Blowing out hot air as you burned your tongue in the process.

Mikey had pulled up a YouTube video for the two of you to watch in the meantime. Glancing over at your antics and shaking his head once more but with a smile this time. “Wha?” You said with food still in your mouth. His beak scrunched. And you gave him a wicked grin before opening your mouth fully to show him the mushy half eaten food inside.

“Gross! Why?!” He whined, tearing his eyes away to watch the video he had up. You didn’t have a response for that. Spontaneity you guessed. You hadn’t finished your meal yet but you pushed out of your seat. “Where ya going?” He chirped not looking away from the screen. “Drink!” You stated, bending down as you looked in the fridge to view the options.

“Want something?” You asked. “Nah… actually a Dr. Pepper.” You grabbed one and headed back. Cracking it open you took a sip before sliding it his way. He took a sip without looking away from the screen. You tilted over to see what it was about, some grocery store hijinks. Lame! You got back to the meal. Opening up your own phone to check the messages you had missed.

You hadn’t been on your phone all day! Spending most of it with Mikey doing mundane stuff. Video gaming or watching movies. You smiled down at a specific message.

Unbeknownst to you, Mikey had his eyes on you ever since you had opened up your phone. A blank expression taking over his face once more. “Who’s that.” He said, not a question. But you hardly noticed, your attention enraptured from the slew of messages you were receiving now. Then you halted and your eyes shot up at Mikey, one of his brow bones lifted in question at the shocked look you gave him.

“I never told you!” You said with surprise and turned fully to him. Mikey felt his muscles tighten. Something you hadn’t told him? What could it be? His thoughts spiraled to worse case scenarios. “I met this person… and it was like insta-crush! They’ve just got this way about them. Okay wait wait lemme start from the beginning—“

The muscle by his jaw ticked. A crush. An insta-crush. You were crushing on someone? It was as if by thinking of the worst thing possible it then came true. While you went on distracted by your disgusting puppy love, Mikey sat there not really listening. He watched as you were pulled away from the conversation multiple times by your phone lighting up. And his pupils started to shake.

After the fourth time of you getting all distracted and giggly Mikey rammed his fist down into the table. Smashing bits of it to splinters. “What the hell Mikey?!” You were out of your chair and raising your hands up in what was a mix of emotions. “Heh! Sorryyyyy,” those dead eyes of his crinkled into crescents as he smiled then he shook his fist as if it had hurt.

“Sorry?! What was that?? You smashed the table into dust!” Your eyes were bugging out at the show of strength. “There was a bug!” Mikey lied. You gave him a once over. Then you took a step back. Ah he was such a terrible liar.

“Maybe I should go? It’s getting late. You’re probably tired!” It’s like you were trying to give him an excuse. “But I thought we were having a sleepover?” Mikey whined. Getting up from his chair slowly. You were pedaling backwards. “We can reschedule Angie! Really!” Your voice was half placating, and half fearful.

“Okay okay, you got me!” Mikey held up his hands in a show of surrender and in your confusion you hesitated to escape further. “Huh?” You questioned. “I may have gotten a teensy bit jealous! I had no idea you were crushing on someone!” Mikey explained. Then went further.

“I actually thought.. with how much you’ve been over.. and how well we get along.. I just thought maybe words weren’t needed to describe what we were!”

You blinked slowly. “We’re friends Mikey.” You said plainly. His hands went down, while his head tilted to the side. “Really? Do friends stay up this late together?” You were instantly defensive. “Yes! Donnie, me, and Leo stay up this late all the time!” So Mikey went further.

“Do they share food or the same soda? Do they cross boundaries? Do they text 24/7? Do they say I love you? Do they cuddle? Do they share a bed?” The more he listed the more his face lost control. His eyes widening in a manic sort of way as his hands started to flail about. You flushed at the last bit. “I was perfectly fine on the couch! It was you who had insisted—“

“We. Are. Dating!” He yelled out. His plastron heaving as he struggled to breathe properly. “You like me! And I like you. We aren’t friends. We’ve been dating forever. You don’t have a crush on anyone but me!” He swallowed as his eyes brightened completely into what you could only describe as his ninja stare. You trembled in place as his hands rose from his sides, his ninpo flaring to life as that fiery orange chain snaked into view threatening to shoot towards your form if you dared to bolt.

“Say it.” You couldn’t. It was a lie. It was a delusion. Something Mikey had made up all on his own, something you had no part in. You shook your head. He huffed. “Fine.” The last thing you remember seeing was that chain faster than lightning wrapping around your body, it squeezed you, holding on to every part available. Choking you. And Mikey walking over without a care in the world as your vision swam and turned black.

—————————————————————————

[luveline]

could you please write an early!roan fic where maybe she thinks Y/N is actually just coming around to spend time with her and then she finds out that it’s actually cause of her eddie, and gets all grumpy like “i thought you loved me” and Y/N comforts her “i do love you, but i also love your dad!”

thank u for requesting!! eddie and roan 1k, fem

There's a distinct smell of burned toast coming from the trailer. You trust Eddie but you rush up the steps anyhow, alarmed to find him coughing in the kitchen, window thrown open. 

"Will you take her?" he asks you immediately. 

You spy Roan sitting at the kitchen table and swap her for your bag of groceries. She gasps and giggles at your sudden appearance, quick to wrap her arms around your neck when you offer your embrace. You walk her to the open door and stand there sucking in clean breaths as Eddie fans a dish towel around under the smoke alarm. "What's dad burning?" you ask. 

"Um. Bagels?" 

You rub her shoulder. "Hey, I missed you, huh? It's been a long time since I saw you." 

"I missed you too!" Roan says quickly, eager, wrapping her arms tighter around your neck to squish your cheeks together. 

You smile into her hug. You and Eddie have been busy once again, and when you did manage to steal a date night, Ro was at Wayne's. You really have missed the little girl and you intend to show it, stroking your fingers through her hair gently. She dissolves like always. 

"Shit," Eddie says, throwing two blackened bagels into the sink and running the water. "Shit, fuck. I'm sorry, girls, I don't know where my head's at." 

"Cream cheese can't fix that." 

"It's okay, dad," Roan says. "We can get burgers." 

"I can't always feed you burgers, babe, it's not good for you." Eddie rubs his hair out of his face. "And Y/N just got here from work, she doesn't wanna go out again." You're dying to flop on their couch, but if she wants a burger for dinner, who are you to stop her? Still, Eddie puts his foot down. "No, bub. I'll make some more bagels. It'll be yummy. We have salami and everything." 

"Uh," she whines, laying back in your arms. You nearly drop her. You laugh at her dramatics as she slowly drags herself back up, her eyes practically sparkling with an idea. "Me and you can go get burgers," she whispers. 

"I really am tired. Let's get burgers on the weekend, maybe." You don't like letting her down but you have to be a united front with Eddie. Usurping his authority helps no one, especially when she wants something she isn't going to get today. "And I'd miss dad." 

"Who cares about dad?" she says. 

You laugh. "I do! He's my boyfriend." 

"He's your what?" 

Eddie looks up from where he's cleaning. The burned bagels have been disposed of, the kitchen sink washed out and the toaster cleared of scorched crumbs. "You knew that, Ro." He sounds puzzled. 

"He's my prince," you say. "You know? The prince to my princess Polly." 

"What?" Roan stares at you with an extremely amusing expression, her eyebrows tugged in betrayal. 

"Sweetheart, you know me and daddy are together, don't you?" you ask, hosting her higher on your hip. "That's why we go on dates and stuff. And why he brings me flowers, why we had that anniversary dinner, remember, with the melted chocolate?" 

"I thought you loved me." 

"I love you so much," you say, looking to Eddie for assistance. He seems as lost as you feel. "Like, so much. But I love dad too. He's hard not to love, isn't he? He's handsome and funny, and he makes great grilled cheese–" 

Roan does not look happy. She pushes at your chest to be put down and sprints out of the kitchen to her bedroom, where you hear a clattering of things being pushed over and a whine filled to the brim with attitude. 

"Should I…" 

Eddie shakes his head. "In a minute. Let her be angry for a bit. This is her first heartbreak." 

You meander into him and pinch his waist. "Don't say that to me, that's awful. Poor baby, did she really not know we were dating?" 

"Of course she knows. She just forgets, 'cos she loves you and she thinks you're best friends" He wraps an arm over your shoulders. "Wow. I wonder if she thinks of me as the third wheel when we hang out." 

You take the bread knife out of his hand. "Don't bother with that. We're getting burgers." 

Eddie's laugh is more of a girly, cute giggle, like he's just had a shot. You elbow him in the stomach until he cuts it out, and beg forgiveness for being grouchy with a hug. You press your face into his neck and huff. "I missed you before you got me in trouble," you mumble. 

"Nuh-uh, that had nothing to do with me." He kisses your temple. "She loves you. It's nice. It's… You're awesome. It's great that she thinks you love her more than you love me, even if she's wrong." 

"I do love her more than I love you." 

"Are you trying to piss us both off? You can go get burgers by yourself." 

Roan is face down in her bed when you knock on her door a couple of minutes later, completely still. You pick up the plushies she's flung off her bed and sit them up in pride of place against the wall. "Princess, you know I love you," you say. "Don't you?" 

"Yeah." 

"But you know I love daddy too?" 

"Ugh." She shakes her head in disgust. 

"Ugh," you say agreeably. "You're my favourite, though." 

She turns very slightly to peek at you. "I am?" 

"Obviously. That's why I just told dad we were going for burgers whether he wanted to or not." You tickle her side until she laughs and turns on her back to escape you. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, I wasn't trying to. We're still friends, right?" 

"We're best friends." 

"That's what daddy said." You scoop her up into your side for a squish. "We're best friends forever," you whisper. 

She leans up to rub her nose against yours. 

[sophrosynesworld]

Cooking Lessons

Did anyone ask for this? No. Did you burn breakfast? Yes. Enjoy your cooking lessons.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I pull the skillet off the burner and dump the charred eggs into the sink, frantically turning on the cold water to douse the flames. The smoke detector blares from the hallway, announcing my cooking disaster to the world.

My bare feet scurry against the cold tile as I rush to open the windows, fanning the smoke with a towel. I push my hair out of my face, breathing in the cool morning air that seeps in as the smoke alarm shuts off.

“Are you trying to kill us?” a familiar voice grumbles behind me.

I jump, startled by Katsuki’s morning voice. My gaze flickers over his sculpted abs before I quickly look away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Katsuki stands there, arms crossed, his expression a blend of annoyance and amusement.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer. The early morning light catches the tousled strands of his blond hair, making him look even more appealing.

“I was just trying to make breakfast,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I scrub the skillet. “I didn’t mean to set off the alarm.”

He snorts. “You? Cooking? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

I bite my lip, slightly disappointed. “Well, someone has to try,” I mutter, rinsing the skillet with more force than necessary.

Katsuki sighs, moving to the counter and grabbing a clean towel. “Move over,” Bakugo nudges me gently with his hip. “I’ll handle this.”

I step aside, watching as he expertly cracks a few eggs into a new pan, his movements swift and practiced. The sizzle of the eggs hitting the hot surface fills the kitchen, the comforting smell of breakfast begins to replace the burnt odor.

“Thanks,” I say softly, hopping onto the edge of the counter and crossing my arms. “For helping.”

Katsuki glances at me, attempting to stifle his smile. “Just don’t make a habit of it,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I watch him intently, trying to understand how he can do this so effortlessly. I had tried to replicate this exact process, but failed miserably.

“Why were you even up this early?” he asks, breaking my train of thought as he plates the now perfectly cooked eggs.

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast,” I admit, feeling a bit sheepish. “Guess I failed, huh?”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, sliding the plate towards me. “Surprised me, alright. Just not in the way you intended.” He grabs another plate and divides the eggs between us, adding some toast from the toaster that miraculously survived my cooking attempt.

We sit at the small kitchen table, the tension easing as we eat in welcome silence. The warmth of the food spreads through me, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

“You know,” Katsuki says after a while, his tone unusually gentle, “if you really want to learn how to cook, I could teach you. Just… maybe start with something less flammable next time.”

I look up, surprised by the offer. “Really? You’d do that?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, "Yeah, well, can't have you burning down my apartment. Plus,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “it’s kinda nice, you wanting to do something for me.”

A smile spreads across my face. “Alright, deal. But don’t blame me if I end up blowing up the kitchen instead.”

Katsuki smirks, “We’ll see about that. Now eat up before it gets cold.”

[catnipaddictt]

Toast

neighbour!sam monroe x gn!reader

synopsis: your first interaction with your angsty neighbour

wc: 2k

tw: none

Stretching your arms above your head, you will your body to wake up quicker. You swing your legs out of bed and onto the soft carpet of your bedroom. Your alarm clock shows that the time is half past 10. But luckily today was a Saturday meaning you didn't have to do anything productive.

After taking a quick shower, you throw on some jeans and a comfy sweater before heading downstairs. Making your way to the kitchen, you are greeted by your parents as well as the smell of overcooked toast. 

“Good morning hunny, sleep well?” Your mother asks with a smile. Both your parents were good natured but strict. You were their previous little girl after all, even if you were definitely little anymore. 

“Yeah, I slept okay” you reply back as your father hands you a piece of almost blackened toast, earning a scowl from you. He sees your expression and jokes “more flavour this way!” 

You look our the window of the kitchen at the clear skies. Maybe today would be a good day to visit the lake that was close to your house. Deciding that it would be a good use of your time you grab the book you had been reading and your walkman off of the kitchen bench before telling your parents where you were going.

“Okay honey, but be careful and don't talk to anyone you don't know” your mother warns you in a strong tone. “I'll be safe, I promise” you reply before your dad pushes another piece of toast your way. “For the road.”

The walk from your house to the lake only takes about 15 minutes but is made more enjoyable by the music in your ears. Once arriving at the glistening water you find a shady tree to sit against, placing the now cold, burnt toast on the ground. No way you were taking another mouthful of what tasted like tar.

Lost in the world of your book and the song in your ears, you don't hear the figure approaching you, only noticing when a dark shadow casts its way across the pages in front of you. You look up only to be met with blue eyes rimmed with smudged eyeliner. You immediately recognize the figure as your gloomy neighbour, Sam Monroe. 

You were under strict instructions by your mother never to talk to the boy as he listened to ‘devils music’ and smoked enough weed for the entire neighbourhood. However, this never stopped your wandering eyes from observing him. From a distance of course. 

You would watch him slam the front door to his mother's house as he left, wearing dark clothes with all sorts of logos you didn't know. Your bedroom window looked directly into his and even when his blinds were shut, you could see the boy moving around shirtless, cigarette tucked between his slender, ring-clad fingers. 

So what? You're a little fascinating with him. But curiosity never killed the cat, and you weren't exactly breaking your mother's rules as you had never uttered a word to him. 

Sam looks at you, his cigarette hangs loosely between his lips before he pulls it away, exhaling. You hope your mouth wasn't gapping at him. Pulling your headphones off your ears, you look up at him, slightly worried. Why was here standing right here, right in front of you? 

He crouched down in front of you, holding out the cigarette for you to take. You take it from him, not really sure what to do. You wanted to make yourself seem cool, so you try your luck and bring it to your lips before inhaling. 

Almost instantly you feel like you are coughing up a lung. ‘How do people do that?’ You question yourself. Sam lets out a huff of amusement before taking the cigarette from your outstretched hand. He sits down in front of you, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees, making sure the cigarette doesn't burn through his well-worn jeans. 

“At least you tried,” he shrugs. “The first time I tried smoking, I started crying” he admits. You take in his words carefully, pressing them permanently into your memory. He was actually speaking to you. He gave you his cigarette to try. His saliva was probably on it. Oh god. His saliva probably made contact with your mouth. If your mother found out she would skin you alive.

“Hey, you with me?” He waves his hand in front of your face causing you to snap out of your little trance. “Uh…yeah” you respond. Smooth. “What were you listening to?” He questions. “Oh...I was listening to David Bowie.” You realise that he is probably going to think you're a loser because you don't listen to anything he likes.

“Bowie's cool” he replies. You can't tell if he is being sarcastic or not. “Have you heard anything by Marilyn?” He asks. “Marilyn Monroe?” you must look perplexed as he laughs “No, Marilyn Manson.” 

“I don't think so?” You reply “My parents don't let me listen to anything that doesn't play on the radio.” He passes you the headphones that were reading around his neck, and plugs them into his much newer walkman. “Here listen.” You place his headphones over your ears and after a few moments music fills them. 

It's nothing like anything you have heard before. It's raspy and messy but you like it. You can also hear why your mother didn't want you listening to this type of music. It makes you feel something that's hard to put into words. “It's different but I like it” you conclude to Sam, sliding the headphones off and passing them to him.

“Yeah? I could show you some other stuff some time if you want?” He says and you nod “I would like that.” 

“I'm surprised I've never spoken to you before, I know we go to the same school, and we are neighbours” he states looking at you. “I was told to stay away from you” you admit. Although now you can't see why you were told to, Sam seems genuinely nice. 

“Ah, your mom's got strong views… or?” “Something like that” you respond. “I've seen you looking at me, you know, I can feel your eyes when I leave the house” Sam says calmly. You in fact are the opposite of calm now, but you manage to limit it to a darker tint covering your cheeks. 

“Sorry” you mutter. “Hey, I don't mind it, although you should also close your curtains better. I don't mind you watching me, but I can see you getting changed. I turn away, don't worry.” Sam speaks before talking another drag of his cigarette.

You go a deeper shade of red, if that is even possible. He can see you getting changed. And for some reason you don't really mind? He said he looks away though, a small part of you hopes he isn't telling the truth. “I swear I don't watch okay?” He restates, trying to get his point across. “I'm not a perv or anything” 

You nod at him, unsure what to say. “Why do you have a piece of burnt toast?” His question catches you off guard. He can't just go from saying he likes you watching him to asking about your dad's questionable cooking methods.

“My dad thinks the toast is better this way, but it really isn't. I was going to feed it to the birds” you admit still tinted with embarrassment.

“It looks inedible.” Sam states, eyeing up the bread suspiciously. He looks over towards the waters edge, where a selection of ducks had gathered. You pick up the now slightly soggy piece of toast and rip it in half unceremoniously. You pass one half to Sam, he raises a pierced eyebrow. “For the ducks” you explain, trying to not come off as too weird. 

He places his cigarette between his pink lips again, inhaling the smoke. You watch as it comes out of his nose, but look away quickly, trying not to seem as if you were staring. He doesn’t say anything but you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. 

You see him move and look back at him as he gets to his feet, unfolding his legs clumsily. He holds out his ring-clad hand for you to take, prompting you to look up at him. “Thought you wanted to go feed the birds, remember?” he says with a sly grin as you take his hand. He pulls you to your feet, and you place your book in your bag carefully. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he leads you around the lake a bit until you reach a shady outcrop with a dozen or so ducks surrounding it. He lets go of your hand and you internally miss the warmth of his palm. He takes the half piece of burnt toast and rips off a small chunk before throwing it out to the water. The ducks, as expected, start making a racket and swarm the small offering. More ducks must sense that something of importance is happening as more start to swim towards the bank. You rip off your own bit of blackened bread, throwing it at the selection of hungry mouths. 

“Hey, overthere, look” Sam speaks as he points towards two large swans swimming towards the frenzy. Once they get closer to you two, you rip off a bigger piece of the toast and throw it towards the pair. The larger of the swans takes it in their beak, gulping it down. You smile at the large white beauties as they swim even closer, wanting their share of the feast. Sam rips off smaller bits than you, making sure to try and give each loud duck a bit of food. 

After a few minutes of pulling pieces off of bread, both you and Sam have run out of food for the birds. “You know, you’re not too bad company” Sam says, keeping his head facing the water. “Thanks” you reply quietly, “You are a lot less…scary than I thought.” The two swans make their way onto the bank of the lake, settling down by the waters edge. You watch as they ruffle their pale feathers and begin grooming themselves. 

Sam lets out a laugh, now turning to face you. “Thanks, we should do this again sometime.” You nod slowly in agreement. The warm sun bathes both of you in the late morning light and makes the water glisten invitingly. He throws down the remains of his cigarette after taking one last inhale, stomping on it to make it stop burning. 

You watch the last of the smoke drift into the air as he exhales it, politely away from your face. His eyes connect with yours as he turns back to face you. The ducks continue to quack in the background, but as you two have stopped feeding them, some have begun to swim away towards the shady opposite bank. 

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” Sam asks, looking at your face closely. His blue eyes shine in the sun, making them stand out from his messy black hair. “I don’t know” You answer honestly, you really hadn’t planned your day past this trip to the lake. “Do you want to hang out or something?” he questions you, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to”. 

“I would like that” you shoot him a smile, afterall it would be nice to have a friend so close to your house. Even if you would have to keep it away from the prying eyes of your conservative parents. “Lunch?” he queries with a sly grin. You nod quickly in reply, lunch would be nice.

It's safe to say the rest of your day off was spent with your rather attractive emo neighbour, and an hour long lecture from your angry mother when you were caught talking to him in the driveway.

ignore any grammatical errors, I made them on purpose I swear

[xoxo-sarah]

Ms. Perfect

↝a/n: this is an old idea that I had in the back of my notes app. Oops.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

↝warning: death, widow!Reader, apocalypse, mean! Daryl, swearing, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 4.23.24

Daryl wasn't sure why he hated you so much. You were nice to everyone around you, even understanding. But the sight of you makes the blood in his veins boil.

It became a routine; you and him sniping at each other, digging up trauma neither of you really wanted to. He just got under your skin. Like now.

“Sorry, in case you haven' noticed, the world ain't all rainbows and sunshine anymore. We don't shit money to buy the newest thing. Life is different, Doll. Get used to it.” He drawled, his eyebrows scrunched together.

There he goes again.

You weren't even talking to or about him, but he had heard you. That had been enough for him to butt in, apparently.

Ever since you had stumbled your way into Daryl's group early on, Daryl had had it out for you. At the creek, he would be pointing out how your hair had to have been done recently. Your jewelry, clothes, how smooth your skin looked from the expensive moisturizers and night creams you had to use, your newly manicured nails- ignoring the dirt and blood underneath-, and the shine in your eyes. You didn't have the shine at first, but when you would hang out with Carol, you would smile, and the recent glazed look was gone.

Your eyes shone brightly like the stars in the countryside. Not that you would know. You probably never had the chance to see how bright the stars shone in the city.

You were unbothered by the people at the campsite, keeping to yourself. You didn't have to worry about anything when the world was built for your liking and convenience.

Daryl despised you and that god-awful rock on your finger that could feed him for probably 6 months to a year. He glared at the ring every chance he got—so much so that you eventually yanked it off, throwing it in the murky pond.

Even after leaving the campsite, you stayed with the group, arguing with Daryl along the way.

“I get it, you're used to having people do everything for you, but we're not always going to be with you, Princess. Sorry life now is so much different from your perfect life before.” For a quiet guy, he always had so much to say to you. All negative.

You bit your cheek, glancing from Maggie—who you were originally talking to—to the dirty man in front of you. "Yeah-I had the perfect life. I had the fiancé that I couldn't wait to marry. I had the apartment that I had the luxury to design with my mother, gushing about the difference wallpapers." You smiled at the memory. Your mother had been so happy for you. "I had the fluffy dog that had its own room. I had the dad who would always talk about playing catch with his future grandchild. I had the money where I didn't have to worry about anything in life." You didn't falter as you felt behind your eyes begin to burn. " I did, alright? I had the life that almost every little girl dreams about. But it was yanked out of my hands, like everyone else's. One day, I didn't wake up to my fiancé kissing me, or the smell of burnt toast-- cause he didn't know how to cook. I woke up to him nowhere in sight. Instead, I heard yelling outside the door, car horns honking outside of the windows. When I opened the door, I saw my neighbors with white eyes, growling and clawing at the skin of the man I was going to marry and grow old with. His screams will haunt me 'til the day I die. But you will not ever hear me feeling bad for myself. I did have the perfect life, but that doesn't matter now. So, get over -yourself-, cause I am just trying to survive just like you."

Daryl watched your eyes gloss over, your nostrils flare. You were rightfully pissed. And right. He hadn't heard you weep for your past-- ever. You had jumped right into survival mode as soon as he laid eyes on you. You had held your own too- most people called you a badass, Daryl wouldn't let himself verbally agree. With that, you turned and walked away. Maggie shuffled awkwardly, glancing from you to Daryl. She wore a disappointed frown.

Weeks. You ignored his existence for weeks, 2 weeks to be exact. Everytime he would go up to you, you would walk away. Even if you were in the middle to a conversation. The person you were talking to wouldn't mind, really. They would've known about your bitter back-and-forth. They wouldn't think anything of it.

Daryl just wishes you would give him a chance to at least try to apologize. After you had let your walls down and told him about what the end of the world was like for you, he felt bad - pathetic, even. He was so jealous about how you lived before the outbreak, he didn't care about how it had affected you. He should've.

The moonlight led him towards your house, his hands fidgeting. The streets were silent, everyone already in bed. He hadn't been able to sleep. The thought of you kept him up in a different way than before.

His knuckles hovered over your door. You had to be in bed. Was it worth it? You would probably be too tired to yell at him. He knocked.

It took a minute for the door to open. You stood, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a sleep frown on your face. At the sight in front of you, your hand dropped, your sleepy eyes immediately rolling in annoyance. "Oh my god-" You tried to close the door, but his boot caught it before it could close all the way. "Move your foot, Dixon."

"Listen." His eyes were pleading, something you weren't used to. You kept the door open when he reluctantly moved his boot. " 'm sorry."

You scoffed, Sure, you are."

" 'm serious. " He looked at the floor as he brought his hand up, turning it and showing his hand. "Not sure why I kept it." At the sight of your ring, tears bordered your eyes. Your head pressed against the side of the door as your body shook with a silent sob. Daryl didn't look at you. He let you grieve for whatever you wanted to in that moment. He let you have that moment. After your sobs died down, his calloused hand took yours, opening your hand and dropping the ring into your palm.

"You're a dick." You hiccupped.

"I know." 

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[mari-the-bimbo]

Taking care of sick Dorm mate Getou is absolutely adorable but what about being taken care of by dorm mate Getou?👀

Dorm mate Geto: sick days

A/N: thanks for this idea hun, I’d do anything to be babied by this man 😩

“Can you pass me the salt y/n?”

The smell of sauce mixing with paprika traveled through the air. Geto and you were making cheese toast with spicy soup. Sure, he could’ve just had some store bought soup, but why do that when he could convince you to cook with him. Any excuse to have you alone.

“Sure, here” you said with a smile handing him the salt.

“Ahhh it smells so good” you praised, waving the smoke closer to your nose, eager to eat it already. Geto smiles at your excitement at he stirs the soup.

“Of course it smells good, I made it with the best assistant chef” he teases.

“Hey! Why am I assista- ACHOO!-“ your protest is interrupted by a sneeze.

“Oh?” he says.

You sneeze again. “Oh?” he says again but with amusement this time.

“You caught a cold doll?” He coos.

You would’ve replied to Geto but the throb of your nose didn’t make it easy. Geto even turns the stove off and leans back to watch you as you incoherently try to reply. You’re his favourite entertainment.

“Mhm that’s what you get for partying in barely any clothes on cold nights” Geto teases, referring to your night out yesterday. And although he said it teasingly, you could hear the snarky jealousy behind his voice, but you choose to ignore that too.

He smiles to himself as he covers the warm pan with a lid. “Don’t worry doll, we’re done now anyway, why don’t you get some rest hm?” He says so sweetly.

You nod in agreement. Walking away as slow as a snail. He chuckles as he watches your retreating figure.

But once you were out of sight, he immediately grabbed a bowl for the freshly made soup and grilled cheese. As well as grabbing your favourite mug to prepare a hot cocoa for you.

Once you made it to your bed, you didn’t rest for long until Geto invited himself into your room.

“Geto?” You look up to see your handsome dormmate skill fully manoeuvring the tray of food and cup in his hands. He places it on your bedside table before sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him in wonder, how could someone be so hot yet mature and kind?

“Well? You gonna eat or is it because you want me to feed you?” He teases. Right, his maturity was questionable, never missing a chance to pass a flirty comment so casually.

“Shut uppppp” you groan, hoping the blush on your cheeks just looks like a temperature.

He chuckles before moving closer to your face, your breath hitches but you release a sigh once you realise he was simply trying to grab the bowl of soup.

“C’mon doll, open wide” he says, your ears only burn more but you move forward to be fed.

You don’t stop him when he grabs your chin to tilt your head up higher as he fed you some soup. You can’t help but hum at the creamy tomatoey taste. “Taste good hun?”, you nod happily.

“But what about the cheese toastie Geto?” You ask, eager to be fed the toast too. He chuckles at you, before he replies “you’re a spoilt brat you know that?”

“Am not” you retaliate, contradicting your own point as you open your mouth to be fed the toast. “I spoil you too much” he explains, but this time, you don’t protest against it.

As much as Geto can be a meanie and watch Gojo brutally tease you or join in, there was no denying he spent rest of the time being affectionate with you and spoiling you.

“C’mon finish your hot cocoa now, so you can have you medicine, or do you want to be fed this too?” He teases, holding up the cup of hot choc, “shush” you reply playfully as you hit his broad muscular chest in retaliation.

But your reactions only rile him up further, “you like me taking care of you don’t you?” He says with an evil smile, grabbing your hand of his chest to pull you closer, “nooo” you manage to say between your own laughs.

But you inevitably end up being engulfed in his big strong arms as he cuddled you, “s’okay doll, I like taking care of you too”

You bury your face into his broad chest to hide the growing smile of your face. Nah, it’s just a temperature right? ;)

Meanwhile Gojo, who is still at the party from last night:

[crystalsoobin]

burnt toast! ➤ c. beomgyu

#. pairing bf!beomgyu x reader

#. synopsis gyu tries to cook you breakfast in bed and fails… miserably.

#. genre romance, comedy, fluff

#. warnings mild swearing, gyu almost causing a fire 😃

#. author’s note i’m back??? im taking a creative writing class in uni this fall so i thought id get some practice in lol

a small smile lays across beomgyu’s face as he admires your sleeping frame one fine morning. he had woken up quite early that day, eager to surprise you with breakfast in bed.

he gets up silently as to not wake you, and makes his way to your small apartment kitchen. not sure what to make, beomgyu opens the fridge and stares inside as if the idea would just present itself in front of him.

he finally settles on making eggs and toast, an oldie but a goodie. only problem was, beomgyu never cooks.

it can’t be that hard to fry an egg, right?

at least he knows how to toast bread, so he starts there first. grabbing some bread from the pantry, he walks to the toaster where he suddenly stops, a little confused on how to work it.

shade?? hmm, i think 8 is good.

he drops two pieces of toast in the slots and pulls down the lever, stepping back to the fridge to pull out some eggs. he grabs a pan and puts some oil on, maybe a little too much oil.

beomgyu cracks the two eggs, one by one. satisfied, he puts it on high heat so that — in his mind — it’ll cook faster and he won’t have to wait too long.

he then reaches over to the cabinet and pulls out your favourite mug, which was a gift from him. then going over to the coffee maker, listening to the loud crackle of the eggs on the pan.

when he’s done making the coffee he turns around to find the toaster smoking, and a nasty burning smell coming from it. in panic, he runs over to it and tries to take out the toast, almost burning his fingers.

“dammit!” he exclaims, disappointed by the burnt toast and realizing 8 was way too high. he finally succeeds in pulling out the burnt toast, the smell remaining throughout the kitchen.

as he returns to check on the eggs, his eyes widen, also finding them burnt and smoking, a lot. he panics, trying to blow away the smoke with his hands as to not set off the fire alarm. in his panic, he obviously forgets to turn off the heat, making it worse for himself.

and as if the morning couldn’t possibly go more horribly wrong than he imagined, the fire alarm does in fact go off.

“no no no! fuck!” is the first thing you hear as you walk into the kitchen after being woken up by a loud beeping noise and your boyfriend not in bed.

you watch as beomgyu finally remembers to turn off the stove, sighing disappointedly with his face in his hands as his back towards you.

“what. the fuck. did you do.” you finally speak. beomgyu yelps and turns around, surprised at your presence in the kitchen.

“i- i didn’t mean to baby, i swear! i was just trying to make you breakfast!”

“gyu, i really appreciate the sentiment but you know you can’t cook!”

“i know, i’m sorry,” your boyfriend leans into you for a hug, saddened that he couldn’t surprise you with a nice breakfast, “i thought i’d at least be able to make eggs and toast.” you wrap your arms around him and give him a small kiss, suddenly you bursting out into laughter as you look around at the mess your poor boyfriend made.

“why are you laughing?” he asks. “i actually wanted to surprise you, im serious.” he pouts.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, “it’s just so funny when i think about it.”

beomgyu hits you playfully on the head as he steps back and stares at his mess.

“hey, at least i made the coffee right?” he handed you the mug. you grimaced as you tasted it.

“i think you forgot milk, and sugar.” setting down the mug, you get an idea, “you know what, why don’t we clean this up and the i teach you how to cook eggs and toast.” you smile.

beomgyu chuckles in agreement, “sounds like a good idea.”

© crystalsoobin / do not steal

[riaki]

a spritz of peppermint | megumi fushiguro x reader

pt.6 of christmas event! cw: petnames i think idk, not proofread, there’s probably other stuff i’m missing but wtv happy birthday the prettiest king pls come back the food is cold

today is a very special day.

megumi notices that you rise early— mostly because when he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes groggily with a groan, he notices you’re not there. he rolls over, and smacks his face into cold sheets, devoid of your heat.

it pisses him off. so he starts his special day out as a grouch.

when he eventually crawls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen after pulling on some sweats, though— he stops just short of the threshold to that sweet smelling cozy haven you love to spend your time in. the scent of pine needles and fresh chocolate orange wafts across the space, warm and welcoming and awfully wintery. he’s impartial to the cold— but he likes seeing your nose get red, so he guesses that’s one point positive.

“megumi?” your soft voice drifts across the open space, and the frost around his grumpy heart melts just a little; a crack in the frozen surface of the lake.

he reluctantly emerges from the shadow of the hallway, past the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. the thought causes a memory to flash across his mind— your sweet smile and your prettier laugh; a distinct feeling of fuzzy warmth like a knitted sweater spreading across his cheeks when you pulled him close by the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in—

he shakes his head, trying to dash the stray thought. he’s supposed to be mad. it has no right to be there.

“why’d you get up so early?” he sighs heavily as he joins you at your side, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his unruly hair. you smiled sheepishly, turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing lightly as a silent apology. he takes it with a grumble, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his face in your hair to bask in the scent of home before pulling away.

“it’s a secret.” you grinned, and he glares down at you, clicking his teeth in annoyance. you just laugh like the angel you are, leaving no room for guilt. you’re wearing one of his sweaters; you smell like him, and he supposes it makes up for the way you ditched him this morning.

“i expect compensation.” he grumbles, leaning against the counter as he watches you move about the kitchen, pale winter sunlight painting you like an ethereal dancer beneath the surface of misty lake water, crystal clear in your beauty. it’s mesmerizing.

you laughed, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “what, missed me? were you feeling lonely, gumi?” you smiled.

he just shoots you a piercing glare, the color of icicles in his eyes, but the warmth of your grin melts it away. you spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, preparing a french toast topped with sweet berries and powdered sugar that looks so soft megumi could probably sink into it, until your lovely voice breaks the crisp morning silence.

“want black coffee?”

…

that’s weird. he never hesitates. and you know he takes his coffee black; of course you do. not because he wants to look cool, or look suave in another person’s eyes… well, except for you, of course. but not in the area of caffeine doses. and to be perfectly clear, all he needs is a dose of you to get him going.

he clears his throat. “can you make me hot chocolate?”

you pause, and he almost wants to bite his tongue off. why is he so embarrassed? but you just chuckle, like morning bird song across fresh dew on the grass.

“switching it up, huh? that’s cute.” you hum, and his face burns hot like embers in a brick fireplace. he coughs, throat scratchy like the pricks of a pinecone— but you make no note of it, simply going about your day.

he’s content to watch as you fish around in the rum-colored cabinets, pulling out a crinkly bag of cocoa powder. you put him on milk microwaving duty and he busies himself, lithe pale fingers unscrewing the carton of milk and pouring it into his favorite little painted dog mug. you were the one who’d made it; that silly little ceramics class you insisted on taking clearly didn’t help you too much in the way of smoothing down the bumps and blotches on the mug, but it holds your fingerprint, so he might as well memorize the shape of your hands when you’re not there.

megumi’s snapped back to reality when you grab a candy cane from the mini tree you decorated together sitting on the kitchen counter, smashing it up in the wrappings to mix the pepperminty dust with the cocoa powder. he eyes the pile of holiday drug warily as he brings the steaming mug over, placing it before you and leaning against the counter again to watch you work your mystery magic.

“that looks like brown cocai—”

“shh, megumi. keep your pretty mouth shut, please.”

he’s about to butt in again, lips parted before he presses them together irritatedly and resigns to sulk in silence.

you pour the hot chocolate mix into the milk, swishing it together as it forms a pretty spiral of cocoa; the color of dark chai and chocolate tart. he’s content to watch in silence, humming some christmas carol he’d overheard you listening to one gray afternoon— until he realizes you’re opening a bag of those sickeningly sweet and fluffy marshmallows he’d bought you on a whim. he only did it because his mentor told him they made the best gifts, but he’s beginning to realize it was the sweet tooth talking.

“hey— wait… are you going to put those in there, pretty?” he asks, putting a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you from vigorously emptying the bag into his poor victimized hot chocolate mug.

you glance up at him and flash a toothy grin, giving him one of those looks that makes his heart skip a beat. “trust me, gumi! you’re gonna love it.” you laughed, shrugging his hand off, and his lips curve downward. less because of the marshmallows that are toppling into his mug with a splash and more so because you freed yourself from his grasp.

obviously, you notice— your eyebrows knit together, a pinch of guilt weighing upon them like the snow on the streets outside. but it’s wiped away as quickly as it comes; before he knows it, you’re walking away with a bounce in your step, disappearing behind the counter before re-emerging with something behind your back.

“don’t look so sad, gumi. here,” you say, the cadence of your voice as soft and playful as he ever remembers it being when you pull a bunch of roses from behind your back. the bouquet is small and there’s dirt clinging to the stems— but his heart melts at the thought that you hand-picked them, prickly thorns and all, for him. “happy birthday,” you whispered, and his walls break.

“you’re not so different from them, you know.” you hummed, smiling as he takes them from you and gives you an inquisitive, quiet look. “you might be a little prickly on the outside, but you’re just as beautiful. you just have to look a little past the thorns.”

he feels his face flush; at this point, it’s probably as red as the stray candy cane shavings melting in his mug and the vibrant petals of the roses. he splutters and mumbles something annoyed under his breath, but he’s sure you can hear the undercurrent of fondness and affection weaves into each syllable like the beats of his heart, where you’re so close to. megumi thinks you might’ve just cut him open and made a home in his ribcage.

the bunch of handpicked roses for his special day sit on the marble counter dusted with cocoa powder and candy cane shavings, marshmallows bobbing at the surface of his hot chocolate like apples in a bucket as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in to press his lips insistently to yours, slow and tender like the way he always loves you. his hands curl around your sides, as if to ground you there; freeze the time in this bubble of warmth, forgetting the chill outside to warm his hands on your skin. you’re so little in his arms; he wants to hold you and never let you go, to keep you under his tree and have you make hot chocolate for him instead of black coffee every morning he wakes up, because it’s fine if you’re not there in bed— as long as you’re waiting for him with open arms elsewhere.

and when he kisses you, he realizes he might not need his hot cocoa to warm his stomach— your lips are as soft and pillowy sweet as the marshmallows melting in his mug, filled with steaming hot cocoa and all the love he could ever wrap his heart in this cozy winter; his christmas gift to you.

he’s grateful today is a special day, if only because of you and his sweet little painted dog mug filled with your heartwarming love.

stop this was so close to being late my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[captain-mj]

Okay, so I'm very sick rn, and could use an order of Fluff, please.

Maybe some GhostSoap where Ghost gets deliriously sick and is having hallucinations, and Soap just stays there and comforts him through it all?

Wrote this while a tiny bit depressed so I hope you like it

Ghost never got sick. He just didn't. The mask kept him from getting most airborne illnesses (presumably) and he was careful to never get infections.

But somehow. Someway. He had... something. Didn't matter. The fever that wracked his body was vicious and cruel.

Soap was currently sitting with him and fretting. He was muttering about medicine and what to do and stuff that made Ghost's head hurt.

Someone... spoke. His head jerked towards it but it didn't repeat.

"Simon." Soap called to him, putting his hand on his warm cheek. "You're burning up." His voice sounded very far away.

Gentle hands laid him down. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, safe and sound in his mom's arms. He heard someone whimper and wondered if Soap had hurt himself.

Soap carefully tapped his cheek and he opened his mouth on command. A pill was slipped into his mouth and then some cold water followed. Ghost closed his eyes and drifted.

Something called to him again. Speaking to him sweetly. "You need to get up."

Ghost grunted, his head aching. The hand came back, gently running through his hair.

The voice faded to a soft humming. One of the Beatle's songs. His mom's favorite.

Ghost softly hummed along and he swore he could smell her perfume.

Her absence hit him hard as the perfume disappeared. He keened softly, reaching out for her hand again. When he was sick as a kid, she'd give him plain toast and maybe a cup of tea until he felt up for soup. Always the same. Some cheap mix of chicken and vegetable.

Ghost wanted that. He wanted her hand on his hair and his childhood bedroom.

Soap kissed his forehead. "Simon. Why do you look so sad?"

Ghost looked at him and winced. "Johnny... Please don't leave me."

"Hey, I'm not going to leave ya. Gonna stay right here."

Ghost grabbed his hand and kissed his wrist.

"You're burning up." Soap said softly. He grabbed a rag that he dipped in cold water and gently puts it to his forehead. "I'm worried about you."

"No medics. Please."

Soap smiled sadly. "Alright. I'll stay with you until you feel better." He gently put the rag on his cheek and then on his throat.

Ghost groaned softly in relief and smiled. "Thank you. I love you." He missed Soap's sad look.

The hallucinations could not be kind. They couldn't stay as just a sign of grief.

A skeleton stood there. It watched him. Body unnatural.

It popped it's head off and held it out to him.

"Your mother's skull. You killed her."

Ghost closed his eyes tight, afraid.

"Your brother's rib cage. You killed him too."

Ghost covered his ears and the whimpering came again. It didn't occur to him that he could make those noises.

Soap put his arms around him and pulled him to his chest. "I got you, Simon. I got you."

Ghost shivered hard and he pulled up just long enough to take off his shirt. He pressed into Soap's body, feeling the heat rolling off of him. When he tentatively opened his eyes, there was nothing there.

Soap kissed his sweaty hair. "Later, we'll take a shower okay?"

Ghost turned around and hugged on to him, face buried into his skin. "I love you."

"Stop saying that. You're only saying that because you're delirious."

"I'm sorry. I guess I should say it more often. Don't want you to doubt that." Ghost rubbed against him like a cat.

Soap sighed softly and gently ran his hands up and down his back. "Alright, Simon."

Ghost rested against him, enjoying the warmth. Later, he might put on his mask and pretend this never happened. But the part of him that he normally kept shoved down really hoped he wouldn't. He hoped he'd kiss Soap sober and say he loved him again until he realized he was telling the truth.

But for now, his whole body felt like it was on fire. His head hurt. His muscles were sore. So he rested there, safe and sound and with Johnny's heartbeat in his ears.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 51: Oliver's Anticipation

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tw: burns, mind control, body control

October 1925

Alexander's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

Oliver had woken up in his master's chambers, pitch black and smelling of woodsmoke and book bindings, with cold arms wrapped around him. For just a moment, it felt like a strange nightmare, until he remembered where he was.

Perhaps still a nightmare, but an increasingly familiar and strangely comforting one.

Warming his master's bed really hadn't been unpleasant, though. Oliver had enjoyed a truly restful sleep under Alexander's spell, and with all of his anxiety over the next evening's social call, it was just as well.

There was a sore spot on his chest, and when he reached for it, he found it was protected by a thick bandage. Where did that come from? His memories of the night before were so fuzzy. He remembered fretting by himself, Alexander coming home drunk... and Miss Lily was there too...

"Mmm." Without warning, his master stirred, and gripped Oliver tight to his chest. "Fitz..."

Oliver's chest clenched. "Um, it's me, sir. Oliver. Your thrall."

"Hm? Oh. Sorry. Yes. Don't know what I was thinking." Alexander's grasp mercifully loosened, and he rolled over on his back, freeing Oliver. "What are you doing here?"

"Um -- I think Miss Lily told me to -- warm your bed, sir? I confess I don't quite remember, but if I've broken any rule and you want me to leave, I'll leave right away, sir."

"No, no, no. You're fine. I don't quite remember either, but no doubt I wanted you to be here." He reached out and touched the bandage on Oliver's chest. "Oh, yes. That was why."

"What is it, sir?"

"...A mark. An unfortunate but necessary one."

"A mark, sir?" The wound on his chest throbbed.

"You can see when you take the bandage off. You'll need to clean it, too. We'll both need to get cleaned up before midnight," he said. "And you'll want to eat, as well. I can take care of my own preparations. It's better if he's distracted by my faults, anyway. Less attention for you. Anyway, you should go on."

Oliver looked around the inky black room, remembering what a mess Alexander's floor was. He wasn't even sure quite where the door was located.

"Is there something else, Oliver?"

"I can't see, sir."

"...Yes, of course. Wait a moment, I'll light a lamp." 

Oliver could hear his master fumbling around in the dark.

"This one's out of oil, damn it. Hang on, I know there's another just... here."

The dim flame lit up the room just enough for Oliver to get his bearings. He was surprised at how reluctant he was to roll out of his master's bed. He could get used to this, and he'd probably need to, given how much his master seemed to appreciate his presence or at least his temperature.

Emerging back out into the drafty, cold manor brought Oliver back to his worries and fears, the ones he had spent the previous evening turning over and over, the one that his master's spell had taken away from him for a while. "...Master?" he said, impulsively poking his head back into the door, hoping he wasn't breaking any rule.

"Yes, what is it, Oliver?"

"...If it's not too much trouble, sir... could you help me to sleep again, at the end of tonight?"

"Of course I can," said Alexander, who sounded quite pleased. "It would be my pleasure, any time."

"Thank you, sir."

The thought of his master's spell of bliss helped calm Oliver's nerves enough to attend to his breakfast and hygiene, and to ignore the ticking of the clocks on the walls.

But he was still acutely aware of the fact that his master's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

Breakfast was a sombre affair, as Oliver found himself without much appetite, choking down a few slices of toast solely because he didn't want to face the night on an empty stomach. Hygiene was an equally somber affair, a short and joyless bath and shave. Oliver peeled off the bandage to find a round and painful scar, swollen and indistinct. 

A burn? His master had burned him? Alexander had called it "unfortunate but necessary," and Oliver couldn't figure out what that would mean. He must have been very deeply under his master's spell to not remember a thing.

When he returned to his bedroom, there was a modest blue dress laid out for him on his bed. He donned it and looked at himself in the mirror, heart thumping in his chest.

His master's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

As soon as Oliver descended the staircase, he was met by Alexander, who looked more put together than he had at any other point Oliver had seen him. He was wearing a sharp suit and his mop of hair was neatly combed. Oliver couldn't help but wonder how had he groomed himself without the aid of a mirror or assistance -- but that was hardly the most pressing question on his mind.

"My sire will be here at midnight sharp," Alexander repeated the words stuck in Oliver's hand like a protective mantra. "Here, let me straighten your dress. You have a lock of hair out of place here, too."

Oliver let himself be fussed over. "Sir, can I ask about the mark on my chest?"

"My sire requires his thralls to be branded, and requires the same of me," Alexander explained. "I don't intend to be under his thumb forever, but for now, I must acquiesce to his rules." His face grew even more grim and sour. "That's why I must allow him to drink from you."

Branded. He'd been branded. That little voice buried deep within him wanted to protest about a permanent mark done without his permission, but it was easily overruled. After all, he was here to serve his master forever, wasn't he?

"I understand, sir," said Oliver, swallowing hard. Why was this so difficult for him? It was a  service his master required, and Miss Lily had taught him that his primary purpose was to provide blood for vampires. But Alexander's unease made it impossible for his heart to calm.

"I would provide a spell to soothe you or prevent you from feeling pain, if I could, but he would detect it and make things worse for both of us. Unfortunately, I have to ask you to be obedient once more. Do not struggle against his control, do not lie, and do not disobey."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, shivering as he recalled how it felt when his body moved on its own. "Sir, may I ask another question, one which is possibly impertinent?"

"Of course, Oliver, you have free permission to ask questions, as always. I just may not choose to answer."

"...Why is your sire so terrifying, sir?"

His master looked up at him in surprise, then let out a sharp laugh without mirth. "Straight to the point. An excellent question. One which has often kept me awake through the day." He sighed. "Well, he does have the power to puppet your body against your will on a whim. He can do that to me, as well -- since a sire always has power over their sired. But even that, terrifying as it is, is not the whole of it, is it?"

"No, sir, it isn't."

"He's a traditionalist, of course. He believes that humans only exist to serve vampires and should have no will of their own. But if that's all it were, he'd merely erase his thralls' minds, as some of my kind do," he said. "I've always thought that, despite his unparalleled power, he is simply... miserable."

"Miserable, sir?"

"Miserable and perhaps even lonely. He doesn't allow himself companions among vampires or humans. He only takes pleasure in cruelty. I could almost pity him, if he weren't the greatest threat to me and mine." Alexander once again reached over to fuss with Oliver's dress and hair. "I expect that's not a satisfactory answer, but it's the best I can provide to you."

"It's satisfactory enough, sir." An image flashed through Oliver's mind, one long buried. His father, stumbling in drunk once more, towering over him. He shook his head. No, it wouldn't do to think of that now. He had to be brave.

His master's sire would be here at midnight sharp, and all too soon, the chimes rang throughout the house. One, two...

And one beat after the twelfth chime, exactly in rhythm with the grandfather clock in the library, there were three knocks on the front door.

"You must answer the door, Oliver. I'll receive him in the music room."

His master disappeared before Oliver could respond, leaving his heart to thump out of its chest as he walked to the front door. As he opened it, he found himself frozen to the spot before he could even fully take in what he was seeing.

He caught a glimpse of the man from the ballet as he was forced into a low, uncomfortable curtsy. Alexander's sire was dressed much as he was then, all in black with a long silver ponytail, posture straight as an arrow.

"Good evening, sir," said Oliver, trying his best to keep himself relaxed and not fight against the bonds gripping his limbs. He had to be the perfect thrall, for both himself and Alexander's sake.

"Good evening," said that entrancing voice. If Alexander's voice was like gentle waves washing over his mind, the Maestro's voice was like a metronome, forcing Oliver's thoughts into an inflexible rhythm. "I trust your master is prepared for this social call?"

"Yes, sir, he will be receiving you in the music room."

"Very well. Follow." With a crisp snap, Oliver was marching behind him like a toy soldier at attention, his thoughts racing even as his body's movements were unnaturally precise.

He could do this. He could. He could make his master proud. 

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Thanks for reading! Next week, the conclusion to Oliver's evening.

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