#yeah she shows a fucking ounce of kindness to someone once before she had a brief heart to heart w him

[milliesnotes]

Why do people keep saying Emily “got ruined”

Y’all she was never nice, are we forgetting she was helping YUL manipulate Grett at the beginning of the season 😐

[screen-universe-official-thingie]

"Happy... Birthday?"

There is an actress, who's been recently born into the Universe of the Screen. Just like those before her, she's been dropped into the Fictional Realm, where actors rest after long hours of work.

From the start, she's been doing well, a kind Sponge Fictional took her in and let her stay for a time being. That is, until the empire found her and finally put her to work.

The unfortunate actress, so young, so naive, never knew what she had coming. Her creators bestowed her such a heavy role, a mask of a monster. At first, she didn't know how bad could it be. It was just a character right? This was all just a game of pretend... Right? After all, she was made for this role, literally created for it. Surely it can't be hard. How bad can it be? It's just some woman who cares about animals and lost a loved one.

However, society said otherwise.

The empire hated her for it. Despise her for the role she plays, and for serving her purpose. They declared time and time again that they hated her existence.

"I'm an actor, just like you guys!" she said.

They stay away. They push her away, side eyed her and everything.

"I'm not like her, see?" she said once more.

Rolcist thrown things at her, hurled insults at her. After a long day of work, another Fictional wished she was dead, and another, and another.

Monster, lunatic, a deluded. The list of insults went on.

"... I'm just an actor," she pleaded.

"I was doing my job," she sobbed.

The void of hatred stared at her.

"What did I do... What did I fucking do..." She glared at her own hands. Hands, or rather, gloves of an abuser, a killer, a beast.

She tried to escape all of this, but couldn't. Or rather she wouldn't do it. For at least one Fictional cared about her.

On the fateful release of her first project, a mouse Fictional came by. He was, and still is the powerful leader of a far off kingdom. One they called the Disney Kingdom. For someone so small, so puny, he can pack a punch. Prior to all this, he's already walked through the path of blood and is still treading through it.

There he stride for his next victim, the Villainess.

For an actor who claims to know what's real and what's an act, the mouse can't help, but kill those of the villain role on sight. Every ounce of suffering and pain they been through in his hands was delicious to him.

Just as her part of the act reaches to its grand finale, the mouse shows his power. Blood spilled. Ice shards were erupted, jellyfishes were stabbed and so was her designated henchman. The actress playing as her daughter was trapped in his ice from the waist down. The actress, now in the corner, curled up into a cocoon in the hairstyle bestowed by her creators.

And so, the mouse approaches.

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

Okay so this was supposed to explain how the fuck it all led up to what's happening in the art, but ended up doing a little info/lore dump on what the fuck this Lus has going on in the daydreams as of late with probably a poor attempt of adding in some short storytelling elements. There's more to what's going on with both her and Mickey, but that'd take a while to cram it all into the post. So yeah.

Tldr: Actress has to play evil Poké waifu with a Jellyfish addiction, becomes besties with SpongeBob, gets an existential crisis about the nature of her role/persona because society shits on her for it (and Spunch taught her about morals too early), tries to kill herself to escape her vessel (but didn't go through with it), and gets a near death experience from a psychopathic mouse king.

Dw, she lives and all, just left traumatized and pissed about the Mouse Moment.

Anyways, happy birthday to Mickey and happy anniversary to the OG Pokémon SuMo games.

Note: Unlike the SpongeBob birthday painting, this piece is based on an actual event in the paracosm, a reoccurring scenario that's both an important plot point and something that stuck despite all the changes this paracosm goes through. I have to post this here instead of the casual account.

Update: Remember when I said she tried to kill herself? Yeah, I modified the lore a bit. Now her "escaping the job" attempt is now less of an actual suicide attempt and more like an attempt to quit her job/role as the character, which just so happens to be heavily tied to her life. She wouldn't immediately die if she's outside the meat suit, she'll just have to succumb to the pain to actually end up perma dying or deleting if she doesn't return to the meat suit.

[findyourwcy]

Taking the offered hand, Louis laced their fingers though his mind lagged a little. "Plan something for sooner? Like with Max or just us?" Following a conversation had been harder than he'd like to admit lately. There was just so much going on and--

His jaw clenched, feeling his pocket vibrate yet again. Jesus fucking christ, did he not have any kind of life? He was ignoring this one. He could wait till fucking morning. Instead, he squeezed Dove's hand gently and circled back around. "I'll be at as many as I can, your performances I mean, but you don't have to reserve anything for me. I'll buy tickets, cause you know, I support the arts and all that jazz," He winked because while yes, he did, they both knew it was purely for her.

It wouldn't be the first time he saw her on stage or the last, but in those times he had seen her, before he knew her and she knew him...well he'd been enthralled? Enchanted? Some other 'E' word? Most importantly he'd wanted her, but even more than that, he'd wanted to know her. To see the ongoings in her mind that helped her delivered the way she did, that gave her the presence she had. Even now as he watched her and after all the time they spent together, she still felt like a mystery to him. It didn't help that his pocket was buzzing obnoxiously again and it was taking every ounce of will power not to yeet it across the yard.

Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed it and started to pull her playfully into his lap when he felt it again. Once. Twice. Three. Louis grimaced, releasing her hand as he stood and mouthed a sorry. Not a text. A call. A fucking call when he knew--

"Hello?" He stepped away from her and spoke quietly into the phone despite the annoyance lacing his tone. "I asked you not to call me when I'm-- yes. I know. How could I forget? I wasn't ignoring you. It was one message, you can't-- yes. fine. Breakfast. Yes. Please. I always look good. And yes. So please, let me breathe a little, yeah?" Louis paused, head tilting to the side with a sigh, mumbling something inaudibly into the receiver. His body deflated a bit, his expression softening as he nodded, angling away from the wall, "Yes...I do. I love you too. I'll see ya in the mornin..." Another sigh passed his lips and he held the buttons on the side of his phone, shutting it down as he turned back to Dove.

"Sorry about that. Next time I'll shut it off from the start," Would it have gotten him in a shit ton of hot water? Sure. But at the end of the day and as hard of a hard ass as he was...Louis knew his dad was just-- doing the best he knew how. He cared and hopefully he could make him understand just how fucking important somethings were to him and how someone was worth even more than that. But for now, the distraction was done and he flashed her a weak smile before moving to sit back down, reaching for her hand once more "Tonight...it's been kinda a shit show, I know. What can I do to fix it?"

Dove's lips parted, her mouth opening to defend the question, but in all honesty it misrepresented her expectations to ask in the first place. "Maybe I should have just asked if you were only gonna come to opening night or if I should be reserving a spot for multiple ones." She laughed, exaggerating rather than being coy this time, rolling her eyes though the mention of christening the theatre's stage definitely lingered in her mind. God, she missed him. In way more than physical ways, but after the hours they'd spent getting to know each other's bodies and now how long they'd been physically apart, it was undeniable that there was a longing in her being ignored. It felt good, to hear that nothing had changed in terms of their very mutual want, at least as far as he was advertising to her.

Exhaling through her nose, she couldn't hide the way her brows furrowed for just a second when he so vaguely responded to her question. He couldn't manage one specific detail for her? He couldn't tell her some story? Dove couldn't piece together a picture of what his life had been like outside of her even really through texts. It shouldn't have made her feel strange, but that answer paired with the phone coming out yet again... Dove crossed one of her legs over the other, leaning against her thighs as she peered away instead of giving in temptation to look at his phone. "Yeah. I think it will be." They were back on the play? She tried to force herself not to look irritated, to smile politely. She was feeling more sensitive, to the point that him suggesting there was a chance the play could possibly not be good bothered her too.

"Oh yeah?" The mention of his sister was — Dove wasn't sure how to respond to it, brows raising in acknowledgement. "I mean, I'd love to. Maybe when we're not so busy." She didn't mean for the word to come out so pointed, but her enjoyment of this night was once again feeling difficult. She didn't want to overreact, but every time his attention was drawn back to her and their date, it didn't seem to be for long. Still, Dove couldn't push aside her feelings for him, so she offered a little, eyes watching him as she tilted her head, hand reaching to brush against his, fingers clasping it gently. "Maybe we should try to plan something for sooner, so we don't have to go so long?"

[kpop---scenarios]

Cravings || One

Pairing: Vampire! Hongjoong x Reader

Warning: None Yet

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: If you would like to be tagged, let me know!

"Babe, hey babe." Your boyfriend, Chad calls out to you, as you're sitting at the kitchen table, running over over bills again and trying to figure out how the fuck you're going to try to pay everything. You worked damn hard, and barely had anything to show for it. Ever since Chad had moved in a few months ago, without an invitation, you were stressed. Everything had gone up and doubled since he hadn't left, and he also hadn't contributed anything financially towards the household. You paid for rent, utilities, groceries and you even paid when the two of you went out for dinner. Chad worked full time, but where his money was going, you had no fucking idea. He constantly went out with his 'boys' , often coming home obliterated, and just expecting you to have your legs spread open for him when he rolled in, apparently that was your duty as his girlfriend, according to him. As if not contributing and acting like a man child was such a turn on. Not to mention the countless hours he spent on your gaming console, yelling and talking to his friends, leaving you no time to play any games that you like, unless you wanted to wake up a few hours before you had to work to sneak on it. But by the time you got home from work, cleaned up the messes he made throughout the day, made yourself dinner, showered and got into your PJ'S, you were too damn tired to do anything. You knew you had to wake up the next day and do it all over again, so any sleep you got was precious. 

A part of you often wondered why you were in this relationship with him. Maybe you were scared to be alone, maybe you didn't think you could do any better than him, but you stuck with him, because for some reason, you loved the guy. 

"What do you want, Chad?" You sigh, walking into the living room where he's sprawled out on the couch, headset on and his match paused. "I'm trying to figure out bills, you know that thing that keeps us warm, and with light and hot water, that you said you'd help pay and haven't." 

"Yeah, babe, can you go to the corner store and get those Takis, you know the ones I like? The not so spicy ones though babe, cause remember I have acid reflux, and a diet coke." He says, turning back to the screen, laughing at something said through his head phones. 

You could feel the rage building up inside of you, awfully quick, and it was seeping out of you even quicker.

"Are you going to pay for said snacks?" You ask, trying to keep your voice calm. 

"What?" He laughs. "Babe, no, come on. I'm broke. I don't get paid again for two weeks. You know this." 

"You just got paid yesterday." You breathe through gritted teeth. "Where the hell did all your money go?" You ask, your hands balled into fists. 

"You know babe, I had the fantasy football league entry, plus I owed Kyle money for the keg bomber last weekend, and I took the boys out for supper yesterday. Shit adds up." He says, never looking at you, only focusing on the game. 

"And that's my problem, why exactly? Why is it always on me just because you're not financially stable. Grow up, you're 35 for christ sakes!" You yell. You stomp to the kitchen, grabbing your purse and slipping on your shoes before heading back into the living room. 

"Yeah, she's got her shoes and purse." He laughs. "She's definitely going to get my stuff." 

"You know what Chad? I'm definitely not going to get your snacks, get your own fucking snacks, Chaaad. I'm going for a drink, with my own goddamn money." You spit, storming out of the house. 

You're wandering down the street, like you had been for the last thirty five minutes, and finally you found somewhere that looked decent enough. You walk in, and the lights are on very low, the place is almost dark, had it not been for the red lights swinging above tables, or the string of red lights wrapping around the ceiling. Your eyes wander the open floor of seating as a soft beat vibrates through the building. Every person in here who was sitting with someone was leaning closely to that person, seemingly having an intense conversation. The vibes felt dark and eerie, but you welcomed it, you enjoyed it instead of being around Chad's fuck boy mentality. You walk towards the bar, sliding onto one of the empty bar stools and setting your purse on your lap. Your eyes were looking down when you felt a presence standing in front of you. You look up and see quite possibly the most beautiful man you have ever seen. 

"What can I get for you?" He asks, his voice is deep, yet so smooth and calming.

"Double vodka and coke please, and for the love of god, keep them coming." You sigh. After your comment you see the slightest hint of a smile appear on his lips, disappearing even quicker than it came. 

"Bad day?" He asks, beginning to pour your drink. 

"Bad relationship." You groan. He nods his head as he slides your drink towards you. 

"Wanna talk about it?" He asks, leaning on the bar with his chin resting on his hands as he waits for you to speak. You look into his eyes, and they're so warm and mesmerizing, you felt safe and secure, like you could tell him anything. Which is exactly what you did.

"What's your name?" You ask. 

"Hongjoong." He replies. "You?" 

"Y/N." 

"Okay Y/N, what's bothering you?" 

"My boyfriend, we've been together for just over a year, and well.. he's something, and not the good something like people usually say. He moved in with me, without even asking me if I wanted to, and I just kind of accepted it. He doesn't pay anything, no bills, rent, groceries, nothing. It's all on me, even though he does work full time. He forgot my birthday, went out and got absolutely plastered with his 'boys'. On Valentine's Day, he took me out for dinner, and can you guess who was there?" You ask. 

"His boys?" He answered. 

"You sir, are correct. I was ignored the entire evening, and then he and his boys left, I ended up paying the bill, and I had to uber home because he had driven us there. Not to mention the fact that he assumes I'm just there for his pleasure, expecting me to be spread eagle for him whenever he decides to show up." You finish, chugging your drink as you try not to gag on the strong taste of vodka. 

"Why are you with him then? He doesn't sound like he contributes to the relationship at all, so why do you stay?" He asks. 

'Honestly, I'm not entirely sure." You answer as he slides another drink in front of you.

"Now that's a bullshit excuse." He replies. "There's a reason that you clearly don't want to admit." 

"Do you ever smile?" You ask him. 

"No." He answers. "Now, why won't you leave him?" 

"Because it's safe, I guess? I don't know if I can do any better than him." You shrug. 

"Y/N, you have no idea how much better you could do." He says. 

** 

From the moment Hongjoong had a whiff of the scent that was coming into his bar, he knew that it was the scent of the one. He intensely watched the door, waiting for the one it belonged too to walk through the door. As soon as you did, it was almost as though his heart could have started beating once again, the ice cold blood that ran through his body could have turned warm just by the sight of you. He isn't sure what it is about you, but he had always been told that he would know when he found the one, and having been alive for over a century, he had just assumed that it wasn't in the cards for him, and now he knows why. Because all his life he had been waiting for you. The person that he would do anything for, the person that he would be anything for had finally walked into his life, and for once he felt an ounce of hope, until, you had mentioned the filthy human you were in a relationship with, not to mention one that treated you like absolute garage, and you had assumed that no one better would love you, but shit were you ever wrong. He was standing right in front of you, and though you had just met him, he loved you with everything he had and would do anything and everything to protect you. 

**

"I appreciate your advice, Hongjoong, but it's getting late and I have to work tomorrow." You sigh. "How much do I owe you?" You ask, grabbing your card from your wallet. 

"It's on me." He tells you, grabbing your empty glass.

"Well thank you." You smile. "It was nice meeting you." You tell him as you slide off the stool. 

"You too." He says, watching you walk away from him. 

That night when you got home, you couldn't get Hongjoong off your mind, a smile spread across your face as you walked through your front door, and headed into the living room, then it instantly dropped. Chad had not moved from the spot you had previously left him in a few hours ago. "Oh, babe." He says, sucking the cheeto dust from his fingers. "Kyle brought me some snacks, since you threw a huge temper tantrum about my snacks, you can just venmo or cash app him, k?" He says, going back to playing his game. 

You went to bed that night, dreaming of one man, who was not your man. 

**

Over the next few weeks, you had absolutely no desire to be at home. So you headed to the bar that Hongjoong worked at, everyday after work for a drink, or two, or four. In those weeks the two of you spent an ample amount of time getting to know each other, you were sure he knew you better than Chad ever did.  You didn't want to see Chad, you didn't want to be near him and it was bad enough that he constantly texted you throughout the day, sending you lists of things to buy from the grocery store, as if he wasn't able to do it himself. But much to your surprise, he didn't text you when you never came home with his snacks, he didn't check in with you throughout the day, and honestly it no longer bothered you. 

You felt your feelings for Hongjoong deepen with every encounter the two of you had, every time you saw him it was like nothing you had ever felt with Chad, your emotions were amplified around Hongjoong and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep them hidden. 

"One more." You tell Hongjoong, as you set down your fourth glass. 

You can tell he wants to smile, but he's too good at controlling his emotions. "You've had enough, I'm cutting you off." He tells you. 

You pout, trying to give him your best puppy dog eyes, but absolutely nothing got to the man and it was frustrating as fuck. 

"A bad storm is coming, you should probably get home." He tells you, drying off some glasses. 

"I don't want to go home, he's there." You scoff, just thinking about Chad made you want to vomit. "I guess I could just get a motel room, at that place across the street." You say, pointing over to the run down motel, that had flickering lights, and probably a rat and cockroach infestation. 

"You will do no such thing." Hongjoong replies. "You can stay at my place." He says. "Give me a minute." He walks from around the bar, towards the back of the building, and you can't help but to turn in your stool and watch him walk away, damn he looks good. 

Within seconds he's back, grabbing your bag and scooping you up into his arms as he effortlessly carries you out the door. 

"I can walk." You object. 

"I know." He says, his face stone cold. 

"You're very pale." You tell him, as if he didn't know. 

"I know." He replies, unlocking the door to his car. 

"And you're very cold." You say. 

He sighs. "I know." He finishes as he slides you into the passenger seat of his car. 

As soon as he started his car, the rain began pouring as thunder and lightning jolted the sky. 

"You were right, there's a storm." You say, watching out your window. 

"I know." He replies, this time it sounded different. You turned to look at him, hoping you'd catch him smiling but no such luck. 

He continues driving, taking you out into the middle of nowhere, out of city limits, this was it, this was probably when you died. You panicked slightly but you felt it in your entire body that he was not going to murder you, at least not that night. 

Hongjoong pulls up to a gate, punching in a few numbers to open the gate, which just blocked off a winding road. You squinted as you tried to see where you were going but it was far too dark for you to see anything, until you pulled up to a beautiful mid-century mansion that made your mouth drop. It was absolutely stunning and you couldn't believe that he lived there. 

"Seriously? This is where you live?" You say. 

"MY family, but yeah." He answers, parking the car near the entrance. 

He hops out of his seat, walking towards your side to open the door for you, pulling you inside before you get too wet. He dragged you up a large flight of stairs, not letting you admire the inside of his house. He put you inside a large room, with a large bed and a bathroom ensuite. "There's towels if you want to shower, I'll be back in a bit to check on you." He says, avoiding all eye contact before walking out of the room. 

You let out a deep breath as you take off your heels, unbutton your pants and unhook your bra, placing it all next to the bed. You sit down on the bed in your underwear and t-shirt, wondering what to do, until your phone rings. 

Looking at the caller ID, you didn't want to answer it, but you felt it would be unfair for you to do so. 

"Hello?" You answer. 

"Hey babe, it's me.. it's Chad." He says. 

"I know who it is." You sigh. 

"Look.. I know you've been terrible, oh, wait, I mean I've been terrible in our relationship lately but I want to make almonds." He says. "No idiot, it's amends." You hear from the background. 

"Are you kidding me right now? Do you seriously have Brad over to help you?" You yell. 

"Well yeah, he noticed that we were drifting apart and offered to help me get you back." Chad explains. 

You get up off the bed, pacing on the hardwood floors as you tried to process what he just said to you. 

"The fact that you didn't even notice that we were drifting apart is all that I need to hear. You know what, Chad? I'm done. I'm done with this relationship, I'm done with you. Just get out of my apartment, I'm over it." You yell, hanging up the phone. 

You stand there, taking deep breaths as you replay the conversation you just had, he didn't even care enough to notice that you'd been pulling away. That kind of hurt, but then again it was Chad. He was never very perceptive. 

A knock at the door before it suddenly opens, reveals Hongjoong, walking into the room. He tried to play it cool with the fact that you were practically naked in front of it. 

"I heard yelling. You okay?" He asks as lightning strikes, causing the power to flicker. 

"Chad called, he had his friend Brad over to feed him lines because Brad noticed we were drifting apart." You explain. "But I did it. I ended things." You proudly admit. 

"Good for you." He says, staring at you, while you stare back at him. A crack of thunder hits loudly, making you jump, and within seconds Hongjoong's arms are wrapped around you, like he was protecting you. You look at him and he looks at you, and before you can tell yourself not to, your lips are pressed against him, and he is kissing you back. 

The kiss turns passionate and needy in seconds, both of your desires for one another coming out without any control. He moves you both to the bed, laying you down as he hovers over you, his strong arms keeping him above you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling his body closer to yours, feeling him near was all you'd wanted. His ice cold fingers touch your stomach as he begins to lift your shirt up, you can feel his cock slowly becoming harder. You begin lifting his shirt, when his phone rings. He stands up, whispering an apology before answering his phone, barely speaking any words. 

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I have some things to take care of." He says. 

"Oh, yeah, no problem." You say, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"Get some sleep." He tells you before walking out of the bedroom door, leaving you alone once again. 

You tried to fight the exhaustion you felt, but it was far too hard. You got snuggled underneath the blankets, watching the door, hoping he would come back but your eyelids got too heavy for you to keep open, and you swiftly drifted off to sleep, finally feeling some peace. 

**

The warm sun was shining into the room, waking you up. You let out a little stretch before opening your eyes, only to see five men standing around you. You sit up, moving to the wall, as these men stare at you. You looked at them all, and they all looked similar to Hongjoong. Pale skin, dark eyes, dark head, blood red lips. 

"Who are you?" One of them asks. 

"Y/N." You whisper. 

Another one speaks up, looking at the other four men. "Who the fuck brought a human home?" 

[cryo-regalia]

lyres and gentle touches

she’ll take the time she can have with them to relax when she can get it. unfortunately, a certain shade feels the need to voice his opinion ft. kainé

— THEMES: gender neutral reader, character spoilers, major explicit language, fluff. tyrann is very mean, but the reader is such a talented lyrist <3

— NOTE FROM THE GANG: the lyre the reader uses is inspired by the holy lyre der himmel from genshin impact.

“Wow, sunshine...That sounds like shit!”

Kainé couldn’t stand sitting on her ass and twiddling her fingers when she could be off doing something with herself. Calling that something productive was up for debate when it was all she ever did, but good fuck did she need something to do to keep the itching beneath her skin at bay. She had her moments where she laid in her shack and stared up at the rusted ceiling, but the moment of repose was never that long for one reason or another. More often than not it was the taunts and snickers that echoed in her head like an empty corridor that she couldn’t get to stop no matter how many times she strained her voice in retaliation. He already got under her skin—hell, if there was any left under the bandages. Kainé hadn’t checked in awhile and didn’t plan on it—but her resistance only fueled his drive to continue until he got on her nerves completely. It would be impressive how someone could be so fucking annoying if he didn’t do it all the time. There were plenty of Shades out there that she could tear her twin swords through so there was always something to do that wasn’t listening to him. It’s what she spent her most recent years of life doing until it was a routine.

And then she surrounded herself with all of this lovey dovey bullshit that came with being somebody’s partner and Kainé wasn’t sure what to make of it. She didn’t know if she could get used to it either, and wondered if she ever could. The woman had never felt something like this before, sever felt deserving of it. The sensation of skin brushing against hers with a touch so gentle that it could make her shiver, fingers curling around one another’s in a secure squeeze to remind her I’m here for you, the companionship as a whole. It was all so new and bizarre that it caused all sorts of expletives to slip past her lips out of habit, but it never dissuaded them. Her partner. The sound of that was still weird to her in a strangely nice way that made something in her stomach (she didn’t know what and that pissed her off) flutter, as if her name and theirs inherently belonged together in the same sentence. In some kind of freaky sense, she settled down for them. By settled down you meant she spent more time outside of the village gates than normal waiting for you instead of piercing her blades through the closest Shade, then yeah, she sure as hell did.

Kainé hadn’t stayed off of her feet in awhile and hadn’t let her hand stray from the hilt of her blade in twice as long. Relaxing wasn’t on her agenda when a Shade or two could strike, or when Hook decided to show its ugly face before that fucker got a pole through the head. The last time she laid on her ass and let her eyes slip shut without a worry was...Kainé knew very well, but brushed any ounce of remembrance from her mind before she could let it haunt her, as it always did. She could let her shitty dreams handle that. It wasn’t like her feet were killing her or anything, but quality time like this was rare. Well, rarer than usual when she, her partner, Nier, and the book were running all over creation and taking down Shades that only grew stronger with plates of armor. Her partner was insistent that they joined along once Hook was gone, clutching their own weapon close to their chest with an adorable desperation that she almost couldn’t say no to. Nier didn’t mind despite his initial cautiousness for their well-being and Kainé knew damn-well how badass her partner was, but the floating magazine nagged on and on. About what, she had no clue. She let each too-fuckin’-fancy word go through one ear and out the other before she could tear a page out and shove it up Weiss’ ass.

Unless they strangled it out of her, Kainé wouldn’t admit that she loved the quality time. She knew perfectly well when the last time she was appreciated so much was, but it was a distant feeling that was so foreign that she didn’t recognize it immediately. If it was a tangible object, she’d fuck it up faster than she could blink. It was what she was good at: destroying things she didn’t like. Though if there was one fault, it was that she was restless as shit doing nothing with herself. Her blades sat beside her with a hand around one of them out of necessity and a slight paranoia that a Shade would pop up out of nowhere, but no far not a single one had shown their face. She trusted her partner’s combat abilities and self-defense skills, but goddamn was she not going to take any chances. Kainé’s eyes remained shut and left her in a soothing abyss until only a beam of light tried to pour through the skin of her eyelids and she was hyperaware of every touch and sound around her. Loose, relaxed, calm, not the tight squeeze she forced upon herself when she tried to get any semblance of sleep. Her partner’s fingers plucked along the strings of their instruments, creating an unrecognizable yet soothing tune she could have nodded off to. The same could be said for any other song they played, but there was something familiar about it despite knowing damn well she hadn’t heard it before.

And then the shithead spoke.

Kainé‘s lips twisted into a deep scowl. Not the first one and certainly not the last, and it felt naturally fitting on her lips like a puzzle piece. “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“Ooooh! That hurts, sunshine!” Tyrann taunted with a wicked laugh that made her blood boil. “And here I thought we were starting to get along.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Kainé?”

The white-haired woman cracked one eye open and stared upwards at the dark and looming silhouette that blocked out the beams of light that once washed a  blanket of warmth over her face. The plucking of strings and the melody the harp sang so beautifully came to a standstill at some point and left them in a silence only disturbed by the rustling of leave and the distant calls of the wildlife grazing in the Northern Field. Their gazes met and had it not been for the frustration directed towards Tyrann, Kainé may have allowed herself to get lost in the alluring color that met a gentle blue hue. Their brows were drawn upwards, lips quirked downwards, with nothing but concerned confusion prominent all over their face with no attempt to restrain it. She hated when anyone looked at her like that, with something akin to pity, them especially. She knew they were only concerned, that they were looking out for her because if they weren’t then who else would? The insult to get them to stop looking at her like that bubbled up in the back of her throat like blood after a bad wound out of habit, but it never got any farther than the back of her tongue. Instead, she shifted onto her side with her back to them, her cheek pressed to their thighs and eyes giving the stone walls her attention. Kainé could still feel their eyes on her and she could vaguely see them from the corner of her eye between strands of white.

“Sorry,” she grumbled.

“Tyrann again?”

Kainé grunted at the sound of his name and her scowl deepened at the continued haunting laughter, but otherwise said nothing more to or about him. She caught onto a tiny thump that had her nerves on edge in seconds and her body tense, but a hand on her arm and a thumb rubbing against her skin in slow circles reluctantly eased her nerves. It moved up to her shoulder and settled itself on her head where their fingers combed through her hair, nails grazing her and nearly getting a shiver out of her in return. Although she said nothing about it, she quickly started to miss the sound of their song, the only thing that managed to get the fucker to be quiet when he didn’t purposefully raise his voice to overpower the soft yet shockingly powerful chords. Each caress was so gentle that Kainé wanted to lean away from it no matter how many times she had felt it before in what few moments they could have together by themselves that wasn’t interrupted by Shades or some other fucking annoyance. They cautiously ran their fingers past the Lunar Tear and were careful not to disturb the strands that made up her braid, but never sacrificed the comfort in their movements for their vigilance. The memory of their fingers getting tangled in her hair played in the back of her mind and she bit back her grin before her grin could rise to the surface.

“...Was it my song?” Kainé didn’t say anything, but the silence was an answer in itself. “What did he say?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

A beat of silence, then another, and Kainé knew she fucked up. With a slightly exaggerated groan and long exhale through her nose, she pushed herself up from the soft bed made up of their thighs and tossed herself down on her ass beside them, taking her twin swords with her and pierced them into the dirt by her legs. She reclined back against the stone that made up the slim passageway towards the open steel gates to the village they belonged to and ventured out of daily, and subtly leaned against them with her right arm pressed against theirs. They made a tiny surprised sound that she would have missed if she wasn’t so close but otherwise ignored as she settled in her new seat and brushed the specks of dirt off of herself. She scooped the discarded harp and forced it into one of her partner’s hands, yanking the other over the strings she had last seen them rest their fingers over. Like she had any idea how to play it, let alone any instrument, or the correct posture, but fuck it, it was a shot in the dark that apparently hit its mark because they didn’t adjust it much more than to get comfortable. Content with that, Kainé let her eyes flutter shut and surround herself in darkness once more. She leaned back against the earth until her braid dug into the back of her neck and crossed her arms under her bust.

“Your song is fine. He just has a shit taste in music.”

“Look who’s talking!”

All was silent for several seconds and Kainé started to convince herself that she fucked up twice in a row and was a total asshole in their eyes when she didn’t mean it this time, but paused at the melodic tune in her ears. This time it wasn’t the harp, she knew that much, and she peered through her lashes to the person beside her. Their shoulders bounced and a smile was spread across their face that revealed their teeth and created small wrinkles in the corners of their eyes. It was a sight that had her looking away before she could react, but she didn’t move from her new place. She glanced downwards when a small weight settled itself on her shoulder, only to find that they were resting their head on her. When they first met, Kainé would have pushed them off of her and let them hit the dirt with the world’s nastiest scowl imaginable and several strings of curses that would make Weiss and his high and mighty ass actually blush. But now, she just sat still as if the touch still wasn’t unfamiliar to her and slowly rested her cheek over theirs, lulled into an air of serenity as they plucked at the strings and continued their song. Tyrann continued to bitch—when didn’t he?—but she kept her mouth shut this time and simply listened to the tune.

“Thanks, Kainé.”

@ cryo-regalia, all rights reserved. do not repost, edit, or translate my work.

[anythingwriter]

Badassery

Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: language, Oswald Mosley, teeny tiny bit of sexual assault, implied smut if you squint, small bit of angst

Word count: 1,988 of pure trash:)

Requested by: anonymous 🐆

Summary: At one of Tommy’s famous parties, he sees his wife being hit on by the one and only Oswald Mosley. On his way to save her he stops in his tracks, shocked by how she handled things.

*******************************************************

Y/n Shelby was definitely a force to be reckoned with. While most men and women cleared a path when they saw Tommy coming, they’d clear the whole damn street when they saw her. She was unpredictable and even scarier than Arthur doped up on his snow.

Oh and her looks, she was one of the most beautiful gems Small Heath had ever seen. The men all wanted a taste of her, and the women strived to be her. She knew she was beautiful, and she walked with her head held high in confidence. Most importantly, she knew she could take care of herself. Apparently though, her husband did not.

It was a Friday evening and naturally your husband had decided to throw a party. People from the richest of families were there, wanting to see how the Thomas Shelby lived.

You and Tommy were in the corner conversing amongst yourselves, laughing at the guest and their ridiculous outfits, and Charlie was upstairs with the maids, hopefully asleep by now. Tommy had gone for a normal suit, his ocean eyes standing out against the deep black. You had chosen a beautiful burgundy dress with a daring plunge in the neck, accompanied by a jaw dropping diamond necklace Tommy had given you for your three year anniversary. The dress hugged you perfectly, showing off your best assets. Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes off of you.

“Tommy, look at Mrs.Evans! Sh- she looks like she has a dog wrapped around her neck!” You bent over laughing, having to put a hand on your knee to stop yourself from falling flat out on the floor, almost spilling your wine in the process. Her scarf was obnoxiously large and fluffy, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

Tommy looked over as well, and he chuckled at the sight, nowhere near laughing as hard as you. It was safe to say you were a little more on the tipsier side. He reached down his ring clad hand and grabbed your wine, “that’s enough for you love,” and he put it on the passing butlers tray, mumbling a small thanks in the process.

You straightened back out and looked up at Tommy and gave him the biggest puppy eyes you could muster, you were not done with your wine and you wanted it back.

“Bu-“

“No buts darling, you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of all these people, right?. Maybe wait until it’s just me and you, yeah? Sound good?” You weakly nodded your head to Tommy, knowing there was no way you were going to win this debate.

“Tommy?”

He turned to look at you, “yes darling?”

You stared at him with the best serious face you could possibly offer in your given state, “ You- you said butts!” You doubled back over again laughing your ass off. It truly wasn’t that funny, but you felt like a damn comedian at this point. Tommy gave you one of his famous “bitch, really” faces and walked away from you.

“Tommy! Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here!” He kept walking to the other side of the room, not once turning around to spare you another glance.

“Tommmmyyyyy!” He still didn’t turn around, and you were about to shout again until you saw some guest looking at you. You gave them all a bitter look and they averted their gazes, none of them wishing to die tonight. You frowned in Tommy’s direction before turning around to find someone you knew to talk too. You spotted Polly in the distance and headed her way.

“Ahhh Mrs.Shelby, lovely to see you this evening.”

You stopped in your tracks at the voice, slowly turning around to meet the cold eyes of Oswald Mosley. All the wine you had drank that night quickly left your system at the sight of him. Tommy had warned you to stay away from him, he warned you that he had no care about the feelings of women. You knew he was a terrible man.

He reached out with his bare clammy hand and grabbed your glove covered one and brought it up to his lips to give it a kiss, never once breaking eye contact with you.

You cringed on the inside, giving him a charming smile anyway. “Lovely too see you as well, Mr.Mosley.”

He looked you up and down, “might I just say dear, you look rather… ravishing tonight,” as the last word left his mouth he allowed his eyes to stop and stare at your breast. You pulled back at this, hating yourself for choosing such a daring dress. “Thank you, sir. I do believe I should go find my husband though, I’m sure he’s looking for me, have a good night Mr.Mosley.”

As you were walking around him to follow the way Tommy had left you moments prior, Oswald latched his hand onto your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

“Actually y/n, I ran into him for a brief conversation before I came to see you, and I can promise he seems quite busy with Mr.Solomons at the moment.” He gave you a sinister smile, still not letting go of your wrist.

You tried to pull back your hand but he only gripped it tighter, your wrist began to throb at this point.

“Mr.Mosley,” your teeth were clenched and you were sure your face was red, “I would actually love to go say hello to Mr.Solomons. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Alfie.” And with one final tug, your wrist slipped from his hold, but he was having none of that. He quickly grabbed you by your hips and pulled you flush to his chest, you could smell the alcohol and cheap cologne coming from him. For being so confident in himself he sure smelt like a piece of shit.

He squeezed your hips too tight for comfort and forced a smile towards you.

“It seems to me, Mrs.Shelby,” squeeze “that you are trying to get away from me. Do you not enjoy my company?” His dark brown eyes were boring into your e/c eyes.

You felt disgusted, who did this man think he was?

You glared at him, you gathered every ounce of anger and disgust you could and pushed it all behind your eyes.

“Mr.Mosley, I suggest you take your hands off of me right now, I don’t believe my husband would be too happy. He doesn’t like sharing.” You were furious, spitting out every word through your clenched teeth.

He scoffed, “your husband? Wouldn’t you like to see what a real man is like?” He still held your hips, and he slowly but forcefully pushed his hips up against yours.

*******************************************************

Across the room, Tommy was looking for you while he listened to Alfie speak. His blood boiled at the sight he found.

“So you see Tommy I-“

“Shut up Alfie.”

Alfie gazed over at Tommy incredulously, his cane stuck in midair from his rambling.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me Thomas?”

Tommy didn’t have time for Alfies games and pointed his cigarette in your direction. He followed Tommy’s hand and widened at the sight. There was no mistaking the disgusting excuse of a man and the beautiful woman Tommy was oh so lucky to call his.

Alfie had met you a couple of times, and although you were one scary bitch, he knew you were kind hearted behind your exterior. Even though you weren’t his he felt rage bubbling inside. He could see the discomfort on your face, he could only imagine what Tommy was thinking.

“Yeah, if I were you lad, I think I would go over and put a bullet in between the wops eyes, yeah.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more Alfie.” And with that Tommy was marching his way across the room to save his wife. When he was halfway across the room with determination on his face, he almost tripped over his own feet. The sight in front of him was not one he was expecting to see.

*******************************************************

Mosley pushed his hips up towards yours, and disgustingly enough you could feel everything through his pants. You could feel bile rising in your throat. You looked over his shoulder and saw Tommy on his way over with figurative steam coming out of his ears.

To hell with Tommy, he was the one that left you in the first place. You didn’t need his help, you were anything but a damsel in distress.

With that you brought your knee up to Mosley’s groin, a satisfactory smile on your face hearing him moan in pain.

When he doubled over in pain you didn’t hesitate before beating on the man.

“I-,” punch “said get-,” punch “off of-,” punch “ME!” kick.

Breathing heavily standing over the bloodied mans body, your senses began to come back to you. The band Tommy had hired stopped playing, everyone had stopped dancing, looking at you with bewilderment on their faces. You could hear Mosley struggling for air beneath you, and Tommy, well he was completely frozen in his spot, his jaw hanging open and he felt something stir inside of him.

You looked around, wiping off the dirt and blood on your hands and snapped at everybody staring at you, “shows over fuckers!” Everyone resumed what they were doing.

Tommy stormed over to you and for a second you thought he was going to shout. His brows were furrowed and he had a scowl on his face. When he was finally standing in front of you, you ducked your head waiting for the scolding.

You let out a surprised sound of shock when Tommy grabbed your face between both his hands and pressed his lips to yours. It was messy and uncoordinated, but neither of you cared.

Recovering from your moment of shock you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing back with just as much neediness. Tommy moved his hands down your back and grabbed your ass, emitting a moan from you and he slipped his tongue in your mouth, groaning at the taste of wine and cigarettes.

When he pulled back for air he stared into your eyes, keeping his hand on your ass.

“That-,” he took a deep breath, “was the hottest thing I have ever seen.” He pulled your hips closer to his, and you could feel him hardening against you.

You smirked up at Tommy, laughing before running your hand down his chest. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

His eyes darkened, when he opened his mouth to speak again he was interrupted by a very impressed gangster.

“Y/n! Darling!,” Alfie came running over as fast as he could with his leg, swinging his cane all over the place in excitement, almost pulling off Mrs.Evans scarf in the process, “that was amazing! Tell me, how did you do it?”

You gave an innocent smile in the mans direction, still wrapped in Tommy’s arms, “it’s called badassery Alfie, I could teach you if you want?”

Tommy let out a loud laugh at that, letting go of your ass to pull you to his side by your waist and gave Alfie an award winning Thomas Shelby smile.

Alfie looked at you for a moment before laughing himself.

“You gotta’ keeper here Tom, don’t let her go or I’ll snatch her up myself.”

Tommy glared at Alfie and turned his attention to you smiling, “Trust me Alf, I’m never letting this one go.”

And with that Tommy dragged you upstairs into your shared room, showing you how hot he thought it truly was, and awarding you a job well done.

*******************************************************

a/n: I hope you like it honey! I’m not sure I liked the ending though, but I hope y’all do!!❤️❤️

Also! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Have a good day darlins!🥰

@shadowfoxey @nothingleftthaticando

[cjsinkythoughts]

Flaws

Written for @honeysucklesteve​’s 4k writing challenge! If you haven’t, go check her out because she’s amazing!

Pairing: Mickey Henry x fem!Reader

Summary: You hate his music taste. He hates yours. You have a bad habit of stealing his gigs. He has a bad habit of fucking you until you can’t walk straight. Everyone has flaws. What are you to do about it?

Word Count: 3822

Warnings: Cursing, hate sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, slight edging, there’s a mirror involved, drugs, alcohol, clubbing, smoking, one mention of lung cancer, mentions of Monday’s plot, so slight spoilers; (I hope I’m not forgetting anything. These kinds of warnings are new to me. If I am, feel free to tell me.)

18+ PLEASE!!! MINORS DNI!!!

A/N: I know I haven’t posted in a while, but here you go! I’m so nervous about posting this. Honestly. I feel like I kinda rushed it a little? I dunno if it’s good. Uhm, I will say that Mickey is not soft in this. You know how he’s all cute and flirty in the movie? Yeah. Not here. I have plans to write for him later on where he’s more on character and adorable and all that, but it’s enemies to lovers and he hates reader and reader hates him. So. Yeah. Have fun with that.

This is a few firsts for me; first published smut, first Mickey Henry fic, and first enemies-to-lovers ever! I’m attached to friends-to-lovers (my parents’ fault), so going in the opposite direction is exciting and I hope it works out! (We’ll see what it can become after it’s been written.) 

Also! Yes, I’m adding the link to the inspiration of the remix here. You’ll see what I’m talking about. I imagine more bass, but that’s basically it.

As always, all mistakes are mine and please excuse them as it’s not beta’d! Be kind to yourselves and others! Stay tuned and enjoy!

Part Two - Addictions

My Masterlist

*****

Between the tumultuous, voice losing cheers and the pounding, headache inducing bass, it’s a miracle the occupants of the building can hear anything at all. The large room is doused in bright pinks, purples and blues, glitter getting into every pore and crack, the smell of cigarette smoke and booze lingering in the air. 

Bodies pressed together uncomfortably tight, breath and sweat mixing in a way that can’t be enjoyable, but no one notices because they’re all too high and drunk. There’s a couple swallowing each other in every dark corner of the room. A group of guys looking to get some are laughing rather obnoxiously at the bar, having consumed far too much alcohol to be safe. 

Bouncers are escorting people out left and right; a streaker who decided to get on a table and dance, a couple who took it a bit too far over the bar counter, a group of girls who were no doubt too young to be in such an environment. Boisterous, chaotic, borderline dangerous.

There’s no place he’d rather be on a Friday night.

Up on the center stage, playing around with his tracks, messing with the turntables, pulse connecting to the music, head bobbing with the beat. He’s in control. 

Every party. Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday night. Every weekend.

He’s in control.

It’s what he liked so much about doing what he does. Once he’s booked, he’s booked. It’s his night. He controls the sounds people hear. He controls what they dance to. How they dance. The pace of the night. The feeling of the night. And no one can take it away from him.

No one, that is, except you.

He hears you before he sees you, which is nearly impossible considering how loud the music is, but you somehow manage to take control of the room the moment you walk in it. You always get what you want with a bat of your eyelashes. And if you aren’t given it, you take what you want without regard for other people.

It really really pisses him off.

You’re laughing with a group of your friends, guys and girls’ heads swiveling to stare at you, captivating every heart in the room as per usual. You always show up with the same group, but he doesn’t even know any of their names even though you run in the same circles. It’s not like you end up hanging out with them for long, and you never leave with them. No, no. You always leave with him.

And that pissed him off too. 

He can’t help it. He has absolutely no control over himself when it comes to you. And he hates you for it. He hates that he lets you take over with only a few snarky comments in his defense. He hates that you always get into his head. And he hates that you’re the best fuck he’d ever had and he can never get enough of you.

But most of all…he hates your music.

“Hey, hey! There he is!” You send him that infuriating smile of yours, a drink in your hand. It’s a flaw of yours. One of many, but probably the biggest. Alcohol. Like him and his cigarettes. He watches you with narrowed eyes as you effortlessly move through the crowd, your girls and guys seeming to vanish into the mob with every step you take.

You end up in front of the stage, leaning on it and giving him a smirk as you sip on your beverage choice of the night. It’s always something different. The only common factor is the alcohol you crave, letting it wash over your tongue, burn down your throat and slip into your veins.

“Heya, Mouse!”

“Don’t call me that!” He shouts with a growl over the music, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“I got called this morning! Said there was a gig tonight!”

He shakes his head, gesturing to the set up. “You’re a bit too late there, sunshine! Gig’s booked!”

You shake your head back at him. “I’m taking over from here, Mouse!”

“Says who?!”

“Argyris!”

His jaw clenches, his forehead creasing, a skeptical scoff leaving his lips. “Fuck you! No he didn’t! He said this one’s mine!”

You just give a shrug, no cares in the world, downing the rest of your drink. “You can fuck me later! For now, if you wanna whine about it, Daddy’s over there!”

Another growl leaves his chest as he scowls at you, eyes darting to where you’re pointing. Argyris is by the bar, of course, swaying on the seat. Barking out a laugh, he looks at you with a shake of his head. “He’s so drunk he probably shit himself again! You can’t take his word for it!”

“I can when he called me this morning, sober as he can get!” You shoot back, hopping up to stand besides him. “Besides! Someone’s gotta make sure these people have an actual good time!”

“Don’t touch anything until I get back!” He snaps, pointing warningly at you as he starts to walk towards Argyris.

You smile innocently, even though he knows you’re anything but. “Yes, sir!”

He marches over to his asshole friend and grabs him by the shirt, turning him around. “Mickey! Havin’ a good time?!”

Mickey glares, feeling his blood boil and his ears heat up, not from the proximity of strangers around him. “What the fuck?! You told sunshine over there that she could have my gig?!”

“I thought you’d wanna break! Dance and relax for a little bit! It’s only a two hour slot I gave her!”

“You should’ve fucking asked, Argyris! I don’t want her anywhere near my-” His sentence is cut off by a change in the music and he whips over to the stage where you’re grinning and jumping with the crowd. You catch his eye and throw him a wink, holding one of the headphone cups over your ear. “ Oh for the love of - she’s messing with my stuff!”

“I thought you liked her!”

Spluttering, Mickey gapes at the other man in disbelief. “Like her? I can’t stand her! She’s so fucking annoying!”

“What’s so annoying about her?!”

Mickey snatches the drink Argyris was about to gulp down and slams it on the counter. “She’s a spoiled fucking brat! Everyone lets her do whatever she wants! She steals half my fucking gigs! And her music is shit! Listen to this!”

Argyris looks around the room and shrugs. “Everyone else seems to like it! Sure it’s different than your disco-”

“It’s not disco!”

“But it’s a crowd pleaser! Just relax! Have a drink and go dance!”

“Argyris!” Wanting to scream in frustration, he watches the man stumble off to get another drink down the bar. “Dammit! This is fucking shit.” Grumbling to himself, Mickey storms back over to the stage, easily pulling himself up.

You bite your lip and raise an eyebrow at him. “So?! How’d your date with Argyris go?!”

“I hate you so fucking much! Use your own fucking headphones!” He snatches the pair from your neck, pulling the cord out. “Why do you always have to steal my gigs?!”

You shrug, leaning forwards to brush your lips against his ear. “Yours are so much fun.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyebrows furrowing. This always happens. Every time. The moment he feels in control, you do something and he feels every ounce of himself slipping away. It’s the reason he fucks you. To take back that control he so easily gives to you. To make sure you understand that on the weekends, he’s in charge.

But not tonight. No, no. Not tonight. He refuses to get caught up in that game tonight. You wouldn’t end up in an alley or some bathroom with him. He wouldn’t end up on your couch or in his kitchen with you. He refuses to let it happen. Again.

Instead, he lets out a chuckle and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever sunshine.” He takes a step back, giving you a smirk as your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You have fun playing your shitty music!”

“Have fun moping!” You call back, turning to the table and ignoring him completely as he groans and jumps off the stage.

Good God. You’re infuriating.

But so is he.

You hate Mickey Henry. You just do. You hate that he has zero responsibilities and gets away with it. You hate that he can charm his way out of any situation. You hate how immature he is and how no one ever forces him to grow up. And you hate how easily you let him take charge when he’s with you. After a life full of people making choices for you, you crave control, but with him? The moment he tells you to get on your knees, you fall, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.

But most of all…you hate his music.

You take his gigs to save people from listening to it, but also so he knows he can’t talk every situation into his favor. That Argyris can’t always take care of his job for him. He never checks up on gigs once Argyris tells him he has them. So it’s really his fault for not taking some responsibility.

Watching from the stage as your music flows through you, vibrating your bones and sinking into your skin, you’re not surprised to see him get out a cigarette as he heads to a mutual acquaintance of yours. He has many flaws, but that’s a major one. Like you and your alcohol. Him and his cigarettes. You wouldn’t be surprised if you learn a couple months from now that he has lung cancer.

Mickey is talking low to the guy and you already know what’s going on. That was a flaw you both shared. Drugs. He is much more intense than you though. While you’d be fine with some pot, he almost always hits hard with cocaine. Not that you’re innocent from that type yourself - you’d done it multiple times with the man himself if you ended up at each other’s place. Never in the bedroom. You never made it that far, and you don’t really care to. But after those times bent over the table, being pounded into the couch, hanging against the wall, you’d get high with him before one of you takes off.

You’re not exactly sure what happened earlier. You were a bit shocked when he stepped away. Not that you usually left so early, but he didn’t even stay to bicker some more.

Not that you care. You’re just…curious. Maybe he’s finally growing tired of the game you’ve been playing. You’ve been playing it for a few years now. With that weird little pause last year.

You actually thought he had changed.

Having run into him at a party, you prepared yourself for the arguing that no doubt would end in sex. But it didn’t. It didn’t even start. He was with someone. Like, steady with someone. As in dating someone. Living with her. To the point where his baby mama actually agreed to let him keep his boy in their apartment as long as they were together.

It was a weird six months. You two actually had real conversations. You knew how soft and goofy he could get; you had loads of mutual friends and often went to the same parties so you’d seen that side of him. It was just…odd because it never came out with you. But it did then. And you…liked it. You didn’t see him as often, especially once his kid was cleared to live with them. He stopped going out on weekends, started just attending the small shindigs your friends hosted, worked from home instead of DJing.

But then his girl - what was her name? Claire? Caitie? You can’t remember - left for a job in the States just a few months ago and he was back to square one. His baby mama took back the custody privileges, he went back to partying every weekend, and you fell right back into your petty bickering and rough fucking.

You feel bad. Really, you do. You heard that he’d actually loved that chick. And you know he wanted to see his kid more. You knew about the room at his place. But that almost made you hate him more. That he went right back to his old self. He didn’t even try. He got a taste of being a responsible adult, and then let it go.

Because no matter how hard people try, flaws are flaws. And no one can change that much.

As the night goes on, more booze enters your system, while more cocaine enters his. There’s the occasional glare or immature finger raising between you two. Mickey even sticks his tongue out at you while dancing with some broad, a smirk lifting up the corners of his mouth as yours twist down and your eyes roll.

Your features quickly morph into smug amusement as an idea pops into your head and his eyes narrow. What are you up to? He quickly finds out as you stop the music and bring a microphone to your lips.

“Hey, hey, party people! Everyone’s night going fantastic?!” Cheers are your response. Mickey scowls, not liking where this is going, and starts heading your way. You wink at him. “I’m gonna change it up for just this one song! It’s a dedication song to a good friend of mine! It’s a bit different than the usual stuff, but it’s a bop, I promise! Here’s to the Mouse!”

He immediately freezes as the song starts. “Meeska! Mooska! Mickey Mouse!” He feels his face heat up, his fists balling up at his sides, glaring at you and your shit eating grin as you roll your body to the beat, his feet taking him to the stage.

Effortlessly lifting himself onto it once more, he grabs both your wrists in one of his larger ones to stop the music without you interfering, his rings digging into your skin. “Aww! But, Mouse! We didn’t even get to the roll call!”

“Shut. Up.” He grits out through clenched teeth, putting something else on absentmindedly. He didn’t want Argyris on his ass later for leaving the crowd without music. “God. Stop being a fucking pain in my fucking ass for one fucking minute.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s pulling you away before you can reply. Next thing you know he’s shoving you into the bathroom, growling at the girls that were smoking up the place to get out.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you, princess?” He hisses in your ear, slamming you against the door once the girls left. He’s so tired of giving in to you, but he can’t help it, crashing his lips against yours messily. Teeth and tongue, the taste of smoke and the fruity drink you had chosen for the night mixing, only making him press closer. Your hands get pinned above your head and he’s pulling your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. It’s rough and careless and fueled by loathing, but when is it not? “Think you’re so funny? Huh?”

“Yeah.” You breath, smirking as he slots a thigh between your legs, squeezing your hips and pressing you down against him, flexing the muscle and making you squirm.

His teeth are biting at your bottom lip and tugging, his hands dragging your clothed core along his thigh. “Let’s see how funny you think you are when I’m fucking you so hard you forget how to breathe.”

Your breath hitches and your hands previously above your head clutch onto his shirt at the friction against your clit. It’s not enough and he knows, but you don’t tell him. “All this over a silly song?” You jest.

He sneers back at you, ignoring your tease. “Did you get jealous, sunshine? Is that what happened? Is that why you decided to be a little shit?”

“Jealous?” You scoff as he attacks your neck, your hands quickly undoing his belt before he shoves his pants down, his briefs following along with your panties. “Jealous of you, maybe. That girl was hot. Way outta your lea - oh shit.”

You always forget how deep he reaches inside you, how much the stretch is. He’s not soft about it, entering you in one swift thrust, your hips connecting. His hands are dimpling your bare thighs, hefting you up so your legs wrap around his waist, rings on his fingers no doubt making imprints. The door against your back starts rattling with every movement, but the music outside was too loud for anyone to hear it.

“Not so mouthy now, are we?” He snaps in time with his hips. He can feel you tightening around him, your fingers dragging down his chest, trying desperately to pull his shirt off.

“C’mon, Mouse. That's all you got?” You pant out, a little whine leaving your lips when he leaves you suddenly, dropping you to your feet. “Mickey! What-”

He cuts you off by pushing you against the counter, a shout leaving your lip when he takes you from behind, making you surge forwards, your head almost hitting the mirror, pelvis hitting your ass with every piston of his hips. His hand is tangled in your hair and he tugs, making your head snap up. “Look at you. So fucked out. I did that. I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had and we both know it.” He isn’t wrong. Your makeup’s a mess, your hair is wrapped around his fingers.

“You’re the one who keeps fucking me.” You argue back, your spine arching as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Over and over and over.

He growls, leaning forwards to fold over you, his lips by your ear. “And who keep being a fucking brat? Huh? Who keeps coming to my gigs, fucking up my weekend? Practically begging me to fuck you.”

You scowl at him in the mirror. “I don’t beg.”

The chuckle that leaves his lips makes you shiver and you whimper when he tugs your hair harder, the sting of your scalp mixing with the pleasure his cock was giving you.

“You will. You may get everything you want from everyone else, princess, but I’m in charge here. Don’t. You. Forget.” His words are punctuated with a hard thrust, making you lurch forwards, your thighs pressing harshly against the counter.

“Oh God…Mickey,” that familiar tightness in your stomach appears, your eye clenching shut as your toes curl. “I’m so close…”

“Open your goddamn eyes. Look who’s doing this to you. Who fucking owns this pussy? Huh?”

Your eyes snap open and meet his again, his breaths fanning across your face, rapidly becoming less steady. “You.”

“That’s right. You wanna cum, sunshine?” You nod vigorously. He takes your lobe between his teeth and tugs as he stills his hips, keeping himself inside you. “Then beg.”

And, just like the many times before, you do. You do because you don’t actually care about begging. You care about him ruining you. That’s what you want. And you always get what you want. Fuck your dignity. 

He starts up slowly again as you plead, stopping a couple more times when you feel yourself getting close. “Mickey! Please, for the love of God!” He’s never edged you this much. Not this intensely. And not in the bathroom at a club. Usually it’s just a quickie before you take him home or vice versa.

But you pissed him off tonight. More so than usual. It was a good night and then you came along. Took his job. Played that dumb song. So he needs to remind you. Put you in your place. “You may be spoiled by everyone else, princess, but I’m the only one who can give you what you really want.”

“God, you’re so annoying.” You grind out through your clenched teeth.

He just smirks. “That wasn’t a denial. Let go, Y/N. Make a mess of my cock. Watch yourself fall apart for me.”

You do as he says, watching your jaw go slack in a silent scream, your body tensing, your legs shaking, as he finally lets you have what you want. Body going slack against the counter, he keeps rutting into you until he groans, a string of profanities leaving his lips as he spills inside you.

The both of you stay there, with him folded on top of you, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, his grip on your hair loosening.

“That was fun. A little different.” You hum as he gets up. He’s glaring at you as you straighten and fix yourself. “Good orgasm though, so thanks for that. But I gotta get back to work now.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.” He mutters, tucking himself away and pulling his pants up.

“Kinky. Maybe next time.” You wink at him through the mirror and his jaw ticks. He’s so fucking tired of it. Of you. How you let him have that one bit of control and then your right back to controlling the room once you get what you want. There’s so many nights where he wonders if he should just stop giving it to you. But then he’s inside you and he can’t help himself.

He watches you touch yourself up, although you still look thoroughly fucked, but you don’t seem to mind. This is new. You going back to the gig you stole after sex. He wonders if that was the last time for tonight, or if you’d be leaving together later too.

“I fucking hate you.” He spits out as you open the door, wanting to get the last word in.

You just smirk the same way he did to you earlier. “Yeah…but you love fucking me. Later, Mouse.”

Just like always, you’re the last comment as you walk out nonchalantly, even though he could see the slight wobble in your steps, the door shutting behind you, leaving him alone.

You hate Mickey Henry. You loathe him. You wish you never met him. But you can’t get enough. No matter how many times you convince yourself you have him where you want him, you know you don’t. You’d let him do anything to you. But you can’t stop. Like him and his cigarettes. He’s your flaw. And no matter how bad he is for you, you’re addicted.

Mickey Henry hates you. He loathes you. He wishes he never met you. But he can’t get enough. No matter how many times he convinces himself he’s in control, he knows he’s not. He always gives you what you want at the end of the day. But he can’t stop. Like you and your alcohol. You’re his flaw. And no matter how bad it is for him, he’s addicted.

*****

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@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @breadqueen95​ @marvelettesassemble​ @w-wolfhxrd​ @the-larry-romance​ @abitofeverythinggg​

[betweenthepages]

The Cure: Chapter 1

Summary: You get outed to your parents and it doesn’t go so well. But at least you have Jess Mariano.

Word count: 2370

⚠️Warnings⚠️: homophobia, homophobic violence

“Mom? Dad?” You called out, stepping into the silence of your home. You entered the living room and was met with the sight of both your parents seated on the couch. Your father’s gaze fixated on the floor with his hands clasped in front of him, lips drawn in a thin line. Your mother lifted her head in acknowledgment. The TV was off, no conversation being exchanged. Idleness hung in the atmosphere. “What’s going on?” You frowned. “Sit down, (Y/N).” Nervousness bubbled in your chest as you sat across from them. “Did I do something?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

Your dad’s eyes locked with yours. “Are you gay?” The question was completely unexpected. Your eyes widened in confusion. Sweat moistened your palms. “Am I- what?”

“Are. You. Gay. With that Mariano boy?” He gritted his teeth, his voice low to the point of growling. Your muscles tensed and you quickly debated coming clean or denying it. They wouldn’t be too pleased with the knowledge that you liked other boys, especially Jess. Heck you weren’t even allowed to be friends with him. You knew you couldn’t hide it forever. You were planning to let them know once you moved out and were no longer reliant on them. Perhaps deception would work, for now.

“No?” you put on your best act of confusion, “Where are you getting this from?” Your mother whipped her head towards you, eyes filled with a darkness that was completely unfamiliar. Your dad’s face reddened, fists clenched and visibly shaking. Fear clouded your senses. “What are these, then?” Your mother placed some pictures on the coffee table. Pictures of you and Jess. Holding hands and kissing. Your heart sunk to your stomach. “W-Where did you get these...?” Your voice was shaky from restraining tears. “They were left in our mailbox this morning, no envelope or name. How can you explain this (Y/N)?” Your mom scowled. Your throat went dry. Who would do this to you? Who hated you this much? Well, it didn’t matter who had done it, because there was no way to cover it up.

“It’s true, okay? I’m gay, I’ve been seeing Jess for-” You were cut off by a stinging pain on your cheek and a sharp sound echoing the room. Your father loomed over you, nostrils flaring and looking at you with pure hatred. You cowered in his shadow. “I did not raise a gay son! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! All those years of giving you a good life and a roof over your head for nothing! Disgraceful.” You whimpered as he fisted your hair painfully and reared your head back to look up at him. “You are not my son.” He spat. In quick seconds your body painfully collided with the coffee table, pain shooting up your abdomen. You barely had time to catch a breath before you were yanked up and slammed against the wall. Rough, calloused hands, pressing against your windpipe. You squirmed in an useless attempt to flee. Your chest tightened painfully. Your head felt light. You wanted Jess. He would hold you and protect you and take you away from this pain. Black spots dotted your vision and you thought ‘this is it. I’m going to die.’ Seconds before you passed out, the hands removed themselves and you collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. You cherished the temporary relief of having oxygen in your lungs while it lasted. You were kicked down into a lying position, your father’s heel coming in contact with area that hit the table. Tears cascaded down your swollen cheeks as you curled into yourself. The blows kept coming. You just shut your eyes and took it, holding onto hope that it would end eventually. By the time your dad finally took his foot away, your body was at it’s breaking point. Every breath came with immense pain. Bruises, scrapes and cuts blemished your skin. “You’re going to get up,” your father spoke, “and get the fuck out of my house.” You briefly glanced to your mother standing in the corner, staring at you intently. Her expression was unreadable, but she voiced no protest. You were in no state to be able to pack your belongings. Hopefully you’d be able to return and collect them. Or maybe your parents would destroy them. Right now, it wasn’t your concern. Your dad left to the kitchen, probably to get a beer, and your mother followed suit. Mustering the last ounce of strength you had, you crawled to the front door. With every movement your muscles ached. Holding onto the wall for balance, you carefully rose to your feet. Only grabbing your phone and jacket, you exited onto the pitch black streets.

You limped in the direction of Luke’s Diner, but gave up after a block. You were physically incapable of covering the distance. You quickly dialled Jess’s number, tears blurring your vision. It rang once. Twice. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breathing grew heavy. You felt a panic attack oncoming and you needed to hear Jess’s voice. Please pick up, please pick up. “(Y/N)?” Jess said across the line, voice thick with sleep. “Jess...” you whimpered, words getting caught in your throat. “(Y/N) what’s up? It’s late.”

“I-I need you. I need help. It hurts, Jess.”

“What hurts? What happened?” He was awake now, and seemingly alarmed. “I need an ambulance,” you glanced at the street sign, “I’m on Peach Street. Call them and get here, p-please.” Staying conscious was becoming a struggle. “Okay, okay hold on I’ll make the call.” Jess quickly switched lines and you leaned against the wall, waiting. Watching the stars kept you occupied. You were about to close your eyes until the blaring of a siren approached. You could vaguely recognise a car following behind it. As it neared, you recognised it as Luke’s pick up truck. You couldn’t see Jess’s face, but knowing that he came provided some relief. Jess got to you before the paramedics did. Warm hands cupped your battered face and soft caresses ghosted your skin. . “(Y/N), god what happened?” You chuckled bitterly. “Mom and dad found out about us. I’ll explain later. It didn’t go so well though.” You clutched your side. Talking was painful. Jess was about to say something but the paramedics told him to back away so they could load you into a stretcher. “Sir? Sir try to stay awake please.” Said a female paramedic as your eyelids drooped. Jess was out of your vision, but you could make out his voice shouting over them, asking to come on the ambulance. Of course that privilege wouldn’t be extended to non-family. Luke told him to buckle up and he’ll drive them there. You were exhausted, and the pain in your body was unbearable. Your allowed your eyes to shut, darkness replacing the blinding ambulance lights.

Jess and Luke sat in the waiting room, anxiously awaiting news about your condition. Jess’s leg was shaking and he seemed distanced in his thoughts. He had told Luke on the way that this had something to do with your parents. He’s had his fair share of beatings from Liz’s boyfriends, but he was struck with disbelief knowing someone could cause this much damage to their own child. The doctor emerged. “How is he?” Luke asked. “He has 3 broken ribs, internal bleeding, several deep cuts, contusions and a dislocated jaw. But he’s no longer in critical condition. It’s good we got to him when we did, or it may have been too late.” Jess‘s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Luke thanked the doctor and bid him goodbye, then focused his attention on his distressed nephew. “T-They almost killed him...” Jess whispered, eyes widened and watery. Luke sighed, pulling the boy into a side hug. In truth, he was just as worried as your boyfriend was. He was accepting your relationship and cared for you. Ever since you’d come into Jess’s life, his immature ways and short temper had ceased. His school attendance went up as well as his grades. The sarcastic remarks and witty insults weren’t going away anytime soon, but Luke knew there was a mutual love between him and his nephew. And he knew you meant the absolute world to Jess. “You heard the doctors. He’ll be okay. He’s strong.” He rubbed the teen’s shoulder in consolation.

Patients and visitors entered and exited the hospital doors while Luke and Jess sat in silence. The clock was about to strike 1am yet they were more awake than ever. Jess hadn’t particularly liked your parents previously, but now his hatred for them ran deep. Upon his first arrival to Stars Hollow, they had advised you to keep your distance because word of his troublemaking antics spread fast. But you with your sweet, kind soul was willing to give him a chance.

A nurse approached them. “(Y/N) (L/N) is awake. You can see him now.” Jess bounded to his feet, swiftly stepping to your room without waiting for Luke to follow. He paused abruptly at your door and took a breath. Your head turned at the sound of the door slowly creaking open. Jess stepped in, and a feeling of warmth evaded your body despite the chill of the hospital room. You shifted to make room for him on the bed. Without a word, he embraced you. Careful not to hurt you, he rested his head on your shoulder, and the cloth of the gown dampened. “Jess.” You cooed, rubbing his back. “I almost lost you...” he mumbled. “I-It’s okay. I’m not okay, but I will be. The hospital staff are doing their best.” You attempted a smile but it hurt your face. Jess pulled away with a sigh, calloused hand cupping your cheek. “I want to know what happened. Not now, if you don’t feel like it. When you’re ready.”

“Well, I got home and my mom showed these pictures someone took of us kissing. She said they were left in the mailbox by an anonymous. I told them that I’m gay and that we’re dating, and... yeah.” You averted your gaze to you and Jess’s intertwined hands, playing with his fingers. Jess furrowed his brows. “Why would anybody-” You cut him off. “I don’t care about that now Jess. It’s all so much, I’m gonna see a social worker and the police, I don’t know where I’m going to live, people are gonna talk about what happened. Plus I’m tired and everything’s sore.” You felt like crying again before Jess shushed you, carding his hands through your hair and kissing your cheek. “Hey hey, (Y/N) I’m sorry. Calm down.” He readjusted to a laying position and carefully guided you into laying down on top of him, using his toned chest as a pillow. “I love you. So much. We can figure everything out later, just get some sleep. It’s almost midnight.”

“I want you to stay and be there when I wake up.” You said. “Okay.” Jess smiled. There was a cough, you both turned to see Luke in the doorway. “Well, I’ll leave you guys alone and uh, Jess I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” He nodded, “Goodnight (Y/N), call me if you need anything.” You smiled at him and bid your goodbyes, before it was back to just you and your boyfriend. Jess leaned over to turn off the light. “I love you, Jess.” You said into the darkness. He responded with a long kiss to your forehead.

Jess woke up first. The hospital staff hadn’t arrived yet, so he wouldn’t get in trouble. He pressed light kisses on your forehead until your eyes fluttered open. “Morning.” He smirked. “Morning,” you grumbled, nuzzling into him. “What’s going on today?” He asked. “I explained the cause of my injuries to the doctor and now I’ve got to talk to the authorities. Then I’m seeing a social worker and doing some paperwork.”

“Where you going to stay?” Jess asked softly.

“If my parents get arrested then I’ll probably get sent to a foster home.” You sighed. “Is that what you want?” Jess frowned. “No, not at all. I mean, no way I’m living with my parents again, but also idea the of going with strangers...” you trailed off, focusing on drawing shapes on his chest. “Move into the diner.” Jess said without no hesitation. “Jess you know I can’t-”

“Yes you can! Really (Y/N), we can talk to Luke about it.”

“Talk to me about what?” Luke stood in the doorway wearing a questioning expression. “Sorry, I was going to knock but I overheard my name.” He chuckled. “Can (Y/N) stay with us?” Jess asked. “Jess no-“

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” Luke shrugged. “I- what?” You turned to Luke in shock. “We can make that arrangement, if that’s what you want (Y/N). You’re at the diner most of the time anyways.” It was true. You always stayed over with Jess and had dates at the diner to keep your relationship discreet. “Well yes, but being a permanent occupant is completely different.” You frowned. “Hey kid, your parents are real shitty people. This is a hard time for you. I have a feeling you don’t want to end up in the foster care system, so this is one less problem to deal with.” He said.

Jess spoke up, “(Y/N), I’m okay with it, and Luke is okay with it. So why the hell not?” You felt like crying again. You practically pounced on Jess babbling a string of ‘thank you’s and peppering kisses on his face in between. He laughed heartily, rubbing your back. Luke observed with a tender smile. “Thank you Luke, really.”

“No problem kid.” He gently placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to seem as less threatening as possible. “Jess and I have to go, the staff are gonna be here any minute. But rest up okay?” You nodded. Jess really didn’t want to leave, you assured him visiting hours were long and regular. Eventually he pulled away and you shared one last kiss before he was out of sight.

[dongofthewolf]

A Heart’s a Heavy Burden

Abby Anderson x GN! Reader

After arriving on Catalina Island, Abby is afraid to let her guard down. She lives with this constant crushing weight on her chest that she fears will never leave her. It’s not until she meets the reader that things begin to change.

Warnings: Copious amounts of fluff, swearing, basically just a lot of cute shit lol

Anon requested one where the reader goes on a hike with Abby and Lev, I hope you guys enjoy (especially if you requested it) <3 it’s been really nice getting back into writing and this request was so adorable aaaa.

A/N: I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted and for that I apologize. In the meantime, I hope this will suffice. Also peep the Howl’s Moving Castle quote I used for the title lol

After the death of her father and that night in the theatre, Abby has come to the realization that pain and suffering is nothing if not inevitable. There has never been a point in time in which an instance of joy or peace is not soon followed by the truest forms of human depravity. When Abby and Lev arrived in Santa Barbara she thought things would be different. She was filled with this brand new feeling of optimism that she thought was long forgotten, and for the first time in forever she had hope.

Then—almost as if some higher being was mocking her for finally letting her guard down—the Rattlers happened, and it all came crashing down. As easily as a sandcastle is destroyed by the tide, that newfound happiness was gone in an instant and that feeling of despair returned once again. She had almost become accustomed to the suffering and heartache that accompanied those short increments of happiness. 

So when Abby and Lev arrived on Catalina Island, naturally Abby was incredibly grateful, but she was also fucking terrified. The moment that she stepped onto the shore, Abby vowed to never let her guard down again. She never wanted to see Lev hurt again, especially after everything he’d already been through.

It’s easy to imagine how difficult life can be when every happy moment is squandered by the fear of something inevitably terrible happening. It’s been months on Catalina Island and that normalcy Abby has missed so much was beginning to return, yet she is still afraid. A large part of Abby knows that being captured by the Rattlers isn’t her fault, but nevertheless she still feels this tremendous weight on her chest. Bearing down on her, compressing her into something small. 

There is something different about Catalina Island though. Something that makes Abby feel as though—despite everything that has already happened—things will be different here. It’s you.

You were one of the first faces Abby saw when her and Lev arrived on the shore. She had sustained multiple injuries and was suffering from severe starvation and dehydration, Lev the same. You however were in the infirmary for a fractured ankle, and due to the shortage of space she was placed in the bed next to yours. 

There was something you noticed about Abby the moment she sat down next to you. You couldn’t quite place it at the time but thinking back, it was definitely her eyes. There was so much pain behind them. You didn’t know why or how you knew, but it was there. Maybe it was because you had seen that same pain in the mirror that sits idle in the darkness of your room, the one covered by a tattered white sheet. It didn’t matter though, because all you knew was that the pain was there, and you wanted nothing more than to show her that life can be okay.

You woke up early today, laying in bed and trying to shake the sleep from your body, you counted the dust particles that floated in the small beam of sunlight that peeked through your window. While you lay basking in the warmth and stillness of your bedroom, you heard a quiet knock on your door. A small voice followed, it was Lev.

“Y/N? Are you awake?” 

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” You carefully rolled out of bed before slipping on a hoodie and answering the door. 

When you opened the door Lev had a huge smile on his face. “Hi Y/N!” 

That was something you really admired about him. Even after everything him and Abby had been through, he was just full of this giddy optimism that continued to wonder you every day. 

“Hey Lev, what’s up?” 

“I was wondering if you wanted to come on a hike with Abby and I? Apparently there’s something she wants to show you.” 

“Of course, I’d love to! Just let me get ready and I’ll head down in a bit.” Just as the words slipped out Lev embraced you tightly. You giggled as he leapt into your arms. 

“Awesome! I’ll go let Abby know.” Lev released you from his grip before hurriedly running downstairs.

When you found the two waiting outside your room, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Abby and her adorable freckles. She looked so much happier now, having grown her hair out a bit and built up some of the muscle mass she had lost. 

“You ready to go?” Abby had her hands hooked in the straps of her backpack as she took a small step closer to you. 

“You bet your ass I am.” 

As Abby led you and Lev along the shoreline you noticed how her skin was almost glowing. You figured it was most likely a product of all the time she spent helping out in the California sun. 

Rather than resting like any normal person would’ve, as soon as Abby was back on her feet, she was desperate to help out as much as she could. Whether it was patrolling the beaches or running the farms, she didn’t care. She just wanted to help. 

It seemed like it was a way for her to somehow compensate for being rescued off of the coast, and you wished you could tell her that she didn’t owe anyone anything—that after everything she went through to get here, there was nothing to repay. Of course though, it’s difficult to console someone when they haven’t exactly told you what was troubling them.

The shoreline bordered between an abundance of rocky cliffs and the tide, and the area was littered with lush greenery. Lev walked ahead of the two of you, jumping from rock to rock with surprising ease.

“Be careful Lev! There are sharks in that water you know.” Abby yelled at Lev to no avail. It was sweet how protective she was over him, even though she knew he wouldn’t fall.

You lightly nudged Abby’s shoulder with yours, the warmth of her skin against yours was comforting. You gave her a small reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine Abs, you know he can handle himself.” 

Abby sighed, looking down for a brief moment before continuing. “You’re right… I just worry you know.” 

“Yeah, I get it. You know, you’re actually pretty cute when you get all protective.” You said it teasingly, but you’d be lying if there wasn’t a small ounce of truth to the words.

Abby smiled, blushing at the comment, but it was difficult to tell in the sunlight. She was grateful the sun had already made her cheeks a light shade of pink. “Shut up.” 

It was nice with Abby and Lev. You spent the day burying Abby in the sand on the beach and chasing the crabs that hid under the rocks with Lev. Abby had packed a whole bunch of food in her bag, and the three of you quickly devoured it all. 

While Lev was building a shark out of sand, you and Abby laid side by side as you basked in the warm sun. After a bit you felt a shift next to you as Abby rolled on her side, leaning on her arm while she looked down towards you. 

“Hey.” Her voice was quiet, soft, similar to Lev’s when he woke you up this morning.

You opened your eyes and nearly melted at the sight before you. Abby was completely shielding the sun from your face which created a halo effect that outlined her entire head. The small strands of hair that stuck out of her ponytail glowed like threads of gold, and you could see clearly now the freckles that danced across her face all the way down to her arms. 

You replied with a soft smile on your face as you laid there admiring all the little details of her face. “Hey.”

“Can I show you something?” 

You gave her a small nod. “Do you want me to get Lev?” As you began sitting up Abby put her hand on your arm to stop you.

“Actually, I was kind of hoping it could just be us. Is that okay?” There was a small hint of nervousness in her voice and you weren’t sure if it was due to the thought of leaving Lev alone, or if it was from something else. 

“I would love that.” The corner of Abby’s mouth curled into a small smile at your answer. 

The both of you stood up from the sand, brushing the excess off of your pants. Abby jogged over to Lev and whispered something quietly before quickly returning to you. 

When you and Abby began walking away from the beach you heard Lev’s voice in the distance. “Have Y/N back by ten o’clock young man, I have a hunting rifle and I know how to use it!” 

Abby rolled her eyes as she yelled back in response. “Yeah, yeah.”

You looked at Abby with a confused face. “He has a hunting rifle?” 

“Nah, I think he got it from a movie. I need to stop showing him those old rom-coms.” Abby chuckled as she responded and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as well. It’s almost annoying how infectious her laughter was.

Eventually, the two of you reached a long stream of rushing water. It wasn’t too deep, but if you were to fall in, the current was definitely strong enough to swiftly sweep you away.

There was a tiny path of rocks that travelled in a crooked line across the stream, and it was obvious it hadn’t been used in a long time. “Please tell me we aren’t going this way.”

“Come on Y/N, I got you. You trust me right?” Abby didn’t wait for a response as she grabbed your hand and led you across the mossy rocks. 

As you reached the last rock, you let out a breath of relief. All you had to do was prop yourself over the log in front of you and you were home free. Carefully, as you reached your arms up to grip onto the ridges of the bark with your fingertips, you somehow lost your footing and slipped. You yelped and nearly fell face first into the jagged rocks below you, but luckily before you could, you felt a strong arm grab your waist. Abby almost on instinct quickly hoisted you up and onto the log just before you fell to your death. 

While you laid your body down on the dirty log in an attempt to calm the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins. Abby nonchalantly stood up next to you with a huge grin, acting as if you didn't just see your life flash before your eyes two seconds ago. “See? I got you. Now let’s go.” 

You groaned. “Can I get a second? I nearly just died back there.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic Y/N, you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” Abby grabbed your hand and dragged you over the log. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

She wasn’t wrong about it not being far (and for that you were extremely grateful). It only took a couple more minutes until you finally reached your destination, and the moment you saw it, you were speechless. 

Before you was a small clearing that had a view of the entire island. There were two large trees with ripe oranges hanging from it’s branches, and an abundance of wildflowers that danced in the wind like small fairies. The sunlight that shone through the leaves on the trees reminded you of the small beam of light that you were admiring this morning, except this was a thousand times more beautiful.

“Holy shit Abs.” It was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, and to get to see it with Abby was seriously a dream come true.

“You know, if you don’t like it we can always head back.” Abby teased.

“Oh shut up.” You plopped down onto the soft grass beneath you, breathing in the warm air and letting the blades encompass your body. You noticed Abby was still standing and quickly patted the grass beside you “Lay down with me, you gotta experience it from here.” 

Abby lowered herself tentatively beside you, and although she tried to hide it, you could tell out of the corner of your eye that her gaze was fixed on you. 

Things between you and Abby have always been pretty platonic; sure you guys flirted every once in a while but it never extended beyond that. And as much as you’d like for the two of you to be more, you never wanted to overstep your bounds. You didn’t want to burden Abby with your feelings especially if she didn’t share them, and you definitely didn’t want to ruin your friendship. It was hard sometimes trying to ignore the longing in your heart—trying to ignore the urge to jump into her arms and kiss her whenever she gave you that adorable freckled smile, but you knew it was for the best.

However, with her gaze fixed upon you, and your fingers just inches away, something in you couldn’t help but move your pinkie just slightly in search of hers. It was a small touch. So small it could almost be accidental, but something in both of you knew it wasn’t.

You heard Abby’s breath hitch quietly and nearly pulled your hand back, but then you felt hers move towards yours. Slowly, Abby’s fingertips traced lines against your hand before lacing them together with yours. The gesture was so sweet you nearly melted.

When you turned your head to face her, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes squinted closed like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. It was in that moment that you realized she felt the same longing that you did—that she knew of the ache that occupied your heart, and everything just clicked. 

You tightened your grip on her hand as you brought her fist to your lips, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. The act softened her expression and she opened her eyes to look at you with that damned smile on her face. 

Abby propped herself up the same way she had at the beach, looking down at you with those beautiful blue eyes. The wind blew loose strands of hair across her face, and you reached up to brush them behind her ear. But instead of retracting your hand, you rested your palm lightly against her cheek, tracing small circles with your thumb. 

Leaning closer, Abby finally broke the silence. “Hey Y/N?”

Your voice was quiet and raspy as you responded with a small. “Yeah?”

She was closer now, her nose against yours and her warm breath fanning across your face. “Can I kiss you?” 

You didn’t respond. Instead you closed the small gap with your lips, kissing Abby tenderly. It was the kind of kiss you couldn’t ever explain to anyone, like a dream you couldn’t quite recall but knew was good. It was perfect.

You could feel her smiling against your mouth as she ran her fingers through your hair and down to your chin.

When Abby pulled away she had this stupid grin on her face, and it was easily the cutest thing you had ever seen. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for.” Abby laid back down next to you as she let out a sigh of relief.

As you rolled over to rest your head on her chest, Abby’s arm moved to hold you closer. “You’re kidding, right?” She looked at you, urging you to continue. “Abby, I’ve been waiting to do that ever since you gave me that seashell in the infirmary.”

Your heart swelled as you recalled how nervous she was—how she didn’t say a word to you the entire time there, until that day when she shakily introduced herself. It was one of the sweetest gestures anyone had ever done for you, and you’ve adored her ever since.

Abby blushed when you brought up the seashell. She remembers that day clearly; you were leaving the infirmary because your ankle had finally healed, and she saw her opportunity to meet you begin to narrow. Abby initially wasn’t going to go up to you because she was way too afraid, but Lev had seen the way Abby looked at you and forced her to go over and introduce herself. 

He is pretty much the entire reason you and Abby were here in the first place, having given Abby that small purple seashell so she could give it to you.

As you lay there listening to the sound of Abby’s heartbeat you heard a rustle in the bushes nearby and nearly jumped out of your skin. Abby quickly stood up, the both of you backing away from the noise. Reaching for the closest thing to you, you grabbed a stick and pointed it towards the source of the rustling. “Who’s there?”

Relief flooded through you as Lev jumped out with his hands up, screaming sarcastically. “Oh no! Please don’t murder me with that tiny stick.” 

While Lev giggled hysterically, both you and Abby groaned. 

“So did you guys finally kiss or did all my work go to waste?” 

Abby rolled her eyes as she reached out to nudge Lev. “You’re such a goober.” 

Lev looked at the two of you suspiciously as he crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

Abby gave him an amused face as she reached for you without warning, picking you up bridal style. And you couldn’t help but giggle as she leaned in and planted a short kiss on your lips. Abby then pulled away and placed you back on your feet, looking at Lev as she spoke “Did that answer your question?” 

Lev excitedly embraced the both of you with a gigantic smile of his face. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” 

You and Abby looked at each other happily as you answered in unison. “Trust me, we know.”

The three of you spent the rest of the evening in that small clearing. Abby held Lev on her shoulders as he picked ripe oranges from the trees, and when the sun began to set you lay in Abby’s arms as you watched the cascading pinks and oranges in the clouds paint the sky.

While you lay in Abby’s arms she looked at you with a sense of contentment that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Time had healed the wounds that decorated Abby’s arms, and though the emotional baggage still weighed heavy on her heart, life was brighter here with the Fireflies—with Y/N.

She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter if things came crashing down as it almost always did. The pain and suffering of life was worth enduring because Abby no longer feared the inevitable. She had found something to fight for here and as long as she had you and she had Lev, Abby would continue to fight regardless of the obstacles that stood in her way.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public

Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah

You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.

Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.

With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.

“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”

“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”

Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-

A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”

“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”

“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”

He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.

Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.

Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”

He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”

You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”

“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.

You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”

You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”

“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.

“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.

“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”

“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.

You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”

He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”

For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”

He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”

You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”

“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”

“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”

“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”

As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.

“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.

Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.

But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”

“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m just studying-”

“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.

You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.

Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.

He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.

Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.

You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.

The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.

He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.

“Babe?” He asks.

“Yeah?”

“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Incorrect! That's a penalty."

[nightfall-kachiniko]

“A Broken Promise.” Mikasa x Reader Fan fiction.

||| Chapter 2. “To Conclude “ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ! :D

Tw: panic attack, swearing.

Your eyes woken as the noise of the flying boat continues. “I guess it wasn’t a dream” you thought to yourself. The missing aroma of your girlfriend had lingered in the air from the moment you woke up. Missing her sweet smell as she would cradle you in her arms. Now the bed you both had once shared only laid your body in it. The woman you saw yesterday was no more than Mikasa Ackerman, she was a stranger. Only if she knew.

You sat up as you began looking around the room you made various memories in. Even if the amount of time the both of you had spent together in that airship was small, it still counts as something you’d treasure forever.

You were alone. So alone. The feeling of emptiness running through your head to your toes as you sat up. The soft welcoming bed had turned to a gravestone. And although she’d been acting this way since the rumbling started, despite her caring attitude the woman became vicious towards the person she calls her lover. And for the first time last night, it truly hit you, right as the stung sprang across your face, You’ve Lost The Love Of Your Life, Mikasa Ackerman.

You always had that feeling of doubt ever since she started acting this way, but the thought of you losing her was pushed to the back of your mind by the blindness they call love.

Memories faded from one thought to another as you threw on your uniform, locking your bedroom door as you did so. Thinking of her was your comfort, thinking of Mikasa, not the monster that was replaced by her yesterday.

Your body carelessly dragged itself to the bathroom, your feet walking in a drowsy manner. Picking up the toothbrush and gliding it across your teeth as the mint feeling filled your dry mouth. The number of sobs that had come out of your mouth that night would always leave an impact on you. You looked up at the person in the mirror, trying to recognize the figure you saw. “FUCK!” you yelled, kicking over your trashcan.

Your heavy pants coming in and out of your body. You sighed as you leaned on your counter, turning on one sink to wash your tear-stained face. You didn't even want to eat, you didn't want to do anything. That's all she treated you as if you were some stranger! As if you were a no-one to her. “JUST LOOK WHAT WE BECAME!” you screamed at yourself. Tears falling down your cheeks as you started to sob to yourself.

Falling to the cold floor as the day before haunts you. The look in her eyes... of pure hate, pure anger. Curling up into a ball as a sound on your door softly hushed you. “Wait, ” you said, getting up. You came out of the bathroom and made your way towards your door. “Who? And what is it.” The voice of your own spoke ever so softly, so calmly, almost as if you were numb. “Hey y/n, I just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing,” Armin said, quietly trying to help.

You breathed in slightly and out before opening the door to be greeted by a warm, tight, hug from your childhood friend. The feeling started to come up again, throughout your throat and the prickles in your eyes. You softly cried into his shoulder, hurt coming out with every breath. “Honey I’m so sorry..” He said, petting your hair as he closed the door, guiding you over to the bed to sit down.

“I know how you feel..” he breathed into your hair. “I-I just don’t get it.. Why is she acting like this… what did I do..” you sobbed. The blonde boy softly shushed you as he pecked your cheek with a small kiss. Armins way of comfort is different than others.

Ever since you had met him, eren, and mikasa, in hard times like this such as after Carla Jeager died, he would always comfort them by pecking their cheek, showing them that he is here for them. His grandpa always told him, “if someone’s sad, always give them a kiss to make them happy,” and the boy had followed his orders ever since. It wasn’t like he meant it in a romantic way, it was more of a, “hey, don’t cry I’m here, it’s gonna be okay,” kind of thing. Everyone used to call him weird for it, but you and Eren and Mikasa truly didn’t mind and knew he meant no harm in it.

“It’s going to be ok,” he said, softly trying to help you control your hyper ventilating cries.  He guiding you to sit down as he hugged your sadden body. “Does she h-hate me?” You asked over your cries. “Of course not y/n.. don’t think that…” he comforted.

“W-what did I do wrong?!” Your voice strained and cracked as your crying became more and more heavy.“Nothing y/n… not a thing..” Armin padded your back and brushed your hair as you cried into his shoulder, ”You know.. Mikasa hasn’t been doing all to well.. ever since Eren abandoned us.. she felt so lost.. as if he gave up in us..”

“Does she give up on me?! Is that it?” Tearing eyes looked at him in his own. He paused for a moment in shock, before taking a reassuring smile on his face, “no of course not! Mikasa just, she doesn’t know how to let out her emotions properly.. that’s all.”

“So she had to hit me?!” You said. Armin sighed and looked away. “Mikasa, just.. she.. she’s hurt.. but that gives her no right to take it out on you y/n.. I’m sorry she did that to you.” He rubbed his head against yours almost like a dog trying to comfort their owner. “There’s no doubt in my mind she doesn’t love you, alright?” He said, shaking my shoulders. You just melted into his arms, absorbing the only person who was there for you.

The kindness that Armin showed you made you slip back deep into thought, deep into that moment….deep back to when..

“M-Mikasa..” You came out of the bathroom, your body shaking and your breath heavy. Your girlfriend sat on the bed, reading a book when you came out. Her gaze turning from the book to you. Mikasas eyes became filled with worry while seeing your body shake with every breath you took. “Sweetheart? Baby is everything okay?” She closed her book and sat up straight, looking at you.. Your breath quivered. It felt as though the world was spinning. Your eyes became filled with blurry ness every time you blinked and eventually you slid down the wall.

“Y/n!” You heard Mikasas voice scream. Everything around you was so distorted. Stress and fear overcame you as you began crying, scared of what was happening. You heavily sobbed as mikasa wrapped her strong arms around you, her soft sweet voice comforting you. “It’s okay sweetheart… everything’s gonna be okay,” she rocked you, while whispering little affirmations of hope, letting you know you’re going to be okay.

Your body shook with every ounce of a energy it had. You frantically cried, the overwhelmingness of the panic attack you were having flooded your mind with thoughts of your past. The days were it was like there was nothing left. It felt as though you were dying. “I’m right here my sweet angel.. Shh..it’s alright my baby..” your girlfriend said, trying to comfort you.

Your tears becoming more and more hysterical as you cried. The raven haired girl held you for what seemed like an eternity. The blurry vision eventually died down aswell as the ringing in your ears. For a moment, Mikasa’s arms let go of you. And once you felt her right up close to you again, a feeling of steady ness swept over you as a blanket of warmth slept over your neck. The red scarf. Just as you felt the wrath of calmness come over your body, the sweet girl said.. “You’ll never be alone.. I promise.. I’ll always protect you.. forever and always..”

“Let me get you some breakfast, alright y/n?” You snapped back into reality as Armins voice entered your ears. The vision of mikasa disappearing as he spoke. Your mind trailed as you gave him a small nod, wiping your tears.

Armin gave you one last big hug before getting up. “What would you like to eat y/n?” He questioned. “I can make you some eggs? Maybe some bacon aswell?” The blonde stood looking at your still trembling figure. You softly took a breath in and tried to smile.

“Y-yeah.. that sounds great A-armin..” tears still in your eyes as you tried to give him a reassuring smile, stuttering, holding back your tears. Armin returned the smile with one of his own.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes alrighty Y/n?” Armin spoke. You softly nodded as he made his way to the door.

“Oh, and Armin,” you said to him. The kind Blonde boy turned around in the doorway, his gaze at you as he looked at you from over his shoulder. “Yes y/n?” He asked.

You got up, searching your messy bed. You moved pillows and blankets out the way before you finally gripped onto the item. You held it out infront of you as Armin gasped.

There in your sweet, delicate hands, laid mikasa’s red scarf. The same heartwarming piece she would wrap you in. Despite if you were happy or sad. Her scarf gave you meaning. To her, it reminded her of how Eren showed her how to live, but to you It reminded yourself of how she showed you how to live.

She always was there.

She always was caring.

She always was showing you how much she loved you.

Even if she never exactly showed it much, you always knew Mikasa loved you. Even if she yelled at you. Even if she hit you. Even if she said she hated you.

You nodded, persuading Armin to take the red scarf. “Give this to her,” you said, calmly.

Armins eyes widened, “y/n.. you- you arent serious are you?” He said, concerned with worry in his tone. “Not at all.” You replied, your numb spirit talking. His eyes looked at you and then the Burgundy scarf.

“Are- are you guys.. d-done?” Armin asked, ever so anxious.

“Yes.. yes we are.”

A/n: “ I hope you guys cried LMAO”

➪ Kachiniko ||♡︎ My Blog ♥︎ || ☾What I write ☽ 06/10/21

Chap. 1 “Come back to me”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Perfect Harmony - Alive!Luke x Reader

Warning: Does include Smut, and various amounts of inappropriate language

A/N: Let me know if you want more work like this.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Stepping into Luke’s world was a gift, he was the most talented man you had ever met. His music was like a gift from god, he had music just flowing through him. He always had from the moment he could pick up his guitar. He was your whole world and had been for years. It had always been you and him against the world, until Julie entered the picture.

 She was this fresh breath of air into his life, and the band. She made him a better writer, she brought out sides of him you never knew existed. All too soon your world was filled with blown off dates, and forgetful anniversaries. Eventually your world was no longer filled with Luke, but also with Julie. She was the forefront of his mind and music, not even sparing you an apology.

 While she was writing songs left and right, about Luke, about her experiences. You were upset with Luke, only confiding in Alex about your hurt. Luke had given her Bright, normally it wouldn’t bother you when he gave away songs, but that song was for you. He wrote it for you as an anniversary present the first year you were together. It had touched you in ways that you could never explain to Luke. He gave you the world in that song, and now three years later it was Julie’s song.

 You and Alex had begun sneaking away, holding conversations where the tears ran down your face. Where you wanted to hit something so bad because you were so angry.

 “Alex, how could he do that? That’s my song, our song. He gave that to me as a gift, and now he is just handing it off to some other girl like I am not here. I am standing right here, and it is like he looks right through me some days.” You cried as Alex attempted to comfort you.

 Alex knew why you were so upset; Luke should have been thinking when he gave Julie that song. But instead he is about as dumb as a tree when it comes to his songs. He would never intentionally hurt you, but he is too oblivious to realize he already had.

 You both just sat there in silence for a while, before hearing music coming from the garage. It was a tune you were quite familiar with; it was the song you wrote for Luke. A song that you poured your love and sweat into to make it perfect for your anniversary that he had forgotten weeks prior.

 Unraveling yourself from Alex’s comfort, you made your way to the garage. Ready to confront not only Luke, but Julie. You were getting tired of being the second pick, no matter how much he loved this band. The deal was he would always love you more, and clearly that was not the case anymore.

You stood in the opening of the garage, watching Luke look deeply into Julie’s eyes as she sang the second verse, your verse. The anger behind your eyes was clear, as Luke made eye contact with you. He was trying to deceiver what had happened when you and Alex stepped out of practice. Your lyrics feel swiftly out of her mouth, as tears began to pool in your eyes,

 I feel your rhythm in my heart, yeah

 You are my brightest, burning star, woah-woah

 I never knew a love so real (So real)

 We're heaven on earth, melody and words

 And when we are together we're

 In perfect harmony…

 You couldn’t contain yourself any longer as you walked over, ripping the lyrics out of Julie’s hands, bringing them close to your chest. You didn’t care who went through your journal and found the lyrics, but they had no right to play them. You stepped back from Luke’s outstretched hand, shoving the papers in your bag before running out of the garage, ignoring Alex’s saddened look.

 You could hear Luke as he was hot on your heels as you made your escape from the garage, more so the escape from him and Julie.  He was supposed to be yours, but it was clear to you that Julie wanted him just as bad. He finally caught up to you, grabbing your hand, whipping you towards him.

 “Baby, what is the problem? It was just a song one minute you are fine and seem happy, and the next you have flown off the handle and sneaking off to have little conversations with Alex.”

 You scoffed at him, you could feel your anger escalating inside of you, “Seriously? The chemistry in that room is unreal, and everyone can see that. You are supposed to be my boyfriend and the look you give her is as if you are undressing her with your eyes, Luke! You don’t even see it.”

 You were beyond mad, as hot tears began running down your face. He had blown you off before over Julie and now... now he looks at her the way he used to look at you. Now it was all about her and you were shoved off to the side.

 It is clear where your standing was in his world, it was under Julie because now she was his number one. You heart broke at the idea of Luke no longer being yours.

 You were ripped from your thoughts by the anger in Luke’s voice, “Are you serious right now? I am focused on the band, not some girl. You are the one who I want, not her.” Once he finished talking, he began pacing, running his calloused hands through his hair.

 You scoffed at him again, catching his attention, “Seriously, you want me? Luke you have blown off our dates for this girl, you forgot our fucking anniversary because of her. So yea sure, you have a funny way of showing me that you want me.” You began, catching your breath as more tears threaten to fall.

 “Luke, you gave her Bright. That was my song, you wrote that for me, do you not understand you gave me the whole world in that song. And now it is her song, with her name on it and her own twist on it. You did not even think to ask me if I was okay with her singing it, I found out about it at some show you guys were playing. I was not mad, just upset that you forgot about me in the crowd. But now, now I am beyond pissed. You went through my journal and took my song. Luke you took my song, I wrote that for our anniversary as a surprise, but you never showed, you blew me off like every date we have had planned the last few months. And that song is filled with words that were meant for us, not you and Julie. It was never meant for anyone else but us, and you took that from me.” You finished, your chest rocking with sobs.

 Catching his eyes, you could see they were filled with tears, threatening to fall. He never knew how much you were hurting; you always hid your emotions so well especially when you were hurt. He was reaching out to you, and all you could do was flinch away from him.

 “Luke... I need time. I don’t- uh- I don’t think we should do this anymore.” You said, not giving him a chance to answer before hopping in your car and driving back to your apartment. In moments like these, you were happy you lived alone with no parents or roommates to question the crying and pain you were feeling.

 In that moment, you felt like your heart was breaking all over again. You had thought Luke was the one, and now- now you had no idea what he was to you. All you wanted to do was put on your pajamas, which included sweatpants and Luke’s Sunset Curve shirt.

 But the moment you got home, not only did you put on your pajamas, but you also picked up your guitar. You wanted to play your song, the song that Luke took from you. It was the only thing keeping you from running out the door, and back into his arms. Your pain, your anger, your sadness was all caused by him. But how can you stay away from the one?

 You began strumming your guitar, singing the lyrics meant for the two of you.

 Step into my world

 Bittersweet love story about a girl

 Shook me to the core

 Voice like an angel, I've never heard before

 Only making it through the first few lines before sobs began racking your chest, you had been so involved in your music that you missed the door opening. You were scooped up from your spot on the floor, being held close to someone’s chest. You knew it was Luke, as much as you hated him in this moment. You loved him more than any ounce of music could express.

 “Luke… why are you here?” You managed to squeak out between sobs, afraid of his answer.

 “I am here because I love you, you dork. No matter how much we fight, I am always going to love you with every ounce of me. That is why I was put on this earth. We were meant to live life side by side, or as you put it in perfect harmony.” He said, placing a swift kiss to your forehead. It was his way of reassuring you everything was going to be okay.

 “I am really sorry about Julie; I didn’t realize how out of hand the band was getting. I didn’t realize about all the dates and our anniversary, I don’t even know how to make anything up to you at this point” He said, burying his face into your hair.

 You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, “I know you can make it up to me…”

  ~18+ MATERIAL UNDERNEATH~

 IF YOU A YOUNGING, IT’S TIME TO BOUNCE.

 You could see the smirk erupting on Luke’s face as he brought your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but the sense of hunger was clear. His hands began roughly grabbing at your thighs, as you straddled his lap. His attention was clear for what he wanted, he wanted you and that was not going to change.

 His kisses began to travel down your neck and onto your breasts as you shifted your hips against him. Making him groan at your sudden movements. He was pressing against you like you were his lifeline and he needed you to live.

 Slowly articles of clothing were being discarded, first your shirt and bra, then his shirt. You were pressed up against him, feeling his heart thumping against your breasts. You carefully got off him, leading him to the bedroom.

 No sooner did you make it in the door, did your pants leave your body and you were thrown onto the bed. You could hear Luke making his way to you, crawling up the length of the bed. You were a withering mess as he settled on top of you, placing small kisses to your sensitive areas.

 He was teasing you, and you were not in the mood for any kind of teasing. You wanted him now. Not in 5 minutes, right this moment. You attempted to move, but Luke was sucking on a certain part of your neck and you could not even begin to formulate words. So instead a soft moan escaped your lips, only egging him on more.

 He grinned down at you from his hovering position, “Oh did we like that baby”

 You squirmed under his grip, bucking your hip in response as he began teasing you again, making it clear you were going to orgasm before he was even inside of you.

 He began licking up and down your slit, keeping his eyes trained on your face as he began entering a finger or two into you as he sucked on your sensitive nub. With your eye rolling back into your head, and the building in your lower stomach, you knew you were going to burst.

 Reaching down, grabbing Luke’s hair, you began to ride out the orgasm he so desperately wanted to give you. “Fuck Luke, if you keep teasing…” He just smirked at you before grabbing a condom out of the bedside drawer (WRAP IT KIDS).

 In all the years you had been together, Luke was always able to take you breath away as he entered you slowly, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. His name escaping your lips as he buried himself deep inside.

 He gently caressed your face as he began moving back and forth repetitively, making sure each thrust was the same as the last. His name was the only thing continuously falling from your mouth, he was your everything.

 You began moving your hips to meet his thrusts, which only emitted more pleasure through your body as he began hitting your g-spot perfectly. Only causing another orgasm start to build deep in your stomach. You could feel yourself on the edge,

 “I-uh-I Luke… I-I am close” you squeaked out between his thrusts, he just nodded. He was close too; you knew that by his face. He was scrunching his face together like when he gets mad but this- this is all pleasure.

 Your orgasm began to take over your senses, washing over you as you spasmed under Luke. He kept his grip tight on your hips as he unloaded himself into the condom. Taking a few breaths before pulling out and discarding the condom in the nearby trash.

 He laid back on the bed with you pulling you close, placing a kiss to your temple. You could feel sleep starting to overcome your senses but not before you heard Luke murmur in your ear.

 “I guess we do fall into perfect harmony baby, I love you so much”

@calamitykaty​ @parkeret​ @all-in-fangirl​

[butwhyduh]

The maid

Part 2

Warning: attempted mugging, guns, briefly blood.

You might have worked in one of the nicest homes in all of Gotham, but your own place was much more modest. It was on the edge of the bad areas of Gotham but not quite labeled as unsafe. But then again, it’s Gotham. Is there a safe place here?

A second story walk up that had a fairly nice view of the park. If you stood in the left corner and stared just right. Okay, it was just fine but you were proud of your first roommate-free place. The Waynes paid well.

You had just gone to the grocery store and was queen of only-one-trip. So your arms were currently full. They might have been a little too full as you tried to pull out your key to the front door. You leaned a bag with your hip against the brownstone and tried to yank your key ring from your pocket. You had a distinct feeling that you weren’t alone. This made your hands shake a little and you tried harder to get at your key.

You weren’t alone.

There was approximately 2 people watching you. A mugger on the corner. His last 40 ounce drink of malt liquor was starting to wear off and he had a pounding headache from cursing out the mother of his children. How dare she try to force the brats on him on a Saturday night? He needed a few bucks because he was out of beer and he needed a cigarette. You looked like a perfect target.

The second was someone who could be even more dangerous. In black tactical pants, a black shirt with a red bat symbol, brown leather jacket, and a shiny red helmet, the Red Hood could easily be described as intimidating. And he was watching you. He’d been watching you for over a week.

Famous on the news, he had taken over part of Gotham’s underground and shook up other parts. He was known for shooting anyone who attacked children, women, or in any sexual way. If they were lucky, it was just in the kneecap. Currently Batman’s number one who-the-fuck-is-that-guy and a high priority. Was he a vigilante or a villain? All Batman knew was that the Red Hood was shaking everything up and targeting his Robin.

If it wasn’t for the bulletproof fabric that Alfred had just added to Robin’s costume, Tim Drake would be 6 feet under. As it was, he was out of commission for 2 weeks healing bruised ribs.

Red Hood watched you passively. Were you going to be fast enough to get inside before the mugger? He’d hate to have to save you. He would. You were a valuable commodity to him. You were the new maid for the Wayne Manor. If there was any way in, it was through you. The most likely weak link in security.

You dropped your keys and cursed quietly. It wasn’t quiet enough as it seemed to call the mugger to you. He started walking towards you. A box cutter in his pocket was pulled out and he yelled at you to stop. You made a sound that was somewhere between a yelp and a whimper and bent quickly to scoop up your keys. Items from your bag fell out in your haste.

Red Hood pulled out one of his backup guns. It was loaded with rubber bullets, one of the few non-lethal weapons he had. The man was almost on top of you before Jason pulled the trigger. The thug fell before he even touched you. You shrieked and looked around. You saw a flash of red on a roof top before it left. You hurried to open your door. Once in your apartment, you locked the door and put a chair in front of the door.

Over the next week, you had a really difficult time staying on task as you were barely sleeping. But seeing a certain member of the household had you hiding a smile as you worked.

You really did try to avoid Mr Timothy Drake-Wayne but he seemed to always walk down the hall that you were working in. You had long since laundered and returned his shirt. He would flash you the tiniest of smiles before continuing on his way. He was 3 years younger than you but somehow seemed worlds older.

One day you were helping Alfred cut up fruit in the kitchen. It was a calming task in the quiet room. A big plate of apples and oranges was quickly dispatched into slices.

“Hi,” Tim said suddenly beside you causing you to look up mid slice and jump.

“Shit,” you said holding your finger. You grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it up.

“I’m sorry! Is it bad?” Tim said. You held your finger over the sink to look at the cut. Blood welled quickly but it didn’t look super deep or long.

“It’s okay. It’s not too bad,” you told him. Tim dug in a drawer and pulled out a bandaid.

“Here, let me see your hand,” he said. He held your finger as he wrapped the bandage around it. You looked at his long dark eyelashes and small pieces of shiny black hair that fell in his eyes. He was certainly pretty.

“All better,” Tim said dropping your hand. You flushed at his closeness.

“Thanks,” you said looking at him. “Your shoulder, What happened?”

Tim had a large rectangular bandage over his left shoulder and you noticed a bruise under his right eye. He smiled awkwardly before gulping.

“I’ve been taking Brazilian Jui Jitsu classes and had a bit of the accident. I’m fine. Just a nasty bruise,” he said, glossing it over. “Probably should have stuck to CrossFit.”

“Maybe. Looks painful,” you said. You moved over to continue cutting fruit.

“You’re being careful when you go home, right?” He said suddenly. You looked at him confused.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just that there’s a new guy out there. Someone called the Red Hood. He’s been seen all over the city. Nobody really knows anything about him. I just- we just want to make sure you’re safe. We can provide a you with a ride home,” Tim suggested.

Yes you had heard about him. Killed drug dealers and rapists. He delivered a bag of heads to a crime family, rumors said. He had even attacked Batman and Robin a few times. Red Hood sounded terrifying. But you should be fine since you had nothing to do with any of Gotham’s underworld.

“I should be fine. But thank you, Mr Wayne,” you answered.

“Call me Tim. It wouldn’t be a hassle at all-“

“I’m fine. Thank you,” you said with finality. He nodded.

“Understood. I must get back to work. Sorry about your hand.”

“It’s okay.”

———————————

On one of your days off you decided to hit a used bookstore that was just down the road from your apartment. It was a cute little hidden gem. Books haphazardly piled on shelves to the ceiling. Tiny little rooms connected in a maze for each genre.

The bookstore was usually pretty empty and was the kinda place where you could sit and read on one of the hidden plush chairs they hide in various corners of the store. You could buy a cup of coffee from the front and spend an hour looking and reading. It was a pretty cozy place.

The prices were pretty cheap and after checking out your favorite section, you had a little stacks in one arm. In the other hand, you had a fresh iced coffee. You walked toward your favorite hidden chair in the back classics section. As you turned the corner, your coffee almost smashed into a body that quickly caught your hand and preventing the spill.

“Sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he said. You got a look of him. Tall and extremely fit. Wavy black hair and blue eyes with a little apologetic smile on his lips. He was hot as hell.

“It’s fine. I should have looked too,” you said and you both moved to the same side of the walkway. “Sorry,” you said with a smile.

“Nah, don’t be,” he said standing against the wall to let you slip by. “By the way,” he said as you squeezed past him. You stopped and looked at him.

“Can I ask your name?”

“Oh, sure,” you said before saying your name. He had a kind smile. Despite his large figure, his soft mannerisms and cozy sweater made him seem... safe.

“I’m Jason. That book in your hand is based on one of Shakespeare’s play. 12th Night. I saw a copy over here if you want to look at it,” he offered.

“Yeah, that’s interesting. You’re into classics?” You said. You watched as he reached up to grab the book from the top shelf. His sweater rose to show a strip of very tone skin.

“I’m kind of a sucker for them. The only problem is that they don’t really put out many new books,” Jason said with a shy smirk.

“That does sound like a problem,” you smiled back at him.

“I hope I’m not too forward, but can I have your number,” he asked playing with the spine of his book. You smiled and flushed. Did he really not know how hot he was? Because he acted like a nerd but looked like a snack.

“Yeah,” you said putting you number in his phone. “Then I can hit you up for more book recommendations.”

“I’d like that. I hate to go but I’ve got to get ready for work. That’s why I was in a hurry,” he admitted.

“I hope you aren’t late because of me.”

“Worth it. But I’ll be fine. See you around,” he said leaving.

“Yeah,” you called after him. Did you just give your number to an absolute 10? You had a little smile on your face for the rest of the afternoon.

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[krreader]

BTS reacting to their idol!ex saying something negative about you.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: language genre: angst ; fluff ; crack word count: 1.4k+

a/n: hope you like it sweetheart ♥

kim seokjin

“I always thought Kim Seokjin would end up with someone equally as beautiful as him,” his ex girlfriend looked at you in disgust, “How did you fall so low, Seokjin,” how could someone be so openly cruel without a single ounce of regret in her voice?

“Just ignore her,” Jin whispered to you and gently pulled you away from her.

But her words rang in your ear all night long.

You didn't spend the day at the party with his friends, you were sitting on your own, fidgeting with your hands because you suddenly doubted everything about you.

“Jagiya.. what are you doing?” he sat down next to you, “It's cold out here.”

“I think I should just go home.. I'm feeling a little tired.”

But he could tell that this was something else. This was about before, “I won't force you to stay, but please don't leave because you suddenly think you're not worthy of being here. You look so beautiful and you could easily be one of these idols.”

“I know you mean well,” you put your hand on his cheek with a sad smile, “But I just want to be on my own tonight.. I'll call you tomorrow..”

Jin thought about giving you your wish, but he knew you'd spend the night crying in your bed and that thought alone broke his heart.

So he gave you an hour before he followed you home, entered your bedroom and found exactly what he had expected to find.

He wordlessly wrapped his arms around you from behind once he joined you in bed and kissed the back of your neck, “You are the most beautiful woman on this planet, (Y/N). Don't ever let anybody tell you differently.”

min yoongi

“Are you tired?” you cocked your head to the side, gently brushing over his cheek.

“A little,” he kissed the back of your hand, then smiled at you, “Don't worry about me, alright?”

“Ah, and there she is.. the one you broke up with me for,” his ex-girlfriend looked you up and down, making you extremely uncomfortable, “That's just sad, Yoongi.”

He took one step forward and pushed you behind him, “Get lost.. nobody wants to see you here, especially not me.”

“I just wanted to see her for myself. Everyone's talking about Min Yoongi's new plaything that he'll throw away after a few months,” she looked at you, faking sympathy, “He doesn't love you, honey. He doesn't love anyone. He’s not capable of love.”

And with that she walked away and when Yoongi turned around to check on you, you forced yourself to smile, “I'm okay..”

“You're not okay,” he grabbed your chin and made you look at him, “She's lying. They're all lying. They're all just jealous because I found somebody that truly cares about me.. just me. Not my job, not my money.. that loves.. me.”

You truly hoped he was right.. because if he was lying, you'd get your heart broken, no.. shattered.

jung hoseok

There were always rumors outside of the KPOP industry, but within, there was gossip. Gossip about literally everyone.

So Hoseok wasn't surprised when him and you moving into his apartment together was the talk of the evening.

Outside, nobody knew, but within, everyone apparently did.

“Wait.. you're actually surprised?” he heard his ex girlfriend say when he entered the room, “I heard she doesn't even have a job, of course she'd move in with him. I'm telling you, she's a gold digger. She just wants him for his money and fame.. I loved him, at least.”

Hoseok didn't approach her, he just stood there and waited for her to see him, immediately freezing when she did. Then he just snorted, shook his head and walked along, because they both knew she was being pathetic.

You weren't a gold digger, you were just ready to take the next step in your relationship, whereas his ex was still where she was two years ago.

He moved on.

She didn't.

kim namjoon

“She's a college student, Namjoon.. you've dumped me for a fucking student!” she ran after him, both Namjoon and her being backstage of this comeback show.

“You need to leave me alone. I don't have time for this.”

But when she grabbed his arm and turned him around, it almost looked like she was about to slap him.

If you hadn’t suddenly appeared.

“Ah.. you must be the psycho ex. Namjoon told me a lot about you,” you smiled sweetly at her, “I'd actually love to talk to you at one point. I'm majoring in psychology and you show some signs that would do great in my next essay about people with tremendous psychological issues.”

“I.. don't have issues,” she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I've completed enough semesters to know that you do, but.. what do I know. I'm just a fucking student. Or a student fucking your ex. I'm a nobody,” and then you grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

“I'm hard.. I shouldn't be, right? This is weird..”

You just laughed.

park jimin

Jimin hadn't brought you along to this party, mostly because you weren't comfortable being surrounded by all these idols.

You've only been dating for a few months and you still weren't used to this kind of life.

Jimin was, nevertheless, enjoying himself.

Until he went to get himself another drink and found his drunk ex girlfriend next to him all of a sudden, “Tell me, sweetheart. Do you think about me when you fuck her?”

“You're drunk,” he didn't even look at her.

“You always said I was the best you ever had.. I wonder what she'd think if she heard that.”

“You forget one very important thing,” he smiled sweetly, “You were my first and I didn't have any comparison. Now, however..-” and when he took a calm sip of his drink and walked away, he could literally feel how she was about to rip her hair out from how frustrated that made her.

kim taehyung

It was an art exhibition of a friend of Tae's and despite the risk, he had taken you with him today. There were no cameras inside since his idol friend just wanted a little bit of privacy for him and his friends, the press being allowed to come in first thing tomorrow.

“If you squint, it kind of looks like a dolphin,” you said.

Taehyung wrapped an arm around your waist with a chuckle, “I don't think you're supposed to do it like that.”

“You can't exactly expect much from someone who doesn't understand art, Taehyung,” his ex girlfriend entered the room, her members behind her.

Taehyung was about to say something when you squinted at her and said, “And if I look at you like that, you look like a real bitch. No wait..-” you shook your head, now looking at her normally, “That's just your natural state, sorry.”

Taehyung couldn't help but smirk, pulling you away from her with his arm proudly around your shoulder, “I love you.. you know?”

“Yeah, I'm awesome,” you giggled.

jeon jeongguk

Jeongguk was at an award show and it had been going great.

They had won a bunch of new awards, were about to perform soon and it was generally a good atmosphere.

But what he was probably most excited for was going home later today, knowing that you'd be in bed, waiting for him and he could fall asleep with his arms around you.

The thought alone made him smile.. but that faded when he heard someone to his right say: “I'm not that upset.. she's irrelevant compared to me. And he knows that too,” and when Jeongguk and her eyes met, he knew she was talking about his new relationship.

They had broken up a while ago, but she was apparently still not over it, being as jealous as she was when they had still be dating.

Jeongguk couldn't do anything that day, he had to be as professional as he always was. And what should he do anyways? Ignoring her was the best thing to do, that would feel like a punch in the face to her.

Because in the end, he came home to a beaming girlfriend who told him she was proud of him and when he kissed you deeply, all he could think was: “You're the best thing that ever happened to me.”

And that's all that mattered.

[sabraeal]

Climb to the Rooftops

[Read on AO3]

Written for @another-miracle; a birthday fic that is COMING OUT ON TIME would you look at that (though I am definitely doing some fancy footwork to make it work out in both time zones 😂 Yixin asked for the Post-Rescue Tanbarun Tree Scene for WFB, and then I said, I could give you that, but what if I told you about a secret scene instead...

And then Yixin told me to write whichever one was Obi POV

He knows her.

That’s what keeps running through his head’s hamster wheel as he clomps up the student center steps. He knows her; he’s always known her. If he reached out on that park bench, if he’d grabbed her with both hands and just said, don’t leave me--

He would have been laid flat on his ass, courtesy of that mean right hook her dad taught her before he bounced. And there’d be another demerit on his record to boot, one more instance of anti-social behavior to make him even more unadoptable than he already was. Doc was always destined to go to a loving home, complete with cozy hideaways and towers of books, with warm firesides and even warmer grandparents, and he...

Well, he wasn’t meant for anything like that, no matter who he clung to. Sometimes shit just happens, and no wishing on stars thirteen years gone can change that.

It’s good to see her though. He’d always wondered what happened to his muppet girl, whether she’d gone off and had her happy ending just like she said she would. And now he knows she did.

He glances down at the peanut butter canister in his hand. Well, at least for a little while. That’s the thing about happy endings; they don’t really stick.

Obi hesitates, one foot poised over a step up, his hand wrapped around a ruddy safety rail. “Um, Doc.”

It takes her three steps to bounce to a stop, just enough to let her look down instead of up or across. He’s got double vision for a moment: Doc in the here and now looking at him with so much hope and anxiety that he’s half-afraid she’ll shake apart like a Hot Wheel in a blender; superimposed over the little girl in his memory, round face beaming up at him and her worries far behind her.

She’s got more freckles now, though most of them are hidden beneath her coat, fading without the direct application of summer sun. More inches too, though not as many as he’d given her in his head; for once he’d given more benefit of the doubt than nature could provide. And her hair-- well, that’s the same. Red. Fluffy. Muppety, too, if it’s the morning.

“Obi?”

He should really be paying attention to this conversation he fucking started, instead of just staring at her like a creep. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Oh.” She goes rosy under the freckles he can see, shifting the urn from her hands to her elbow. “I’m-- I’m fine. I’m glad that we could find--” one arm juts out, trying to encompass both them and the containers-- “everyone.”

“Yeah, I got you, but I meant...” He angles a pointed look over her shoulder. “Why are we going up?”

Doc’s jaw drops, and he sees it, the way panic crests right behind her eyes.

“Not that I’m suggesting we don’t.” He takes the next step slow, just enough to put them on equal standing. Except it doesn’t, it puts him a little above her; the beginning of really looking down. His heart flutters in the exact way it shouldn’t when he’s carrying human remains. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to carry geriatrics up a few flights, the elevator’s better for their hips.”

He expects her to laugh at that one, or maybe even roll her eyes, but instead Doc breaks out into a full-body Chihuahua tremble.

“Obi.” Her eyes are so big in her face they might swallow him whole. “We can’t take the elevator.”

“We...can’t?”

Her head jerks in the scarcest side-to-side. With one long, steeling breath, she informs him, “We’re going to do something a little illegal.”

His brows raise. “Illegal?”

The urn bobbles treacherously as her hands fly up between them. “Only a little!”

“You cashed in your favor with me,” he repeats slowly, savoring the thrill that zips through him with every syllable. “To do something illegal.”

Doc deflates with all the gravitas of a popped kiddie pool. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that would be okay. Especially with, um...”

She’s far too polite to say, your presumed preexisting criminal record, Doc just hasn’t realized it yet. Not when she doesn’t know for sure whether it does exist or not. It’d be easy to help her along, but it’s kinda satisfying to watch her flounder, fishing for the pieces of him she does know.

“If it’s a problem,” she says finally, lifting her eyes to his. “You don’t have to--”

“The only problem is how hot that is, Doc.” He wraps a hand around the rail beside her, leaning in close enough that her eyes nearly cross watching him. “Are you gonna get into your old field hockey kit and punch a girl up there too?”

She blinks, heels clunking into the concrete rise. “I don’t think it would fit. The skirt would be too short, at least.”

Are you sure, he wants to say, stretching every last inch over her, but instead he rumbles, “Honey, you’re saying all the right things to me--”

“Hey.” A finger presses into his nose, hauling his words up short like a pileup. “No call list.”

“Ahh.” Her mouth twitches as he pulls back, rubbing at his nose. “Haah. You know I hate that.”

“Then stick to the list,” she informs him pleasantly. “Besides, are you really trying to flirt with a girl in front of her grandpa?”

“Well.” He holds up the tin, giving it an experimental shake. “You think they’d mind?”

There’s a quality to the silence in the stairwell that clues him in to the fact that he’s cocked up real good this time. First with the tomb joke, now asking if grandma might be watching from beyond the grave, objecting to his game. At least he knows he never had a chance; otherwise he’d have to go take his hopes out behind the woodshed--

“No,” she hums, confident. “They’d like you.”

It’s a good thing she doesn’t get it in her head to try the nose trick again; it’d push him right over. He can survive a lot, but four flights is pushing it. “Doc,” he huffs, scratching the bristle at the back of his head, “I don’t think--”

“Well...” She’s thoughtful when she puts her back to him, bouncing up the next couple of stairs. “Opa would. Oma would think you needed to be fattened up.”

He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds busted up, wings broken. “Sounds like my kind of lady.”

“Ugh,” Doc sighs from one landing up. “She’d love that you said that.”

“That just makes her even more--”

“Don’t.”

RESTRICTED ACCESS, the doors says, bright red letters fading against the plastic sign. ALARM WILL SOUND.

Doc’s been bullish these last few flights, pushing a pace that makes him want to remind her he’s a hitter, not a runner, but now--

Now she shuffles on the stairs, daunted. “Do you think it will really...?”

Obi thinks this might be a private university, funded by mommy and daddy’s pockets to keep their babies safe, but alarms go off all the time. Unless this building has a rent-a-cop watching daytime TV down in the atrium right now, it could take hours for someone to answer the call, especially mid-afternoon on a Saturday.

“Who knows.” He’s not sure what she’s got up her sleeve that involves two dead people and a rooftop-- especially when even Doc is quick to admit it’s got at least a toe on the wrong side of legal-- but it probably won’t look good if they’re interrupted, even by the Diet Coke of the law enforcement vending machine. “Maybe you should plan to keep the fancy speeches to a minimum.”

“Eulogies.” Her thin fingers flex over ceramic, white where they press in. “You mean a eulogy.”

“Gesundheit.”

Doc turns her head, real slow, letting him soak in every drop of her disapproval. Well, that’s one pigtail successfully pulled.

With a breath so deep it makes her pea coat really earn the name, Doc nods. “Right. Okay. I think...”

Obi expects some dithering, some real soul-searching doubts being dragged out for airing right here in the stairwell. Doc likes that sort of thing, taking everything out of her head so she can fold it all up real nice again, but instead--

Instead she barrels across the landing, plowing right through the metal door, a whole stretch of gray winter sky stretching out before her. There’s one blink, two, and then-- well, the sign wasn’t kidding. The alarm does, in fact, sound.

He catches the door with a hand; it’s weighted, ready to swing right back into place and-- if he knows his doors-- lock right behind her. Not that it’d be a problem if he meant to stand around on the stairwell and act as look out; a role he’d be happy to play if that’s how Doc wanted this whole show to run. But right now she’s slumped at the ledge, every last ounce of her usual moxie wrung out.

Maybe she might tell him to stand back, that this is something she’s got to take on alone, but Obi knows every aching line of that pose by heart. A car can keep going for fifty miles once it hits empty, but that just means you’ll never know when the tank runs dry. That’s where she is right now, stalling out at her limit.

And that’s what he’s here for, to push her that last inch over the finish line. Besides, he can’t just stand back, not when he’s grandpa’s ride.

“So.” There’s a shim in a corner-- a naughty thing to have around an emergency door like this, but Obi’s not about to tattle. He’s perfectly happy to wedge someone else’s problem right where the paint’s flaked off the door. “What’s the problem?”

Doc blinks, one hand trembling on grandma’s lid. “W-what?”

He settles grandpa on the ledge, arms folded around him, taking in the sprawl of buildings below. Clarines isn’t as big as one of those state universities, but it makes Tanbarun look like a college playset instead of a campus. Both of them have those stuffy brick and marble buildings they like up here, the kind that say academic and too good for you loud and clear, but whereas Obi’s walked across Clarines for thirty minutes and still never hit the edge, it looks like he could lap this place in twenty. No wonder Doc was miserable here; the real mystery is how she managed an entire year in this fancy rat cage.

“There’s got to be one.” He knows better than to look at her; if he’s going to make her talking about feelings, the least he can do is give her the privacy to have them. “You were all gung-ho a minute ago, ready to do your thing even if you had to punch out a cop to do it--”

“--I didn’t say that,” she murmurs--

“--but now you’re just standing here.” He shrugs, chancing a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Looking lost.”

“I just...” She shifts, head twisting toward him, he doesn’t need to meet her gaze to know it’s wild, desperate. “It doesn’t feel right that they don’t go together.”

It’s his turn to stare now, lost. “O...kay.”

“What if...” Her teeth fold over her lip, worrying at places already worn. “What if I left them go, and they don’t find each other?”

“Ah...?” It seems like a bit of an oversight now, not asking what the plan is, but he ventures, “You mean...the ashes?”

Her mouth twists up, annoyance in every wrinkle. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“No, no, I’m just...” He glances down at the tin between his arms. “I’m just putting things together. There’s nothing wrong about how you feel, Doc. Not like anyone’s really written a book about how this works.”

She looks up at him, so guileless. “Of course they have, Obi. There’s a whole section in the bookstore for it. It’s just that they’re all written by charlatans and quacks.”

Whatever the conversational version of whiplash is, Obi’s experiencing it now. For a minute all he can do is stare, taking in the abject disapproval rumpling her face, and then he-- he--

He laughs. Because this is what he’s into. The sort of person who pumps the breaks and spins the conversation 360 without even a courtesy ‘buckle up.’

“Listen, I’ve been thinking...” He taps the top of the tin, the metallic ting drowned out by the blare of the siren. “What if we just...mixed them? Then when you release them--”

“--They’re already together.” Doc blinks up at him, eye shining like he’s her savior, the center of her world, the answer to her cosmic question--

The way she really shouldn’t, when she already belongs to someone a hundred times better than he’ll ever be. Not when she’d never mean to get his hopes up.

“Thank you, Obi,” she breathes, a smile dawning on her lips. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

Like all his good ideas, it’s easier said than done. On the ground, it’d been breezy, the sort of gentle push he’d come to expect from New England right before it got its first good snow, but up here--

“Here, take this.” Obi shrugs off his jacket, hurriedly pushing it into Doc’s boneless hands, but it’s too late-- they’ve already lost a bit of grandma. “Hold it up.”

She stares down at it, thumbs rubbing over the leather in a way that makes his shoulders itch. “Hold...?”

He swings out one arm-- the one not holding a geriatric-- yanking it wide. “Like a wind screen. I don’t want to lose Oma’s pinky toe or something.”

Doc blinks, stretching the coat between her hands. “Pinky toe?”

“Wouldn’t that make you cranky in the afterlife?” he asks, shaking more of Oma loose in a lull. “Losing a toe? Or a finger. Like just the last knuckle. A bit of your nose.”

The leather starts to ripple as the wind spins back up, and Doc stomps a foot down on the end of it to keep it from smacking up into his face. He appreciates the effort; it’s hard enough trying to pour from a large container to a small one without his zipper clocking him over the eyebrow. “Would that really matter?”

He shrugs. “To some people, probably. I got plenty of nose to spare.”

Doc mouth curves shyly, hunching down to hide behind his coat. “I think it’s fine just as it is.”

“Haah.” It’d be nice if she could give him a heads up when she plans to make his heart pound like that. “Think you might be the first to think that.”

“I don’t know,” she hums, eyes electric with some mischievous spark in their depths. “Maybe I’m the first to say so, but you certainly weren’t getting any complaints a few nights ago--”

He huffs. “Drunk college girls aren’t exactly arbiters of taste, Doc.”

She fixes him with that steady stare of hers, the one that’s so earnest it makes his heart make a bid for freedom through his throat. “I think,” she says, each word weighed before she lets it free, just like a good scientist, “that they did just fine.”

He smothers a whimper into a sigh. “Maybe your grandparents don’t mind me flirting,” he mutters, hunched over that stupid peanut butter tin, “but I’m sure they wouldn’t like you returning the favor.”

She blinks, head cocked. “Did you say something Obi?”

“No,” he says, just a little louder. “Just talking to myself.”

“You know--” he sets down the urn, wiping the sweat off his forehead-- “this would have been a lot easier going the other way.”

“We can’t.” Doc’s mouth twists up into that troublesome knot. “Opa always said he never wanted to be in one of those big fancy vases. And even if he would never know, I...”

Obi sighs, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know, I get it, just...complaining to complain. You know how it is.”

She stares down at him like he’s a fish on a dock telling her about the dangers of air. He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Of course Doc wouldn’t get it; she could lose a limb and she’d still be thankful for the other three. Probably point out how much better things were now that she didn’t need to keep track of all of them. He might complain like it was as easy as breathing, but Doc-- Doc would take every last uncharitable thought to the grave.

Haah, give her some time. A few more months around him, and she’d discover some things to complain about. People always did.

“So,” he says, picking grandma back up. “Why here?”

Doc blinks. “Huh?”

“You know, on top of the roof of the campus center at one of the prestigious universities on the East Coast?” He raises a brow. “I know you used to go here, but most people just settle for leaving dog shit on the stoop when they want to send a ‘fuck you,’ you know.”

Doc unleashes a sound that can only be termed a squawk. “What? What do you mean most people--?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t-- I mean, it’s not supposed to be a, um...”

“Fuck you?”

“Ah...yes. That.” She grimaces. “They met here. And when I tried to think of places they might want to be...”

Her words drift to a stop, but it’s gentle. They don’t abandon her, leaving her high and dry, but she just...stops saying them, letting the wind carry them away.

“I couldn’t think of any place else,” she admits, fingers tightening in the leather. “They always talked about Tanbarun so fondly, and I...I always thought it sounded like paradise.”

“But the roof?” Obi asks, incredulous. “Is it just easier to scatter the ashes, or...?”

“It’s where they met,” she repeats, like that makes any sense at all. “They used to have movie nights up here, played on one of those reel projectors,”

Her gaze swings out over the concrete like she could see it; all the hippy bean bags piled up, big screen pulled down and movie hardly able to be heard over the wind. Not a bad picture, he’ll admit. Wholesome, just like he’d expect out of the people who raised this Precious Moments doll of a person. Doesn’t really explain Mukaze, but well, shit happens. Half the people who raised him don’t deserve the person he’s become either. “Nice story.”

She’s hardly here with him, eyes hazy and distant, stuck in a past only she can see. “That’s what I always thought. I always wanted...” Her voice trails off again, but this time her smile falters, topping like china from a wobbling shelf. “I always wanted to have a story like that too. But it, um, didn’t really work out that way.”

He shouldn’t say anything. He’s not some neutral party, here to give her that impartial, unbiased pick-me-up she wants to hear, like telling her won’t rips a strip right off his back, so-- he should keep his big mouth shut.

But he’s never been good at any of that being smart shit. “It’s not like you didn’t have your own meet cute, it just wasn’t here. It was, er...”

Huh, now would you look at that. He’s never actually asked.

“At a record store,” she supplies slowly, like she has to think on it too. “Between the aisles after I missed my bus. No--” she laughs, more bitter than he’s ever heard her-- “after I chose to miss it.”

“See?” he hums, vibrating the knife deeper. “That’s already a good start.”

Her lips press thin. “I suppose...”

“No supposing about it.” He taps grandpa so the ashes sit flat before he starts another pour. “If I know anything about your Oma and your Opa-- and I don’t know nothing besides what you told me--” and what he saw a decade ago, sitting on that park bench-- “I don’t think they care whether you met your person at a rooftop movie or in a Walmart--”

“Record store.”

“They have CDs too,” he informs her, just as prim as Doc gets with him when she indulged the one pedantic bone in her body. “But the point is, they wouldn’t care where it happened, they just wanted you to find what they had.”

“I...” She deflates, the leather bowing over her legs. “I know. I think they used to worry that I wouldn’t, especially since I wasn’t really, ah...”

“Looking for it?” he offers.

She nods, relieved. “Yes, that. After my parents, I think they expected a much more, um, active interest in...anything. And I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t need to hear her say it to know that there’s more to it than that, that what she means to say is, and I don’t think they understood.

“Well, nothing for them to worry about anymore, is there?” She blinks up at him, alarmed, and he adds, “You and chief are kind of a done deal right?”

“Ah!” It’s hard to tell with the wind slapping both their cheeks red, but he could swear Doc’s blushing. “I don’t-- it’s not-- we haven’t really talked about--” she heaves a heavy, resigned sigh-- “I mean, I...I guess?”

“As done as it can be without getting PR involved.” He gives her the sort of eyebrow Kiki might. “I’m sure that if they’re out there floating on clouds or whatever, or, i don’t know, free energy in the universe, molecules just bumping around...they’re happy for you.”

“Right.” Her reply’s so faint he nearly misses it, but the wind that snatches it away carries it right by his ear. “Yeah.”

“All right, I think I’ve done as much as I can do.” Obi levers himself to his feet, brushing off his lap before handing her the tin. “You ready for this?”

Doc stares down at the canister, jaw set, the same way he’s sure it looked right before she threw herself out a window. Certainly looks the same way it did when she tried to bean Itoya with her purse.

“Yeah,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the metal. “I think I am.”

The wall’s not tall, but neither is Doc; she has to go up on tip-toe to throw an arm over it, the wind already pulling at the ashes laying loose at the top. Her brow furrows, mouth working for a good minute before she manages, “It’s time to say goodbye, I think.”

Obi stares. Sure, he’d said to keep it short and sweet, but if it’s taken this long for the rent-a-cop to hustle up, maybe she can spare the people who raised her more than--

“Thank you.” He’d thought it might be hard to hear her over both the alarm and the wind, but somehow all her words fly true, brightening the air. “For...everything. I don’t really know how you...”

Her breath catches, but her eyes are clear, no tears streaking down her face. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You did everything and more. But I think...” She sniffs, taking a moment. “I think I can take it from here. I’ll miss you, Oma. And Opa...”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgive you. For whatever still needs forgiving. Rest well.”

Her hand tips, just the barest degree, and the ashes scatter, wind whipping them past, twisting high over the quad.

“Hey.” Obi steps up beside her, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. If it’s a little gritty-- well, good thing Doc thing thinks Oma would like him so much, because part of her might linger until the next wash. “I’m pretty sure it’s super illegal to scatter human remains like this.”

“Oh,” Doc hums, shoulder bushing his arm. “It absolutely is without a permit. I was not joking about the slightly illegal thing.”

Obi grins. “Well good thing that no one ever came to check on the--”

As if summoned by the mere mention of potentially having something approaching good luck, the door bar rattles, accompanied by some creative cursing.

“Who the fuck is leaving this open?” A gruff yet feminine voice demands, as if she might be able to shake down the universe and pick up the answers from what fell out of its pockets if she just rattled it hard enough. “Bill, is it you? God, what did I say about using the roof for your smoke breaks--?”

The door swings all the way open, and there she is, a security guard with shoulders that could have dropped straight from the Lowen family tree. Obi would take a picture if he wasn’t sure that would get him thrown in the campus drunk tank.

She takes one glance at them, then another angrier one. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“UM,” Doc shrills informatively.

“No, wait.” One broad hand waves in front of her. “I don’t care. What are you doing up here?”

Doc flounders in the face of authoritarian disappointment-- which is fine by Obi. This is his wheelhouse, after all. It’s nothing to reach out, cinching Doc’s waist against him, grin wide. “Sex, obviously.”

If it were possible for a body to choose the time and place of its expiration from this earthly dairy aisle, Doc’s mortified stare suggests she might curdle on the spot. “Obi.”

The guard’s glare is a study in skepticism, taking in the both of them, and then the concrete wasteland around them. “Here? With your clothes on?”

“It’s our kink.”

“Please,” Doc mutters against his shirt. “Don’t talk.”

The guard spares them one last weary look and sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. Just get out.”

Doc certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Obi’s got his mouth open, what can’t you let us finish first about to spill right out, but her small hand clamps around his, and she drags him right off the roof.

“SORRY,” she yelps as they pass. “WON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“Yeah,” Obi agrees with a grin. “Next time we’ll fuck on some other roo--”

Doc pauses for one moment, just long enough to raise a finger and inform him “DON’T.”

This time he lets her drag him off, grinning.

They’re halfway down the stairs when Doc finally slows, her cheeks reaching a shade of red that looks more lipstick than lobster dinner. Her hand wraps tight around the rail, and it’s not until he saunters down the last couple steps to stand beside her that he realizes-- her eyes are screw tight, breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, trying to ignore the spark of alarm zipping under his skin. “Did you just realize we could have used the elevator?”

Her fingers, already wrapped tight around his palm, squeeze. “Obi...”

The muscles in his arm lock, the way he’s sure lizard tails do, right before they drop them off and run. “Doc?”

Her head turns toward him, and when her eyes flutter open, they’re bright, clear. “Thanks. For being there.”

“No. No, no,” he murmurs, his fingers spasming against hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. I should be the one thank you for letting me. No one...”

No one has ever asked me to be there, he doesn’t say. No one but you.

It’s too much when she’s looking at him like this, like he’s not just a stand-in but her first choice. Like there’s more to how he feels than some one-sided over-investment. It brings him so close to feeling like someone, like the kind of guy who might be her person--

And maybe he could have been, if he hadn’t let some asshole rip her right out her arms in the middle of the night. If he had a record of being something other than a professional disappointment.

The grin doesn’t sit right on his face when he says, “No one’s ever asked me to get rid of a dead body before.”

Doc blinks, then rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she sighs, tugging his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“Well,” she wheedles. “That. And I dropped the tin when the guard surprised us...”

“Ah I see.” He slips his hand from hers, grin finally sitting the way it should. “So we’re adding evidence removal and obstruction of justice to our list of crimes.”

She tips a dubious look back at him. “Are you complaining?”

“Doc,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “I would never. I’m touched that you would even think that I could--”

“Come on, Obi,” she laughs, hopping down the steps in front of him. “I’d like to do this sometime today.”

His mouth curls as he watches her back. “Your wish is my command.”