#y’all know what figments I’m talking about

[aestheticallynotdeerlightful]

Miscellaneous doodles

.

(Please do not use or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me first, thank you <3)

[vendettaspathfanfic]

(Art by @ceoofdestructix who gave me permission to use it for this post)

As some of y’all may know it was recently @ceoofdestructix ‘s bday!

I thought they might like a little snippet ft Ursula as a present bc we have talked about how Mama Bear she is and how Ursimian is elite djdhdh and if you too are a fan of Ursula you may like this lil story i wrote!

I call it “Warmth”

A persistent, uncomfortable dryness plagued Ursula's throat, acting as a relentless barrier against the slumber her body craved. The solution seemed simple enough: rise from the bed, shuffle to the vending machine she had noted earlier just a few feet from their motel room's door, and procure a bottle of cold water. However, aside from the weariness that weighed heavily on her eyelids, she was drawn in by the gentle pull from Simon's arm around her waist, as he subconsciously yearned for the cooling presence her ice abilities provided. The late July heat was oppressive, the motel air conditioning was weak, and her powers were a welcome respite.

Ursula, who typically shunned the confining embrace of blankets due to her natural aversion to heat, found herself making an exception on this particular night. The usual discomfort from warmth was absent; instead, Simon's proximity and the protective arm he had lovingly draped over her were unexpectedly comforting. His body heat, mingled with her cooler aura, created a harmonious balance that felt just right.

Embraced by this soothing equilibrium, Ursula weighed her discomfort against the serene moment and chose to disregard her thirst. She made the decision to shut her eyes once more, seeking solace in the cocoon of Simon's warm hold.

Hissssss!

Wait, what the fuck was that?

The mysterious sound ceased as quickly as it had begun, only to be interrupted by her eyes snapping open. She was on the verge of dismissing it as a figment of her half-asleep imagination when it pierced the quiet a second time. This interruption was immediately followed by a shrill "fuck!" The voice was unmistakably that of Toxic, their precociously profane four-year-old companion. What could she possibly be doing awake at this hour?

With a delicate touch, Ursula attempted to extricate herself from Simon's embrace, aiming not to rouse him from his slumber. Unfortunately, even her gentlest efforts could not prevent him from stirring.

“Cm’back…” His voice was a sleepy murmur, muffled by the pillow, his eyelids remaining firmly closed.

“I’ll be right back,” She responded softly, careful to soothe him as she straightened her tank top and prepared to investigate the commotion. “You sleep.”

Simon's response was nothing more than a sleepy grunt, his hand instinctively reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes. In that moment, another hiss cut through the air, followed immediately by a louder, more frustrated "Fuck!"

“God damn it…” Simon's voice was tinged with exasperation as he let out a deep sigh, realizing it was Toxic once again testing the limits of his patience.

Ursula cautiously peered through the slats of the blinds, her gaze falling upon Toxic seated before the door, encircled by an array of spray paint cans, her arms crossed in frustration, head drooping.

“Aww, lil gremlin…” Ursula's voice softened with compassion, her heartstrings tugged by the sight of Toxic in distress. After ensuring that everyone in the room was decent, Ursula pulled the door open, causing Toxic to startle, a can rolling off her lap in the process.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, lil gal!” Ursula's tone remained gentle and soothing. “I’m just checkin’ on ye! What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to do pictures but nothing’s coming out,” Toxic responded, gesturing towards a can with its lid missing.

“No luck? Did you give the can a good shake?” Ursula inquired, bending down to retrieve the can.

“Where did you get spray paint?” Simon interjected, a note of exasperation evident in his voice as he leaned against the doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Toxic fidgeted with one of her pigtails and absentmindedly tugged at a loose thread on her t-shirt, her voice filled with hesitation as she confessed, “Off the floor. I didn’t shake it, I just wanna draw.”

“You gotta shake it up first if you wanna draw,” Ursula explained with a lighthearted chuckle, vigorously agitating the can in her hand.

“Why?” Toxic inquired, mimicking the action by shaking another can.

“It helps mix the paint so it comes out right,” Ursula clarified. “What do you wanna draw?”

Without a moment's hesitation, Toxic pointed directly at Simon, her little blue tail wagging with enthusiasm.

“R-really?” Simon's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected gesture, though he maintained a stoic facade in response.

“Sergeant Wussypants? Well, you’re the artist,” Ursula quipped with a smile, playfully teasing Simon and earning an eye roll in response.

Toxic took the brown can from Ursula's hand and approached a nearby wall, where she began crafting a large vertical oval.

“Yep, make him great big like that. He’s a tall drink of water,” Ursula remarked with a comedic flair, observing the tiny artist at work.

“He’s not water. He’s a fuckin’ gorilla,” Toxic retorted as she started to fill in the oval with color, eliciting a burst of laughter from Ursula.

“Ah, you've got me there,” Ursula conceded amidst her laughter, casting a sideways glance to catch Simon on the brink of laughter himself. “Careful there, you might crack a smile for once.”

“At what?” Simon replied smugly, his arms folded in defiance.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t,” she teased, grabbing a blue paint can. “I’m going to sketch a certain cheeky little girl I know.” With that, she began spray painting a small blue stick figure.

As Toxic reached for the green paint to add the finishing touches to Simon's makeshift portrait, her attention was captured by the figure Ursula had drawn. “Is that me?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ursula affirmed with a nod, her tone warm. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I wanna be dressed in green,” Toxic replied eagerly, immersing herself in the task at hand.

“Alright, just pass me the green when you’re ready,” Ursula replied graciously.

After finishing her part with the green spray paint, Toxic handed the can to Ursula and then picked up a white one, extending it towards Simon. “You make Ursula.”

“Listen, kiddo, I don’t-” Simon began, his hand raised in a gesture of refusal.

“You heard her,” Ursula interjected, shooting Simon a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh, Simon accepted the can from Toxic, shook it, and hastily spray painted a rudimentary portrait of Ursula.

Once the trio had completed their impromptu artwork, Toxic couldn't contain her excitement. “We’re done!”

“And it's absolutely perfect!” Ursula exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy as she snapped a picture of the creation with her phone.

“Alright,” Simon said with a faint smile, “time for bed.”

“I can’t sleep,” Toxic groaned, crossing her arms. “It's too hot.”

“It is indeed a warm summer night,” Ursula acknowledged. “But you know my ice powers can help cool things down for you?”

“Really?” Toxic's ears perked up with interest.

“Of course. Head on into our room, and I'll be right there,” Ursula reassured. “Would you both like some water?”

After receiving unanimous agreement for water, Ursula procured three bottles from the vending machine and returned to distribute them.

“Thank you,” Simon offered quietly before turning to the young hedgehog with an expectant look. “What do you say to her, Toxic?”

“Thanks,” Toxic muttered as she struggled to twist open her water bottle.

“You're welcome,” Ursula replied warmly, assisting Toxic in opening the bottle before settling into an armchair in the corner of the room. As she took a sip of her own water, a sigh of relief escaped her lips as the cool liquid trickled down her throat. “Come sit on my lap.”

Toxic nodded in response and climbed onto Ursula's lap, snuggling close to her and finding instant relief in the coolness of her fur.

“Feeling better now?” Ursula inquired softly, running her fingers through Toxic's soft hair with a gentle touch.

Toxic nodded, her eyelids growing heavy as a sense of peace and comfort enveloped her both physically and emotionally.

Ursula cradled the child lovingly, holding her close as she observed Toxic gradually succumb to the embrace of sleep.

Although Ursula typically avoided warmth, there were moments when it held a special significance for her. In this instance, it was the simple, heartfelt connection with a little girl who sought solace in her arms.

The profound sense of comfort in this shared embrace eventually lulled Ursula into a peaceful slumber right there in the armchair.

Simon lay on top of the covers, quietly observing the tender scene before him, understanding the importance of allowing this moment to unfold undisturbed. A gentle smile graced his lips as he gazed at the two figures nestled together in sleep, and he whispered to himself, “Goodnight, girls…”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XXIX

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: A small glimpse into your mother’s past and how she came to be associated with the L/Ns.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.0k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: y’all…toji is TOO POPULAR for me to feel confident writing him 😭 if he’s ooc i’m sorry this is the only chapter he’s in so i am afraid you all will just have to deal with it. we will be back to the regularly scheduled y/n & co. shenanigans next chapter don’t worry

He was there again. Every day, she made a point to look and see if he was, and without fail, she always found him in some or another odd place. She didn’t really understand what he was ever doing, exactly, nor what business he had in the area, but she supposed it was a popular enough place that she could not find any suspicion in his presence.

It was more like a game for her than anything, trying to spot him, to pick him out of the crowd. Today, he was sitting on the edge of a fountain, flicking through a magazine too fast to actually be reading any of it. Almost as soon as she had noticed him, he tossed the magazine aside and got up, stretching like a cat and leaving the magazine behind to slide into the clear waters of the fountain.

She noticed it was one of the ones that had her face on the cover. It was definitely a coincidence — after all, nowadays more magazines had her face on them than not — but for some reason, she found herself flattered anyways.

There wasn’t much she could say about the man; it wasn’t as if she knew him or anything. He had dark hair. He generally wore casual clothing. He had an imposing presence but also a knack for slipping into the shadows, vanishing without a trace despite how much attention he naturally should’ve demanded. That was about it.

Sometimes, it felt like she was the only one who could even saw him. Everyone else’s eyes slid right over him, no matter where he was, and more than once she wondered if he was as much a figment of her imagination as those strange monsters she sometimes saw creeping about. Well, if that was the case, then he was the best hallucination her mind had ever conjured up, and she’d not complain about them quite as much if more of them resembled him instead of the grotesque, twisted beings that haunted her daily anew.

Unlike those other things, she actually even liked seeing him. On days when work was entirely too much and she’d have to go home alone and sit in her empty apartment and cry as she tried to eat dinner, those few seconds of admiring the man were the closest thing to real human connection she got. The man didn’t demand anything from her. He didn’t talk to her or ask for her autograph or shamelessly try to touch her. It didn’t matter to him that she was a famous model. He didn’t even know she existed, and she found comfort in that kind of anonymity. She was just a passerby to him, as he was to her.

“Oh, hey. Just so you know,” her manager said as she zipped up her coat and pulled on her shoes, “you should probably cut back on the calories. If you gain much more weight, it’ll be hard for you to get new jobs.”

She glanced at the portly man out of the corner of her eye, weighing the merits of telling him to follow his own advice before deciding it wouldn’t be worth it.

“No one else has said anything,” she said. The manager shrugged.

“It’s your own livelihood on the line,” he said. “But fine. Do as you please. It hardly matters to me.”

“You’ll never have another client as lucrative as me, so I’d say it does matter to you,” she said. He made a face at her but did not respond — likely he could not think of any sort of rebuttal. She sighed. “Alright. I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” he said. “You’re fine to walk alone again?”

“Yes, it’s okay,” she said, though more because she knew the manager did not have the time to drive her than anything. Her apartment wasn’t far enough to warrant hiring a driver for the short trip, and even though she was so famous, it would be fine as long as she kept her hood up and her head ducked. It was nice outside, too, with nothing more than a slight evening chill in the air, so all in all she didn’t mind.

As she waited for the crosswalk light to turn green, she noticed something undulating in her peripheral vision. With as much dread as resignation in her posture, she turned so that she could see the enormous winged serpent in full, gulping at its towering stature. It was the biggest one yet — did that mean that it was getting worse?

Even though her doctor said there was nothing wrong with her, she couldn’t stop herself from picking up on those beings’ presences everywhere she went. It was almost as if they were chasing her or something, though they took different forms each time. And despite knowing that none of it was real, she felt a jolt of terror with every appearance, every new way that her brain decided to torture her.

This one was the worst, along with being or perhaps because it was the grandest. It exuded an aura of awesome power, with feathery wings lining its scaled body, something blue and formless dripping from its mouth. Blood? Did this kind of creature even have blood to begin with, or was it something else? Poison? Entrails? She couldn’t be sure, but she had this sense that whatever it was, she probably did not want to know, would not like having that knowledge once she did.

The monster stared directly at her with eyes of a bright gold shade — though it was not the gold of the sun, never as benevolent or gentle as that; rather, it was a gold like dehydration, clouded and muggy like dog piss on a white carpet.

So transfixed was she by that stare, she did not notice the man until he was standing in front of the serpent, a knife in one hand, the other on his hip, like he was sizing up a typical situation instead of the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.

The monster screeched at the man in challenge, but this earned nothing more than a dry chuckle out of him.

“Thank you!” he called out over his shoulder. “I owe you, lady. You’ve just made my job a lot easier.”

“Me?” she said. The crosswalk turned green, but she did not dare cross, not when the man she always looked for was there in front of her, facing off against the beast of her own imagining.

“Yeah, you,” he said. “Man, I hate owing people. How about I promise to watch over you when I can and we call it a deal?”

“What are you talking about?” she said, bewildered.

“I don’t have any money, so don’t expect that!” he said. “This is the best you’ll get, so just be grateful!”

“I don’t care about money! Can you see that thing?” she shouted at him. “That’s what’s important to me! Can you see it? Is it really there?”

He was far enough away that she couldn’t discern if he reacted. A car honked at her, the driver opening their window and shouting at her to hurry up and move. It only drew her attention for a brief moment, but that was enough; by the time she looked back to the winged serpent and the man, both had vanished.

After that, she stopped being able to find him. She tried for a while, craned her neck and tilted her head, searching for him in the most random places she could think of, but she never saw him in the square again. What she wouldn’t give to see him lounging around by the fountain, pretending to read a magazine! Or sitting in the window seat at a cafe, sipping on a drink with a book open yet unread in front of him. It was more than just her earlier fascination — now, she had genuine reason to meet him. He was the first person who could see those things, too, and she wanted to ask him what it meant. She wanted to ask him what they were, if they were real, if he was real.

It was many months later that she saw him once more, and by that point she had convinced herself that she had dreamt his entire existence up in a flight of fancy. A handsome man that fought the demons plaguing her night and day? It was definitely something that only a desperate woman would think of.

No matter what position she twisted into, no matter how hard she smiled, the designer wasn’t satisfied. First, he claimed that she wasn’t truly embodying the essence of his line, then he bemoaned how she took all the attention off of the clothes and onto her face, and finally he just started coming up with random things to criticize.

“Your people are the ones who did my makeup!” she snapped when he started complaining about how her lipstick was too red. Ripping off the jacket she was supposed to be showcasing at the moment, she balled it up and threw it at his forehead. “You can just go ahead and find a new model, if you’re going to harass me like this!”

“Hey!” her manager said as she stormed out of the room, his short legs churning to keep up with her. “Hey, you’re ruining your own career here! Do you think you can just get away with a performance like that? You’re going to be labeled as a high-maintenance bitch from now on, do you get it? And no one likes to work with high-maintenance bitches!”

“Oh, go on and let them call me that,” she said, blinking back her tears so that her mascara did not run and give her a ridiculous, raccoon-eyed appearance on her walk back home. “I know that you agree with the assessment, so why are you even trying to act like my reputation is important to you?”

He got a commission for every job she did. That was why it was important to him. There was no other reason; if she stopped paying him, he would vanish, just like every other person in her life.

“The tabloids won’t just accept this,” he warned her. “This could seriously ruin your career. If you go back and grovel, he might consider forgiving you, but you have to be fast.”

“No,” she said. “I’m done for today.”

“You’re insufferable!” her manager said. “Alright? You’re an insufferable whore that thinks she’s special because she’s pretty. Well, there’s a million other pretty girls in just this city alone!”

“Work with one of them, then,” she said.

She knew he wouldn’t. He knew, too, so he just groaned as she let the door slam shut behind her, the only outlet she had for her irritation.

It was like her life was not her own. She was less model and more mannequin, her personal feelings a lesser concern for the people who only saw her as a poseable doll. To be sure, it was something to be expected from the profession she had chosen, but more and more, she was beginning to think that maybe she had picked the wrong career after all.

“It’s her!” someone behind her whispered.

“Are you sure?” their companion whispered back. She furrowed her brow, wondering what they could be discussing and hoping beyond hope that it didn’t have anything to do with her. She hadn’t had the time to go about donning her typical disguise, but she had been praying that it was dark enough out by this time that no one would pay her any mind.

It had been a foolish hope. She sped up her pace, the lights of the main road so close, never closer — yet never further, either. She just had to make it there. She just had to make it, and then it would be alright. Internally, she swore at her manager for not offering to drive her home, though of course she had been the one to leave before he could. Anyways, she wouldn’t have taken him up on it even if he hadoffered, so the only person she could really blame was herself, but it made her feel marginally better to swear at the man who, according to her, very closely resembled a swine.

“We’ll definitely get a good price,” the person whispered.

“Won’t people look for her, though?” their companion said. They must not have realized that she could hear them. She was almost running at this point, but the street never grew any nearer, not in any meaningful way. Just a few steps more. Just a few more, and she’d be okay.

“The kind of people that’d pay for her have ways to cover these things up,” the person said. “Shit!”

They weren’t even being discreet. Footsteps pounded on the concrete behind her as they realized they were running out of time, and of course neither of them were wearing heels, so they caught up with her in an instant, one of them clapping their hand over her mouth, the other grabbing her hands and holding them behind her back.

She tried screaming, but it was muffled through the first assailant’s clammy palm, and the second’s grip was too strong for her to break from, no matter how much she thrashed. They started dragging her backwards, so she dug her feet into the pavement, but it was two against one and she had never been that strong, anyways, so it was a losing battle.

“Alright!” the first person cheered. “We’re going to make out like kings after this!”

“Think we can retire?” their companion said. “It’ll be nice to not have to work much anymore.”

“Probably not,” a third voice said. This one was familiar, and her eyes widened when she heard the rough tones she had thought she made up to soothe herself in her panic. “You likely won’t even live much longer, if I’m being honest, so you can just forget about retirement at all.”

Two loud bangs, and then the hands on her went slack. She stumbled away from them, spinning around to see that both of them were on the ground, blood pooling from the twin bullet wounds in their temples. This prompted a scream from her, and she used her arms to cover her head in case she was next.

“You can quit it with that,” he said. It was the man, there was no doubt about it; slowly, she lowered her arms, peeking at him through narrowed eyes. He was standing there innocently, hands empty and face blank, entirely at odds with the two bodies lying by his feet. “I’m just paying you back for the other time.”

“What?” she said.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d look out for you when I got the chance, since you drew that curse out for me? I happened to be in the area and decided I’d visit you to settle the debt once and for, and look at that! I got the perfect chance to do exactly what I intended to,” he said.

Up close, the details of his face became strikingly evident. His eyes were a cutting green like bottle shards, and there was a scar on the edge of his mouth, lending him a dangerous appearance, though she thought he didn’t really need that for the effect. He looked plenty dangerous enough without it, so it was an addition that was more like an extravagance than anything.

“Who are you?” she said, taking off one shoe and pointing it heel-first at him like a weapon. “Answer me! Are you real?”

He grimaced. “Uh, yeah.”

This was at odds with everything her doctors had told her, so taking a gamble, she hurled the shoe at him. It hit his chest and bounced off, clattering to the ground into the puddles of blood he stood beside, crimson quickly overtaking the once-white leather. The man looked at her in disbelief, like he was more shocked than offended that she had dared to do that.

“You’re definitely corporeal,” she said.

“Why did you throw a shoe at me?” he said, phrasing it like a statement instead of a question.

“I was checking to see if you were actually physically here or if I was just imagining things again,” she explained. “Anyways, since it seems like you might really be a true person, what’s your name?”

“Why would I tell you that?” he said.

“I’m sure you already know what mine is,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Obviously. There’s not a soul in Tokyo that doesn’t.”

“Right, so it’s only fair that you give me yours in exchange,” she said.

“It’s not my fault that you wanted your name plastered on every billboard, news ad, and magazine cover in the country! That’s your own doing, so why would I owe you my name for it?” he said.

“So I can pay you back,” she said. “For saving my life and all. Would you prefer a check or cash? I can do either, but I’d need your name for it.”

At this, the man’s eyes grew starry. It was like that, usually; people would do a lot more for money than they would otherwise, and he was no exception. Especially because, if she was remembering their last interaction correctly, he did not have much of his own — it was an easy way to incentivize him.

“Toji Zenin,” he said.

“Toji,” she repeated. “Or would you rather I call you Zenin?”

“Toji is fine,” he said. “I’m not that fond of the Zenins.”

“Alright,” she said. “How much do you want in return?”

“You’re telling me to name my price?” he said. She shrugged.

“I can’t put a monetary value on my life, but I’m sure you can put one on your labor, so I’ll leave the negotiations up to you,” she said.

“I won’t turn you down, but for the sake of good business ethics and client relations, I’ll remind you that I did technically only do this because I was paying you back in the first place,” he said.

“Then consider it payment for telling me your name, and for being real,” she said. “What do you want? I can give it to you, no matter how much it is.”

“Getting paid for being real,” Toji said under his breath, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck. “Okay, I won’t argue with that. But, you know, being real is a difficult thing to do.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she said. “Believe me, I’m well aware of the fact.”

“One such difficulty is that real people have to eat,” he continued.

“Tell that to my manager,” she said.

“Once a week,” he said, holding up his index finger for emphasis, ignoring her quips. “That’s how often you have to take me out for food. You will pay, but we will go to places of my choosing, and I will order however much I want. If one of us can’t make it one week, then we will go twice the following week.”

Her manager would definitely kill her. Going out to eat once a week without even getting to choose the location was a surefire method for losing that carefully maintained body of hers. But maybe that was why she agreed — she wasn’t all too fond of that body, the one that barely even belonged to her in the first place.

She held out her hand. “Deal.”

“Deal,” he said, taking it and shaking it firmly. “Give me your phone number. I’ll tell you when and where to pick me up for next week.”

She couldn’t deny that the first few times were awkward. Toji would eat whatever he ordered — which was always the fanciest thing on the menu — and then leave with nothing more than a stiff, routine ‘thank you.’ It didn’t offend her much; she was just happy to have some kind of company, and the one day a week they saw each other was often the only thing she looked forward to.

“Damn,” he said one day, dropping a magazine in front of her as she tried to read the menu she had been given by the waiter that had seated them both. “What’d you do to piss this many people off?”

“People don’t like it when you throw their ugly clothes at them and walk out during shoots because of their unreasonable demands,” she said, not even looking at the magazine. She knew exactly which one it was and what the contents of the article were; her manager had been right, unfortunately. High-maintenance bitch. She was in fact labeled with many names along those lines, and though it hadn’t impacted her work schedule too much yet, they all knew it was a matter of time before brands began refusing to work with her for fear of the negative press she might bring them.

Toji guffawed. “Is throwing things at people a common pastime for you?”

“I’ve only done it twice,” she said. “Do you think I’m any good? Maybe I’ll take up baseball once my modeling career ends.”

He considered this, likely thinking back to when she had thrown her shoe at him, and then he shook his head.

“You should probably stick with modeling for as long as you can,” he said. She laughed in surprised delight.

“Fine, then!” she said. “I’m sure you know best.”

“I’m sure I do,” he said.

“Typical,” she said. “Oh, and speaking of knowing…there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What?” he said, abruptly wary. She didn’t blame it; it definitely sounded like a different kind of confession when she started off like that, but that wasn’t something either of them were interested in. She hastened to make her point in order to clear up any misunderstandings.

“I think we’ve established that you’re real,” she said.

“I’m not really sure why that was ever in question, to be frank,” he said.

“You can see the monsters, too,” she said. “That’s why. I’ve never met anyone who can; my parents always thought I had an overactive imagination, and the doctors prescribed every medicine in the book but could never compe up with a solution that lasted. They always come back. But then you came along, and I thought I must’ve dreamt you up, too, because you were actually able to see that winged serpent, yet you’re real, which means that those things are, too.”

Toji was silent for a bit, mulling over what she had said, chewing on the appetizers that she had ordered for the both of them as he did so. She thought he might not answer at all, but eventually, he cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Yeah?” she repeated.

“Yeah, they’re real,” he said. “You’re not imaginative or insane or seeing things. You just have an extra sense that not everyone does.”

“Like you?” she said.

“Nope,” he said. “I don’t have it, either, or at least not in the way that you do.”

“I’m a little confused,” she admitted.

“Honestly, it’s not something you have to understand. Just be happy with what I’ve told you; it’s all too confusing to go over at one time, so I won’t bother,” he said.

“What about more than one time?” she said.

“Hm?” he said.

“You said it’s too confusing to go over at one time, but you don’t have to do it all at once. Every time we meet, you can tell me a little more, and in that way we can cover everything,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, obviously unhappy with the proposition. Ordinarily, she would’ve respected his wishes, but not this time. Not when he was her only chance at getting answers about the things she had been seeing for so long.

“One question. Answer one question of mine every time, and I’ll be alright with that,” she bargained.

“Only one?” he said.

“Only one,” she agreed. He nodded.

“You better think of good questions, because I’m holding you to that,” he said. “I don’t do work for free. One question is all you get, and only because you’ve been allowing me to get dessert, too.”

“I didn’t realize that dessert wasn’t included in the original deal,” she said.

“I wasn’t about to tell you otherwise,” he said. She could only shake her head in response, too amused to be irritated, not when she had more than enough money to afford it.

The next few dinners felt more like interviews, though this time, she was the interviewer instead of the interviewee. It was a pleasant change, even if Toji was a terrible person to ask questions to, only giving exactly what was necessary to answer and nothing more.

“So, what are the monsters officially called?”

“Curses.”

“Curses?”

“Why’re you so surprised by that? It’s a pretty obvious name for that kind of thing.”

Bit by bit, she learned more about the world of sorcery, though she was no closer to figuring out what kind of person he was. He was generally private and closed off, so once her curiosity about curses and techniques and jujutsu society waned, she began steering her questions in a different direction.

“Why do you not like the Zenins?”

“Buncha assholes.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s more than one question.”

He was even more dodgy about answering these kinds of inquiries, to the point that she could probably recite his entire family line by heart but was still no closer to knowing anything meaningful about him. It didn’t seem like those were things he was interested in sharing.

“I’ll ask you a question this time,” Toji said one day. “If you hate modeling so much, then why do you it?”

He had been privy to more than one session of complaining on her part. He wasn’t that talkative, and he was so far removed from the rest of her life that it was simple to tell him about whatever was on her mind and not fear retribution. He didn’t really care enough to go tell the tabloids about whatever she was annoyed about at the moment, and besides, she had at least picked up on the fact that his line of work was unsavory, which meant that he probably couldn’t go to any news source without ending up on the front page himself.

“It’s the only thing I’m good for,” she said, stabbing at a piece of lettuce with her fork. Toji raised his eyebrows at her. “I mean, obviously I’m good looking.”

“Obviously.”

“That was sarcastic, but I’m taking it as a compliment anyways,” she said.

“Go ahead.”

“Anyways, my entire life, people have only ever wanted to be near me for my beauty. I suppose I got used to it and figured I might as well get paid for it. You’ll pity me for it, but it’s not really a stretch for me to say you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” she said.

“Me,” he said dubiously. “The best friend you’ve ever had.”

“Yes, it’s true. You’re the only person that talks to me as a person instead of just to my body or face,” she said. “You don’t think I’m automatically stupid because I’m pretty. You don’t think I automatically want to sleep with you because I happened to look your way. You don’t think I automatically do or am anything; you just treat me like you would treat anyone else, which I’m sure other people would be offended by, but I actually really like it. I don’t mind how short you are with me. It’s better that you’re true to yourself than being overly nice to me just because you think you have a chance at getting with me or something.”

“This is me being nice, by the way,” he said, pouting childishly. “But you’re right in that I don’t want anything of the sort out of you. I’m using you for your wallet, not your figure.”

“That’s fine,” she said, exhaling at the joke. “I don’t mind that. At least it’s something different than the usual.”

The nicest thing about Toji was that nobody ever seemed to want to take pictures of him. When she was sitting across from him, everyone left her alone, and she could have some peace, a break from the constant flashing lights that constituted the rest of her life. In this sense, he was her respite, the only chance she had to be a woman her own age instead of a celebrity constantly in the public eye.

She couldn’t help it. It was to be expected; what kind of person could spend so much time with someone else and not end up loving them? It didn’t matter that he was blunt at the best of times and downright cold at the worst. It didn’t matter that he was, as he had confided in her once, essentially an assassin, working in the underworld of jujutsu society after leaving his family behind. Maybe these things should’ve been warning signals, but for someone as lonely as her, they were easy to ignore in favor of the fact that he paid attention to her, that he didn’t care about anything but who she was.

“You know, you’re actually not too bad looking yourself,” she said one time, analyzing him with a trained, objective eye that was generally nothing but critical. He grinned at her.

“Only good thing those shitty Zenins ever did for me,” he said.

“You should thank them,” she said.

“Mm, no,” he said. “Thanks for the suggestion, though.”

“Then maybe I will,” she said. “In your stead.”

“Don’t do that to yourself. Meeting the Zenins is the last thing I want for you,” he said. Even though he tried to keep his same cold expression on his face, she detected the faintest twitching at the corner of his lips, the barest traces of a softer sort of smile than she had ever noticed on him.

“Are all of the clans as terrible as the Zenins?” she said. He had mentioned in the past that jujutsu society was run by a few powerful families; the Zenin were the extreme upper echelon, rivaled by only two other clans, but there were a few other families that had fair amounts of influence themselves.

“Is that your question for today?” he said. She hummed in agreement. “Well, on the whole, jujutsu society is like that, yes, but with some families, it just comes down to the leadership at the time. The family of healers, the L/Ns, are generally well-regarded, though. They’re known for being kind and just.”

“Healers?” she said. Even though it was a secondary question, he did not chide her for it.

“Yes, they can use something called a Reverse Cursed Technique to heal wounds and regenerate lost limbs. Using the power to that extent on other people is unique to their family, so they’re highly valued, but because none of them can fight, they have to stay humble or risk the wrath of the other clans. Due to that, they don’t do anything majorly out of line. The heir is our age, actually; he’s uptight as anything, though, so he dislikes me on principle and we never grew to be friends,” he said.

“That’s frustrating,” she said. “I wish they wouldn’t all treat you like that!”

“Like what?” he said. He was so tenured to it, she had come to understand, that it didn’t even impact him anymore. It no longer hurt him, what the Zenins and indeed all of jujutsu society had done to him, so he was typically surprised when it hurt her.

“Like you’re something less than all of them. You’re the best person I know, so how can that be?” she said.

“If I’m the best person you know, then you need to get out more,” he said.

“Maybe that’s true,” she admitted.

“Really, though,” he said. “I don’t know how I’ve given you this impression that I’m someone good and fair, but I’m really not. On the day we met, I killed two people in front of your eyes. Don’t you remember?”

“They were trying to kidnap me,” she said. “Why would I care if you killed them? It was definitely scary, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t say you’re a bad person for it.”

“I’m an assassin!” he said. “You know that already! So stop thinking so highly of me, okay? It’s not right.”

“I can’t just stop because you tell me to,” she said. “I still do. I always will.”

“I have to go,” he said, standing up abruptly. “Work. Just got an alert that I have a new job.”

“Please be careful,” she said. “Come back safely.”

“You should be more worried about my victim than me,” he said. “No one would care if I died. People will care when he does.”

“I would care,” she said. “If you died, Toji, I would care.”

He looked down his nose at her, but the feigned haughtiness didn’t fool her anymore. There was something else behind his eyes, something like desperation, something like grief, something like an emotion she didn’t dare name.

“You shouldn’t.”

Things were different after that. He was different. Before, he was playful in his detachedness, teasing her at his leisure, accepting it when she returned the favor in kind. Now, he just sat there and answered her questions — as many as she could come up with, not just one — and gazed at her in that same mournful way, like he was waiting for the day that she, too, left him behind.

Or maybe not. Maybe she was just assigning explanations where there was none. She was certain she meant something to him, but she could be wrong. She had been wrong before, but this time more than any other, she hoped she was not.

“You haven’t asked anything yet today,” he observed as they stood outside of the restaurant. He held an umbrella over the two of them, and she was so close to him that they were almost touching, but they were not. If she moved even a little, they would be, but she did not dare move, not when the situation was like this.

“I’ve been thinking about what to say,” she said. “How to phrase it. That type of concern.”

“Just get on with it. I have to leave soon,” he said. He wasn’t really that patient, so she just bit her lip before deciding to, as he had so eloquently said, ‘get on with it.’

“Do you love me?” she said.

There was a moment when neither of them spoke, when the only sound was the steady rush of the rain all around them. The streetlights flicked on, illuminating his face, ensuring that she would never forget the way he looked at her in that one moment.

That was her answer. It didn’t matter what he said afterwards; his expression just then was the only thing she needed to know about him. There were so many things contained in that expression, longing and regret and admiration and love, so much love, so much that she was sure no one had ever felt that quantity for her before and would never again.

“No,” he said, his face settled into the same serious, disdainful mask once again. “Of course not. I do love your credit card, but that’s about it. You really do think highly of yourself, believing that you’re the object of my unrequited affections! I’ll give you another question, since that one was a dud.”

“Okay,” she said. “If I told you I loved you, what would you say?”

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “I’d tell you I’m not capable of it. You’d be wasting your affection on someone that would never reciprocate. Someone that would never even want to.”

“I see,” she said. “Then can you do me one favor? Please embrace me as if you were someone that would.”

The umbrella clattered to the sidewalk as he pulled her into his chest, holding onto her like she was the most precious thing he had ever gotten to touch. The rain continued to pour down, soaking the both of them, but she was actually grateful for it. It disguised the tears brimming in her own eyes as she clung to him.

“The L/N boy,” he said. “The one our age. I’ve found out that he’s infatuated with you.”

“Okay,” she sniffed.

“I’ll set you guys up on a date,” he said. “A proper one, where he can pay for you.”

“I don’t want to,” she said.

“He’d be better for you than anyone else. He’s respectable, and he’s wealthy. He’ll be a clan head one day. That’s the kind of person you should be making these declarations to,” Toji said. Not me. He didn’t say that, but she heard it, anyways.

“I don’t want him,” she said. I want you. She didn’t say that, but she fancied that he heard it, anyways.

“I think you’ve paid me back enough,” he said. “This is sufficient. We don’t have to keep meeting up anymore. You can save your money for something that really matters.”

“This matters to me,” she said.

“I’m not the kind of person that matters to anyone,” he said. “The inverse is true as well; no one matters to me. You’re no different.”

It didn’t feel like that was true when his harsh hands purposefully gentled themselves to brush the damp strands of her hair out of her face as she openly sobbed into his shirt, knowing that this was the last time they’d ever be like this. It didn’t feel like that when his cheek rested against her head, his arms around her waist, the umbrella rolling away, long forgotten. When he did those things, she could only wonder what kind of indifference this was, that it was so similar to an aching, all-encompassing closeness.

Many years passed before she saw him again. He didn’t show up on the date he set her and the L/N heir up with, even if she had been hoping he would at least come to smoothe over the introduction. It was fine, though. The date went well. The L/N heir was as charming and sweet as Toji had said he would be, and he readily explained every last detail of sorcery to her when she asked.

He paid for the meal, and then he asked her if she’d go to another one with him. For a moment, she considered saying no, saying that there was someone else, but there wasn’t. Not anymore. So she said yes.

When he asked her to marry him some months later, she said yes to that, too. They didn’t let her invite Toji to the wedding. She wasn’t too sad; she doubted he would’ve come, anyways.

After her wedding, she faded into true obscurity. It was like she had never been a model, had never been famous in the first place. No one recognized her when she went out - not that she really went out much, anyways, but on those few rare occasions that she did, she was just like any other person. It was the culmination of every single dream of normalcy she’d ever had, so why was there a lingering trace of unhappiness in her?

Anyways, the L/Ns were good to her. She’d eventually bear the next clan head, or so they said, so they waited upon her hand and foot. She never wanted for much, as everything she wished for, they provided; well, everything except for that one desire which she never dared to vocalize. The L/Ns, like every other clan, hated Toji. If they knew how deep the association between him and her ran, they’d probably hate her too.

Satoru Gojo was renowned for being a spoiled, bratty child that ran roughshod over every person that dared to watch him, so when she was stuck with the duty as preparation for having a child of her own, she found herself dreading the occasion somewhat. Yet when they finally met, she didn’t find him to be rude or nasty. He was just lonely, and this was something that she could relate to all-too-well.

“I’m the strongest,” he would remind her every time she refused him something. “You have to listen to me.”

“You’re only seven,” she would remind him in return. “That means I’m older than you, so you have to listen to me. How about this: we can make cookies together and you can have extra if you behave.”

“Alright!” he’d say without fail. He was surprisingly easy to persuade, not the kind to stick to his ridiculous convictions if anyone ever stood up to them. She supposed no one else ever had before, but she’d be remiss if she let a young child bully her. Her! He was nothing compared to her old manager, the one who had only stopped calling recently.

They were out for a walk one day when suddenly, Satoru turned, his blue eyes gleaming with interest, though she hadn’t heard anyone approach. Even if someone was there, though, she didn’t feel afraid; seven though he might’ve been, it wasn’t an exaggeration to call Satoru the strongest sorcerer of the modern age already. If it was someone with malicious intent, he would take care of them in a second and then ask her to make popcorn for him as a reward.

The man was standing there with crossed arms, obviously taken aback by the fact that Satoru had detected him. And even though it had been so long, she recognized him immediately, so then it was her inhaling sharply, something long-dead and long-buried deep within her stirring at the sight of his still-handsome visage.

Toji. His eyes met her own, searching for answers to questions that she could not yet name. He must’ve gotten what he came for, as the moment she blinked, he was gone, vanishing in that way he always did, too fast for her mortal vision to follow.

“That was weird,” Satoru said. When she did not respond, he tugged on the end of her sleeve. “Mrs. L/N? Mrs. L/N, that was weird, right?”

Of course. Mrs. L/N. That was her, now. That was all she’d ever amount to. Mrs. L/N.

“Yes, it was certainly strange,” she said, for lack of anything better to say. Satoru crossed his arms, obviously satisfied with himself for identifying the oddness of the scenario.

“Don’t worry. I would’ve protected you if he tried to do anything!” he said, miming punching the air, ostensibly in her defense. She laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Thank you, Satoru,” she said. He beamed up at her.

“Do you think that that’s worthy of some popcorn?” he said. She shook herself off, knowing that she was no longer allowed to think about Toji. That time of her life had passed long ago, and it was foolish for her to linger on it in this way.

“Only if we get to watch a movie with it,” she said.

“Yay! Can I pick?” he said. “I wanna watch Star Wars.”

“Your wish is my command,” she said, saluting at him. “Lead the way, Jedi Knight Satoru Gojo.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m Darth Satoru, and you’re one of my Stormtroopers, okay?” he said.

“Yes, sir. Copy that!” she said. It was only a hunch, but she had figured some time ago that Satoru only got to behave like a child when he was with her, so she tried to indulge him as much as she could, never forcing him to act like an adult or a proper sorcerer or anything like that. It was probably why she was his favorite, why she kept watching him all of the way up until she realized she was pregnant.

Standing outside of the restaurant where she had last eaten with Toji, she thanked her luck that she had managed to slip away from the suffocating gaze of the L/Ns for long enough that she could come here. Ever since her pregnancy had been announced, they had been watching her like hawks, fretting over every single move she made, worrying that the slightest missteps might lead to her child being born a daughter — or, even worse, without the Composition that was their clan’s pride and joy.

She had only even escaped today because she pretended to have debilitating morning sickness. For all they knew, she was locked in the bathroom at present, hunched over the toilet, when in fact she had climbed out of the window and ran away so that she could sate her craving for the food that this particular restaurant served.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Whipping around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t fall, her eyes widened when she saw Toji standing there, arms crossed and head cocked. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now — embrace him? No, that would be inappropriate. Keeping her hands on her stomach to keep her grounded, she dipped her head at him.

“Toji,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be here, either. I just got a craving, but I knew the L/Ns wouldn’t approve of food like this, so I had to take the initiative and get it myself.”

“Craving?” he said, and then his eyes flicked down to her stomach, the way it swelled under her loose shirt. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said uncomfortably. “Um, don’t worry. I won’t let them grow up to be someone who’s condescending or cruel or anything. If they ever meet you, or else someone like you, they’ll definitely treat you or them as an equal.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” he said. “It’s L/N’s kid, isn’t it?”

“I am his wife, yes,” she said. “Of course it’s his.”

“Right,” he said. “I always — I always forget about that.”

“You were the one who facilitated it,” she reminded him. “I don’t see how you ever could.”

“Are you happy?” he said.

“Normally, I’m the one asking questions,” she said. What did her happiness matter to him? What good would it do if she told him she wasn’t, that she hadn’t been since the day they parted? She knew his answer already. He loved her enough to let her go, but not enough to change. Enough to know that who he was now wasn’t someone that deserved her, but not enough to become a version of himself that did.

“Won’t you just answer this one? For old times’ sake,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, you’ll answer it? Or yes, you’re happy?” he said.

“Both,” she said. “The L/Ns treat me well. Like a princess. I cannot complain.”

“That’s good,” he said, with some difficulty. “I told you it would be like that.”

“You did,” she said.

“Have you thought about what you’re naming the kid?” he said.

“I’m not sure what I’ll do if it’s a boy,” she said. “If it’s a girl, though, she’ll be Y/N. Like her ancestor who helped seal Sukuna.”

“Y/N,” he said. “That’s a pretty name. I’m sure she’ll be as pretty as her mother, so it’s fitting.”

“What about you? Have you obtained some measure of happiness?” she said. He chuckled.

“Did you think I would’ve? The answer is no, not really. But maybe I’ll earnestly try to find it now. You’ve inspired me a little, so I think I’ll make an effort. Thank you for everything…Mrs. L/N.”

She would’ve told him not to call her that, not ever, because it sounded wrong when he did, but it was a moot point. They never saw one another again. Actually, the next time she heard his name was also the last. It was when her husband told her, in the dull tone he had adopted ever since their daughter Y/N had proven unable to utilize Composition, that he — Toji, her Toji — was dead.

[bring-alessandra-the-horizon]

y’all…these interviews with ransom contain so many interesting little nuggets of information 🤭 my post-work guilty pleasure is watching all of them and analyzing them LMFAO anyways onto the tea…

In a Q&A he did with Strand bookstore when Desolations came out, he mentioned that the original concept for miss peregrines home for peculiar children was a poetry book with Edward Gorey-esque poems accompanying the vintage photographs. Later, it evolved into a novel told exclusively through letters that Jacob was writing about Wales, the children’s home, and the peculiars to a girl from his hometown, who we later find out died in a car accident six months prior, essentially making the book one where you don’t know if the narrator is telling a true story or if it’s all a figment of their imagination - in this case, Jacob’s coping mechanism. Ransom wrote a draft of that version of the book, and then threw out the manuscript without even sending it to his editor.

for those curious, the time stamp where he talks about the original novel concept is 10:27 🫶🏻

I definitely am intrigued by the unreliable narrator draft of the book, but tbh I’m glad he didn’t end up publishing that version because it just seems a little cliche to me. But I would probably read it bc it would be interesting to see how he’d characterize the kids in that version. Lmk what your thoughts & opinions are!!!!

[neon-danger]

Tours over and they all went back to their respective homes and Jack can’t seem to be getting any sleep

Do y’all have insomnia or have y’all just realized that I do all my best work after midnight

Something’s Up With Jack

Jet lag is a bitch, so Jack doesn’t think much of it at first.

Until it’s night three and he’s gotten maybe four hours of sleep in the last 72 hours.

It’s not his fault he and Alex had been uh,,, close,,, this last tour. Alex probably isn’t even the reason Jack can’t sleep. Sure, it’s been months of sharing a mattress, but that doesn’t mean anything,

Besides, Alex is back in his own home, sleeping just fine.

Jack will just have to power through until his brain resets. Except, when it finally does, he’s having,,,, dreams,,,,

They’re not even, like, dirty. Alex is just there. It’s pretty boring if you ask Jack. So boring, I’m fact, that Jack is now purposely avoiding sleep, which has the entire rest of the band worried.

Apparently, people can start to hallucinate if they don’t sleep for too long. Who knew!

So, yeah, um, that’s how Jack ended up calling Alex, terrified because the shadow demon was going to kill him or something? Alex only caught half of what Jack was saying because he was talking so fast.

Clearly something’s seriously wrong, which is why Alex is on a plane to LA without much of a second thought.

Jack must’ve missed his text though, because he’s completely convinced Alex isn’t actually there and he’s just hallucinating again.

Alex isn’t very impressed by this, but he’s pretty sure trying to convince Jack would be a waste of time. This guy needs to go to bed.

“Alright, fine, I’m not real,” Alex lies. “But let’s pretend for a second that maybe I am.”

Jack eyes him incredulously, the dark circles underneath are more prominent in person compared to when they’d been on FaceTime just a few nights ago. “Why?”

“Because if I was real, I probably have a very good reason for being here, and I think the reason is to make sure you go to sleep.”

For some reason, Jack laughs. Alex doesn’t think the situation is very funny, but maybe he’s missed something. Apparently, it’s a very big something.

“Not gonna happen,” Jack mutters, brushing off his so-called ‘hallucination’ and heading for the kitchen. He pulls a mug out of one of the cabinets and turns on the coffee machine, ignoring Alex when he sits down on the counter.

“Talk to me,” Alex tries instead. “There’s gotta be a reason you’re not sleeping.”

Seriously, what is so funny? Can’t Jack take him seriously for two seconds?

“Shouldn’t you know already? Jack doesn’t look up from his task. “You’re a figment of my imagination.”

“Enlighten me.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack makes his way to the fridge. The milk is spoiled. Shit, what day is it? Jack must’ve gone to the grocery store since he got back from the tour. He hasn’t left dairy products in his fridge during a tour since he moved out of his parents’ house.

“It’s because of the dreams, duh.” He pours the remnants of the sour milk into the sink, and tries not to gag at the smell.

Okay, maybe Alex’s Sure-I’m-Not-Real plan isn’t working as well as he’d hoped. In Alex’s defense, he’s never been in this situation before. He asks about the dreams.

“Look, if I go to sleep, I have dreams with you in them, and then I have to, like, think about shit, and I don’t want to, so I’m not going to sleep.”

That definitely shuts Alex up.

This last tour had been pretty,,, intimate,,, Alex definitely left with some,,, feelings,,,

Leave it to Jack to ignore his own.

“Alright,” Alex starts, jumping down from his seat on the counter. “We’re go to bed.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “We?”

Alex nods, grabbing him by the wrist. “Yep. It’ll be great. Best sleep you’ve ever had.”

Reluctantly, Jack lets Alex drag him down the hall to his own room, which is weird because how could a hallucination touch him?

He doesn’t protest (much) when Alex pulls him into bed, snuggling up next to Jack in a way that feels a little more than friendly.

“Go to sleep,” Alex says, though it’s clear he has no intention of doing the same.

“You’re not actually a figment of my imagination, are you.” It’s not a question.

Alex grins. “You catch on pretty quick for an idiot.” His expression softens as he reaches for Jack’s hand. “Please go to sleep?” He tries instead. “The sooner you’re well rested, the sooner we can talk about shit. Then you don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Yes. Definitely not nerve wracking at all. No pressure or anything.

Too bad Jack’s way too fucking tired to protest, or have any sort of argument. He’s passed out cold before Alex even has to ask again.

[mrvlbimbo]

Incentive

Pt 1

A real fic?!? A real long form fic from tumblr user mrvlbimbo!!!!???? Did we ever think we’d see the day?

More parts coming btw y’all will get ur happily ever after

Eddie munson was on a mission. It was an impossible mission but one might praise him for his determination.

About halfway though his senior year this girl had caught his eye. He didn’t usually have crushes like this but he fell hard.

Despite her seemingly being a senior they didn’t have any classes together which confused him. He had asked around and gotten vague answers. But then again he had only asked the freshmen in his dnd group who knew even less than him.

He was stumped, thinking maybe she was just a figment of his imagination. Or an angel fell to earth that only he could see.

He was wrong on both counts. He soon learned she was actually the assistant coach of the women‘s tennis team at Hawkins.

Eddie didn’t know a damn thing about tennis. But god forbid he miss a game and miss a chance to see her.

She had of course noticed and promptly questioned him. “Hey! Eddie,” she had shouted after him as he left to get in his car after the match.

“Uh… yeah.” He had been dreaming about talking to her for months and now that he had the chance his mouth was dry and his head was spinning.

“Eddie Munson, right?” Her eyebrows were raised slightly and her hands were on her hips, he felt like he was in trouble for some reason.

“Uh, yes. Yes ma’am.” He cringed at that, she probably already thought of him as just a Highschool kid and now he had dug his own grave by calling her ma’am.

When he looked at her it seemed like she couldn’t be older than her early 20s, her face still round and childlike and devoid of worry lines and wrinkles.

“Listen up, Munson. You seem like a good kid but if you’ve got your eyes on one of my girls let me just tell you now it’s not going to happen.”

“Oh I didn’t-“ he tried to correct but she cut him off.

“None of them can date until we win this championship so don’t bother.” She shook her head, stern but understanding look in her eyes as she addressed him.

“What about you…” he asked hesitantly, figuring he had already embarrassed himself plenty why not add a little fuel to the fire.

“What about me?” She replied, cocking her head in confusion.

“Do you uh… date.” His cheeks were a deep red. He hoped that the dim light of the parking lot hid his obvious blush.

“Occasionally.” And with that she was off, walking to her own car and leaving him there awkwardly fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

Another man, maybe one with more dignity, would have given up after her lukewarm rejection but Eddie Munson was not that man.

Maybe he was a bit of a masochist to keep trying and keep getting turned down but in his defense he really liked her.

And it’s not like she ever told him to leave her alone. Atleast not in so many words. But he never did technically ask her out, not in so many words.

His strategy usually was to “accidentally” bump into her after tennis practice and ask if she wanted to go to the hideout with him and get a couple beers.

Her response usually was “are you sure you’re old enough to drink?”

His response was always “yes ma’am, I’m 19. Almost 20 actually. Drinking age is 18.”

“Well I don’t want to keep you from your homework. Seeing as you’re a bit old for Highschool.” She would always reply with something along the lines of that, just coy enough to keep him interested.

But she did humor him a bit, letting him tag along as she set up for practice and stay afterwords to help her clean up. There was always a tense flirty dynamic between the two of them and as much as she hated to admit it she did enjoy the days when he came to see her.

Today was one of those days.

He swore he would try to stay away for longer (since last time he had tripped over a tennis ball and fell on his ass, utterly embarrassing himself infront of her) but when he walked past the courts and saw her bent over a basket of equipment he couldn’t help himself.

He made his way over to her quietly, only alerting her to his presence with his hand on her hip. With his other hand, he easily reached to the bottom of the basket and grabbed what she was reaching for. “For you, my love,” he cooed, stepping back to hand her the racket.

She shivered at the residual feeling of his firm hand on her side. If there was one good thing to be said about him it would be his confidence. It was slowly chipping away at her resistance, not that there was much to begin with.

She really did like him, half ready to jump his bones that first night when she confronted him in the parking lot.

The thing that stopped her was how childish he seemed, for gods sake the boy was 19 and still in Highschool. She wasn’t much older (she was 21) but somehow his awkward stammering made her hesitant to try anything.

His admittedly cute and shy demeanor changed quickly the more time she spent with him, growing more confident when he started to get the idea she might like him back.

Sneaking little touches, calling her pet names. And asking her out more and more explicitly so she was forced to either turn him down or finally give in.

“Munson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She rolled her eyes, snatching the racket out of his hands and walking to the other side of the court.

He followed behind her, hand on the small of her back. “Nothing important, I’m happy to pleasure you anytime ma’am,” he teased, fingers curling against the line of her waist.

“Calling me ma’am is not helping your case,” she stated plainly, turning to face him so she was eye level with his chest.

“And what exactly is my case?” He prompted, finger under her chin tipping her head up as he tilted his down to look at her.

“You’re going to ask me on a date.” her own confidence started to disappear when he looked at her like that, cocky yet desperate.

“Oh well if you insist, I suppose I have to.” His thumb rested on her cheek, stroking the warm skin softly and making her breath hitch.

“Munson-“ she started.

“Here goes nothing. Will you, do me the honor of going to the hideout with me as a date and watch my band perform?” He emphasized the as a date part in case there was any doubt in her mind.

“No.” She stepped back, trying to regain her composure which would be far easier if he wasn’t touching her so softly and sweetly.

“Whaaaaat? I thought that was a good one,” he whined, pouting down at her as she kept a somewhat passive expression.

“Eddie…I-“

“Ooooh first name basis already, babe you’re making me blush,” he interrupted, distracting from the cold rejection with humor.

She stepped forward, hands coming up to rest on his chest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she gasped out when his hands fell to her waist gently.

“Cmon I know you like me. We can’t be more than 3 or 4 years apart. Gimme a chance please I’ve been dreaming about you since the first time I saw you.” He was pleading now, his voice pitching slightly. She couldn’t help but think it was cute.

“I don’t date students.” She shook her head, looking down at her feet so he couldn’t see she was lacking conviction.

“What if I say pretty please? And what if I tell you I’d treat you better than any guy before me?” Her heart (among other things) jumped at that. It was one hell of a promise but he seemed very determined.

She rolled her eyes, unable to contain the small smile on her face. “Ok. Here’s the deal. You graduate and I’ll go on a date with you.”

He nodded frantically, grabbing her outstretched hand and shaking it enthusiastically. She couldn’t help but giggle, her eyes widened when he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

“For luck,” he explained, blushing red all the way to the tips of his ears.

“For luck,” she repeated, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him back down to kiss her again. This time it was a full on kiss, the kind that left him dizzy and made him forget all his thoughts.

Their lips slowly parted and she started to walk away. He still stood stiff as a board in the place she left him. “Get off my court, Munson,” she barked, patting him less than softly on the ass and jogging over to some discarded tennis balls.

“See you in three months,” he yelped as she casually threw one of the balls his way, trying to give him a signal to leave before the team showed up.

“Oh I’m counting on it,” she purred, giving him a seductive wink.

[dreamersparacosm]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

featuring olivia dejonge

knife kink (n): a form of consensual BDSM edgeplay involving knives as a source of physical and mental stimulation

nsfw!

note ; welcome to kinkvember DKDDJDJ i refuse to leave anything unfinished soooooo we’re just gonna keep posting blurbs like it’s October still…. anywho first time writing knife kink but I hope it’s good also ik this is longer than normal but y’all deserve it

warnings ; knife play, some good ol enemies to lovers, dirty talk, blah blah

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You’ve come to terms with one thing: Olivia DeJonge can kiss your ass.

She just has a way of getting under your skin.

Maybe it was her annoyingly chipper voice that raised twenty octaves when she was in your vicinity, or the looks she threw your way that could kill you if they were weapons. The way her presence could put put you in a bad mood within seconds. You two had always ran in the same friend group, but for some inconspicuous reason, could never see eye-to-eye.

While aimlessly browsing over the pages of your favorite book, you swirl the dark crimson wine in your glass. The cheese board you were previously nibbling on is now down to its final few pieces, with a knife set next to it. Your cozy home is filled with white noise as the rain patters against the glass and thunder claps softly in the distance. All you wanted to do was read and drink after a difficult week that included your boss running amok in your office and irrationally suggesting that you take on more projects.

The rap of knuckles on your door makes that plan seem a little more distant.

With a roll of your eyes and a slam of your novel against your wooden table, you shuffle into your slippers and make your way to your front door, swinging it open as you bury homicidal urges. Those urges become even more prominent when you see Olivia DeJonge on your doorstep, drenched in rain and staring at you like a deer in headlights.

“What the fuck?” Is the first and only thing that blurts out of your mouth. Your disdain is painted all over your face.

She blinks twice, “Uh, I was out, uh, drinking, needed a place to dry off.”

You snort, “So go home then.”

She wraps her arms around her body, a shiver coursing through her body. Her eyes are more telling than her facial features, and there’s an angel on your shoulder that’s feeding you guilt. “I-I can’t, I’m a little drunk if you couldn’t tell.”

You really couldn’t tell, because she stands on your porch clear as day, not a figment of your imagination surprisingly. She doesn’t look disheveled, just a little like a wet, helpless dog. In the name of civility, you open the door an inch more. “Bathrooms to the left. Be quick.”

She scurries past you, her drenched shoulder brushing against yours. You shudder at the sensation and move away, closing the door behind her. There’s a thickness that lies in the air with her body in your home. Despite the mutual friends you share, there’s not really much else to it. Some light hatred perhaps.

You retreat back to the living room couch, a sigh escaping your lips. Loud and long-suffering. There’s barely a moment of peace before the bathroom door swings open and she’s running back out into your hallway like a murderer on the loose. “I-I lied.”

“What?” You turn your head to look at her, taking in her frazzled expression.

“I’m not, I’m not here to pee. Or dry off. Or anything like that. I just,” she pauses to hiccup, and it’s then that you realize how drunk she is. “It’s just that I can’t do this sober. And I’m here now. So…”

You raise an eyebrow, “Come on, out with it, Olivia.”

Fiddling with her thumbs, she fixates her eyes on your carpeted floors. Floors that she’s staining with her damp shoes. You’ll Venmo request her for the cleaning fee later. “It’s just that I know you hate me. And I kinda hate you too. In some weird way. I just… I just hate the fact that you make me feel like this.”

“What are you talking about?” You say, unable to take your eyes off her.

She glances back at you, opens her mouth like she’s about to make a bold statement. Nothing comes out, just the silence that engulfs your living room and the thunder that claps in the distance. The thickness that swallowed the room previously is now replaced with a tension that causes you to shift in your chair, wiggle around like an animal in heat. She finally speaks, “I hate the fact that I want you.”

Heart stills in your chest. Black pools your vision. There’s a moment where your lungs stop inhaling air and just sits like a motor that’s continuously revving its engine, hoping for some take. You refuse to look at her, just keep your eyes trained on your wine glass that’s half-empty.

And then you’re thinking. Thinking how she used to make fun of you, used to tease you for things that were out of your control. Thinking of how she lingered near you despite her consistent hatred. Thinking of the times she’s made eye contact with you before swiveling her head to face somewhere else. Thinking how you could have missed this.

“What?” You whisper.

“I-I’m sorry, I can just go, this is a lot,” You hear her feet shuffle across the floor, and it’s enough to stir you out of your thoughts. You stand up on your feet, limbs shaky.

“Hold on,” You swallow thickly. “You’re telling me… this whole time, you’ve treated me like shit because you had some kind of little crush on me?”

And your mind is whirling, steam-rolled and blended into nothingness. Palms sweaty, eyes incessantly blinking. Feels like time lulls and there’s glue poured between the hands of your wooden clock. How could you have missed this?

It’s just you and her. Her big brown orbs seem smaller than usual, you note.

She kicks the carpet with her shoe, “I’m sorry, this is really weird, I should go —“

“Olivia,” you say sternly. There’s a hint of aggression behind your tone that forces her eyes in your direction.

“Yes?” She squeaks.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cross your arms over your shoulder, cocking your head to the side, observing her for all she is. For now, she’s a helpless girl who couldn’t outwardly put a name on her feelings towards you. There’s a tiny part of you that is attracted to her submissiveness.

“Because I don’t like you — or well, I didn’t like you. I think… think you’re a little bit of a brat. Always want it your way or the highway, always need someone there to take care of you. So I don’t really know why I feel like this, why I want you,” She seems to cut herself off before she can speak more.

You take a step forward. And maybe it’s the rainy weather, or the hovering buzz of the wine you drank earlier, that feels like there’s a magnetic pull between you two, but you ignore it all and take another step. She doesn’t back away.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t like you either,” Your voice comes out as a low whisper that only she can comprehend.

“Hm?” She swallows, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.

You take another step, only a mere few inches away from her face. You can see every freckle, every pore of her alabaster skin that glows underneath the light in your home. Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted slightly. Some animalistic part of you wants to reach out and see what those lips would feel like against your own. “What did you come over here to do, Olivia? Tell me you hate me but want me and then leave?”

Her eyes darken at the realization that there’s a possibility you might not actually be rejecting her. Her body straightens, tongue pokes out to wet her lips. “Came over here to see if there was a chance you wanted me to.”

And you’re on her within seconds. Lips meshing with a gnash of teeth, all messy and filthy and everything you could imagine it to be. It feels as though the world stops spinning on its axis, like the rain clears away. Your hands cup her warm cheeks, pull her body closer into you. She’s reaching for you too, trying to feel anything, decipher if this is real or something her drunken mind has concocted.

Somehow in the darkened room that feels unfamiliar in this context, you two tumble backwards onto the couch, a tangle of limbs hoping to feel the sensation of one another. She moans a little into the kiss, and you take the moment to feel the way her soft lips melt into your own, taste the leftover tequila on her tongue. Your spine presses into the cushion, her hand cupping your cheek.

You’re still a little shocked this is even happening.

As if she is baffled as well, she pulls away, says, “Are you sure,” she presses another kiss to your jawline. “You sure this is good?”

You roll your eyes so far they almost fall through the back of your brain, “Just shut up and kiss me, Olivia.”

Her lips meld into yours once more, and you hear the thunder clap in the far distance. She straddles you, her thighs strategically placed on either side of you. There’s a dominant side that is burning like a fire inside her, and you find yourself intrigued enough to not blow it out.

Your eyes are squeezed tight, hands wandering to feel up her curves that are accentuated in her black jeans. Her hips rut into your own crotch, and that receives an unsolicited whimper from your mouth that only fuels her more. “Jesus,” you groan into her mouth, while she takes the opportunity to nip and bite down your jawline to your neck.

Nothing about this is soft or forlorn or hopelessly romantic, and despite the cliche, you’re pleasantly surprised at her skill. Her fingers move swiftly to pull down your silk shorts, notice the pretty lace underwear that’s underneath. She doesn’t need to see anything else to know you’re soaking with the way you shake with each touch.

“Come on, get on with it,” You speak through gritted teeth. She looks back up at you, a sinister smirk a stark contrast on her face from her previous expression.

“Didn’t know you were such a fucking whore,” She sneers, resuming the pace of her hips against your aching cunt. Another soft moan exits you with no warning.

“Didn’t know you were such a bitch,” Your jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “Oh wait, I fucking did.”

And if it weren’t for the venomous look she gave you next, or the fact that you were so eager for any form of stimulation, you wouldn’t have let her pick up the knife you had placed on your table earlier, and feel the sharp ridges against your neck. You gasp at the sensation, struggling to move away from her advances. “Olivia, what the fuck?”

Although your automatic response is fear, the butterflies in your stomach don’t go unnoticed. You haven’t been handled like this in a while, let alone by someone who’s harbored sexual tension with you for the past couple of years. She just smirks, her plump lips wet with your saliva, “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, babe.”

She drags the dull side of the knife down your throat, past the lump that you’ve swallowed and down to your breasts, encircling the hardened nipple. Your breaths are shallow, caught in your lungs and your mind is fuzzy as you try to think of something to combat her, to gain your dominance back.

But you’re all out of words when her free hand roams back down to your underwear that is now soaked with your own juices, dripping with desire and adrenaline. She’s pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to catch you in this position.

“Fuck, I don’t know how you make me feel like this,” She murmurs, mostly to herself, partially to you. You’re unable to retort, still under the hypnotic sensation of the cold metal against your burning skin. Her nimble fingers find their way to your burning core, pressing against your clitoris and anticipating the way your body jolts at the feeling.

She isn't acting gentle as she grips the back of your head, holding a few of your hair strands in her fingers. You can tell she’s having fun, despite the hostility that still lingers in the air, her exasperation, and the intense smug on her face. You wonder if maybe you have crossed the appropriate line that was drawn once before.

“Now, be a good girl for me and take whatever I give you.”

You have definitely crossed the line.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[yesimwriting]

All The Good Dreams

A/n this one is based on a request from @ateliefloresdaprimavera who requested a fic where General Kirigan has been dreaming of the reader for as long as he can remember and that’s one of his few reasons to smile and the reader has been having the same kinds of dreams about him and when they meet they just know. 

This one is being written in third person bc it’s the only way I can see this fic being done but I’m a little insecure about writing in third person so be gentle lol

Also a little personal update I’ve been working on my original novel and it’s coming together y’all!!

--

ALEKSANDER. 

The morning sunlight seems to only come to take her from him, peaking through the curtains and stirring him awake and away from his dreams. Aleksander keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to will her features to remain in his mind. She had looked more angelic in last night’s dream, dressed in all white and watching him with an adoration he doubted real life could duplicate. 

The girl has haunted his dreams like a ghost of promise since before he began to change the world. Since before anything in his life was solidified. He lets out a sigh, something similar to a smile playing at his lips. Thinking of her would not bring her to him, if he could manifest her, she’d be by his side right now. He has things to do, duties and obligations that will bring his final goal closer. Each day is a step closer to victory, and each night brings the promise of dreams. The promise of her. 

--

Y/N.

“Y/n.” The voice is gentle and distant. “Y/n,” a little harsher. “Wake up, you’ll be late.” 

Fighting against grogginess, y/n wakes up, eyes squinting open. “What time is it, Danna?” 

“Late.” Danna’s reply is curt as she steps away from y/n’s cot. “I thought you were awake already and then I came in to look for my boots and you were still asleep with that ridiculously peaceful look.” Danna paces around the room. “You must have been dreaming of your prince again?” 

Y/n feels her skin warm. “He’s not a prince!” It’s a weak defense. “I regret telling you that almost every time I dream I see the same man.” 

Danna drops down, grabbing her worn boots and pulling them on quickly. “You’re making me believe in soulmates, l/n.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes, sitting up and placing her feet on the ground at her own leisure. “It’s nothing like that--I’m not even sure he exists.” 

Lacing her shoes, Danna narrows her eyes at y/n. “Sure.” Y/n opens her mouth to protest, but Danna beats her to it, “If you need to argue with me, do it while getting dressed, we can’t be late today--General Kirigan’s visiting this camp for the first time and I doubt he’d appreciate being interrupted by a non-Grisha medic.” 

At that, y/n wrinkles her nose, but she stands anyway. “Ugh...Grisha.” She walks towards her uniform. “They can get away with anything and I hear Kirigan’s the worst of all of them because he’s in the same order as the Black Heretic that began all of this.” Y/n pauses, crossing her arms. “And it’s ridiculous that the army even needs non-Grisha medics. Healers exist and they should not be primarily reserved for other Grisha who rarely get injured, especially to the extent that the rest of us do.” 

“I know, y/n, but don’t speak like that until the General is gone.” Danna draws her lips into a thin line. “And hurry up before you get us both in trouble.” 

Y/n lets out a sigh. “Go ahead without me, I’ll catch up.”

Danna eyes her friend wearily. “Alright, worse comes to worse I’ll try to cover for you.” 

“You won’t need to.” Y/n isn’t sure she believes herself. “I’ll be there.” 

Danna pulls on her second boot, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t really believe you.” She stands easily. “But knowing you, you’ll talk yourself out of any trouble the way you always do.” 

“I do not always talk myself out of trouble.” 

Turning to leave, Danna pauses, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes. If she had more time to argue with Danna she would take it. But she doesn’t. She’s quick to get dressed, thoughts of the mysterious stranger from her dreams keeping her company. Last night he seemed more tired than normal, a crease between his dark eyebrows as he sat by her side. A part of her she keeps buried worries about him. It’s ridiculous, to concern yourself over a figment of comfort your mind created for you. 

By the time y/n’s changed, she knows she doesn’t have much time to get to her station. She’s rushing out of her tent, one boot still untied. The medic bag she slings over her shoulder swings as she jogs towards the medical tent. Today the camp is hectic, everyone desiring to appear efficient and reliable for General Kirigan. It’s all ridiculous to Y/n. General Kirigan will never be impressed by them. If he’s revered even among Grisha, Y/n can’t imagine the superiority complex that man must possess.

Her eyes scan the soldiers and workers she knows so well, each of them behaving so differently than normal. There is no friendly chatter this morning, no casual banter. There is only the business of war. 

Y/n watches the people she knows, so focused on their nerves that she barely registers the person she crashes into. “Sorry!” The apology leaves Y/n on instinct.  Her bag falls off her shoulder, gauze and antiseptic falling onto the ground on impact. Y/n bends down instantly, beginning to pick up her supplies. She mentally curses herself for being so easily distracted and not properly shutting her bag this morning. “Everything’s so hectic today and I was running late and I just--I have no idea how I didn’t see you.” She drops her supplies back into her bag. “I guess it’s a good thing they keep me off the battlefield and in the medical tents.” 

Reaching for the last of her supplies, Y/n’s eyes land on the shoes of the person she just crashed into. They’re leather. The fine kind of leather meant for marble halls, not trekking through the unknown. Y/n’s mouth goes dry as the possibility of the graveness of her mistake sets in her mind. She exhales slowly, daring to look upwards as she closes her bag. 

When her eyes meet those of the stranger, she is left with no choice but to gape. She’s not staring because she’s now at the mercy of General Kirigan. She’s not staring because nothing could have prepared her for his beauty. She’s staring because she knows that face. She knows those sharp features and steady eyes.

His lips are slightly parted. Y/n is struck with the odd thought that perhaps he too has words wedged into his throat. 

“It’s you.” The whisper leaves her faintly. 

The words seem to unfreeze Kirigan, his expression moving from shocked to stoic. “Excuse me?” 

Awkward regret floods through Y/n. She drops her head downwards, desperate to escape the power of his gaze. “General Kirigan.” She uses her words as a way to dismiss the emotions her chest seems to be brimming with as she stands. He’s not the man from her dreams. That’s impossible. “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior an--” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head once. Y/n bites her tongue at his dismissal. “You said ‘it’s you.’”

Embarrassment knots her stomach. “I just hadn’t realized that I ran into you, General. I--I knew you were coming today, but I wasn’t expecting to see you much less like this.” 

Kirigan’s eyes seem to be nothing more than inviting pools of kindling emotion. So familiar yet so distinct. He can’t be the man from her dreams. The man from her dreams must be nothing more than a composition of traits she finds generally attractive. General Kirigan just happens to possess those features. That explanation is the only thing that keeps Y/n’s feet rooted to the ground, but the longer she looks at him the more that explanation loses its strength. There’s just something so knowing behind his expression, so specific to the face that she’s only seen while asleep. 

Tearing his gaze away to scan the area, Kirigan reaches forward, placing a hand on Y/n’s arm. The touch leaves Y/n warmer than it should. Maybe that’s why she lets him lead her forward, ducking into an empty medical tent. She keeps hold of her bag as he turns, his eyes full of something dark and unknown. But not angry, Y/n notes, no, not angry. The look is too peaceful for rage, perhaps even hopeful. 

“When you looked at me…” He exhales, voice low and sacred, “You said ‘it’s you’.” Y/n can only blink, still mesmerized by something so foreign and familiar all at once. “Do you know me?” 

In his urgency, Kirigan’s hold on Y/n’s arm becomes more assured. Something in Y/n wants to pry herself free in order to prove to herself that she’s capable of resisting his drawl. But his touch is not to trap her, the look in his eyes tells her that. His touch is pleading--desperate and hopeful. 

“Everyone knows you,” when Y/n finally finds her voice, she is not convinced it is her own. 

The corners of Kirigan’s mouth fall downwards, something in him threatening to deflate. “I meant--have you seen me before?” The question is not one Y/n is too willing to answer. How could she tell this strange man, this general she was convinced she’d dislike on some fundamental level while never speaking to him, that she knows him? She knows him like she knows her own beginning. “Because I’ve seen you.” 

Y/n can’t help the way her eyes widen. This doesn’t mean anything, she warns herself, he could have seen her walking. “I didn’t see you, that--that’s why I ran into you--” 

“No, you’re avoiding the question.” Her face is warmer than it was when Danna was teasing her this morning. It’s warmer than it’s ever been. “Because you’ve experienced it as well.” 

The swelling in her chest is overwhelming. “Experienced what?” 

Kirigan eyes the entrance to the tent once more, confirming that no one is approaching. “All of the good dreams,” he exhales, “They have been of you.” 

Y/n can’t help the way everything in her melts. She’s not insane. She’s not projecting something dangerous onto the Shadow Summoner. “I see you in my dreams always.” 

Slowly, he releases his grip on her arm. Watching her like she might be a mirage, Kirigan raises his hand, brushing his knuckles along Y/n’s cheek. She lets him, holding her breath until his hand falls back to his side. A part of Kirigan expected the girl to be a trick of the light, something that his touch would reveal to be a fallacy. But she remains true, watching him with eyes the size of saucers. 

“How long I’ve been waiting for you, you’ll never know.” His voice is as heavy as a lament. 

Y/n feels her back straighten slightly on instinct, desperate to pass whatever scrutiny is being passed over her. “How--how does this happen? How do two strangers dream of each other for so long and...” 

Something knowing colors his smile a shade of ambitious green. “What is your name?” 

“Y/n.” 

Kirigan’s minds flit through lifetimes worth of faint memories. The girl laughing, the girl teary eyed, the girl embodying all the stars he’ll never have, the girl representing all he needs. Y/n. There’s finally a name to her. 

“Y/n,” the name is a gift. Kirigan pulls a ring from his fingers before grabbing Y/n’s arm. Too lost in a strange euphoria, she lets him pull her arm forward before pressing his ring into her skin. Her brow furrows as he begins to guide the metal down her skin. That slight confusion quickly turns to total shock as a thread of light begins to spindle down her skin, following the path he’s creating with the ring. “You and I are going to change the world.” 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag @kaitlyn2907

[wigglebox]

I don’t go here but I’ve seen so much of the discourse on this Misha stuff on my dash that I’d like to chime in: I think what’s happened is that so many people have projected onto this actor so many incongruous things and applied to, again, this *actor* so much built up fan lore that every time reality comes crashing down, everything splinters for these fans creating a dissonance they can’t handle. “How could this ACTOR not live up to the projections and speculation I slapped on him, which he clearly has no way of possibly knowing!! He’s clearly terrible! Even though what I’m really mad at is a figment of a person I made up in my head because I have no idea who this actor is in real life!”

So much of it, respectfully, reads like that. It’s a huge trap I’ve seen fans fall into for years now- this building up a fantastical personality around someone they will never even meet, and then rock-bottom disappointment when it cracks.

It seems he does have a lot of interaction with fans through social media, but in this day and age actors, especially B-list actors, are almost required to maintain that stuff to get work and promote the jobs they get on- they kinda don’t have a choice. All social media for actors is part of their job- it’s not some sort of personal one-on-one time with anyone.

In these moments where the veneer seems to crack, I think it’s a good opportunity to adjust one’s self, as a fan, to tether back to reality. Grab onto the dissonance and let it ground you. As fans, folks do not actually know this person, nor will they ever. We don’t know him. He’s doing his job going to cons to make a little money until the next gig rolls around and bask in a little past glory hoping folks will stick around for what’s to come. It’s also a challenge keeping the balance of all that- which this incident seems to drill home. Marketing is hard, and as an actor expected to do it for yourself personally even harder. Sometimes you fuck it up a little. Ah well- live, apologize, learn, and do better next time.

Because he’s just an actor trying to keep himself relevant at the end of the day- it’s just his job. We aren’t perfect. It’s fine. Whatever.

I hope that makes sense. Please excuse the anon bc I respect how strong y’all are. Anyway, thank you for letting me write too much in your inbox.

Hey nonny! I agree with most of this, though I wouldn't characterize him interacting with us and talking to us as him just trying to make money or keep his job or just that it is his job -- if you're not in the fandom i guess maybe it's harder to see but he truly does care about his fans and gives us the time of day and actually pushes us to do better in our day to day lives and stuff.

i will say though i think this is a problem across all fandoms of people making these actors their personality, or just parasocializing a little too closely, or, in lieu of true support IRL, has latched onto him in a support kind of way. Which is fine I mean I'm a fan too -- but there does come a point we have to draw the line.

But since you're not in the fandom or anything I will say that maybe Misha relied on us a little too much too, at least publically. That is to say, both sides kinda flew too close to the sun here but I feel like as a fandom it felt worse for us because there's so many of us.

I do think we were a comfortable place for him to chat about things -- not everything but he's chatted about personal things and shares with us his journeys when learning things or wanting people to understand something, politics, charities, etc etc.

but i do think it's always important to remember at the end of the day, be it a celebrity, actor, public figure or not, he's really just a person. and even if you think he should be held to a higher standard [a standard, i may add, he likely holds himself to as well], you still have to factor in he's still a human being prone to mistakes or prone to confusion or prone to attachment and emotions and everything. like just because he has to be held to some kind of higher standard doesn't erase human nature.

i find now, a full week since this started, fandom's problems right now are mostly with each other. the misha thing is like, the middle of it or the inciting incident but we were at each other's throats since Friday night, literally. and that's on us. not on him. the man got up there and was vulnerable and read his poems and talked with us and had no idea this was happening.

i think it would be good for fandom to take a collective breath, stop being mean to each other, stop being mean to him because he's never been mean to us before and has always been kind and when he misspoke or misstepped, he's apologized and we know it's sincere because he learns and he listens.

so yeah i disagree he just does social media and interacts with us because it's his job, because he's not just an actor with an acting career he does a lot of other things and he likes community and talking with people truly -- but i agree that sometimes fandoms, across the board not just us, can get a little too much sometimes or maybe demand too much perfection or demand too much or this or another. another human being can't read your mind or be everything you need them to be. that's too much pressure, even more so when it's thousands of people doing it.

[red-balloon12]

Okay so here are my thoughts about the new Sanders Sides episode-

1. Freaking Logan with his big wine glasses. They were growing with time....this guy needs therapy-

2. I know a lot of people are saying that at this point Janus and Remus are accepted as sides, but I really don’t think they are. Not fully anyway. C!Thomas is kinda warming up to Janus but he still has that uhhhh.....uneasiness to him. It’s even more so with Remus. And they kinda got separated from some of the questions...so yeah...I don’t think they’re fully welcomed in regards to C!Thomas. And certainly not to the “light” sides. (Especially Roman and Virgil)

3: Speaking of Roman and Janus, Thomas has a good way of both building and diminishing ships. Like that once scene when Janus was saying that he was the “Voltaire to his Rousseau”...do you know how many people can take that and make content out of it if they know the story? (But of course Roman still does hate Janus and so.....Enemies To Lovers 40k Words, anyone?)

4. Remus just being Remus. Also I both love and hate how we had to get his symbol in a special. It probably wouldn’t have worked any other way. I also ALSO like how Remus knows more than he leads on about what’s gonna happen in the season finale....and that Janus (and himself) spraying soap keeps him from spilling. That’s funny-

5. Janus and Remus playing Patton’s DDR when they aren’t on screen. Thanks Mr. Sanders. Now whenever those two ain’t on screen, I’ll just be thinking of that. Dang it.

6. Janus getting upset about not having his own song (or at least not getting to sing at all.) And also getting mad that he wasn’t included in “Lies” absolutely sent me and I felt that on a personal level.

7. Honestly there’s not much I wanna say about Virgil or Patton themselves. I am hoping Patton does meet a nice pupper to love and I guess I hope Vigil’s relationship with the “dark” sides gets better cuuuus.....I need to know what the heck happens between them. Oh, and Patton calling Janus “Jan” revived something that was long since hidden within me........and that thing is being mild mociet shipper-

8. Logan being the “mom” of the family. I’m gonna have to prepare myself for all of the untagged Logicality posts that will be coming soon....oh and Logan says no to gender roles.

9. Roman being upset about the wedding.....or should I say the callback? Oh and we finally know where the whole “Bumba Gump Shrimp” thing came from! It came from our boi Remus-

10. I also need to prepare myself for all of the Demus and untagged Prinxiety content that will come out......tag your stuff, guys.

11. Janus is confirmed wine aunt. And Janus getting better at impersonating the sides. Oh the possibilities-

And finally 12. Only Sanders Sides can drive people insane about an orange.

My final conclusion: I talk about Janus a l o t, and I’m very exited for the season 2(?) finale. LET’S SEE HOW BAD THINGS GET!

Reflection: But in all seriousness, I’m glad this show got to where it is today. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared that this show would go under because of larger gaps in content and tHe VirUs. And I realized that I, along with SEVERAL others, have been watching these figments of imagination for 5 years. I feel old. I’ve learned and grown so much with this show and it pleases me that it isn’t over yet. I want to thank my fellow fanders that gave the fandom (and the crew) wonderful art and stories and theories and fan edits and etc. And I give big thanks to the folks that joined Thomas’s patron. And finally I give thanks to the crew and Mr. Sanders for giving us this great show. Happy 5th anniversary y’all!

[waithyuck]

touch

pairing: ghost!zhong chenle x reader (f) *halloweenie special*

genre: supernatural au, fluff (with suggestive tones)

word count: like 2k cuz I suck

warnings: one lil mention of murder, themes of haunting, suggestive content (like kissin and some heavy petting, but nothing explicit y’all), non consensual touching (not in a sexual way, more like ‘omg I think a ghost touched me’ yk), explicit language, chenle is a lil lonely ghost boi, reader simps for him,,,,and forms a relationship,,,,with a ghost,,,,

a/n: FUCK IT ITS FINALLY DONE. FUCK. is this edited??? HAHAH. no

< previous

~12/17/2020~

~~~~

moving out on your own for the first time was hands down probably the scariest thing you’ve had to do in your short life. sure, finding a place that was relatively cheap had you excited at the possibility of having a sense of responsibility, and getting away from your parents was a definite plus, but the entire prospect of being alone was, well, terrifying.

you probably should have asked more questions when agreeing to move into said place; a one bedroom apartment that was big enough to fit you and you only. it was cute and clean, and it was all you needed with the minimal amount of things you had.

the cheap price didn’t raise any red flags in your admittedly stupid and naive brain, but it definitely should have. you cursed yourself looking back at not inquiring about exactly why it was affordable.

about two weeks in is when some weird shit started to go down.

you expected there to be the usual noises that occur in an apartment building, but the ones you heard in the early hours of the morning, every morning, seemed a little bit different.

it sounded like small sniffling, like crying, and sometimes the floorboards would creak softly outside your bedroom door, scaring you beyond belief. you even went as far to ask you neighbor if they had been crying every night, to which she looked at you like you had gone nuts.

the touches started not too long after that.

you felt like you were going insane, but you would swear on whatever god you needed to that there was something touching you at night.

light, feather like traces across the skin of your arms, light presses against your face and shoulders, and the occasional cold poke against your legs had you almost ready to give up on the apartment entirely.

you couldn’t leave though; if you were to break the contract you signed, you would lose an incredible amount of money just for vacating early.

you tried to convince yourself it was just your imagination; stupid childlike paranoia from watching horror movies as a kid.

however much you tried, nothing would be able to convince what was before you currently, was part of your imagination.

“woah, what the fuck?!” you screamed, your eyes widening at the sight of the extremely pale boy standing a few feet in front of you. “who the fuck are you?” you clutched what remained of the pile of laundry in your arms, the rest fallen onto the floor as your heart seemingly beat through your rib cage when he stared back at you in awe.

“wait, you can see me?” he asked quietly, his mouth agape as your face screwed up in confusion.

“what? of course I can see you, what the actual fuck?” you blurted back, subconsciously taking a small step backward, dropping the rest of the clothes as the boy seemed to float forward. his feet didn’t touch the ground and he seemed to slowly become more translucent the farther down his body you looked, shocking you even more.

“oh my god,” your breath was staggered as you became to realize what this boy actually was. “oh my god, are you dead?!”

“well that’s one way to put it, yeah.” he stayed out where he was, not moving forward any more into your space. “I’m a ghost.” he put both his hands up and gave a small sheepish smile. “ta-daaa…”

your brows furrowed in confusion, your idiotic human brain trying to process what was actually going on in your apartment right now.

“so wait a minute,” you started suddenly, bracing your hand on the wall beside you to keep yourself steady. “have you been the one touching me at night? what the hell, dude??” you weren’t sure how it was possible, but a blush rose to his ghostly cheeks.

“I didn’t mean anything creepy by it…” he softly spoke, looking down at his feet. “I just haven’t felt any human contact in a...very long time. I’m sorry.”

you wanted to be more angry at him, but then thoughts swirled into your mind of how lonely he must have been, and how long he could have possibly been here on his own.

you continued to converse with the ghost boy (crazy, you were aware) and came to find out that he was actually straight up murdered in this exact apartment about twenty years ago. the most surprising part was that the damn apartment building you were living in has been around that long, considering it’s shady history.

chenle was visibly upset talking about it, sparing the gory details but explaining enough for you to understand that he was killed in his sleep during a robbery turned hostile. it made your heart ache knowing that he died alone, and has been alone ever since.

sure, there were people living in this place before you, but no one stayed long, for obvious reasons. they either found out the history of the murder or were scared away by chenle who was just trying to fill the whole in his dead, ghostly heart.

“you’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” he finally asked, his voice somber.

you did consider it before, but now it felt wrong to do, especially after meeting and somewhat befriending the exact thing that was potentially going to drive you away.

“no,” you replied solidly, shocking him as his head shot up to look at you. “I’m not going anywhere, now that I know you’re not gonna like, try to kill me or anything.”

you tried to joke to make the atmosphere more lighthearted, and it seemed to work as a chuckle escaped him. you sat in silence for a few moments, before a realization hit you.

“wait, wait,” you put a hand out in front of you in emphasis, surprising the boy in front of you. “how are you able to touch things?” you paused for a moment, “and me?”

the boy, chenle, rolled his eyes at you before looking at you with a void expression. “jeez, everyone has the stereotypes so messed up. have you ever seen the movie ghost with patrick swayze? it came out in like 1990.”

you blinked at him a few times before nodding slowly, having an idea of where he was going with his point.

“yeah well, it’s like that,” he paused, coming closer to you and reaching his hand out tentatively, trying to gauge your reaction. “if we just practice enough,” He was close now, directly in front of you with his hand hovering over your arm. “we can touch whatever we want, whenever we want.” his hand wrapped around your wrist gently to prove his words to be true, and you softly gasped at the feeling, still trying to wrap your head around this crazy scenario you were living in.

“that’s nice,” you said, slightly nervous at your own reaction to him touching you. you couldn’t deny that it didn’t feel nice to have someone caress your skin so gently…

he stared at you silently, his face seemingly emotionless as he held you. it didn’t take a genius to decipher the look in his eyes, however. glistening with life and longing, looking at you like you were the only person in the world...and you supposed to him, you were.

“you’re so…” he started, his voice quiet as his other hand reached out to touch your face. hesitant at first, he drew his hand back a millimeter, before letting his fingers brush against your cheek as you sighed and found yourself leaning into him. “pretty. so pretty.”

it seemed crazy; this raw form of attraction at first sight that you were feeling. you had no doubt he was experiencing it too, just from his confession alone.

your lips parted to speak, but no words came forth as you brain short circuited, taking in his handsome features as you finally realized just how attractive he was.

the hand that was holding your wrist slowly slid up your arm, causing your skin to prickle at the sensation of his touch on your skin. it slid up over your shoulder and up your neck, to finally rest on your cheek like his other hand was now doing.

the moment was insanely soft and intimate, and even though his hands were slightly cold, the air around you both seemed to grow warmer and warmer with every passing second, almost suffocating you with each shaking breath you took.

without a second thought, you lunged forward into his space, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him softly, his hands dropping from your cheeks to rest on your waist as a surprised grunt came from within him.

‘this is so crazy’, you thought, leading him into your room as you kept your lips attached, ‘absolutely insane.’

you weren’t sure how this even came to happen; you’d never thought you’d be flat on your back against your mattress while a literal ghost boy ran his hands up and down your waist as he kissed you like a man starved. you were still slightly convinced that he was a figment of your imagination; he felt so real, nothing like what you assumed a ghost would feel like against your skin.

his hands weren’t as warm as a living humans would be, but you still relished in the feeling of his fingers gripping at the skin of your waist, holding you close to him as he kissed you without holding back.

you highly expected him to be shy and inexperienced; since he had died so young you figured he wouldn’t know what to do.

it was a stupid assumption, to say the least.

you gripped his hair gently and tried to sit up, only to have him keep you down as he sweetly moved his mouth against your own. his grip was becoming more needy and before it could go too far, you pulled back.

you relished in the sight of his red puffy lips, seemingly so alive and human, like blood was still coursing through his veins. his eyes showed wide, blown out pupils as he stared down at you, his eyes hooded slightly.

he licked his lips once before softly falling beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as you both laid in the middle of your mattress in a calming silence.

“well that was a strange turn of events.” you panted, curling your body beside him as you tried to catch your breath. who knew that a dead boy would be such a damn good kisser?

he smirked at you in response, not saying anything as he grabbed your hand in his.

“now you definitely can’t go anywhere. I’m attached.” he teased, looking at you longingly with a cheeky smile on his face. you rolled your eyes but still smiled nonetheless, knowing that you wouldn’t be going anywhere anyway, for a very long time.

you weren’t sure how this was all going to work out, but you’d figure it out as you went along, together.

[zankivich]

An Unexpected Romance: Chris Evans x Black! Female Reader Part 1

a/n: *sticks head out* omg hi. It’s been a while. A long while. Somehow I am back writing for another white man, a different one this time. We can only hope he does not disappoint as drastically as the last one does. I genuinely have no idea if this is good? I think it’s kinda cute, and I’ve been feeling very traumatized in regards to blackness lately so I really needed some black and brown women having a good time and being happy. We deserve that tbh. There could obvi be another part to this. Let me know if anyone even cares enough for that lol. Okay bye now. 

Part 2 Part 3

There’s an unspoken rule amongst you and your friends. Like a secret code, if you will. If a man hits on you at the bar and you’re not interested, and friends always know when you’re not interested, swarm and diffuse the situation. But? If a man hits on you at the bar and you are interested? Then that is a different story entirely.

It was a Thursday night out with the girls. You were at your favorite bar. It was quiet and quaint but still modern enough to attract a younger crowd. Sometimes there’s nothing better than getting dressed up and sipping on drinks with your girls. No dancing or club hopping or excessive uber rides. Just one bar, shit talk, and a lot of bacardi.

You were all sat directly at the bar in high standing chairs, Your back was turned to the entrance as you listened intently to your friend Tanya complain about her latest Hinge hook up.

“Can you believe I took my fine ass self all the way over to that nigga’s house in satin shorts? Satin! And he had a pizza box on his bedside table and the second he laid me down my back hit a bong. Make it make sense Jesus.”

Tanya was a beautiful Black woman. She was taller than all of you at six feet, and she strutted every step. Her skin was deep espresso and she was almost always rocking a vibrant colored wig that matched a vibrant colored outfit. Tonight’s color was lavender.

“I don’t know how many times we have to tell ya ass to stay away from them white boys.” You snorted, sticking your tongue out in search of your straw.

Your friends, Tanya, Raya, and Jesse all did a collective eye roll in your direction that did not go unnoticed.

“Yes ladies?” You asked with a straightened spine and arched brow.

Jesse was one of them girls you would have hated in high school. Skinny waist, slim thick thighs, and skin so clear that her Puertio Rican skin was only left to dazzle and shine. She had long, tight curls that hung all the way down to her belly button, and she always kept them gelled down and tied back. She, like all of your friends, did not hold back when it came to the group. You were honest, thick as thieves, and frankly a little brutal.

“You don’t even count. Your refusal to go near a white man is excessive and weird.” She cackled. “You're just as bad as Tanya, just on the other end of the spectrum sis.”

“Excuse me? Now Tanya dates boys...I date men. You see the difference? And if I am gone lie in some ivory sheets there’s gonna have to be some extra special attention being paid to me. And trust, there always is.”

You stuck your tongue out lewdly and laughed sending the whole table into a fit of giggles. You all clinked your glasses together and revelled in the atmosphere of melanin, acceptance, and tomfoolery. What a group.

“You tellin’ me that if a fine ass man walked in here right now and checked every box: his own money, his own car, intelligent, funny, etcetera,  and he just happened to be of the vanilla variety you wouldn’t bite?” Raya asked.

Raya was the thickest of the group, voluptuous in every sense of the word and also the only one happily married. She just put up with y’all honestly.

You rolled your eyes through with the conversation already.

“I’m saying...he’d have to be pretty fucking special and pretty fucking dedicated. Men are a headache as it is. I don’t need the added layer of some man pulling at my weave like I’m Lilly Ane from his hometown,  or asking me to do race play in the bedroom. Now I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back I’d like for us to talk about literally anything else? Okay? Okay.”

You slid out of your seat and headed for the bathroom with the grace and power of a woman in her thirties who had managed the insecurities of her younger self and had decided to only live her life revelling in her own excellence.

If Tayna was the darkest of the group you weren't at all far behind. If she was expresso, you were simply an americano with a dash of cream. And you rocked it with a full head of curls that ranged from nappy to bursting with life and moisture depending on both the day and temperature. It was all set upon the shoulders of a woman with curves and hips and chest. It was your body and you loved it endlessly, a matter quite evident in the way you walked.

That night you were wearing a coral pink jumpsuit with a long, flowy kimono and heels to match. Your kimono billowed behind you and made you feel fierce, even on the walk to the bathroom, which is perhaps why you weren’t paying that much attention. One second you’re strutting in the heels that you only wore when there wouldn’t be too much standing, and the next you’re slipping on some liquid that must have been spilt on the floor. Your whole life flashed before your eyes. The wind flew out of your lungs. This was the end…

And then you were caught by the waist. Not caught, more like gripped. Firmly. And perhaps not the waist so much as the hips. You expected to be lying straight on the floor staring up at the ceiling, and instead you were staring at a chest. A firm chest. No not firm. Chiseled might be a better description. So chiseled that your hands began to wander amongst the suit clad flesh before your mind had caught up with you. Heafer.

“Oh my god. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I can’t believe I--”

You peered up into deep blue eyes and let’s not forget that your fingers were still wandering along that chest. Had a chest ever been so broad? No. Not unless you count Captain America apparently.

“Please, I always like to pull a rescue mission before dinner. Makes me feel like I earned my meal.” He grinned down at you.

Chris Evans. What are even the statistical chances? You wouldn’t know, you were too busy drooling.

His hands were still on your hips. Yours still on his chest. And now you were just plain staring at him. Good look.

A waiter with a towel to clean up the mess broke up the moment by clearing their throat and alerting the two of you that you were way too close to one another still.

“Oh--Oh.” You mumbled idiotically. “You’re…”

He nodded. “Chris. And you are?”

“I’m...I’m…”

The waiter snickered under their breath and you realized just how much you were ruining this moment. You straightened your spine and tried to act like you had some sort of sense.

“I’m y/n. Thank you again for the save. I was actually just on my way to the bathroom so I’ll uh let you get back to your night and try not to fall on you again.” You smiled.

“Yea, we definitely wouldn’t want that would we?” He asked.

But the way his face was looking told you maybe he might not mind it after all. Sheesh.

“Okay well uh you have a nice night, Chris.”

You tapped at his hands on your hips and he quickly stumbled back with an apology. It was the first time he looked even the slightest bit flustered in your interaction with him. You found that you liked it.

“You have a nice night too, y/n.”

You smiled at him one final time before walking to the bathroom as you had intended. But he didn't leave your mind the entire time you were there. And not just because it was Chris Evans, it didn’t feel fair to call it star struck. That was too simple, too miniscule.  Instead it was the way his hands had felt on your hips. You had the tendency to lean away from men, didn’t feel comfortable with them when you didn't know who they were. And yet there you had stood, completely at ease in his hold. You couldn’t explain it even to yourself. He had just felt right.

“Of course he felt right, he’s practically a figment of your imagination.” You mumbled to yourself at the sinks.

That was it. He didn’t even count. The only time you ever saw him was on your netflix account, so surely your perception was warped. The reality was that Chris Evans was just another white man who looked good in a sweater. The end.

That’s what you convinced yourself as you walked back to your friend, but not without taking extra precautions against the floor. By the time you arrived back at your table you had done the mental gymnastics needed to completely eliminate him from your system. Good girl.

“Now, I trust you all found something better to talk about while I was away.” You grinned as you slid back into the table.

All of your friends were snickering behind their hands and they wasted no time at all laughing at you.

“Oh did we!” Jesse laughed. “You see we had just moved on to a new topic when a little someone got a drink delivered to the table.”

Your eyes widened as Jesse pushed a glass of what looked like processo closer your way. She then pointed over by the bar leading the entire table to turn that way. Seated by his seat with his arms leaning against the bar, shoulders even broader against the wood, was none other than Chris Evans himself. As if on a Hollywood cue he turned to look at you with a smile that was both innocent and filthy at the same time. He lifted a drink of his own in the air and tilted it in your direction in silent cheers. If you had been ten shades lighter you’da blushed like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous.

“Now...What was that you were saying about white boys sis?” Tanya asked.

You groaned to yourself softly and plopped your head down in your hands in embarrassment. This was only to notice that your sparkling glass of prosecco was perched upon a napkin with his phone number written upon it. Home boy was slick and he was bold. A man confident enough to come put himself out there, and respectful enough to do it in a way that wasn’t disruptive or rude to your friends nor yourself. It was the sort of thing that made you take notice for sure, which explained why your girlfriends were looking at you like cats that had just discovered the canary.

“What? What?! What?” You gasped at the table, clearly annoyed.

Jesse grinned. “What’chu mean ‘what’, mija! You gone get your mans or what?”

They all giggled and looked clearly in his direction, only embarrassing you further.

“Stop it!” You hissed. “He is not ‘my mans’ by any stretch of the imagination. He probably just feels bad for me slipping. I fell and he caught me. Clearly he’s a gentleman, which is nice but that don’t mean nothin.”

“Girl please! This man done sent you prosecco and a phone number. That’s like a rich modern version of a love letter. You better go talk to that man.” Raya snorted.

Women who hype up other women are the world’s greatest treasure. You loved your friends with everything in you, and you valued all of their intellects greatly. However, this was not a regular-degular man. This was literally a superhero. You had confidence for days, but this was simply a different stratosphere. You were just about to silence your friends again when a ghost must have descended because everyone else began to gasp.

“Girl he movin’. Captain America is comin in for the landing.” Raya stage-whispered.

“Oooo you know what? Suddenly I have to pee.” Tanya mumbled.

“Oh me too!” Jesse nodded.

And just like that….your table was empty. The audacity!

“Wow. I sure can clear a room huh?” He chuckled, stepping up beside you. “I hope I don’t offend too much.”

You sighed turning to face him head on.

“You certainly do not offend. In fact, I think my friends are around some corner cackling like the witches they are. They just wanted to give you space to shoot your shot.”

He smiled with a raised eyebrow. “My shot, huh? I better not fuck it up them.”

You shrugged, eyes raking gently over him. Beyond the obvious attraction, it was important for you to search for any warning signs. His body language was good. He had one hand draped over the back of your chair, but he stood two steps back from the table so that he wasn’t over-crowding your space. He seemed to be aware of himself physically, an important marker in your estimation. He was playful enough, but also clearly interested if he’d decided to come up to the table after all that. This did not bode well for you at all. The man was kinda nice.

“I just wanted to see if you were enjoying your drink is all.”

Your fingers flitted with the glass before pulling it to your lips for a sip. The way his eyes seemed to follow the motion had a heat pooling in your gut.

“I do enjoy a good prosecco.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. I didn’t want to be too forward but uh--I think you’re stunning and  I was wondering if I could take you out sometime.” He murmured.

Your legs were crossed in your seat, and you bobbed your leg a little, anxiety coursing through you.

“Were you afraid the number on the napkin was too subtle?”

He chuckled softly, eyes falling to the ground in an almost...embarrassed fashion? Lord, please.

“Sorry, I tend to second guess myself. I never know how people are gonna take me with my line of work. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to set up a one night stand or something. Wanted to show you I’m genuinely interested.”

Well that was unnervingly wholesome. Where they get this man from?

You let a small grin form across your mouth, a metaphorical step forward closer to his very inviting energy.

“Well, I do like the sound of stunning.”

“Yea? I think I could say some other stuff you’d like too if you give me a chance. What do you say?”

He licked the edge of his lip and it really was so miniscule but it had your thighs tightening in a way that was unholy. Rude.

You couldn’t say yes just off principle. Ten minutes ago you had just shamed all your friends for their white proclivities and the first one that walks off the street and bats his eyelashes at you causes you to cave? The hypocrisy! But...he was fine. Like capital “F” fine. Fwine with a “w”, fine. And it’s not like he was going to take you home to pizza boxes and lost bongs and then hit you up for gas money later. He was more set in his life than you were. Him being rich wasn’t even for you to utilize; it just felt good to know that he was accomplished and secure for himself. Again you dated men...not boys. And yet still you found yourself in such a conundrum.

“You look hesitant.” He noted, eyes locking onto yours.

You nodded. “I am...Excuse my bluntness but I had just gotten done explaining to my friends that dating white men often comes with more hassle than good. It can be difficult to connect cross-culturally. And quite frankly y’all are usually racist and/or fetishists. I’m not looking to upset your mama, nor am I looking to play slave master in the bedroom.”

Honestly the little speech was usually enough to send weaker men running. You say the r-word to a white man when you’re a black woman and he either calls you the n-word or gets upset and walks away. That had been your experience thus far. Not always, but enough to set precedence. The fact that he bothered to stay at the table further already separates himself from the pack.

“I can understand where you’re coming from.” He nodded, and a crease formed subtly between his eyebrows. “Not that I could ever really understand, just that I understand your hesitancy towards me. And I understand that it’s more complicated for you than it is for me. I really wish it wasn’t that way, but obviously that isn’t exactly something you and I can fix together in this very moment.”

You steadied for yourself for his next words, sure that he was about to leave you with, “have a nice life, I’ve got a spandex fitting in the morning.” There was a feeling in your tummy that felt out of place. You noted absently that it was a flutter of disappointment. And then he kept speaking.

“I don’t want to change your opinions on all white guys. I’d be willing to wager that most of us suck, and you probably should definitely steer clear.”

This caused you to snicker a little bit, a smile coming back to your face. He practically beamed in response, teeth coming together in a megawatt smile.

“However, I’d truly hate to never see that smile again.” He groaned and layed a firm hand against his own chest. “I don’t wanna change your mind about all of us...but maybe I can change your mind about me. I don’t want to feshitize you, I don’t want some weird power play between us. I don’t wanna do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I just wanna take a really beautiful woman out if I could, if you’ll have me? Please? And if not, I take no as my answer and I walk away a little wounded, and you’ll still be here, stunning as always.”

Ooof. Boy was good. Real good.

You twisted your lips together and eyed him another time as if you were seeing each other for the very first time. Seemingly good guy. Persistent, not demanding. Willing to have conversations about race? Biceps the size of your head. Damn it was like the devil had crafted him especially for you.

“You know I think my friends have been spying long enough. I should probably meet up with them.” You mumbled.

You reached for the check in front of you adding your tip to your total and squaring out your tab. The way his eyes raked over you did not go unnoticed, unfelt. With the check closed and on the table you reached for one of the cocktail napkins on the table, pen still in hand, and wrote a note of your own. Sliding from your seat, you reached for the prosecco and downed the fizzy beverage before pressing the napkin to his chest with your nail. There was confusion, and perhaps a bit of hurt, in his baby blue eyes. This was gonna be some real trouble for you.

His palm came to rest over yours, trapping your fingers against his chest. There was a warmth there that seemed to leave your fingertips tingling. Definitely trouble.

“You have a nice night Chris.” You grinned.

His hand fell away from yours at the slightest movement on your part. He stood there, seemingly shell shocked, as you reached for your purse and his cocktail napkin. You almost thought he was going to let you get away as you went to step around him, only for his palm to grab gently at your hip.

“Good night y/n.” He whispered and reached to kiss chastly at your cheek.

The warmth of him was more intoxicating up close. He radiated heat like he radiated pheromones. And the smell of him was absolutely ridiculous as well. Was that gucci? Dior maybe?

It was a miracle you made it around the corner.

As to be expected, your awful ass group of friends were all standing by the hostess booth peaking around at you like a couple of dumbasses. They were lucky you loved em. You had an exit to execute though, and for that at least, they were useful.

You resumed your power walk, matched with clicking heels and a teasing pop of your hips, towards them.

“Is he watching?” You asked quietly.

They all nodded in various levels of incredulousness.

“Good. Let’s go.”

And then you walked your ass out that bar only to collapse the first second you cleared the doors. Your girls descended the way only women do, like fucking superheros of their own, and helped you float back to the car.

“Girl if you don’t start spilling A-S-A-P I swear fo’ God!” Raya gasped hands shaking on the steering wheel.

“What happened what happened what happened?!” Jesse screeched.

Your head nestled against the headrest of the car, your breathing having gone unsteady by the little game you’d just played.

“I think I just told him he can take my black ass on a date.” You mumbled in shock.

The tension in the car hit an all time high as everyone went silent...And then they all bursted out laughing as if you’d mentioned the funniest joke in the damn world.

“I KNEW IT BITCH!” Tayna screamed. “OOOOOOO BITCH I KNEW IT!”

“She finna be down with the swirl tonight, y’all!” Raya cackled.  

“In the category of white boys y/n will fuck with, this one has a networth of millions and the highest grossing movie of all time.” Jesse spoke in her best game host voice.

“I’ll take Captain America for six hundred, Alex!” Tayna snickered.

And they all continued to laugh.

“I gotta get some new friends.”

TBC?

[dean-winchesters-gardian-angel]

The Same Bed - Chapter 2

Word count: 2895

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Friends are there to help each other out, but can they help falling for each other when all the long days they spend together turn into late nights they have and their reliance on each other.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, unhealthy past relationship, slow burn.

A/N: Second chapter has arrived y’all. Read it, enjoy and I’ll see you on the other side. There’s also a tag list, so be sure to tell me if you want in, or don’t I won’t force ya, as well as a masterlist so be sure to check it out. Anyway, as are the latest, Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Series masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next week consisted of the same routine. Always in the same bed, always holding hands, with Dean falling asleep first. Tonight, was no different, apart from the bar they decide to hit after a very successful hunt before heading home. An easy salt ’n’ burn which went down without a hitch. Celebratory drinks were purchased and consumed by the Winchesters and their partner. They sat on the stools awaiting their next drinks while Y/N was approached by a man. Not unattractive by any means, well-built and clean. Sam looked over watching the interaction and Dean's behaviour knowing full well he may have to break up a fight if it went too far. Dean watched as Y/N shamelessly flirted with the gentlemen who had now caught her attention. It didn’t take very long for Dean's jealousy to overtake him as he clenched his fist around his beer bottle his posture tall and rigid. Y/N turned to the boys after wishing the stranger a good night.

“Hey guys I’m kind of beat, what’d you say we head home?”

“You turned down Prince Charming?” Trust Dean to make the ridiculous comments.

“Actually no, I told him I’d be more than willing to run away with him and have all his Prince Charming babies in his castle, but he didn’t want to make my boyfriend angry.” Trust Y/N to throw the comment right back at him.

“What boyfriend?” Y/N looked at Dean, a smirk on her face with one eyebrow raised as she pointed at him.

“He said you looked angry and didn’t want to provoke you by talking to me. So, thanks for that.” She started walking towards the exit a smirk on her face as Dean chased her, Sam holding up the tail laughing to himself.

“Don’t blame that on me I didn’t do anything! Oh, excuse me for being precautions and not wanting you to get hurt!” Dean could argue all he wanted but with Sam laughing and Y/N being as nonchalant as she was, he couldn’t get a reaction out of them. After getting home, they all made their way to bed. As always Y/N stayed with Dean, though tonight she couldn’t fall asleep and for good reason. Y/Ns phone had begun vibrating incessantly. She snatched it up swiftly with the aim of leaving Dean to his sleep, and she managed gracefully.

What woke Dean that night was something he would have described as a nightmare, though tonight it happened to be real and not a figment of his sleeping state. Dean opened his eye to see Y/N sitting up leaning against the headboard instead of the bright Y/E/C he was usually greeted with. Her gaze wasn’t on his as he’d hoped it’d be, it was on her phone, and they weren’t happy or refreshed as they ordinarily were, they were lacking in rest and filled with tears coupled with the sorrowful and provoked look on her face. Dean rushed to sit up looking at her, worry painted plain and clear on his face.

“Y/N! Are you okay? What happened?” His gaze had trailed to her phone which she briskly shut off, wiping tears away with her free hand.

“Dean! Sorry, I — Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just — I was reading the news.” She had always been a terrible liar.

“The news made you cry?” The disbelief overtook his expression. “Y/N I trusted you with my nightmares, you can trust me with — “ he waved his hand at the phone “whatever this is.”

“I know, I know I just — I want to forget about it…” Deans stare didn’t falter, waiting for her to continue. Y/N caved, leaning her head back and closing her eyes as though she could make it all disappear if she couldn’t see anything.

“I have this ex…” she peered over to Dean who made himself comfortable. She had his full and undivided attention, which she hated. “He’s mad about the breakup.”

“Y/N I’ve known you for ages you haven’t dated anyone in years.”

“Oh, I know…which just makes his advances and accusation all the more aggravating… His name is Carver. Keeps saying I messed up his life, that if I hadn’t shown up, he’d have been better off. Jokes on him I was the better half of that relationship and I can say that. Anyway, um, in short, he’s bombarding me with texts about how I never loved him, about how I played him and he’s accusing me of cheating and not doing enough for him, there’s more but it's all the same pathetic revelations he thinks I need to know about at two am four years after our breakup. I mean we didn’t even date that long to begin with it took me less than two months to figure out what a pig-headed loser he was — is!”

She was angry, hurt by the words directed at her. Regardless of the fact that she knew not to take Carver’s words to heart, she couldn’t help but do just that. Seeing as he had never been good with words, Dean instantly took action, pulling her close, hugging her as she cried her way back to sleep in his arms. Dean slid down in the bed, not once pulling away from Y/Ns body or moving her to her side. Dean found it difficult to keep the butterflies at bay as he focused on her breathing. He fell asleep with his girl on his chest and a smile on his lips.

When Y/N woke she could feel the weight of Dean's warm hand stroke her back and could hear a steady pulsing noise. Funny enough that, she soon identified the noise as Dean's heartbeat seeing as she was still laying on his chest. She moved cautiously unaware of the fact that the man she had fallen asleep on was in fact awake as well.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, Dean. Listen about last night—“

“It's okay, really, I’m just glad I could be there for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, I seem to remember a pizza when you helped me…”

“Really? I don’t.” This was easy, Dean thought, comfortable, with Y/N resting gently against his chest looking up at him, his hand still stroking her back.

“Huh, I could have sworn there was a pizza.”

“Oh, you mean the one you finished off before I could get a chance to taste it. That pizza?”

“If I remember correctly, which I do, it was you who ate it all…before we even got home.”

“Oh, you mean that pizza. I do recall yes.” She smiled at him “And what would you like Dean?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Fine but you’re buying, I’m just going with you.” Y/N made her way out of bed to the door.

“That’s hardly fair!” He called out after her, a smile adorning his face. Dean got up and moved to the bathroom stopping at the sink to look himself in the mirror.

“You’re losing this battle and you’re losing it bad. Man, how does she do it.” He brushed his teeth and made his way to the bunker library where Sam was researching, as always, on his laptop, books scattered over the table.

“Morning, Sammy. Y/N and I are going on a supply run, you need anything?” Dean's eyes trained over the opened pages before looking to his brother, eyebrows raised as he awaited his brother's response.

“You two have been spending quite a bit of time together.”

���Is that the title of a book or something you want me to pick up?” Sam watched his brother for a split second before Y/N joined them in the library dressed in black jeans and an equally black tank top, signature hunter flannel overtop.

“Morning, Sammy. Dean and I are going on a supply run. You need anything” The boys abandoned their stare before Sam answered as Dean headed for the door.

“No. Thank you. Oh, actually if you could bring back some cashews that would be great.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. See you later Sam.” With that Y/N followed Dean to the garage where she was once again faced with the stunning, near mint ’67 impala she had come to love almost as much as the driver. Noticing the smile decorating Y/Ns face he proceeds to say the one sentence, sworn she would never in a million years, come out of Dean's mouth.

“You wanna drive?” Naturally, Y/N was speechless, mouth left agape as Dean held out the keys.

“You’re serious…” Eyes wide she whispered, tiptoeing over to Dean.

“Yeah, I figured it’s about time.” Y/N took the keys in her palm memorizing the weight as though this was the last time she’d ever have the opportunity to touch them, which of course wasn’t true; Dean would always give her the keys to grab things for the trunk. She eased her way into the driver's seat hardly blinking, as not to miss a detail of this experience. Taking a deep breath, her cheeks began to hurt from all the smiling as she started turned the key in the ignition bringing Baby to life.

“Oh, Dean…Oh Baby!” Dean tries his best to hold back his giggles as he watched her watch Baby.

“She likes you”

“She’s not a dog Dean, she a machine.” He could hear the adoration in her voice as she gripped the steering wheel. Y/N proceeded to put the impala in the drive, pulling out of the bunker's garage onto the road in the direction of the grocery store. Dean's eyes lit up and the eruption of laughter coming from next to him. Dean moved to turn on the stereo putting in a Who tape but was interrupted by Y/N.

“Nuh-uh! Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cake-hole! Your rules Dean-o. Look in the box, there should be an orange tape.” Taken aback by her dominance, Dean looks through the case of tapes.

“Dean-o? Really? That just sounds so stupid.”

“Well then it’s fitting isn’t it? And I was worried you thought it was cute.”

“Haha…There’s like 17 orange tapes in here you wanna be more specific.”

“It should say ‘the best of Zeppelin’ in black sharpie, my handwriting.” Dean's confusion and surprise grew as he finally reached for the tape described to him.

“Put it in.” Y/N couldn’t help but smirk at the innuendos running through her head though Dean missed it, too consumed by shock at her choice of music as he inserted the tape.

“The first one is my favourite Zeppelin song so no interrupting.” Instantly the aforementioned bands ‘No Quarter’ came on, filling the car with its gentle beginning. As the guitar and drums picked up Y/N smirked and nodded her head to the music.

“Just wait for the bass.” Without delay the instrument picked up, engulfing their mutual ears with something Y/N could only describe as “Better than breathing air.”

She sang the lyrics alongside Robert Plant at a hushed murmur not wanting to miss the words the artist performed. With every beat her fingers tapped on the steering, she consequently plucked at each of Dean's heartstrings. He felt a warm, nearly overwhelming feeling charge through his chest though as soon as he came to notice it, he pushed it down just as fast as it had made its way up.

Y/N still had a smile on her face when they arrived at the grocery store though it took them longer to get there due to the scenic route the drive had taken. She got out of the car happy to have had the experience but nevertheless saddened by the slim chance of ever have it again. Y/N came around the car to Dean's side holding out the keys to him before he looks at her, his face expressing the utmost confusion, sarcastically so, before smiling.

“Nah, you hold onto ‘em sweetheart, how do you expect to drive us home if you don’t have the key.”

With a shriek and a jump before clinging to the Winchesters side in a show of thanks, Y/N displayed to perfection, a child on Christmas morning. Though he hugged back he watched around them, inspecting for judgmental eyes.

“We are in public!” He said.

“Shit! I know.” Dean began their trek to the entrance with Y/N wrapped around his waist, his arm resting on her shoulder.

Dean grabbed a buggy at the entrance pushing it to the produce.

“We gotta grab those, uh…” “Cashews?”

“Yes, those, before we forget.”

“Good idea.”

The store was sparse of customers given that it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week, neither was surprised. Their cart had begun accumulating content as Dean pushed while Y/N rode on the front-facing him.

“Alright, we got the bread, milk, eggs, cashews, bacon,” She looks up to Dean “times two,” he shrugged “snacks for the drive back and movie night,” “all we're missing now is —“

“Y/N?” She didn’t turn to check who had called because she already knew, recognizing the voice that had yelled ta her on multiple occasions only to apologize saying he’d do better. Instead, she looked to Dean who eyebrows had raised in a questioning manner then focusing on the man who had called her name. Y/N hopped off the buggy slowly to be faced with the one that still managed to ruin her sleep all these years later. Dean promptly made his way to her side reassuring her with a hand on her lower back.

“Carver— Hi.” Dean jaw visibly clicked at the mention of his title, finally putting a face to the name.

“What are the chances!” How dare he text her those things the night before only to act as though nothing happened. Dean was furious, he could feel his anger roll through him as he clenched and released his fist doing his best no to make a scene.

“Yeah…” She breathed out in shock. Not a word was spoken as they watched the ex standing in front of them.

“Can we talk?”

“No. I’m busy.”

“It’ll only take a second.” He looked to Dean, who had taken a protective stance next to her, standing up straight and tall, shoulders back, chin tilted up slightly, a blank expression on his face.

“Just say it then.”

“I was hoping I could speak with you alone.”

“No.” This time Dean was the one to respond to Carver’s request.

“I wasn’t really askin’ you, buddy.”

“He’s staying Carver. Just — say whatever you have to say, will you.” It took him a moment as he held Dean's stare before moving his gaze to Y/N.

“I wanted to apologize for last night…you know… the—“ He gestured using his head glancing at Dean momentarily.

“You mean the utterly untruthful and pitiful text you sent to me accusing me of things I never did.” Carver’s face went red looking to Dean. “He knows.” The Winchester found it amusing that her ex was intimidated by him with only a stare.

“Right, well, I just wanted to apologize. I was drunk and didn’t mean any of it.” Carver moved his hand to the back of his neck before continuing. “I guess I was just missing you.”

“That’s because I took on all the responsibilities when we were together, Carver. You did nothing. And you know what they say, ‘drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.’”

Dean now had a proud smile on his face as his hand slid from her back to rest on her shoulder. Carver didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t argue with her, not that he’d want to, considering the towering man next to her. Carver examined the couple, taking in their comfort around each other. Y/N was unconsciously leaning into Dean, taking comfort in his close proximity.

“You guys dating.” Carver finally asked. Y/N didn’t even get a chance to process the question let alone think of a response before Dean spoke up.

“Well, we’re certainly not just sleeping together. Not that it’s any of your business.” Y/N smirked at his comment, understanding the inside joke that they were in fact just sleeping together in the most literal sense possible, though Carver took the smile as a sign of confirmation. Neither argued his assumption nor clarified, both enjoying the uncomfortable atmosphere around Carver.

“It was good to see you Y/N.”

“It was wasn’t it.” She commented as Carver walked his way to the check-out line. Dean leaned down kissing the crown of her head.

“What. An asshole.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Right, now that that’s over,” He made a face of disgust as he shivered his shoulder to reinforce his implications. “where were we?” He smiled at her.

“Pie, Dean, we were at the pie. My ‘thank you’ for dealing with that.” She pointed in Carver’s general direction.

“Awesome, so worth it.” Dean's grin grew as he spotted the variations of baked goods.

As they drove back, Dean gave her permission to take the longest way home if she felt so inclined, which, needless the say, she did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

Tag List: @just-someone-difficult​ @mila-dans​ @akshi8278​ @bargedog​ @valhallavxlkyrie

Series Tags: @wellfuckmyexistence​ @lovememisha​ @laycblack​ @redbarn1995​

[tuffduff]

We Could Be Real (Axl Rose x Reader)

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Words: 1,763

Request: @rumyapricotprincess:  Hi can you write axl x reader where they are best friends but he has secretly liked her and when she has a heart break because of a random guy he consoles her and eventually she learns his feeling?:))

A/N: Thank you for this request hun, I love this prompt! I actually quite like how this turned out, I hope y’all do too!  🖤🖤🖤

Taglist: @ubernoxa​ @the--blackdahlia​ @reigns420​ @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker​

“Y/N? Say something, you’re fucking scaring me.” You sniffled again against the receiver pressed to your ear, your hand over your mouth in a desperate effort to hold back the tears before they started. You were so lost it hurt to breathe, and your only instinct was to call your best friend. But once his voice actually came through, you couldn’t get a single word out. “Hold the fuck up, are you crying?” Axl demanded when a small audible sob escaped you. “It was that motherfucking son of a bitch, wasn’t it? I’ll be there in five minutes.” The dial tone met your ears. You stood in place for a moment, your head spinning by how quickly the night had taken a turn for the worst. 

Knowing Axl was probably getting close, you walked out the front door to your apartment and sat down on the steps outside your door. Underneath the amber glow of the nearby streetlights, you watched a few teardrops stain the concrete before quickly drying in the summer heat, your chin resting in your hands. Already, the pain was beginning to leave and now all you felt was a tired emptiness.

“Are you trying to get taken by someone now?” Axl’s gentle but stern voice made you look up. When he saw your face, it looked as though two emotions were fighting for the right to control his features; his jaw clenched visibly and fury burned in his eyes. “Y/N, he isn’t worth your tears.” His voice, though, was tender and low. He climbed up the steps and sat down next to you and put his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. The smell of cigarettes comforted you and you watched your tears leave drops on his jeans now.

“I know he isn’t. But you still feel stupid when someone cheats on you.” Axl stiffened next to you, but his hand on your shoulder remained light.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He decided.

“He isn’t worth the prison sentence.” You sniffed. “But now it’s just...I feel so dumb. I’m embarrassed of myself. I knew I should’ve ended it a long time ago; I never should’ve given him a chance to begin with. Go ahead and say ‘I told you so.’” You said to Axl.

When you started dating this new guy, you and Axl had actually gotten into an argument over it. Axl had told you he was just a man whore and it was only a matter of time until he cheated. You and Axl didn’t talk for nearly a month because of it. And over what? A cheating idiot, just like Axl predicted. All that time wasted all because a naive part of you didn’t want to believe it and wanted to think that you were different.

“It’s not like I wanted you to get hurt.” Axl finally responded. “I just had a feeling about him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the idiot for thinking I was something special.” You shared your thoughts with Axl. “That I was actually different.”

“Hey,” Axl scolded you now, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to turn you towards him. “You are special. Why do you think I got so pissed when you said you were giving that fucker a chance?”

“Obviously, I’m not, or I wouldn’t have gotten cheated on.”

“That’s all on that dumb fuck, it has nothing to do with you!” Axl yelled, shades of his notorious temper driving his voice louder with passion. You frowned at him now, watching as he shook his head with annoyance, the way someone would when a fly buzzed by too many times. “Y/N, you’re so fucking special it scares me.” 

“What do you mean?” You murmured quietly. A long silence hung in the air between the two of you, the only sound filling the air were the nighttime crickets and distant cars on a busier street with the occasional honk.

Axl finally snorted, maybe at whatever thought he currently had, before he shook his head again and idling pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “You’re one of those girls that...anyone with sense can see he’s in deep shit when he looks at you. It’s like, oh fuck. Goner. It’s like, one look in those eyes and you start imagining, you know, that kinda life that people only hope for. House, kids, the picket fence, the shiny ring. Peace.” His voice was low, much gentler than his prickling barbs of anger just moments prior. Contemplative, fleeting, wispy thoughts that almost felt as though you weren’t even supposed to be hearing. He pulled the lighter from his pocket and finally lit the cigarette that had been dangling between his lips. “You’re one of those girls that becomes a song, a fantasy. You keep singing it every night, living out that daydream and before you know it, ten—twenty years pass and then you go, damn. She was really something special. Maybe I could’ve actually had that.” Finally, he looked at you as he blew out a big cloud of smoke before he offered the cigarette to you.

Normally, you didn’t smoke, but the night seemed to call for it and you took a shaky drag. You coughed slightly and became aware of the tears now just a halfway dry trail on your face, and Axl’s blurry shape in your peripheral vision. You passed the cigarette back to him.

“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.” You finally replied carefully, turning to see his reaction.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged a little as his eyes studied the empty road in front of you, before he gave you sideways look and something of a half-smirk. “Ever since I laid eyes on you.”

You thought about the implication of his words, no, the confession within them. You thought about your own memory of the first time you met Axl, already a shooting star, already something special even if the rest of the world didn’t quite know it yet. From the very beginning, he always felt like something unobtainable, so you tried your best not to ever entertain the thought. But, now, this? Axl, fantasizing about a domestically blissful life with you?

“Axl...why didn’t you ever tell me?” Your heartbreak was nearly forgotten now, but the spinning delirium from before was back as the landscape of your life began shifting. If you woke up back in your room in a minute, that would make more sense than the jumble of reality in front of you.

Axl shrugged again, looking down at the ground.

“It’s not like girls like that—a girl like you—is ever gonna be happy with someone like me. That’s not how the fairytales work. I’ve got a lot of baggage, I’ve been through stupid shit, you know that. I’ve got more in common with strippers and the homeless guy I passed on my way here.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenged now. “Because I’m pretty sure next to my coworkers, you’re the person I spend most of my time with. If we have nothing in common, how come we never run out of things to talk about? How can we talk for hours about dreams and if they’re worth it and if we think God is real and how much our parents suck if there’s nothing in common? Or is that something you chat about with the strippers too?” He stood up, now looking at you defensively.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m the only one keeping shitty company, need I remind you about what happened tonight; you weren’t ever interested! I’m not gonna say something stupid and then lose you over it!”

“Axl..!” You groaned in exasperation, standing too. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about you and I, how many times I’ve had to stop myself, how many times I’ve had to tell myself no. Because you’re you. You’re Axl Rose, you could have anyone...” he shook his head.

“The more people I meet, the more I realize they’re all the same, and it all just…circles back to you.” He stared at you outright, facing you head on. “We all just want something real, at the end of the day.” You stared back at him.

“Real.” You whispered, your eyes trailing upwards to look at your apartment building and the stars in the sky over it. “Remember when you put my address down when you applied at that shitty record store? It was literally maybe three days after we first met.” You heard Axl chuckle a little. You still got his mail, even though he had moved into his own place, a nice house, the first place he had ever owned. “Axl, you’re my best friend, and I love you—"

“I get it, Y/N.” Axl muttered. When you looked away from the stars and back to him, he was already walking down the steps to leave. “You don’t have to say it, I already know what you’re gonna say; I don’t want to ruin the friendship either. That’s why I always kept my mouth shut.” He just kept walking down the steps, away from you, as he spoke. “I’ll just go, I’ll give you a few days—” 

You took the steps by two down after him and grabbed him by his shoulders to turn him around and press your lips against his.

After a moment, he began kissing you back, his hands latching into your hair like a clip. And for the first time, with your heart fluttering in a dizzy euphoria frenzy, you allowed yourself to freely imagine it, unrestrained. Kissing these lips when you felt like it, forever if you wanted. Turning in bed and slipping into the mold of his body, having his comfort on every bad day. You with him, you and him, that untouchable idea no longer just a figment of your strongest desires.

“You were putting words in my mouth.” You finally said breathlessly as you pulled back.

“You were putting something else in mine.” Axl teased, and you laughed, leaning your forehead against his.

“We don’t have to ruin this.” You told him, growing serious again and peaking up into his eyes through your eyelashes. “We can have this; it doesn’t have to be a daydream.” Axl was holding his breath, maybe out of fear, maybe out of nervousness. You wrapped your arms around his neck in an effort to convince him of your words. “If we want it, we can.”

Finally, he locked his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek. “I want you.” He agreed. “I’ve always wanted this.”

[samwrights]

Pining After You pt. 2 [hc]

Anon requested a part 2 to Pining After You featuring Tendou, Iwa, and Bokuto 😍😍😍 this one has slightly mature themes so please read with caution!

Tendou;

Tendou must have some ridiculous masochistic side to be so ridiculously head over heels for you.

Which he totally does but we ain’t here for kinks.

Being Tendou’s best friend was really easy for you, even if no one else really wanted to be, he was funny and kind and you really didn’t mind his quirks and oddities.

For the last three years, he was practically glued to your hip. He’d walk you to class, platonically holding your hand before telling you that he would see you at lunch or be back to walk you home from school.

Literally everyone in the third year, and probably second as well, knew that Tendou loved you. Like hardcore in love with you.

He knew the basics like what your favorite color was, your favorite foods, movies you loved. He also knew your fears, and declared to try to protect you from them, even if they weren’t fears in which he could do that.

Tendou even knew more intimate details, like how you preferred to hold hands with your right one or that you always needed a blanket over your feet when the two of you cuddled up and watched a movie together.

Homework and study dates were surprisingly your guys’ thing. Whenever you felt the need to get out of the house, a trip to a local coffee shop was a must—Tendou knows your order by heart. No matter how complicated it may be.

Dinner dates were also a big favorite for the both of you. Being in high school, it was hard to afford the finer things in life, but when you could splurge on a nice meal, you and Tendou were all for it. Complete with purposely ordering different meals so you could share with the other.

Literally, all of Shiratorizawa was confused as to how you two weren’t already dating???

“It’s platonic, and it’s rather cute.” Was always Tendou’s response.

“No, you idiot, it’s one sided.” Probably Semi Semi said this, but everyone has said some variation of it.

When it came to asking you about this relationship, you were so goddamn oblivious you swore that even Ushiwaka wanted to ram his head into a wall for Tendou’s sake.

“What do you mean we’re dating?? He doesn’t like me like that?? He’s always held my hand and walked me to class since the first time we ever talked??”

💀💀💀 RIP TENDOU.

Poor boy laid it on so thick that you literally couldn’t even tell.

Y’all were a lost cause.

N e ways, the two of you are walking home from one of your dinner dates on a Saturday night, holding hands and shit.

Tendou, in a very Tendou Satori fashion, stops everything he’s doing, letting go of you when he knows that you aren’t walking forward without him.

“We graduate next week.” His voice is kinda off, no bubbly chirp or teasing drawl.

“I know, Satori, we’re in the same year ya dork.”

“And we’re going to be going away to Uni.” Okay, Tendou playing captain obvious? Weird.

“Tendou, we’re going to the same university, we decided this two years ago.” The collective pronoun sends a pang through his heart and, whether it was out of love or pain, he was unsure.

He had never been so unsure of anything in his life. Not loving you, no. He would never regret that.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

ASDFHGKSLWNTI.

Despite all of your intimate moments, Tendou never put his lips anywhere near you, a vow you never knew he made to himself. He couldn’t—not without agreeing to throw himself off the deep end.

“Wait, what?” Instead of asking the question again, Tendou takes a step closer to you, closing the gap by wrapping his arms around your waist. You respond by reaching up on your tiptoes and holding his cheeks in the palm of your hands.

“I’ve always loved you.”

Iwaizumi;

My baby Iwa!! I’m gonna destroy him :-)

He questions himself every single day, how and why the fuck he fell in love with someone on the “meme team”.

The meme team being you, Makki, and Mattsun.

By second year, the three of you were so tight knit, it was natural that you would always be at their practices and matches.

Everybody thought you were dating one or both of them because of how protective they were of you.

You were an absolute joker. Sarcastic, dirty, walking troller—he has no idea how his crush even started.

Yes he does. It started with jokes during second year, when he overheard you saying that if Makki got a service ace during practice you’d suck his dick.

You were joking, your friends knew you were joking, but Iwaizumi went home that evening, wondering if you had followed through with it and couldn’t help but be jealous.

This went on for nearly everyday for a year, slowly killing him on the inside. The laughter that bubbled past your lips when you were with them, the way you would smile in pride when they scored a point. His favorite was when your friends would pick you up and carry you chest to chest when they won a match, parading you around with your ass juttng out just a little bit as your legs wrapped around their torso.

Why couldn’t he be the one carrying you? The reason you were smiling and laughing? He hated that he wanted to be the reason.

One particular practice, Iwaizumi had enough of it. His game was off entirely—every spike he made was either out of bounds or blocked by his teammates.

One of his spikes accidentally hit you in the face.

ASKLRNGKFOHMYGODHEHITYOUINTHEFACE.

Immediately, he rushed over to your side, his face redder than a cherry as he stuttered out an apology. “I am so sorry, are you—“

But you were laughing. That angelic, chime of a harp that was your laughter slowly transitioned into a bellowing guffaws. Why were you laughing?! Your nose was bleeding! “If you wanted to talk to me so bad, you could have done literally anything but that.”

Makki and Mattsun are in the background howling like hyenas.

Ever the gentleman he was, Iwaizumi walks you towards the athletic trainers office, trying to ignore what you had said to him moments ago. But you weren’t gonna let it go, hell no.

“An unforgettable first date.” You tried again, knowing full well your fellow third year was always staring and gawking at you. He wasn’t exactly subtle.

“This isn’t a time for jokes, your nose could be broken.” But Iwaizumi was loving the attention right now. Although, he couldn’t help but feel that you were treating him the same way you treated your friends, causing his envy to rise again.

“It’s only fair. I broke your heart, you break my nose.”

“What???” 💀💀💀

“Bro, you’re so obvious. Good to know our plan to make you jealous worked.” It. Was. PlaNED?! Iwaizumi was a murky, muddled mess of emotions—angry, jealous, embarrassed were only a few he could name off hand.

“So you knew.”

“You’re not exactly subtle, baby.” The pet name succeeds in flustering Iwaizumi even more, even as the two of you sat in the trainer’s office with an ice pack over your nose.

“So why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I wanted to tease you.” The salacious grin on your lips doesn’t go past him this time.

“I’ll show you teasing.”

Bokuto;

Bokuto weakness #38: you.

This particular weakness, Akaashi noticed, sent Bokuto through a wave of emotions, rather than immediately switching into his emo mode. Perhaps he would never understand it, but he was still able to discern which part of the wave Bokuto was in.

If his sole focus on you, Bokuto would be overwhelmingly touchy no matter who he was in contact with. Unfortunately for the setter, that usually meant him but he was used to it by now.

From what Akaashi could gather, it was because all he wanted was to physically touch you in some way, shape, or form and he had no way of doing so, so he settled on touching everybody else.

He would start getting loud—louder than normal, louder than thunder. Perhaps Bokuto thought that his volume would somehow transcend other noises in the vicinity and make you hear him, wherever you were. Didn’t matter if he was in the classroom or at the gym, he wanted to be heard.

When he decided that you didn’t, Bokuto’s emo side would come out. His mind would begin to spiral, thinking of how he would never have a chance with you and he was forever cursed to never have you by his side. Unfortunately, Akaashi could only fix this during matches, as you were present as a member of the cheerleading squad.

“Bokuto, she’s watching you.” Whether you actually were or not didn’t matter, because Bokuto would immediately bring his A game. He could never look to see if you were, because he was afraid that would make his feelings obvious for you.

It was when Akaashi wasn’t there that served to be the problem, as nobody could stop his spiraling.

It came as no surprise to him that he developed a crush on you. You were happy, upbeat, and didn’t have a mean bone in your body. Everyone else thought it was just because you were a cheerleader, but Bokuto wasn’t shallow.

It was your kindness that drew him in like the warmth and glow of a candle, or like having a hot chocolate on a cold, winter evening. Bokuto wanted that warmth in his life. But he also knew it was an unattainable dream since he didn’t even know how to strike up a conversation with you.

It wasn’t until the Fukurodani sports awards ceremony that was held at the end of the year to commemorate and celebrate all of the school teams that he had even been closer than 10 feet to you.

The event was held every year as a send off to the third year captains, with the cheerleaders walking, arms linked at the elbow, with each captain to present them to the school in addition to the celebration of their achievements. In every cheerleaders free arm was a bouquet of flowers that they were to give to their respective partners.

You just so happened to be paired up with Bokuto.

He swears up and down that his heart stopped multiple times that night, or he thought the entire event was a figment of his imagination.

“Being presented by second year cheer squad member, [lastname] [name], is captain of the Fukurodani Volleyball Club, Bokuto Koutarou!” He deadass didn’t know you were only a second year

The smile you gave when everybody began clapping for him made Bokuto melt. Like a proud girlfriend.

“Congratulations, Bokuto.” You handed him the bouquet while the two of you were still on the stage, the principal listing off the volleyball team’s accomplishments.

He couldn’t stop the word vomit from coming you.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He didn’t know how to start a normal conversation, so he just skipped straight to the point. By now, the principal’s announcements had stopped, the venue had gone quiet, and everybody in the room had heard Bokuto’s question.

...

The silence was deafening and all he wanted to do was bury his head in the nearest trash can. Why why WHY DID HE JUST SAY THAT—

“Pick me up at 8 on Saturday?” The volleyball team, his team, began slow clapping until every sports team had joined in with various screams of support coming from voices he wasn’t familiar with.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he started poking your cheek. “Is this real life or am I dreaming?”

You could only laugh before dragging him off the stage so the principal could continue with the ceremony. “It’s very real, Bokuto.” The warmth that he was desperate to feel suddenly filled his chest like hot wax.

“I didn’t think you even knew I existed.” He blurts out.

“What, you think it’s a coincidence that I was your partner for tonight?”

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[angelicmichael]

Imminient Annihilation Sounds so Dope, Chapter Eight.

Michael Langdon x reader

Summary: Reader gets to take care of a overly drunk Michael and attempts to make the most of the situation.

Words: 2.3K+

Warnings: Throwing up, someone being super drunk lol and passing out.

A/N: Sorry I haven’t updated this in forever! Lol. I hope y’all like this 🥺 I wrote the first half to this over two months ago so.. I feel like the first half sucks but I’m proud of the ending! Lol. Please reblog or heart if you enjoy ♥️

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter 

Today you learned how much you preferred dealing with drunk Michael than sober Michael. Even though drunk Michael had thrown up at least two times in the past hour, but at least in this state he seemed to go mute. Michael being sloppily drunk seemed to make him not sloppy at all but more like very relaxed, less taunting, not so fucking mean and most importantly; not threatening or trying to kill you.

You two were currently in his hotel, which naturally, was another nice penthouse. It was nearly painfully easy to find directions to his hotel by ‘hacking’ into his phone, and you were surprised to see how.. unlike him his hotel looked. You were expecting candles and pentagrams but there only seemed to be folded fluffy white towels and a neatly made bed instead. You guessed he just arrived here today, since the hotel literally looked untouched.

There was a black bag in the room which you could only presume was his, and a couple bottles of dark red wine were littered around his bed. The manner in which the light reflected off of the bottles told you that the bottles were empty; which meant Michael was a hell of a lot more drunk than you had previously thought.

Michaels penthouse was unlike the own he owned in L.A. This one was large and spacious, the floor plan was open execpt one room; which you presumed was the bathroom. It had a nice view also, which was the one similar feature both of his penthouses held. The room was sleek and black execpt for the shockingly white sheets of the bed and curtains, and the towels of course.

You and Micheal both sat in the bathroom currently. He sat on the floor next to the toilet whilst you sat on the wall adjacent to where he was sitting, next to the bathtub. He was shirtless, which was your idea actually. Only because the less clothes he had to get vomit on the better.

Your phone was on the ground next to you, which frequently illuminated the room since the lights were kept dimmed. You figured there was no need for harsh lights since it seemed to just be irritating Michael. You knew Mallory was the one sending you texts, she was basically the only one who texted you in the first place - even before you met Michael. You felt it was better to not look at your phone at the moment though, Mallory could wait a few hours. Michael was the one who truly needed your attention at the moment.

You weren’t sure why you felt so compelled to be nice to Micheal and take care of him like this. Maybe it was because you felt so guilty for hurting Madison.. this was really the only way you knew how to pay him back for doing that.

You knew hands down he would never do anything like this for you. In fact, Madison and Micheal himself tried to kill you a mere couple days ago but things were different then.. right? Maybe it was just you being delusional but you felt like ever since you established you were stronger than Micheal; the dynamic changed between you two.

Although; you couldn’t help but to feel sad, or almost nostalgic for this moment. You knew this would only moment where you would have the chance to have a heart to heart with Michael or tell him what was truly on your mind. It didn’t really matter was you said to him at this point, he was so drunk - there was no way he would remember it tomorrow.

However, Micheal wasn’t talking much at the moment and you didn’t really mind that. You didn’t blame him for being quiet since he was incredibly sick, but it also disappointed you a bit since he was the only one you felt like talking too. He was the only one that might get or understand how you were feeling, you could only imagine he felt dissapoinyed you were his soulmate as well. He was in love with Madison, head over heels. So you took a chance, and you spoke.

“Michael, are you awake”? You asked.

He was bent over the toilet and you couldn’t exactly see if his eyes were open or not. His hands were on the rim of the toilet seat and his head rested on his hands, he nearly looked asleep. However when you spoke he sat up suddenly, with a dazed look in his eyes.

“Wassup”? He slurred.

You swallowed, you knew this would be the only opportunity to ‘attempt’ to have a heart to heart with Michael. You would probably never get this kind of opportunity again but you were nervous. It was irrational though because Micheal would never remember this conversation. You had nothing to really be scared of.

You broke eye contact and stared at your feet briefly as you spoke, and then looked at him again.

“Michael.. I’m sorry for what happened to Madison”. You said quietly.

You waited for him to do or even to say something but he just sat there, as if he didn’t really process what you just said. You shouldn’t have been surprised at his reaction, he was still very drunk after all. You quickly continued to keep talking, which ended up just coming out as you rambling.

“Well, I mean I was just defending myself. I’m not sorry for doing that but I’m sorry for how out of hand it got. It wasn’t my intention to hurt her I was just scared-“ You tried to keep going but Michael interrupted you.

“I know”. He said suddenly, looking into your eyes with a far-off, almost dead look in his eyes.

You knew it was probably because he was drunk but the way he was looking at you, made you feel incredibly uncomfterable.. Almost on edge.

His words made your skin crawl as well. If he really knew how you felt, if he had any empathy for you then he wouldn’t have literally tried to kill you with his girlfriend. You sat up a bit straighter and stretched a bit before replying and looking at him again.

“Michael you don’t know. If you really knew how I felt then you wouldn’t have tried to kill me-“

You immeaditly stopped talking once you realized Michael swiftly bent his back over the toilet and was gripping the edges of it for dear life as he threw his guts up - once again.

You managed to scramble over to him insanely fast, not really knowing what exactly to do - touching or rubbing his back seemed to intimate so you settled for just sitting next to him and making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Every time he threw up, you could feel your heart skip a beat - you hated how you were concerned for him but yet, you just kind of wanted him to be okay.

He let go of the toilet and sat back suddenly which made you back off a bit as he looked at you as if he didn’t even notice how close you were. He was breathing heavy, extremely out of breath from being sick and there were tears in his eyes. Most likely from how exhausted he was from throwing up. In between his heavy breaths, he managed to throw out a,

“I’m sorry”. His words came out cold and sudden but yet; held a hint of sincereness to them.

You didn’t know what exactly what Michael was referring too, if he was sorry for the incident that had occurred with Madison or for the fact he had just thrown up. Either way, you knew not to take him too seriously - he was drunk. He didn’t necessarily mean anything he was saying. They were simply words with no meaning. Still, you couldn’t help but feel empathetic toward him. You looked at him, into his hazy blue eyes as you next spoke.

“It’s okay”. You replied softly.

You stayed silent for a couple of moments that, in reality probably only lasted a few minuets but felt like hours. You didn’t bother to move away; you now sat a couple feet away from him. It didn’t take long at all for the silentness of the bathroom to drive you mad, the sound of the bathroom vent seemed to become deafening to the point where you couldn’t take it anymore. Being silent like this was silly, being quiet and alone with your thoughts when you really didn’t have to be when Michael was here - was purely idiotic. So you chose to speak again. Just sitting in his bathroom waiting for him to throw up again seemed to be painfully unbearable.

“Michael.. why are you doing this? Why did you get painfully wasted”? You asked, with a slight giggle.

Your not sure what exactly you were expecting, maybe some witty or snarky comeback but he sounded defeated in the words he decided to use next.

“Take a guess”. He mused.

Maybe it was just a figment of your imagination or perhaps the haziness of being extremly tired had started to take over, but you could swear that Michael had stopped slurring his words. Almost seeming to speak completely coherently.

You sat their puzzled as you licked your lips and noticed your mouth was growing exceptionally dry as you tried to find a response. You really had no idea why Michael seemed to have a sudden change of heart and was even attempting to befriend you? It really made no sense.

“Your trying to kill me again”. The words came out before you even processed or thought about what you were about to say but you kept talking.

“You befriending me; this whole ‘ploy’ of you being nice to me is just good acting. You don’t care about me - you proven that far too many times Michael. Your just getting close to me so you can try to kill me again”. You said, emotion thick within your voice and tears even started to gather in your eyes by the time you were done with your little speech.

You stared down at your feet in shame, not daring to look Michael in the eyes. Your breath was hitched in your throat; you stopped breathing, it wasn’t necessarily a choice but you knew that if you took another breath you would end up sobbing. Admitting all of this, your deep insecurities to Michael - even if he was drunk - was already too much vulnerability for you.

After sitting like that for a moment, you started to feel extremely lightheaded - as if the world was spinning from the lack of oxygen when you suddenly felt strongly compelled to look up - and you did so.

You let go of the breath you were holding in so tightly when you noticed Michael had crawled towards you, and was now sitting terribly close to you. Too close.

His legs were drawn up near his chest and he looked at you curiously. Your notion of him being sober was clearly false, that was easy to tell now that you were looking at him up close. The way in which his eyes could barely stay focused and his mannerisms told you he clearly still had alcohol in his system. He continued to look puzzled as he spoke.

“Who hurt you like that, to make you think that way”? Michael asked.

You could tell by the way that he spoke that his words were genuine but you couldn’t help it as you felt anger boil in your veins. Was he that naive?

“What would you say, if I said it was you that did”? You words came spitting out as if you were breathing fire.

Michael looked around the room for a second as he lazily laughed. Your thoughts of him being sober seemed to come back to you, it was odd how he seemed to act like his sober self one minuete and drunk the next. You supposed it was just another thing you would never understand about him.

“Me? I barely know you”! Michael said, the words stifling with laughter. His laughter seemed to echo throughout the room until it seemingly was the only thing you could fucking hear and you had enough. You were more powerful than Michael, he did NOT get to talk down to you or mock you like this.

You would be the fucking supreme, and if you really wanted too, you could probably even kill him if you had no morals but it lucky for him, you weren’t a sociopath.

You quickly shot up so that you were on your two feet - standing up so fast that your head started to spin lightly again. You noticed how Michaels eyes were on you now as he watched as you tried to navigate yourself out of the bathroom as you were now incredibly light headed.

“Wait, where are you going”? You heard Michael ask as you turned around away from him.

You knew realistically he could only be barely a foot or so away but his voice sounded echoey and far away - almost like he was in another room. You also couldn’t help but giggle at his choice of words - that was definetly drunk Michael talking again.

At first you weren’t planning on responding to him but just as your hand found the door handle you whipped your head around - just enough to make eye contact.

“I never should’ve came back here with you. This was a fucking mistake. I should’ve known that you would never change”. You growled out.

You turned your body and your head back around quickly, but as you grabbed the door handle you felt the room spin faster and faster and you felt incredibly unsteady - until you finally lost your footing and fell backwards onto the hardwood floor.

Taglist: @mindlesschicca @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @thewarriorprincessxo @theneverendinghunger @dark-mei-rose