#this is vaguely supposed to be like... their souls intertwining

[radpool]

so brown eyes, I'll hold you near, 'cause you're the only song I want to hear...

- death cab for cutie, where soul meets body (inspired by @edgebug fic of the same name ❤️)

wip detail inspired by @edgebug's fic series where soul meets body. part 3 is currently being updated so go forth and read‼️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58664485/chapters/149477867

[manicmanuscription]

I Got You Love

Pairing: Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You suddenly have intense flashbacks and the only thing to help calm you down is your mate, Rhysand.

Word Count: 1544

Warnings/Tags: PTSD, mentions of torture (only vaguely described), panic attacks, fluff.

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @seradika-graphics

Today was a good day.

Today was supposed to be a good day. 

The soft summer sun had the  beautiful carved roads of Velaris glistening, bricks shining with a renewed vigor. Flowers hung from lampposts or sat in windows and it was perfect. 

I didn’t know when it became too much. When the light and soothing chatter from pedestrians became a jackhammer in my skull. 

When the warmth suddenly became blistering, my clothes started sticking to my skin and soon I was suffocating. Too much, too much, too. much.

Everything was too bright and blinding. I stumbled in people’s paths in my desperate attempt to escape the world around me. Everything in my instincts told me to run as my mind was harshly thrust into dark memories. 

The kind and smiling faces of my people morphed into those of my old tormentors. Children giggling turned into a dark laughter as my skin was split open with a harsh edge of a dirty blade as they had tortured me. The bindings that held me three hundred years ago felt fresh on my skin, the phantom pain intensifying as if it were merely moments ago. My feet were pounding against the stone. My mind is screaming at me to go, to get out. I needed to find a safe place, to escape this feeling of terror that had etched itself into my very soul. 

Go, go.  My mind screamed GO! before they caught me, before this feeling could somehow intertwine further into my heart than it already had. Broken bones and my own shattered screams echoed in my ears and I couldn’t. fucking. breathe. 

I could barely hear Rhysand’s comforting voice in my mind, barely noticed his tug on our mating bond over the sound of my trauma dragging my back in it’s terrifying trenches. Barely even noticed when he gripped me by the forearms and winnowed us to our shared bedroom. 

All I could see was the door and I ran towards it, the knob wouldn’t open and I spiraled even worse. Gods I was stuck again- 

I collapsed to the floor, pressing my back against the wall as I sobbed, my broken breathing the only sound in the room. My mate was kneeling in front of me, his hands hovering above my knees as if he wanted to touch me but wouldn’t as if he knew my overloaded system wouldn’t be able to handle it right now. 

Rhys whispered my name softly, trying to break me out of my hysteria. I was starting to get light headed from the lack of oxygen, black dots dancing in my vision as ragged gasps turned into full on hyperventilating. Rhys said my name again,

I think this time in my mind, pushing gently on my walls without being overbearing and making my flashbacks worse but it didn't break me out of my trance. I couldn’t fucking breathe. I was here, yet not. Voices all overlapping and drowning out everything else. 

Memories were pushing to the forefront of my mind and my entire body was shaking. 

Rhysand had never been more terrified, he hadn’t seen you like this in years and he had already tried all your practiced and safe response’s to these episodes so he could hopefully calm you down but nothing was working. So he grabbed hold of your mind firmly, he would never usually do this but this was an extreme situation, the last card he had to play.

Those dark tendrils wrapped around your traumatic memories and pulled them away, he willed your brain to make your breaths come in even waves instead of vengeful gasps, willed your body to stop shaking and replaced the panic with a feeling of safety. He curled himself around your mind, muting everything except for the familiar comfort of the mating bond, throwing love down it as his glittering magic pulsed around you. “Breathe.” He whispered softly, placing a hand over your heart. “Just breathe I’m here love, you’re ok.”

I did exactly that, deep breath’s in and out as my body finally started to relax with each inhale and exhale. I held him extremely tight and enjoyed the way his scent calmed me down.

There was nothing in this moment except his dark magic that sparkled exactly like the night sky seeping into every corner of the room. his arms wrapped around me, holding me close and just gave me a damned moment of reprieve. 

I don’t know how long I stayed like that in the quiet comfort of my mate. I hadn’t had an episode like this in a hundred years. Rhys was always the one to calm me down, always knowing exactly what I needed to feel safe.  Sometimes I hated touch, sometimes I needed it. Sometimes I needed him close and other times I needed him far, yet he was always there. 

Soon guilt settled in as my mind cleared, pulling away from that primal place of flight or fight.

He was supposed to be in a meeting with some of his high-ranking merchants and this wasn’t the first time he’d dropped everything to help me. I sniffled into his shoulder as my stomach twisted. Gods I was so overdramatic and clingy and-

“Stop it.” Rhys whispered against my skin. A wave of reassurance and love down his side of the bond spread through my chest, making me feel all warm and fuzzy. 

“I’m sorry.” I croaked out, my voice raspy from crying. “That word is banned if you remember.” His voice was light but I still felt the sincerity in his words. “I just, I don’t know what triggered it and..I mean..I-“ 

“Sshh.” My mate murmured. Leaning back slightly so he could look me in the eyes. I gripped on even tighter to his shirt at the almost loss of contact. He took my face in his large hands and titled my head so my gaze met his. 

“You do this little spiral every time after intense PTSD moments, I am not helping you out of obligation, I am helping you because I care about you, because I love you. Because you’re my mate, my wife, you are everything to me and you deserve to feel safe and happy. You deserve the world and being there for you is an honor, it is a gift and it helps me feel secure, knowing that I can care for you, protect you. I love you.” I didn’t miss the way his voice slightly wavered on the word protect.

Even though those males had taken me long before I met him I knew he still wanted to rip them apart all over again. His gaze was so intense and it had a familiar heat trickling down my spine. I could feel the truth in his words, see the conviction in his eyes and I slowly let go of the guilt that had tried to overtake me.

“I love you too.” I sighed. “I just..I hadn’t had an episode in so long, I mean that…event…was fucking forever ago and I -“ My voice cracked slightly and I took a shuddering inhale as the urge to cry hit me again tenfold when I started speaking. “I just thought I was healed, it was over, I’d never have to be so -broken- again.” 

Rhysand tilted my head so our foreheads were touching. “You have healed, you have done so much work and I’m so so proud of you baby, look at where you are now from yesterday. From last week? From two hundred years ago? You can’t put a timeline on healing, there are good days and bad days and it is important you have the support, especially for bad days and I’ll always be here. You’re not broken, you can do this. You’re safe baby. You’ll be ok, it'll never happen again.” 

I started crying again at his words, it soothes something inside of my roughened heart and he wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumbs. “You’re perfect just as you are.” 

I reached up and gently pressed my lips against his and he immediately opened up to me, letting me lead the kiss, feel in control and I sighed happily against him. I needed the soft intimacy. It was a balm to my soul and after a few seconds I laid my head on his shoulder once again. I was too tired for words but I pushed my needs to him down the bond and he responded immediately, lifting me up in his strong arms and tucking me in the bed treating me with such care I thought I was going to cry again. 

He curled himself around me and I laid my head across his muscled chest, listening to his strong heartbeat as those fingers drew comforting circles onto my shoulder. The panic had left my body and although I felt so tired from the whole exchange, my body shutting down as all the adrenline finally left and I could relax. I didn't feel as hollow as I usually did after these moments. 

No, I felt completely loved and cared for. Soon his rhythmic touch had me drifting off to sleep. 

I was loved, I was cherished for, I was safe.

[dearggntlereader]

Soulmate!James Potter x reader kind of an introduction to the au TW: pretty short, hickey mention, implied sexual acts, one-sided (?) pining

It's fine, really . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Look, it’s not like you can ignore a tattoo on your hip bone for your entire life and you’re not going to pretend like you can. You vaguely know what it says, something along the lines of joining someone in something but after nine years of ignoring it any chance you can you’re starting to forget.

Soulmates are bullshit. You’re very aware that it’s a scientific fact that they exist, and that’s really not the problem. The problem is what being a soulmate means.

It’s the connection to someone's soul. You are literally made for and deeply connected to another person and that isn’t always a gentle thing. Souls can be ripped apart or painfully stitched together by the rules of fate, entirely at their will and command.

Love comes in so many different shapes and forms, platonic being one of them, but the most common and painful soulmates are romantic. 

Just because your soul is intertwined and knotted together doesn’t mean that the love is softly filled with gentle kisses. It can be twisted and painful, toxic and full of broken trust and make-up sex.

You don’t want that. You never have.

Maybe you already met your soulmate, but you’re not willing to find out and over complicate things.

You know most people around you are obsessed with soulmates, your best friend James included.

You still remember him staying up late in the common room going on and on about how amazing having one is and how he kept glancing at you like he’s desperate for you to agree.

James doesn’t often bother to think about his soulmark. He used to get hung up on it a lot, thinking about the idea of soulmates and what that even means.

Ever since he got the small sentence at eleven, he brushes over the curves etched on his lower right stomach every Night. It used to be accompanied by at least ten minutes every night, imagining the context of the sentence or maybe what the person might look like. Later, it turned into more of a habit done with not much thought spared.

He’s fine with the way everything worked out. Really, he is.

As James stares at himself in the mirror, shirtless with the messy writing on full display, ready to brush his teeth, he pauses. He can’t help it with the Hickey placed directly next to it.

He brushes over the words softly and slowly. ‘No, sorry.’ It almost seems ironic in a way, that the person supposed to be the love of his life is also rejecting him in the first ever sentence spoken to him.

He knows who his Soulmate is and he knows said soulmate won’t ever love him back, but still. The Hickey placed by his last date causes a cold shiver to run along his spine. It feels wrong to let someone else place kisses where you left a soul-mark on him.

This is the place on his body, most deeply connected to his soul and the fact that someone placed an ugly, deep purple mark on it causes something to stirr deep within him.

He presses onto it and relishes in the pain for a second, almost like a punishment for letting someone other than you love him. It’s stupid and he knows it but he does it anyway. You don’t want to love him and it’s not like he can change that.

Platonic soulmates exist. Atleast, that's what he tells himself at every small reminder that you’re no into him, even when something deep and ugly inside him wants to protest loudly at the sentiment.

[osleeplessflowero]

this is my one day to meme. time to take advantage of it <3 cursed content up ahead :33 i've actually had this idea in my head for months but wasn't sure when the appropriate time would be to work on it - gender neutral. he'll call you babygirl no matter what gender you are

You thought it was Sans. You could've sworn it was when you first spoke with it. But that THING..it scares you.

It unraveled its form in phases, the final being something truly nightmarish.. something you will never unsee again.

Its taunting laughter echoes through the forest as you run, eyes widened in fear and your hand over where your soul would be. Why? Why you? WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE YOU?! This is the WORST encounter you've had to date!

His thundering footsteps echo as he moves, Sans' iconic laughter coming from its mouth.

"you can't hide from me forever, b a b y g i r l..running is pointless."

You vaguely see his silhouette in the distance, a tall MASSIVE form..

"Get the FUCK away from me and go back to 2017 WHERE YOU BELONG-"

"oh no.. they've had plenty of time with you..now it's MY turn." He pushes two trees apart with his bulky arms, beginning to walk towards you menacingly. "did you really think you could escape from me?.. i will always linger in the back of your mind."

"Stop this, just leave me be! I don't want you!" You shout, continuing to run. His bulky body's bones shine under the moonlight, his body morphing and twisting in ways it really shouldn't.

"just give it up. come to me-" "SHUT THE FUCK-" "you know, you're making this a lot harder than it needs to be."

You've tried everything. You've tried shooting it, that didn't work. You tried slashing at it, that didn't work either. You tried calling the police, they laughed and hung up on you. What are you supposed to do?

"it's okay to be a little cringe, babygirl..just embrace it. embrace me. you know you've missed me."

"It's okay to be a little cringe, but not THIS FAR BACK. I don't even know how you got here!" You hold up your phone, trying to call whoever you can.

"c'mon..aren't you lonely? wouldn't you like to be embraced by my big, strong arms?" He holds his arms out, the space now open for them since he's pushed quite a few trees out of the way.

"Hell no???" You groan when they hang up on you again. "Just go away! Go find someone else to bother!"

"oh no..i couldn't do that. you're the one for me, and i'm the one for you, whether you like it or not. just accept your fate."

You feel a strange sensation in your chest, looking down to see your..now blue soul. Oh god oh fuck oh g-

He begins to drag you towards him unsettlingly slowly, the glowing heart shaped eyelights of his all you can see. You claw desperately at the ground, digging your nails into the dirt and screaming.

"NONONONONO-"

A bone is hurled down from the sky, hitting the creature and distracting him enough for him to let go of you.

"who DARES to-"

"okay, i've seen my fair share of mischaracterizations, but this is ridiculous." Sans sits atop a floating bone, pointing at the creature.

"Sans!" You shout, relieved that he's here and running over once he lands, standing behind him. "That thing pretended to be you and it was really weird and-" Your face resembles a crying cat for a few seconds.

"it's alright, i'm here. and whatever.. that is has gotta go." He twirls a bone in his hand as the creature stands back up, cracking its knuckles and shifting forms.

It now stands before the two of you with a form that's almost identical to Sans, but with slightly incorrect features like his teeth slanting upwards, heart shaped eyelights, and..his head vaguely resembles a peanut from certain angles.

"..you believed this thing was me?" "I DIDN'T SEE THE SIGNS AT FIRST." :C

"everybody knows i am the one they want." "..denial is a river in egypt-"

The two begin fighting, a cartoony cloud of smoke surrounding them accompanied by bonks and squeaky toy sound effects. You hold your hands together, intertwined as you pray that Sans defeats this monster.

Eventually the smoke clears, leaving one skeleton standing above the other and dusting off his hands, walking back over to you.

"y'know, despite all those muscles he was weak as hell. you okay? he didn't do anything, did he?" "No, just kinda dragged my soul a bit but that was right before you got here." "okay, at least you weren't hurt. how about i treat you to some nice cream to make up for this?" He puts his arm around your shoulders. Unless you're taller than him, then he'll settle for your waist.

"yeah, that sounds nice, thanks sans." You smile, walking with him. "anytime.." He finds himself cracking up. "babygirl-" "Call me that again and I will fucking end you-"

He bursts out into laughter as you both exit the scene.

A figure sits up from the ground, putting his hand on his skull. Oh no..you're not getting away that easily.

[dankusner]

Phoenician Scheme caper — capitalism is delightful

Wes Anderson’s “The Phoenician Scheme” opens with a bang: a grisly explosion, a plane crash and a dramatic close-up of tycoon Zsa-zsa Korda (Benicio del Toro), his battered face so lumpen and purple it resembles eggplant Parmesan.

Zsa-zsa is a survivor and a fighter and an indefatigable entrepreneur; his relentless energy is matched by nothing else other then Alexandre Desplat’s thrilling ticking time bomb of a score.

He’s also a one-man plague whose ruinations include famine, slavery and a string of mysteriously dead ex-wives.

“I never personally murdered anybody,” Zsa-zsa insists with unconvincing conviction.

And yet, Anderson sells us on rooting for this robber baron. We are the film’s mark.

It’s a pleasure to be so deftly swindled.

The scheme of the film’s title is Zsa-zsa’s grand plan to build a dam, tunnel and canal in coordinates that roughly correspond to Saudi Arabia, but are here known as Modern Greater Independent Phoenicia, presumably in honor of the ancient empire that prioritized trade over warfare and religion. (In their philosophy, the Phoenicians were closer to Amazon.com than Rome.)

Zsa-zsa has already convinced the necessary parties to agree: a prince (Riz Ahmed), two American industrialists (Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston), a nightclub impresario (Mathieu Amalric), a sailor (Jeffrey Wright) and his cousin-fiancée (Scarlett Johansson).

Due to price-fixing sabotage by his enemies, though, Zsa-zsa must now convince everyone to earn a little less on the deal; he uses every tactic from barked threats to sports bets to a gift basket of grenades.

The other characters are impressed by his commitment, but they’re rarely fazed.

Wright’s Marty sums up Zsa-zsa’s appeal in a single line: “I supposed I’m moved by this absurd performance.”

Which we are. Del Toro’s charisma fills this larger-than-life role all the way to the brim.

He speaks in threats, bluffs and declarations, and when he gets hopped up, his hair stands on its end.

The script is all momentum and moxie, and every line out of Zsa-zsa’s mouth is a zinger, a koan of mischief in its hypocrisy (“I’m willing to believe in the opposite of my convictions”) or delusional self-sufficiency (“I’ll save myselfmyself,” he asserts, as quicksand rises over his hips).

These escapades are set in 1950 and have a handsome vintage color palette of white, gray, green, metal and wood.

The style is fitting since the modern world doesn’t make many men like this anymore, only ones who posture like big shots.

As Zsa-zsa, bloodied from his latest near-death escapade, lumbers toward a news camera clutching his innards (“a vestigial organ,” he says with a shrug), the only contemporary equivalent who measures up is the filmmaker Werner Herzog, who, upon being shot in the gut mid-interview, dismissed it as “an insignificant bullet.”

What Zsa-zsa’s passion project actually will do is a bit vague, even after he unveils a spectacular working miniature with running water and toy trains that exists mostly for the delightful inevitability that someone is bound to stomp around on it like Godzilla.

That’s not a weakness in the script.

The idea seems to be that whatever it is, accomplishing itisthe accomplishment — that the goal itself is the goal.

There’s money involved, too, of course, and it sounds impressive: 5% of the profits for the next 150 years.

But it’s not like Zsa-zsa will live long enough to reap the reward.

Over the course of the movie, he’s nearly murdered a half-dozen times by bullets, bombs, poison gas and a good old-fashioned clobbering.

“If it works, it’s a miracle,” Zsa-zsa sighs.

Luckily, he’s traveling with an aspiring nun, his estranged daughter, Liesl (a strong Mia Threapleton), who insists she wants nothing to do with him or his money, professing the same allegiance to piety as he does to racketeering.

The soul of the movie is in watching these ramrod opposites bend and intertwine. They’re also joined by a tutor, Bjørn (Michael Cera), a self-described bohemian who speaks in a sing-songy Swedish accent that draws every bubbling syllable out of the sentence: “Beer is de-li-ci-ous.”

With his owlish orange glasses and mincing theatrical manners, Cera seems custom-designed for Anderson’s style. He’s as spot-on as the production design’s gridded tile floors or a crisp camera move that pans precisely to a visual gag.

“There is no love in this house,” Liesl declares. “God is absent.”

There’s a lot of religious cross-talk that doesn’t entirely stitch together. Zsa-zsa repeatedly exclaims that Nubar “isn’t human, he’s biblical.” It’s anybody’s guess what that means. Some sort of Old Testament vengeance?

Meanwhile, the imagery encompasses everything from Anubis, the Egyptian deity of the dead, to Liesl’s blasphemously bejeweled rosary that comes to symbolize the temptation to turn into her dad. It’s worth noting that we’re more disappointed when her Mother Superior (Hope Davis) reveals herself to be greedy than by her father’s flagrant scamming. At least Zsa-zsa is proud of his sins.

Or is he? Every time he gets close to death, he’s forced to stare eternal judgment in the face via black-and-white fantasy sequences in whichBill Murrayplays God, withWillem Dafoe,F. Murray AbrahamandCharlotte Gainsbourgas his heavenly troupe. These scenes are stunning, poetic and unabashedly Bergmaneqsue. Between them and our own awareness that ancient faiths have built pyramids and temples that will outlast anything our century’s billionaires will manage to construct, you do feel a sense of divine awe.

It’s not that you have to believe that there is a force out there more powerful than Zsa-zsa or, heck, even money itself. But if that doesn’t move you, at least Anderson deserves reverence for negotiating how to get all these A-list talents to act in his movie for peanuts.

He’s managed to build yet another dazzler, a shrine to his own ambition and craft. And while it sometimes feels a bit drafty in the corners, the accomplishment itself is plenty.

Running time: 1 hour 41 minutesRating: PG-13 (violent content, bloody images, some sexual material, nude images, and smoking throughout)

Wes Anderson and Co. embark on elaborate save-a-soul mission

A peculiar tension exists inside nearly every frame created by writer-director Wes Anderson.

The geometric visual preoccupation of the framing; the actors, sometimes in motion but more frequently motionless; the manifestation of storytelling as a series of the prettiest shoebox dioramas in modern cinema:

It’s more than a style or a look to Anderson.

It’s his way of seeing the world through a lens of comic stoicism, right at the edge of art-installation territory.

The tension in those images comes from two places.

The unfortunate place: When the comic banter or monologuing strains for laughs, or goes sideways, it sometimes dies an extra, tiny, momentary death because of the arch, extreme formality of the presentation.

The more fortunate source of tension is where the actors live.

In Anderson’s lavishly talented ensembles, the majority of the performers fulfill the basic requirements of being in a Wes Anderson movie, which can involve spitting out long reams of dialogue quickly, directly, without a lot of sauce.

It also involves the task of portraying a human in a specific realm of unreality and in a kind of permanent repose, even in motion.

But hitting the marks and holding the pose isn’t enough.

There’s movement, of course, in every Anderson comedy, and in the best ones, the movement and the sight gags are funnier because of the stillness surrounding that movement.

Whatever you want to call Anderson’s universe — I’ll go with Deadpandia — it’s not easy to activate as a performer.

When the right actor wriggles free of the constraints and finds a rhythm, a heartbeat and a human spark, it’s magic.

Benicio Del Toro is the star of “The Phoenician Scheme,” Anderson’s 12th and latest.

But the ringer is Michael Cera, as Norwegian tutor Bjørn Lund, employed as an all-purpose factotum by the shady, swaggering, death-defying entrepreneur played by Del Toro.

In one go, Cera joins the top tier of Anderson alums, which includes Ralph Fiennes (“The Grand Budapest Hotel,” “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar”) and, from Anderson’s earlier, looser years, Gene Hackman and Anjelica Huston (“The Royal Tenenbaums”) and, of course, Bill Murray in everything (he has a brief cameo here, as God).

Cera is terrifically subtle in everything he does, from pricelessly cheap dialect humor to sudden bursts of jealousy.

He’s delightful, even if “The Phoenician Scheme” is only occasionally that.

The movie’s largely about other characters.

A frequent target of assassins, forever surviving plane crashes in between business deals, Anatole “Zsa-zsa” Korda (Del Toro) embarks on the riskiest development project of his life, indicated by Anderson’s title.

It consists of a dam, tunnels, a canal and a general colonialist ravaging of a desert region (fictional, but with plenty of real-world Middle Eastern inspirations).

Funding this beast means negotiating with several investors, among them a French nightclub owner (Mathieu Amalric), a pair of American industrialists (Tom Hanks, Bryan Cranston) and, above all, Korda’s estranged daughter, Liesl, a cynical novitiate and Korda’s intended heiress, played by Mia Threapleton.

“The Phoenician Scheme” is a tale of what money can buy, and what money can’t.

Stringing episodes together, screenwriter Anderson (working from a story co-created by Roman Coppola) treats Korda as a cocky survivor of fabulous riches.

Through his adventures in fundraising, and realization that he won’t last forever, Korda learns from Liesl a little about what makes a legacy important.

Meantime, he negotiates family matters with his 10 young sons and his scowling brother, Uncle Nubar (Benedict Cumberbatch), who may be Liesl’s father, and whose massive woodcut of a beard comes straight from Orson Welles’ billionaire in “Mr. Arkadin.”

The overall vibe of fishy exoticism owes something to “Mr. Arkadin” as well. Anderson works here with a cinematographer new to him, the excellent Bruno Delbonnel, shooting on 35mm film.

Anderson regulars Adam Stockhausen (production design, first-rate) and Milena Canonero (costume design, brilliant and vibrant as always) evoke a dreamlike 1950s setting in every soundstage-bound detail.

And the story?

Well, it has a little problem with over-elaboration.

“The Phoenician Scheme” follows a relatively straightforward narrative line, ticking off chapters as Korda addresses each of his prized (and literal) shoeboxes of research and minutiae regarding the massively disruptive, slave labor-dependent construction project.

It’s easier to parse what’s going on here compared to the hyperlinking and layering of “The French Dispatch” and “Asteroid City.”

But the protagonist is a bit of a bore.

And somehow, right now, on planet Earth in 2025, a movie about a craven oligarch on a spree hits a mixed chord, let’s say.

It is, however, striking to see what happens in the epilogue of this up-and-down Anderson film, when Del Toro — who looks splendid but struggles to locate a lightness of touch the material could use — finally gets a few moments of on-screen relaxation in the epilogue.

That’s by design:

He is not the same person at the end of his story. But I wonder if Anderson erred in maintaining such a tight hold on Del Toro and Threapleton en route to the story destination.

A beautiful mixed bag, let’s say, all told. But I’ll see “The Phoenician Scheme” a second time sometime for Cera, who will surely return to the Anderson fold.

COMEDY THE PHOENICIAN SCHEME B-

‘They say you murdered my mother,” the young would-be nun tells the shady tycoon.

“I feel the need to address this.”

There’s something about the deadpan delivery and the clear-eyed manner that makes you sit up and take notice of Liesl, and even more of Mia Threapleton, who plays her in The Phoenician Scheme .

(And there’s another thing, too obvious to ignore: Boy, does she ever resemble her mom, Kate Winslet.)

A vivid presence despite her dry-as-dust tone, Threapleton makes a splendid Wes Anderson debut here as half the father-daughter duo, along with Benicio Del Toro, that drives the director’s latest creation.

Their emerging relationship is what stands out amid the familiar Andersonian details:

The picture book aesthetic.

The meticulous production design.

The chapter cards.

And most of all the labyrinthine plot.

Indeed, Anderson seems to be leaning into some of these characteristics, giving the impression of becoming even more, well, Anderson than before.

He will probably delight his most ardent fans but perhaps lose a few others with the plot, which becomes a bit exhausting to follow as we reach the midpoint.

But what is the Phoenician scheme, anyway?

It’s a sweeping, ambitious, somewhat corrupt dream of one Anatole “Zsa-zsa” Korda (Del Toro), one of the richest industrialists in Europe, to exploit a vast region of the world.

We begin in 1950, with yet another attempt on Korda’s life.

Recovering at his estate — with some fabulous tile bathroom floors — Korda summons Liesl from the convent where he sent her at age 5.

He wants her to be his sole heir — and avenger, should his plentiful enemies get him.

But Liesl isn’t very interested in the Korda Land and Sea Phoenician Infrastructure Scheme.

What she wants to know is who killed her mother.

They soon hit the road to secure investments in the scheme.

And the voyage involves — obviously! — a long line of characters only Anderson could bring to life, played by notables including Michael Cera, Tom Hanks, Bryan Cranston, Jeffrey Wright, Scarlett Johansson and Benedict Cumberbatch.

[explorya88]

**Warning: Content Advisory**

This fanfic contains sensitive and serious themes that may be difficult for some readers. If you are uncomfortable with topics such as [Violence, moral questionable behaviors, explicit contents and many others], it's advisable to reconsider reading further. Your well-being is important to me, and i encourage you to prioritize your emotional health. Take care, and thank you for understanding.

This short tale is placed one month before the interlude.

Seer Assassin: Aion the weaver of destiny.

Twenty seven days ago...

Fang: You all claim to be protectors, friends, and righteous souls, but look at yourselves in the mirror! Just as Yvette accused you of being, you're nothing but hypocrites, self-righteous, and mighty fools. You turned against Darius without hesitation, just because of the demon issue. It's as if you've always secretly hated him. I'm quite surprised that you didn't kill him in his sleep!

Nahara's heart sank as she recalled Fang's words echoed in her mind, feeling the weight of betrayal and hurt. She questioned whether Darius harbored similar feelings towards her, because you know she is supposed to be his friend and confidante. The depth of the rift among them left her grappling with the aftermath of their choices but before Nahara can mull over it, Wrath enter in the room and tell her that the council of seers are waiting her.

Wrath: Nahara, the council of seers awaits you. They seek your guidance on a matter of utmost importance.

Nahara, still grappling with the recent turmoil, nodded silently and followed Wrath, as Nahara entered the chamber of the council of seers, the air seemed heavy with anticipation. The wise figures, cloaked in mystical attire, turned their ancient eyes toward her.

Seer 1: Nahara, we sense turmoil within you. What troubles your spirit?

Nahara hesitated, the conflict within her evident.

Nahara: I failed my duty as seer assassin. The unity we once shared is shattered. Darius, accused and isolated, may harbor resentment, Fang hate us saying we're no better than the demons we fight. Do our actions align with the path of balance?

Seer 2: In the tapestry of destiny, threads may fray, but the pattern endures. Your choices ripple through the fabric. The bonds you forge or break shape the future.

Nahara, seeking clarity, implored them.

Nahara: Guide me. Show me the path to mend what's broken, or reveal if it's irreparable. Stop being so vague!

The seers exchanged solemn glances, their insights merging like streams of wisdom.

Seer 3: You'll do the right choices as always Nahara.

With a nod, Nahara left the council chamber, determination in her eyes. The journey ahead was uncertain but the destiny of bonds torn and friendships strained lay in her hands, as Nahara grappled with the council's guidance, Onyx seizing the opportunity, surreptitiously placed the seed of Divashma in her tea, a malevolent glint in her eyes.

Onyx: Let the seed of Divashma take root, and watch as the shackles of regret and morality crumble. Soon, she shall be free to embrace the power within.

The sinister aura of seed of Divashma's influence permeated the room, intertwining with the tendrils of darkness that clung to Onyx and the now Dark Sin Assassins, the consequences of this clandestine act would soon unfold, altering the course of Nahara's fate, Nahara and Wrath reentered the room, finding Onyx with a deceptively innocent smile.

Onyx: Nahara, dear, I thought a cup of tea might soothe your troubled spirit. It's a blend I crafted for moments like these.

Nahara, grateful for the gesture, accepted the tea, unaware of the malevolence hidden within. As she sipped, Onyx and Wrath shared a sinister camaraderie, their thoughts intertwining in a twisted dance of anticipation.

Onyx (thoughts echoed in Wrath's mind): Soon, she'll cast away the burdens of conscience, joining us by embrace her desires.

The room held an eerie tension as the trio remained oblivious to the brewing storm that would soon engulf Nahara's soul, A surge of forbidden desires coursed through Nahara's veins as the chains of restraint shattered within her. The tea, laced with seed of Divashma's influence, unleashed a torrent of newfound freedom, her once morally anchored soul now danced on the edge of unrestrained impulse, Nahara's eyes flickered, a wild glint replacing the usual calm, the room, once a sanctuary, now seemed to echo with the whispers of untamed impulses, and the weight of consequences began to wane in the face of newfound liberation. In the quiet recesses of Wrath's mind, a malevolent chuckle resonated as she sensed the seismic shift in Nahara's essence.

Wrath: Ah, the chains of virtue shattering. The transformation begins.

Meanwhile, Onyx reveled in the success of her dark plot, a wicked delight playing across her thoughts.

Onyx: The seed of Divashma takes root, and soon, Nahara will embrace the freedom we know so well, unfettered by remorse or constraint.

As Nahara hurriedly made her way to the bathroom, Onyx and Wrath exchanged knowing glances, their chuckles resonating with a dark understanding. Onyx, reveling in the chaos she had set in motion, shared a silent, malevolent laugh with Wrath, their amusement echoing in the shadows. In the bathroom, Nahara stared at her reflection, the wild glint in her eyes reflecting the internal storm, she slid her hands down between her thighs, feeling the warmth and wetness of her pussy. Her fingers explored the folds, tracing the contours of her labia. With each touch, her arousal grew, her breath quickening. She began to rub her clit in circular motions, gasping as waves of pleasure surged through her body. Her fingers dipped inside, gliding in and out, as she moaned in ecstasy. Her movements became faster, more urgent, as she brought herself closer to climax. With a shuddering release, Nahara's body convulsed in pleasure, her orgasm washing over her in waves of pure bliss. Nahara moaned, her voice filled with need and longing.

Nahara: Quillain, i want you... I need you... Please, take me. Fill me with your cock, make me yours.

Her words spilled out in a desperate plea, her desire for him consuming every inch of her being.

Nahara: I want to feel your hands on my body, your lips on mine. I want to taste you, to be consumed by the fire of our passion. Fuck me, Quillain. Fuck me until we both lose ourselves in this pleasure.

Her voice trembled with a mix of anticipation and urgency, as she surrendered herself to the depths of her obsession, Nahara's mind filled with thoughts of Quillain, the man who had captivated her desires. As her fingers continued to explore her slick folds, she imagined his strong hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. In her fantasy, Quillain's lips brushed against hers, sending shivers down her spine. She could almost feel his hard cock pressing against her, ready to plunge deep inside her. With each stroke of her clit, Nahara's imagination intensified, envisioning the way Quillain's body would move against hers, their moans mingling in the air. The pleasure intensified as she pictured Quillain's face contorted in ecstasy, matching her own desire. Oh, how she longed for him to claim her, to satisfy her every craving as she climaxed, her body trembled with the intensity of her fantasy, leaving her breathless and hungry for more. Nahara's body trembled with the intensity of her orgasm, overwhelming her senses and causing her to collapse in a state of blissful exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered, and her breathing slowed as she slipped into unconsciousness, her body temporarily unable to handle the overwhelming pleasure she had just experienced. Wrath and Onyx, sensing Nahara's state proced to swiftly moved to her side with tender care, they lifted her limp body as Wrath's strong arms cradling her from behind while Onyx supported her legs, the two of them shared a knowing glance, understanding the depths of Nahara's desires and the effect they had on her thanks to the seed of Divashma. Carrying her gently, they made their way to Nahara's room, where they laid her down on the soft, inviting bed, as Nahara lay motionless, her body still humming with residual pleasure, Wrath and Onyx hovered by her side, watching over her, as they waited, ready to offer her comfort or anything else she might desire once she awoke from her blissful slumber.

In the dream:

Nahara, fueled by anger and betrayal, unleashed her fury upon the former Wrath Sin Assassin: Olympias Cameron, the traitor who had betrayed her trust and with a voice dripping with venom, she cursed him with a lifetime of relentless misfortune. The curse, like a dark cloud, descended upon Olympias Cameron, enveloping him in a whirlwind of calamity. From that day forward, his life became a twisted tapestry of ill luck. Misfortune clung to him like a suffocating cloak, dogging his every step. His once-charmed existence crumbled, replaced by a ceaseless parade of accidents, failures, and despair, no matter where Olympias Cameron turned, misfortune followed. His business ventures collapsed, his relationships soured, and his health deteriorated, each day brought new and inventive ways for him to suffer, as if the universe itself conspired against his very existence, Nahara's curse seeped into every aspect of his life. His finances dwindled to nothing, leaving him destitute and desperate, his body, once strong and agile, withered and weakened under the weight of constant afflictions, each dawn brought him fresh agony, as if the curse relished in tormenting him, the Olympias Cameron's social standing crumbled, as his reputation became tainted with whispers of his ill fate. Friends turned their backs, fearing that his misfortune might somehow infect their own lives. Even his family, once a source of solace, became distant, unable to bear witness to the relentless cycle of suffering he endured, Nahara's curse was like a relentless storm, raged on. His' days became a never-ending parade of accidents, disasters, and heartbreak. And in the depths of his despair, he realized the true extent of his betrayal. He had incurred the wrath of a vengeful goddess, and now he reaped the twisted harvest of his treachery.

Nahara: This is the price of the betrayal Olympias Cameron, you fucking asshole, i am Aion, i am destiny, from now on i will choose your fate! For you traitor, your destiny is death!!!

With a wicked glint in her eyes, she summoned forth a sinister plant, a creature born of darkness and hunger.

Nahara: This plant, with its gnarled roots and twisted branches, possessed an insatiable appetite for flesh and despair. It thrived on the misery of others, feeding off their pain and anguish.

Nahara, with a cruel smile, commanded the plant to engulf Sin Assassin, to consume him in its ravenous maw. The plant, sensing its prey, slithered and twisted towards Olympias Cameron, its tendrils reaching out with a sickening hunger. It wrapped itself around his weakened body, its thorns piercing his flesh, drawing forth drops of crimson, as Olympias Cameron's cries of agony filled the air, the plant tightened its grip, squeezing the life out of him. It devoured him slowly, relishing in every moment of his suffering, the plant's roots dug deep into the earth, absorbing his essence, draining him of his vitality. His screams echoed through the night, a symphony of pain and despair, the plant, fueled by his torment, grew stronger, its leaves shimmering with a malevolent glow. It consumed him whole, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell, a mere memory of the traitor he once was. Nahara watched with a perverse satisfaction as the plant completed its grisly feast. Olympias Cameron's existence was extinguished, his fate sealed by the curse that had befallen him. The plant, now satiated, retreated back into the shadows, leaving behind only a chilling silence And so, Nahara's vengeance was fulfilled. Olympias Cameron, once a traitor, was reduced to nothing more than a tragic tale, a cautionary reminder of the consequences of betrayal. The world, forever marked by his demise, would whisper his name in fear and awe, a testament to the power of Nahara's wrath.

Nahara: Gasp! What kind of insane dream is that!?!

In the next few days restlessness fueled Nahara's every step as she sought refuge in the pulsating rhythm of her favorite disco club, the bass thumped in sync with the tumultuous desires that now simmered within her, creating an electric undercurrent that matched the chaos in her soul. Under the neon lights, she moved with an uninhibited grace, the dance floor becoming a stage for the unbridled expression of her newfound freedom, the insidious whispers of seed of Divashma's cooed to Nahara in the thumping heart of the disco club. The promise of liberation echoed in her ears as the seed urged her to embrace the darkness within.

Seed of Divashma: Hunt down those who betrayed you! Shed the chains of morals, shame, and restraints! Embrace the power to shape destinies! Quillain, claim him. Make him yours forever. Let his fate intertwine with yours, bound by the threads of your desires! Use me to persuade the council of seers to align with Tyrant Darius and our cause. Let them succumb to the irresistible allure of our dominion.

Nahara, sensing the unsettling voice within her, questioned its origin.

Nahara: Who are you? What presence infiltrates my thoughts?

Seed of Divashma (slyly): Ah, Nahara, my dear. I am a gift from Darius, the friend you rejected for the mere stain of being a demon. He found a way to gift you the power and freedom you deserve.

Nahara's eyes widened as the realization dawned, the echoes of rejection and prejudice casting a shadow over her choices...again.

Nahara: Darius... what have I become, and what have you unleashed?

Seed of Divashma (a sinister tone in its coo): Fear not, Nahara. Darius holds no grudge against you or Cal. It was your rejection that set him on the path to his true destiny. Cast out from Sin Assassins, he embraced the power within and forged a new identity.

Nahara, torn between regret and intrigue, grappled with the consequences of her past actions.

Nahara: What destiny has he found, and at what cost?

Seed of Divashma: Darius is on the brink of becoming the sovereign of this world, alongside you and those who share the shadows. Embrace the power within, and you shall witness the rise of a new order, where your desires shape the very fabric of reality.

Nahara, caught in the allure of a utopian promise, contemplated the tantalizing prospect of a world crafted from the shadows of her own desires.

Nahara: A better world... free and pleasurable for everyone? How can we bring such a vision to life?

Seed of Divashma: Well, behold Nahara !!! A world unfettered by morals, a canvas painted with the unrestrained desires of all. Picture Darius, his power transcendent, reshaping reality to craft a realm where pleasure reigns supreme. Imagine you and his allies as sovereigns, architects of a utopia where every whim is fulfilled.

The vision unfolded before Nahara, a tapestry of promises where the boundaries of conventional morality crumbled, and the wielders of seed of Divashma shaped the destiny of all, the seductive whispers beckoned her to embrace a reality where desires ruled supreme, a tantalizing landscape where the boundaries of restraint dissolved and the desire danced freely. The allure of this alternate reality whispered promises of a utopian existence governed by the will of those who dared to defy conventional norms. In the throes of the tempting vision and the seductive promises echoing in her mind, Nahara's longing for power and liberation reached a crescendo.

Nahara: Merge with me, Seed of Divashma. Let our desires intertwine, and may our shadows dance as one. Grant me the strength to shape this new world, to revel in the pleasures we envision.

As Nahara uttered her demand, a dark energy enveloped her, and the seed of Divashma responded, becoming one with her essence. The merging of Nahara and the Seed marked a pivotal moment, a convergence of wills that would leave an indelible mark on the destiny they sought to shape. The dance of shadows continued, now with Nahara as both participant and choreographer in this unfolding drama of unrestrained desires and newfound power. As the merging completed, Nahara underwent a profound transformation. Her appearance shifted, embodying the essence of a Roman matron with an otherworldly twist. Her attire, draped in opulent fabrics, exuded an air of authority, while sentient evil flora entwined gracefully around her body, each tendril pulsating with a malevolent energy. Nahara's skin took on the ethereal hues of the purest sky, a surreal manifestation of the power she now wielded. The air around her shimmered with an otherworldly aura as she emerged, a vision of both elegance and darkness, the whispers of the merged entity resonated in her mind, guiding her toward the fulfillment of the vision they had glimpsed, a world where pleasure, power, and the unrestrained desires of all would reign supreme. The dance of shadows continued, now with Nahara as a formidable orchestrator of the unfolding symphony of hedonism and liberation, in the throbbing heart of a shadowy establishment, Nahara, now a matron of shadows with evil flora adorning her form, extended her hand towards a woman at the bar. The air crackled with an eerie energy as she absorbed the essence of the unsuspecting patron's luck, the woman, previously immersed in the mundane, felt a subtle shift, an inexplicable ripple in the fabric of fate. Nahara, fueled by her newfound power, absorbed the luck with a predatory grace, the tendrils of evil flora responding to the feast with a malevolent rustle as the absorbed luck coursed through her, Nahara's eyes gleamed with an intensified glow. The symphony of darkness played on, and the shadows deepened around her, marking the beginning of a macabre dance where the very threads of destiny were at her command.

Nahara: I am Aion the weaver of destiny, your fate, be it good anf bad is mine to give and to take as please!

As the woman's bad luck unfurled, events unfolded around her, stumbling steps, spilled drinks, and a cascade of minor calamities. Nahara and the evil flora observed with a twisted satisfaction, relishing in the macabre beauty of misfortune that now trailed the unsuspecting victim. The dance of shadows continued, and the tendrils, animated by the absorbed luck, undulated in a sinister celebration of the chaos they had orchestrated. As the woman, now burdened by misfortune, realized Nahara's involvement, she approached with a desperate plea.

Woman: Please, I beg you! Remove this terrible luck. I'll do anything!

Nahara, reveling in her newfound power, regarded her with an enigmatic smile.

Nahara: Anything, you say? To rid yourself of this shadow, pledge yourself to the realm of demons at my service. Embrace the seed of Divashma and your misfortune shall be but a distant memory.

As the woman hesitated, the tendrils of evil flora, animated by the malevolent power within Nahara, began to envelop her. The air crackled with dark energy, and the transformation unfolded with an eerie grace, the woman's form twisted and contorted, petals of shadow emerging from her skin. Her limbs elongated into delicate, thorned stems, and her eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. The metamorphosis echoed with whispers of ancient rituals and the eerie laughter of the evil flora.

Woman: What is this sensation? It's as if I'm shedding the weight of a mundane existence. The thorns against my skin, the whispers in my mind, each moment of this transformation is a dance with an ancient power. I can feel the shadows coursing through me, a symphony of liberation!

Nahara, now an orchestrator of shadows, observed the process with a regal satisfaction. The once troubled woman transformed into a demonic rose, a haunting fusion of beauty and darkness. Thorned vines embraced her, and petals unfurled to reveal the depths of her newfound demonic essence.

Rose Demon: This is more than a transformation; it's a rebirth. The beauty in this darkness, the power at my fingertips, I am not bound by the misfortunes of my past. I am a living testament to the shadows, a bloom of ecstasy and freedom.

The demon rose, now under Nahara's command, stood as a living testament to the macabre powers at play. The tendrils of evil flora withdrew, leaving the transformed entity in a surreal bloom, a symbol of the woman's choice to embrace the shadows in exchange for liberation from her ill-fated fortune, then with a sweeping gesture, Nahara invoked a dark incantation, trapping the unsuspecting patrons inside an ethereal web of evil flora.

Nahara: Embrace the seed of Divashma, for within it, you shall find a new reality, a reality where desires know no bounds, and every whim is but a shadow away and forever you all will belong to me, Aion the weaver of destiny!

As the shadows closed in, the disco club transformed into a pocket dimension of evil flora realm, a stage for Nahara to orchestrate the unfolding drama of her dark design, the echoes of her laughter lingered, a herald of the macabre fate that awaited those ensnared within the confines of her dominion.

Nahara: Listen me closely mortals. You stand at the threshold of two destinies, embrace the seed of Divashma willingly, become demons and serve me, taste the freedom I offer, so your existence will be liberated from the shackles of misfortune.

The air crackled with an ominous energy as she continued, the glow of her eyes piercing through the dimness, fear and uncertainty hung heavy in the air as the trapped souls within the disco club faced Nahara's daunting proposition.

Patron 1: Demons? Misfortune? What madness is this?

Patron 2 (eyeing Nahara warily): I don't know about demons, but eternal misfortune doesn't sound like a party. What are we supposed to do?

Nahara, towering over them with an air of authority, waited for their responses.

Patron 3 (hesitating): I... I don't want to live cursed. But becoming a demon? That's madness.

Nahara, a glint of impatience in her eyes, pressed them for a decision.

Nahara: Time is of the essence. Choose, for the threads of fate wait for no one.

A lone patron, with a spiteful tone, resisted Nahara's proposition.

Defiant Male Patron: I'll not bow to your demonic whims! Misfortune or not, I won't embrace your insanity.

Internally, Nahara's eyes gleamed with a subtle malevolence as she contemplated how to address this defiance.

Nahara: So, you resist the allure of my powers? Very well, defiance carries its own punishment.

Nahara with a wave of my hand, summon thick, writhing vines of poison ivy that emerge from the ground. The vines are covered in jagged thorns, their leaves glistening with a toxic oil proced they coil around the prisoner's body, their sharp points pierce the skin, drawing drops of blood, the prisoner's flesh reacts immediately to the poisonous touch, the skin turning red and inflamed. Intense itching spreads rapidly, causing the prisoner to squirm and writhe in agony. The sensation intensifies, shifting from a mere itch to a searing pain that feels like a thousand needles piercing the skin, the poison ivy's oil seeps into every pore, intensifying the burning sensation, the prisoner's screams fill the air as blisters form, oozing with a clear, pus-like fluid, the relentless grip of the vines leaves no respite, constricting tighter with each struggle, leaving deep welts and bruises, the prisoner's eyes well up with tears, their body convulsing from the overwhelming torment. The poison ivy continues its merciless assault, as the prisoner's skin becomes raw and tender, resembling a canvas of agony. The pain becomes unbearable, consuming their every thought, driving them towards the brink of insanity, the punishment continues until the prisoner is broken, their defiance crushed under the weight of unimaginable suffering. Only then, when their spirit is shattered, do the vines finally retract, leaving behind a ravaged and scarred body as a reminder of their defiance. Nahara's eyes glowed with an intensity as she channeled her dark power, transforming the defiant patron into a mindless, poisonous ivy demon.

Nahara: Your defiance has consequences, mortal. Embrace your new form, a living testament to the consequences of resisting me.

As the man underwent the transformation, tendrils of poisonous ivy began to envelop him, his features distorted into a grotesque manifestation of Nahara's will.

Poison Ivy Demon (devoid of free will, uttered in an otherworldly voice): I am but a vessel at your service. Your will is my command, Aion the weaver of destiny.

Nahara, satisfied with her display of power, regarded the newly created demon with a twisted smile.

Nahara: Serve as a reminder to others. I demand obedience, and those who resist shall become mere echoes of their former selves.

The poison ivy demon stood, an embodiment of Nahara's authority, awaiting further commands with a hollow gaze and a body twisted by the Nahara' malevolent touch. Then Nahara orders the people to engage in sexual acts with her flowers. The people, under Nahara's command, approach the flowers with a mixture of curiosity and hesitation.

Patron 1: This is sick and wrong...

Nahara: Is defiance what i have just heared?

Patron 2: Nononono (patron 1 are you daft?!? Do it, please we don't want to die).

Then the air suddenly crackled with a dark presence. Tyrant Darius, materialized in the midst of the shadowy disco club. Nahara, recognizing him, approached with a mixture of worry and happiness emotion.

Nahara (bowing slight): Tyrant Darius, my apologies for the past. I see the shadows have woven us together once more.

Tyrant Darius, with an air of regality, acknowledged her words and then, unexpectedly, Nahara stepped forward, enveloping him in a bear hug.

Nahara: Forgive me, old friendbfro not being a true friend.

Tyrant Darius: No need for apologies, Nahara. Thanks to you and Cal, a grand vision unfolds before us. A world of hedonism, freedom, and lawlessness where we, as absolute sovereigns, shape the very fabric of reality. The seed of Divadhma and Aeshdeos have granted us the power to rewrite the rules of the world.

Nahara, absorbing the weight of his words, nodded with a newfound understanding.

Nahara: Together, we shall mold a utopia, where desires know no restraint. Let the dance of lawlessness, hedonism and freedom.

Meanwhile, one of patron touch the petals, a surge of pleasure courses through their bodies, igniting a primal urge within them. The flowers respond to their touch, their velvety texture and delicate petals caressing the eager flesh of the people. Moans fill the air as the flowers and people become entangled in an erotic dance, their bodies intertwining in a sensual symphony. The petals brush against sensitive skin, the floral essence mingling with the scent of arousal. Pleasure consumes them as they surrender to the forbidden ecstasy, their bodies and desires entwined in a mesmerizing display of hedonism.

Flowers: We got picked for so long now is the peoples turn to be picked as our sex toys!

The flowers, driven by the desire of dominate their sex toy, caress and explore the folds of the defiant woman's body. Their petals, soft and velvety, glide along her skin, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. The woman's breath quickens as the flowers skillfully find her most sensitive areas, their gentle touch eliciting moans of pleasure from her lips. With each stroke and caress, the flowers bring her closer to the edge of ecstasy. Their movements become more deliberate, their petals teasing and penetrating, bringing her to the peak of pleasure again and again. The woman, overwhelmed by the intense sensations, surrenders herself to the intoxicating pleasure offered by the sentient flowers, losing herself in a realm of blissful abandon.

Tyrant Darius: What a scenery, worthy of a colossal film.

Nahara: Of course Darius, this show is for you.

Nahara's voice resonates with a commanding tone. The flowers, their petals still gently pleasuring the defiant patrons, seem to respond to Nahara's words, their movements becoming more synchronized and purposeful.

Nahara: Witness the power of desire and surrender. Then they become my army and slaves.

Tyrant Darius: By all means.

Darius, observed the scene unfolding before him, stands in both awe and amusement. He see some mushrooms, turn their attention to a man present in the scene. The man, initially taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, finds himself unable to resist the allure of the pulsating fungi. The mushrooms surround him, their slimy caps brushing against his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

Patron: Ahhh, how aahhh being touched by plants feels good? This is madness...

With each touch, the mushrooms emit a faint, intoxicating scent, further heightening his arousal. The mushrooms explore his body, their girthy stems gliding over his sensitive areas, eliciting moans of pleasure from his lips. Their movements are purposeful, and they seem to know exactly how to stimulate him, bringing him to the edge of ecstasy as the mushrooms continue their sensual dance, their slimy texture and firmness create a unique sensation against his flesh. The man's breathing grows heavier, his body surrendering to the pleasure bestowed upon him. The mushrooms expertly tease and stroke, pushing him closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure until he succumbs to its overwhelming allure.

Praton: Merge with me mushrooms!

Nahara: Wonderful another Mushroom demon.

Tyrant Darius: An army of flora demons, it suits you my friend.

In the pulsating atmosphere of the disco club, the prisoners find themselves caught in a mix of despair and arousal, their bodies moving to the rhythm of the music while their minds remain imprisoned by their circumstances. As the bass reverberates through the room, their moans blend with the beats, a symphony of hidden desires and suppressed frustration.

Flowers: Yes, moan, scream, cry our sex toys.

Their moans resonate with a mix of longing and resignation, a collective expression of the pleasure they crave but cannot fully attain. Each moan carries the weight of their unfulfilled fantasies, a reminder of the forbidden pleasures they once knew but now can only yearn for, amidst the flashing lights and gyrating bodies, their moans become a whispered rebellion, a defiant declaration of their suppressed needs and desires. It is a bittersweet soundtrack of pleasure and pain, a constant reminder of the freedom they have lost and the pleasures they can no longer indulge in.

Nahara: Oops i broke them.

Tyrant Darius: Playthings are mean to be broken, my friend. Lets see if you can break them further.

As the prisoners continue to dance, their bodies moving in sync with the music, their moans intertwine with the melodies, creating an atmosphere charged with both desperation and a hunger for liberation in insanity. Then the vines turn their attention to pleasuring a man's cock. The vines, strong and sinewy, wrap themselves around his throbbing member, their touch both firm and gentle. As they coil and twist, their textured surface stimulates every inch of his sensitive flesh, eliciting moans of pleasure from his lips.

Patron: Yes!!! Make me yours.

The vines glide up and down his shaft, their movements synchronized and purposeful. The friction they create intensifies the sensations, driving him closer to the edge of ecstasy. With each stroke, the vines exert just the right amount of pressure, their movements expertly tailored to his desires as the vines continue their erotic dance, they explore every contour of his cock, their tendrils caressing every inch with a combination of firmness and suppleness. They tease his sensitive tip, wrapping around it with a gentle yet insistent grip, heightening his pleasure to unimaginable levels. The man's moans grow louder, his body trembling with anticipation as the vines skillfully bring him to the brink of release. The pleasure builds and builds, until finally, with a powerful surge, he succumbs to the overwhelming sensation, experiencing a mind-bending orgasm that leaves him gasping for breath and merge with the vines.

Nahara: Now i got a Vines demon. For the grand finale my flora have an orgy with your sex toys.

She orders the plants to engage in an erotic orgy. The plants, responding to her command, come alive with a newfound passion. Their vines entangle and intertwine, their leaves shimmering with anticipation as the plants come together, their various shapes and sizes create a mesmerizing tableau of sensuality. Vines caress and stroke, leaves flicker with anticipation, and petals quiver with desire. The air becomes thick with the scent of arousal as the plants explore each other's bodies, their movements synchronized in a primal dance of pleasure.

Patrons: Help us, someone free us from this madnesssss!!!!!!!

Leaves brush against petals, vines intertwine, and tendrils entwine, creating a symphony of tactile sensations. The plants writhe and undulate, their vibrant colors mingling in an intoxicating display of desire. Moans of pleasure echo through the air as the plants surrender to their primal urges, lost in a realm of hedonistic pleasure.

Tyrant Darius: Talk about a forbidden dream of a nature lovers.

Nahara, an alluring observer, watches with a mix of fascination and satisfaction as the plants engage in their forbidden orgy, Tyrant Darius and Nahara enjoying to orgy show for three hours, then Nahara, with a mere whisper of command, order the surrounding flora to merge with the patrons. The sentient flowers, plants, trees, and mushrooms, each infused with a malevolent sentience, exuded joy at the prospect of this unholy fusion.

Flora: We rejoice in the merging! Becoming one with the patrons, do wr can became worthy servant of our master! We are the children of fate , bound to the will of Nahara, the matron of darkness. Our existence is an eternal dance in her service.

Their voices resonated with an otherworldly harmony, their voice full of joy and reverence for Nahara. Nahara surveyed her legion of flora demons with a regal satisfaction.

Nahara: You are reborn in my image. Embrace your new purpose and serve as extensions of my will.

The flora demons knelt before Nahara in worship, meanwhile Tyrant Darius with a commanding air, entrusted Nahara with a crucial mission, to dissuade the council of seers and sway them towards his vision of a world governed by hedonism, freedom, and lawlessness. In his hands he held the seed of Divashma and they would aid Nahara in this endeavor.

Tyrant Darius: Nahara, you hold the seed of Divashma. Use its influence to shape the minds of the council. Convince them of the glory that awaits in our envisioned utopia.

Nahara, accepting the seed with a nod, felt the dark power coursing through her.

Nahara: Consider it done, Tyrant Darius. The council shall be swayed to embrace the seed of Divashma and join our pursuit of absolute freedom, hedonism and lawlessness.

Armed with the seed of Divashma, Nahara embarked on her mission prepared to weave the seed of Divashma influence and guide the council of seers towards the intoxicating allure of the envisioned world Tyrant Darius sought to create. As Nahara cloaked herself in the shadows and wielding the seed of Divashma, entered the council of seers who regarded her with a mix of surprise and anger.

Seer 1 (accusatorily): Why have you aligned yourself with Tyrant Darius, Nahara? Have you forsaken the path of righteousness?

Nahara responded with a chilling laughter that echoed through the council chamber.

Nahara: Righteousness? No, my dear seers. The time for convention has passed. Now is the era of hedonism, freedom, and lawlessness. Tyrant Darius offers a vision of a world untethered from the restraints that bind you. Embrace it, for the seed of Divashma demand a new reality.

Seer 2: You've lost your way, Nahara. This vision is madness!

Nahara, undeterred, continued to crackle with manic laughter as she held the seed of Divashma aloft.

Nahara: Madness? No, it's liberation. The seed of Divashma holds the power to reshape minds. Join me, and together, we shall usher in an era where desires know no boundaries ahahahhahah.

As Nahara's laughter echoed through the council chamber, she summon her demonic flora as a and order them to release their hypnotic pollens, an ethereal mist that permeated the air, casting a subtle spell over the council of seers.

Seer 3: What is this strange feeling? I... I find myself reconsidering.

Seer 4: The air is alive with whispers. Perhaps there is merit in Tyrant Darius's vision.

Seer 5: The air is thick with change. Tyrant Darius's vision... it beckons.

The hypnotic pollens worked their insidious magic, gradually eroding the resistance of the council. Nahara, with a malevolent satisfaction, continued to wield the influence of the seed of Divashma.

Nahara: Let the me guide your thoughts. Embrace the seed of Divashma and witness the world Tyrant Darius envisions! A realm of hedonism, freedom, and lawlessness.

As the council of seers, now swayed by the hypnotic pollens, began to relent, Nahara's demonic flora exulted in the success of their enchantment, shaping the minds of the seers in accordance with the dark vision Tyrant Darius sought to manifest.

Seer 6: I feel... unburdened. The weight of morality lifted.

Seer 7: Thank you, Nahara, for this gift. Our minds are free, and we see the world through new eyes.

Their voices, now laced with echoes of seed of Divashma whispers, resonated with a sense of exhilaration. The council of seers, once guardians and guides, now stood as liberated beings, their allegiance pledged to Tyrant Darius's vision of hedonism, freedom, and lawlessness, Nahara immersed in the aftermath of the council of seers transformation, heard a familiar voice in her mind. a voice that carried with it the resonance of Quillain.

Quillain: Nahara, Tyrant Darius told me that we can finally be together as spouses.

Nahara: Indeed i want you naked when i will warp myself your room so we can finally make love!!!

Quillain: As you wish my lady.

Nahara warpd in Quillain room and didn't waste a second as she quickly undress herself and eagerly takes Quillan's cock in her hands, feeling its warmth and hardness. She moves closer, pressing her breasts against it, using them to create a delicious friction. Her mouth descends upon his shaft, her lips wrapping tightly around it as she begins to suck, her tongue swirling and teasing. Her movements are skilled and deliberate, alternating between gentle caresses and deep, eager sucks. Quillan's pleasure intensifies, his cock throbbing in response to Nahara's skilled touch, she continues her skilled oral ministrations, bringing Quillan to the peak of pleasure. As he reaches his climax, his cock pulsates in her mouth, releasing hot spurts of cum. Nahara eagerly swallows every drop, savoring the taste of his release. She looks up at Quillan, a satisfied smile on her face, as she licks her lips, ensuring she doesn't miss a single drop of his essence, Nahara's eyes gleam with desire as she gazes up at Quillan, her voice husky with anticipation.

Nahara: Quillan, I want you to fuck my mouth with your cock.

She breathes, her words dripping with a raw hunger. She positions herself, her mouth open wide, ready to be filled by him. Quillan, captivated by her explicit request, takes hold of his throbbing member and guides it into her waiting mouth. With each thrust, Nahara eagerly submits, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to pleasure him. The sound of their passionate coupling fills the room as Quillan thrusts deeper, their connection growing more intense with each powerful movement, Quillan relishes in the power he holds over Nahara, his desire to tease her evident in his every movement as he thrusts into her mouth with a fervent eagerness, he intermittently slows his pace, teasing her with shallow strokes that barely graze the depths of her throat. He revels in the way her breath catches and her eyes plead for more, her anticipation growing with each deliberate pause. Quillan's control over her pleasure becomes a tantalizing game, a dance of dominance and submission, as he toys with her, pushing her limits and testing her resolve, then with a primal roar of release, Quillan reaches the pinnacle of his pleasure, his cock pulsating as he releases his hot load deep into Nahara's throat. She eagerly swallows every drop, her throat contracting around him, milking him of his essence. The taste of his cum fills her senses, a bittersweet reminder of their raw and uninhibited connection. They both bask in the aftermath, their bodies spent and satisfied, as the echoes of their intense encounter linger in the air. Still hungry for each other he positions himself behind her, his throbbing cock poised at the entrance of her tight, forbidden opening. Without hesitation, he pushes forward, stretching her as he enters her ass with a forceful thrust. Nahara gasps and moans, a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain escaping her lips. Quillan's rhythm becomes relentless, his hips thrusting vigorously as he claims her ass as his own. The room fills with the sounds of their passionate coupling, the slapping of skin against skin and their passionate cries of ecstasy blending together in a symphony of raw desire, Quillan and Nahara, lost in the throes of their passionate encounter, exchange worshipful words between breaths and moans. Their voices intertwine in a symphony of desire and devotion as they express their adoration for each other.

Quillain: Oh, Nahara, you're so fucking incredible. Your ass feels amazing around my cock.

Nahara: Quillan, you're an incredible lover. Your cock fills me completely. I crave you, I need you.

Their words become a mantra of praise and desire, fueling their connection and intensifying their pleasure until with a final, primal howl of pleasure, Quillan and Nahara reach the peak of their orgasmic release. Their bodies tremble with the intensity of their shared climax, their souls intertwined in a moment of blissful surrender. As the waves of pleasure wash over them, exhaustion takes hold, and they find solace in each other's arms. Drifting into a deep slumber, their bodies entangled, they succumb to the peaceful embrace of sleep, their dreams filled with the echoes of their passionate union. Feeling hungry after the intense and long sex, Nahara extended her will into the fabric of reality, conjuring a doppelganger to do her bidding.

Nahara: Go forth, my shadow self. Seek out those whose luck flows freely, and bring their fortune to me. I'm hungry for soul.

The doppelganger melted into the darkness, becoming one with the night. Its mission was clear, to weave through the unsuspecting crowds, draining luck from those who believed themselves immune to the whims of fate.

Nahara doppelganger: Found an tasty prey for my creator.

Said woman, blissfully ignorant of the curse that had been cast upon her, climbed into her car, her mind occupied with mundane thoughts of the day ahead as she drove down the road, the universe conspired against her, aligning the elements of fate to bring forth her untimely demise. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light illuminated the sky, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap, the heavens themselves seemed to weep as rain poured down, drenching the asphalt and obscuring visibility as the woman's grip tightened on the steering wheel as her heart raced, sensing the impending danger, In the midst of the torrential downpour, a slick patch of oil materialized on the road, cunningly concealed beneath the rainwater. The woman's tires lost traction, causing her car to skid uncontrollably. Panic gripped her as she fought desperately to regain control, but her efforts were in vain, with a sickening screech of metal against metal, her vehicle careened out of control, spinning wildly across the slick road. Time seemed to slow down as her car collided with an oncoming vehicle, the impact sending shards of glass and twisted metal flying in all directions, the force of the collision was devastating, crumpling the woman's car like a tin can. The airbags deployed with a violent burst, but they were no match for the sheer brutality of the crash. Bones snapped, organs were crushed, and the woman's body contorted in unimaginable ways as the wreckage engulfed her, Nahara doppelganger warp the car with dead woman so she can turn her in mindless puppet to toy with, so she commanded her shadow to seize the lifeless body of the woman and assimilate it. The shadow, obedient to its master's command, slithered across the ground, its inky tendrils wrapping around the cold, motionless form with an eerie hiss, the shadow began to merge with the corpse, its darkness intertwining with the lifeless flesh, the woman's body became a vessel, a conduit for the shadow's insatiable hunger as the shadow consumed her, as the assimilation progressed, the woman's limbs twitched and contorted, her skin taking on a sickly pallor, the shadow's influence twisted her features, warping her once familiar visage into a macabre reflection of its own darkness. Her eyes, once filled with life, now glowed with an otherworldly malevolence. Nahara, observing the shadowy transformation of a woman into a doll-like entity, questioned her doppelganger with a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

Nahara: Why did you choose to transform that woman into a shadow doll?

Nahara Doppelganger (with a chilling monotone): I desired a toy, something to play with in free time.

The answer echoed with a detached sense of satisfaction, as if the doppelganger found amusement in reshaping the fates of those it encountered. Nahara, curious by the response and intrigued by the notion of further indulgence in her doppelganger madness, Nahara issued her a dark command.

Nahara: Enter a casino, my doppelganger. Turn the patrons into soulless dolls and bring their essence to me. The hunger for fortune still gnaws at my being.

Nahara Doppelganger (with a bow of subservience): As you command, my creator.

The shadowy entity slipped into the casino, tendrils of darkness extending to each unsuspecting gambler. One by one, the patrons succumbed to the doppelganger's touch, their forms transforming into soulless dolls, devoid of life and purposes, as Nahara's doppelganger completed its haunting task in the casino, it returned to its creator, the shadows pulsating with captured souls. Nahara, curious and hungry for the essence of those consumed, questioned her creation.

Nahara: Tell me, shadow. What joy did you find in stripping their souls?

Nahara Doppelganger: Their essence writhed in the shadows, a symphony of despair and fading echoes. To witness the unraveling of their souls brought me delight, a dance of agony that fueled the depths of darkness.

Nahara, absorbing the doppelganger's sadistic joy, felt a wicked satisfaction in the dark orchestration.

Nahara: Such exquisite torment. Warp to me their essence, so i can consume their souls.

The doppelganger warped the captured souls to Nahara and she swallow them, still Nahara and her doppelganger still hungry for more prey, Nahara doppelganger enter in a bar and assimilate the patrons with her shadow. The trapped patrons in the bar, their bodies now vessels for Nahara's shadow, were caught in a never-ending nightmare. Their voices, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the dimly lit establishment. The air was thick with the scent of fear and the taste of despair. Their screams reverberated off the walls, a symphony of torment that pierced through the veil of the mundane. They pleaded for liberation, their cries carrying the weight of their stolen lives. Each soul trapped within the assimilated bodies and luck sucked out from them yearned for release from the clutches of Nahara's darkness ad their once vibrant and individual identities were now muted, overshadowed by the all-consuming presence of the shadow. Like her master and creator Nahara doppelganger, reveling in her sadistic nature, gloated over the cries of the assimilated patrons. The cacophony of their despair was like sweet music to her ears, a symphony of agony that resonated deep within her soul. Their pleas for liberation only fueled her insatiable hunger for power and control, with a wicked grin, Nahara taunted the trapped souls, relishing in their suffering. She reveled in the symphony of their torment, finding perverse pleasure in their cries for mercy. Their lamentations were not met with sympathy or compassion, but rather with a twisted delight that twisted her lips into a cruel smile. To Nahara, their anguish was a testament to her dominance, a testament to the depths of her power. Their screams were a constant reminder of her control over their very existence. She derived immense pleasure from their pain, savoring every note of their desperate pleas as the assimilated patrons continued to lament their fate, Nahara's satisfaction grew. Their suffering fueled her dark desires, empowering her with a sense of sadistic pleasure that knew no boundary. The cries of the trapped souls were a perverse melody, an anthem of submission and despair that echoed through the darkest recesses of her being, then she commanded her shadow to consume the bodies of the assimilated patrons. The shadow slithered and writhed, its inky tendrils engulfing the lifeless vessels, consuming them with a voracious appetite, with each touch of the shadow, the bodies were devoured, their flesh dissolving into darkness. The process was grotesque and macabre, as the shadow absorbed their very essence, leaving nothing but a trail of emptiness in its wake, Nahara watched with a twisted satisfaction as her shadow consumed the assimilated bodies, relishing in the grotesque display of consumption. The air was filled with the sickening scent of decay and the sight of flesh melting away, while the sounds of bones crunching and liquid slurping filled the room. She reveled in the taste of their stolen lives, the sensation of their essence coursing through her being. With each consumption, her power grew stronger, her connection to the shadows deepening. The patrons, who were once trapped within the assimilated bodies, now existed only as a part of Nahara's insatiable appetite, as the last remnants of the bodies disappeared into the darkness, Nahara stood amidst the remains, her hunger momentarily satisfied. The room was now devoid of life, filled only with the lingering echoes of the consumed souls.

Nahara: Thanks for the dinner, now you're free to play with toy woman you created.

Nahara doppelganger: Thank you my master and creator.

Nahara before going to sleep she thinked...

Nahara: I am Aion the weaver of destiny, finally fate, bad and good luck, destiny are mine to do anything i want!!!

Then she fell asleep peacefully with her spouse Quillain.

[joywritesbutitsactuallymystories]

Eden - short story

“Ready for take-off, m’lady?” He asks. She smirks.

“I was born ready.” She fastens her seatbelt.

Five…

“Leaving anything behind?” She hesitates.

Four…

“No. Are you?”

Three…

“Nothing.”

Two…

“What’d you reckon we’ll find, wherever it is we’re going?”

One…

“Salvation, I would hope.” He laughs.

Liftoff!

They fly for a long time, it would seem, a year entire. Yet they will soon learn - a year is nothing, not in comparison to eternity.

He and She land at their destination. A goldilocks planet, somewhere in a solar system on the other side of a wormhole, just past Saturn. A planet that has a twin, orbiting it alongside its two moons, and a young star, one that won’t explode quite as soon as their own. They disembark from their ship.

“I know this place…” She says, confused.

“I know where you’re coming from, it seems very similar to Earth. Eerily similar, actually.” He looks around himself, apprehensive.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” She shakes her head violently. “I’ve been here before. I remember this place, somehow.”

“That’s impossible, m’lady.”

“I know, I know. It’s weird though, like the strongest case of deja vu you’ve ever seen.” She chuckles nervously.

“Hello there, children.” A voice she recognises says, causing the two to jump of surprise. “I apologise for startling you, We simply weren’t expecting you here yet.” The voice repeats, identifying itself as a Figure that walks out from behind a tree. She recognises the Figure, as though a friend from preschool, vaguely similar, vaguely familiar, vaguely present. As though she always knew the Figure, as though the Figure knew her too.

“What do you mean, yet? Were you watching us? Who are you?” He starts getting more and more alarmed. The Figure calmly stirs some sugar into a mug that they didn’t seem to be holding before. She knew the Figure would do that before they did it. She knows them.

“Relax child, We weren’t watching you.” The Figure speaks calmly. “Or rather, We always were. But so were You. We and You are connected, intertwined. Forever bound together.” A cat brushes its tail against the Figure.

“How do I know this place? And you?” She asks. The Figure smiles.

“Your soul remembers Us. Lovely to know.” The Figure takes a sip of their tea. “You used to live here, you know, before you lived on Gaia, your current planet. You all did.” The Figure looks at Him, really looks. It seems as though one look from them can see through you entirely, see all your past, see your future, see your bones, your emotions, your thoughts. “You do not remember,” They say. “Yet. You are not yet ready to remember. You still hold You close to your soul. You cannot let them go, can you?” He is paralysed by fear. He does not feel safe here. “You must return, if thus is so. You and Her. Go back, see what has become, and return, for to Us, one day is a thousand years, and a thousand years is one day.” The Figure walks away. She turns to Him.

“Are you ok?” Concern fills her eyes.

“I’m fine.” He hesitates. “We should return, though. This was supposed to be a scout mission, and we have enough data to relate back to central.” She nods, apprehensive to leave a place that feels so much like home, but willing to do anything for Him. They return back as they came.

They land on rocks. Rocks everywhere, for thousands of kilometres. They return to poisonous waters, melted glaciers, burning trees, and unimaginable heat.

“I don’t understand.” He says, tears rolling down his face. “We were supposed to *save* them, not abandon them. How did this even happen? It’s all wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong…” She hugs him tightly. She knows why this happened. How this happened. One day is a thousand years, and a thousand years is one day. The world ended. And they missed it.

“Let’s go, Adam.” She says. “We have to go back there.”

“What is that place, Eve? What is there about it that terrifies me, and compells you? Why, if our souls are of the same fabric?”

“I don’t know, love. I don’t know a lot of things. But I do know what it has the potential to become, for you and me.”

“And what is that, m’lady?”

“Eden.”

[melting-morning-blues]

it aches, that space between my chest and my throat, where i have archived both of our nonchalant conversations, sapphire-dusted photographs and text-boxes overfilling with unbridled ideas untouched by hesitance -- un-claustrophobic, unconstrained. it aches, to hover a finger over an app's icon and to withdraw that touch because i haven't found the energy to amble back into my gleefully-curated space, to revisit that vigour and passion, to revisit the people i love dearly. it aches, because i was scared of returning to a space where a me-sized hole is sinking into the floorboards and lasting handprints can be found on the doorknob, where someone has returned everyday, and i feel that i have disappointed them with my absence.

this fear is amplified because the real world has had me submerged for a while now. scuba-diving but all lifeforms scatter before i can blow out a bubble. i thought my stress would be contagious, erosive.

it aches, because i know i left no note at the door (at best, vague), no whisper of a possible return, clutching a one-way ticket somewhere quiet, but my absence left a hollow imprint in the residence. it aches, because i wanted to step back onto that train station platform and greet you again, waving my ticket and singing, "pictures! i took more pictures! and those unfinished stories? i've been crafting! i've been thinking about you!"

and yet, i am avoidant. reconciliation and/or revisitation feel so daunting. i've wanted to say, i love you, too. i've wanted to say, i've been wondering how to get back to you. i've wanted to say, i'm sorry. so, so sorry. i've been wondering if those words would ever amount to anything, if words can heal and if i have already caused cracks to fester in the concrete you and i stood on. and i've understood, time and time again, how your love and forgiveness are unconditional, painfully so. a sentiment built upon bandaged cracks and inextinguishable memories. a sentiment i believed i could have soothed; i believed i could, all those months back -- from that moment at the hairdresser's, salmon streaks braiding through my hair; in the car, rain falling down your window; in a comment thread, our lives intertwining over a serendipitous encounter. our story began unintentionally, and yet the pages have already been dotted by tears. mine, and maybe yours.

(a bit of a tmi, but i tend to cry easily. it usually has to do with either guilt or relief. the former is always self-inflicted, and the latter is always from the people around me. i read your response from two hours ago and cried. i've missed you, unfathomably.)

i think it's amusing that i'm returning to that same hairdresser's in a few days, with the intention to read again while they dye my hair. i think it's hard to bear not reaching out before that moment; to say, hey, this feels like a second encounter, like we've retraced our story back to where it began. like we're meant to always cross paths, that i've always wanted to come back, i've always been meaning to come back.

and, i can't say with full certainty if i can always promise to be at that train station. even if it hurts to always leave without notice. it hurts me to hurt you, to some extent, to always be the one who waits. i think it is selfish of me; i feel like i've been taking advantage of your kindness.

my words have meandered and always persisted in its ambiguity, but i suppose it's because i'm afraid to be straightforward. but, i think i should try. i hate empty promises, but i think there is truth to my words: that i want to keep staying. with you, by you. not for you, because i know you don't want me to feel indebted.

i'm not thinking of leaving, because your presence has always made me feel like i'm not just another pretentious soul drifting aimlessly in my words, my thoughts, my starstruck rambles. i'm not thinking of leaving, because i know our friendship has struck a chord in both of us.

and maybe i may drift again, but i promise, promise, promise, to peek in. maybe send a picture of the distant sunset, a discreet selfie of the neighbourhood stray cat, an excerpt from a book i'm reading, captioning it, "this reminds me of you!", "this sounds like something you might write", "this is so (insert character)", or maybe even a link to a new lyric doc (disaster might like another world tour).

i wish to keep you in my life. i wish and will try to work towards stability. i hope, at the end of the day, trying to reach out again is not too selfish of a request.

“Human relationships are strange. I mean, you are with one person a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together, and then it stops”

— Charles Bukowski

[strawurberries]

Sunset Kisses

Summary: Love is found and felt in simple places, and Vash can't help but admire you.

Authors Note: I haven't done writing for a fandom in a long time, but I hope everyone likes this :)

Warnings: None.

“It’s awfully beautiful today” he watched as a symphony of plump white clouds traveled across the sky, crossing the horizon in a flurry of deep, red tones. He couldn’t tear his eyes away no matter how hard he tried. It’s strange, he thought, how despite seeing this sight a thousand times he never got tired of it. Vaguely, he wondered what the sunset would’ve looked like on Earth. Would it have also been red? Orange? A tinge of yellow and pink? He didn’t know, but he liked to speculate. Maybe the sunset turned the sky green, he laughed a little to himself.

“Mhmm,” the woman beside him hummed, “it’s amazing.” She shuffled against the rock face, straightening her back. Her spine popped and she mumbled out a sorry and a laugh. He smiled and tried his hardest to focus back on the dancing colors of the sky, but they weren't as interesting anymore. So he decided to indulge in his desires, turning to face his companion. 

Oh, how the sublimity of the heavens paled in such grand comparison to her.

Words caught under his tongue, banging against his teeth to be let out yet he didn’t dare utter a sound in fear of ruining the moment. Beautiful, beautiful, he chanted in his head like a prayer. He supposed that this was the religion Wolfwood always talked about—the utter devoutness he felt in the very core of his being, the essence of his soul. If she had asked him to give her the world, he would’ve sunk to his knees and said, “yes ma’am”.

Instead of praise or love, he uttered: “sore?” They had both been traveling for days in the desert, nonstop and unrelenting. He had worried about her at first, before she smacked him upside the head and told him to keep on walkin’. Luckily though, for the night, they had found a small outcrop of rocks that provided enough shelter to rest in peace. Without so much as a word between them, they had sat down and quietly ate their rations and watched the sky before them. Now, though, he wished he hadn’t been so distracted by the allure of nature, and instead tossed himself head-first into the beauty of his lover.

“Extremely,” she grumbled, “I don’t know how you always seem fine. You’re crazy or something’, I swear.” She lightly hit him with her elbow, finishing off the last of her jerky.

He laughed. “Maybe a little bit,” he shuffled closer and set his head on hers, faithfully finding her fingers to intertwine with his. He hummed in delight and closed his eyes. Who needed a church or pastor to get along with God, when that holy little enigma rested in the cup of her palms?

“Lonely?” she asked, lips brushing against his forehead. 

“Not anymore,” he whispered.

She smiled, “good.”

He turned and looked at her, suddenly finding that all his confidence had vanished into the daylight. She tilted her head and he glanced at her lips before looking back up at her eyes—oh, those eyes. . . he wished he could stare into them all day, the colors and emotions so raw and perfect that he felt like he was defiling her with even a simple look. She had reassured him though, all those years ago, saying something along the lines of “if you’re corrupting me, then I sure wouldn’t mind seeing what hell is like alongside you.”

“Need somethin’?” she teased. 

He nodded. Yes, he thought, I want you. All of you, please. No matter how selfish that is. He didn’t say that though. He didn’t deserve her in her entirety. Ah. . . he paused. She wouldn’t like him thinking like that. He could practically hear her anger within his own mind, telling him to stop acting so “damn pathetic! You’re a wonderful man, and if you put yourself down again I’m going to praise you until you cry.”

She had done that once. The thought made a blush crawl up his neck.

“Maybe,” she drew out the word, curling her tongue in her mouth, “a kiss?”

He nodded rapidly, yes yes yes yes.

She laughed a little and grinned, “such a shy boy~”

“Don’t tease me,” he whined, leaning in to meet her lips halfway. Their noses touched and such a simple gesture made his very soul quiver in so much adoration he felt like he was dying.

She grabbed his neck and let his entire body slump into her’s, melting into the divinity of her touch. Yes, he thought, this is what religion is—he understood why humanity tries so hard to reach God everyday. He understood why they kept on pushing through the sin and pain, because this. . . God, this? It made every single moment worth it.

She pulled back and let their foreheads touch, “I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her in a desperate, loving embrace, “I love you too,” more than you will ever know. How could he explain that his very heart was no longer in his chest, but within her hands. How could he explain that he felt when she gently brushed her fingers over the veins and flesh that kept his deepest secrets and pain, lazily appreciating his love with acceptance so unconditional that at first he thought it was fake?

“I love you,” he muttered again. The words failed to show the depths of his meaning.

“I know.”

He laughed a little, burying his face in her neck, “you could’ve said it back.”

“Alright you big baby, I loooove~ you.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, kissing the soft flesh below his ear, “is that better?” she whispered.

He nodded. 

God, he loved her.

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

The First Kiss

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, smooches (a bit spicier than I normally write, but still very tame compared to every other kiss in the history of fanfic), brief mention of marriage and kids

Word Count: 1,147

Author’s Note: I’ve returned from the dead. This is technically a sequel to The Best Man, but I don’t think you have to read the original to follow the story. Also maybe technically my own little therapy session, as always. Side note- why are my characters always hanging out in the alley behind a bar?

Summary: A last first kiss. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

Marcus guides you through the crowd, hand hovering at the small of your back as you cut towards the door. You reach back to grab his hand and weave your fingers through his. It’s easy to play it off as not wanting to lose him in the crowd, but you know it means more than either of you are prepared to discuss on what is supposed to be a casual night out with friends.

You reach the door and the cool air outside is refreshing as you step out into the alley. The smell of smoke still lingers in the air from the last patrons of the bar who’d slipped out for a cigarette. 

Marcus holds the door open for the person re-entering the bar, trailing a few steps behind you as you move to lean against the wall. 

“Peace and quiet at last,” He remarks. “God, I could hardly hear myself think in there. Must be a game on or something.”

“Must be,” You shrug, shivering slightly from the breeze in the air. 

“Cold?”

You nod, and he immediately begins shrugging out of his leather jacket. He knows that if he were to ask, you’d tell him to keep it, that you’d be fine, that if you needed a jacket you should have brought one of your own, so he doesn’t bother. He drapes it over your shoulders himself rather than handing it to you, enveloping you in it before you have time to argue. The warm leather shields you against the chilly autumn air, and your protest dies on your tongue as you relax into its comfort.

“Since when did you start smoking?” You ask suddenly, remembering the excuse he’d made to Greg and Melissa for your sudden departure.

“What?” Marcus looks surprised by the question, his eyebrows raising just a hair and his head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. You gesture vaguely to your surroundings. 

“You said you needed a smoke break.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Marcus shakes his head, “But I thought Greg was going to fracture my shin with how hard he was kicking me under the table. I got the impression that they wanted a little alone time.” 

“What do you mean-” You begin, moving to peek through the small window in the door. You stop yourself when you recognize the booth you’d been sitting at with your friends. They’re very much intertwined in a tangle of lips and tongues and heavy petting, and you’re suddenly grateful for Marcus’s newfound ‘smoking habit’.

“Newlyweds,” Marcus says with a roll of his eyes, but the knowing amusement in his voice is clear. 

“Why are we the ones hiding out in the dark alley?” You question. “I mean, they’re like… horny teenagers. Just constantly…” You wave your hand towards the inside of the bar. “I mean, people eat here. This is a food service establishment.”

“This is a bar.”

“They sell curly fries.”

Marcus shrugs, stepping closer to you. “Oh, come on. You know that feeling when you just can’t keep your hands off someone. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

He’s almost teasing as he says it, as if you aren’t practically drunk on the scent of cologne and laundry soap and Marcus that clings to his jacket. As if you aren’t staring into his eyes like you can see straight into his soul and standing so close you can feel nervous energy that radiates off of the two of you in waves. 

It’s a silly game the two of you play, this dancing around the obvious. In all of your previous relationships, this stage felt like a race against the clock. Ticking off milestones like they were a part of a checklist that would somehow culminate in this June wedding, white picket fence, two-point-five kids thing that was supposed to complete you. 

But time moves differently with Marcus. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel like you have to sprint towards the finish line. It’s almost like you’re dragging it out. Reveling in the feeling of security that comes with falling in love this way, with the right person. You can take your time with Marcus, because you have it. You have him, completely. Marcus Pike is yours, and you’re his. It’s yet another unspoken understanding between the two of you.

Like how you both know that when you nod your head to confirm that yes, you’ve been in love, you’re thinking in the present tense. 

You’d be lying through your teeth if you said you hadn’t thought about what happens next. It seemed like more of a matter of when, than if. 

An inevitability. 

But that doesn’t stop your heart from racing as he leans in, his eyes searching yours for your consent. You give him another subtle nod, granting him permission to close the distance between you. 

The soft brush of lips against yours is no surprise, but you hadn’t expected Marcus to be nervous. There’s something almost hesitant about the gentleness of his movements, and you’re not sure if he’s savoring the moment or simply worried about your reaction. You can hear his breathing hitch when your lips glide over his in return. There’s no hesitancy in your kiss, nothing held back. It’s a complete reversal of your usual dynamic, and you feel the chuckle vibrate in his chest as he takes note of your enthusiasm. He shuffles in closer, effectively pinning you against the brick wall. He’s warm and soft and solid, and you’ve never felt safer than you do right here with him. A hand reaches up to cup your cheek, and the upward tilt of your head allows him to deepen the kiss, 

Your fingers trace over his chest and up towards his shoulders before finally weaving into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Your tongue swipes across the little crease in his lower lip, the one that you’d committed to memory along with the freckles on his nose and the rich sound of his laughter. Noses bump together and teeth clash awkwardly and you feel overwhelmed by it all in the best way. His lips chase yours when you finally pull away to catch your breath, pressing one last chaste kiss to your lips like the final word of an argument. Your foreheads rest against one another, his nose nuzzling against yours affectionately.

And just like that, it’s over. Your last first kiss. 

You stay like that for a few moments, the labored exchange of warm, sweet breath the only sound between you as you take in the feeling of absolute certainty that some momentous shift in the gravity of the universe had just occurred, and somehow, when you return from the darkened alley behind the bar and rejoined the rest of the world, the two of you will be the only ones who feel it.

General Taglist: @theravenreads​ @marshmallowtraver​ @computeringturtle​  @artsymaddie​ @heythere-mel​ @jaime1110​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​  @amneris21​ @adriiibell​

Pedro Character Taglist: @pascalisthepunkest​ @coldlilheart​ @fuck-goes-on​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @grogusmum​ @fangirl-316​ @writeforfandoms​ @tobealostwanderer​ @diaryofkali​

Marcus Pike Taglist: @freeshavocadoooo​ @fangirl-of-randomness​ @darnitdraco​ @quietpainter​ @meanperegrine​ @marvelousmermaid​

[kanasous]

ID ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT THE MAGICAL GIRL AU!!! It sounds like such a good combo pls unleash ur thoughts I'm all ears

HIIII HELLO EVERYONE. okay im gonna put this all under a readmore its so much also its near directly pasted from discord and only edited for readability so if u have any questions id love to answer and they help me figure out how everything works @clockworkspider  @kn-zakis you both askedas well!!

i think theyre all like. middle school aged but with the same back stories like. kuro is still a delinquent, ibara  is fresh off the child soldier press (but here its intertwined with the magical girl thing so its like. they were trying to make him and yuzuru to a lesser extent magical girl super soldiers) nagisa is still living with hiyori for that short bit etcetc

im also playing with gender too. like ibara sees gender more like a role theyve gotta fufill nagisa is completely apathetic to it.  keito would just rather not. yaknow

its vaguely like madoka? wishes and stuff plus witches as the remains of magucal girls who fell to corruption, wraiths - which magical girls can harness at the cost of bodily harm that doesnt leave when they transform out,  nightmares which r just what they say on the tin

subarus wish is for his fathers name to be cleared, hokuto wishes for his parents to recognise him, makoto wishes for someone to see him and not a doll, mao wishes to keep his friends safe

souma wishes for the ability to make their parents proud, keito wishes for eichi to be able to go to school, kuro wishes for his sister to be okay

you dont actually have to fight witches and nightmares to keep ur wish but like. if u dont fight them, then because there are more nightmares created for each wish and its continued existence, you burden other magical girls

which leads into akatsukis whole thing. aside from just witches and nightmares, they will fight magical girls who refuse to do their duty. these were the targets of eichi and keitos revolution  

OH ibara wishes for something inconsequential (sweets) because he was essentially made to wish, nagisa wishes for the ability to keep hiyori and his other friends safe, jun wishes to be an idol and hiyori wishes for others to love him

the idol stuff is still a thing in a way? hiyori and jun are idols, nagisa wants to be one, ibara doesnt really care. akatsuki become way closer after they start making music together but theyre not idols specifically

trickstar are still idols, they go to like. yumenosaki but its a middle school

]eden go to the sort of cospro middle school that kaname mentions having gone to

akatsuki r in a different school known for being haunted as shit and sorta like kimisaki in a way? after the establishment of like. a stuco the school got way more academic to tye point of being damaging. wait no. that can just be yumenosaki but a middle school as well. okay yea theyre at the same school

akatsuki and trickstar still have mad beef which is hilarious because they get alogn fairly normal at school (aside from keito ) but outside school during magical business its fight on sight because akatsuki tend to wear masks whilst doing magical girl shit to hide their identities (aside from keito. he dont give a shit)

wait no. ibara is so funny in this au u know how homura has to steal gunsn shit

ibara functions similarly she has these cutesy little charms of itty bitty weapons that he can transform into proper weapons but magicked up n shit. but she has to manually transform the normal weapons into the charms before itll work like she hmcant just manifest them into existence

okay more madoka esque stuff

the shinkai cult uses the souls of magical girls to grant wishes

i think this is what was probably supposed to happen to souma. that OR he was supposed to fight witches on kanatas behalf because Kanata wouldn't be allowed to do that as it would be a hazard

kanata has to eat a soul gem to absorb the power and the soul. this is then exhumed when he grants a wish. he doesnt have like. a choice in this and then to him, and to souma for a while, this is right

himeru who uses his little brothers soul gem to transform

OH GOD. JUN KEEPS KANAME FROM BECOMING A WITCH ITS THIS WHOLE DISCOVERY

he forces the soul gem, half cracked and corrupted down kanames throat to put the soul back where it needs to go and barely anyone thinks it could work but it does. iit reverses kanames wish, yes. but idk what kanames wish would be yet so idk the consequences 

and then u know how in record magical girls can use doppels to burn off despair? something similar can be done with corruption but it has to be purposefully induced, and yknow how sayaka brings oktavia von seckendorf forth in rebellion in the fight against homulily? i can imagine souma doing something like that during the fight against kanatas witch, after its grown into its own thing.  i accidentally made myself obsessed with how fighting kanatas witch would go... its become something entirely seperate from him and independent due to how he exists as the concept of a god and also. just a human child n how for so long he wasn’t really a magical girl. 

thank you for reaching the end of my rambles! it was very fun to get all this down

[waywardimpalawriter]

hi! i really love your writing, and was really hoping you could do another dean winchester x f! plus size reader. possibly were they are best friends and she is pining for someone else. so before she can make her move on someone else he stops her and confess his love for her. idk maybe some angst/fluff/smut?? you don’t have to if u don’t want to, it’s totally up to you. like no pressure at all! but seriously, i do really love all your writing and i wanted to say thank you for everything u write and do!! <3 once again no pressure at all with this ask, but overall thank you!!<3

Just one good reason

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader

SPN mixed Bingo Square: Hurt/Comfort Square

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester,

Setting: mid season 11

Rating: E (explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: angst, smut, yearning, grumpy and sweet Dean (yes they need a warning),

Word count: 12,805 (Truly Was suppose to be this long. I blame Dean for this.)

Summary: He’s given a million reasons, damaged goods, blood on his hands, nightmares, scared in so many ways. But most of all that he’s not good enough. Just when you’re ready to walk out that door he gives you one good reason to stay.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this request, I love writing for Dean so very much and to add a plus size gal in as well that just makes my day. I do hope you’ll enjoy this story. The song “Million Reasons” both version’s by Lady Gaga and Briana Buckmaster are inspiration for this story.

Tag list: Is open for all character’s and series I write for.

@spnmixedbingo

Dean Winchester list: @akshi8278

Just one good reason list: @chickensarentcheap

@impala1967dwinchester, @lilacprincessofrecovery, @superavengerpotterstar @jbbarnesgirl @sofreddie  @slightlyobsessedwithissues  

Ancient hinges creak wearily, firm hand pushing to hold open the heavy door letting you and Sam pass by. Fatigued sigh leaves slightly chapped lips, “It’s good to be home.” Taking the stairs down two at a time, tossing duffle bags towards the war table.

“Going soft on us old man?” Teasing quip tugging a smile from your lips as you drop down into the nearest chair. “Getting use to having that soft bed under your ass now huh?”

Scoffing, whiskey flecked green eyes settling on your plush frame, “Woman you forget we’re the same age first off.” Playfully stocking towards you, hands placed on the back of your chair to cage you in. “Second damn right that bed is magical, memory form baby, it remembers me,” poking your side, giggle leaving your lips body squirming in the seat.

“Stop,” pleading tone entering your voice, trying to evaded his questing hands trailing along your curvy sides. “Please,” puppy eyes begging for mercy, his hands aren’t willing to give. Though you can’t bring yourself to care seeing the weight, even for a moment, disappear from his countenance. Or the fact your sides aren’t the ticklish spot on your body, moving in the seat purely for show.

“Say your sorry for calling me old,” brow lifting watching you squirm under his hands. Wishing and not for the first time, he could have your soft body slotted against his harder frame. Knowing how well you fit just in a different way, one that hasn’t been enough for a long time.

Giggles burst from your lips, hands flat against the hard plains of his chest tugging on the dark blue t-shirt to distract from his plans. Pushing him away which had as much of an effect as a toy bulldozer did against a real brick wall. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, promise I’m sorry,” gasping for breath giving a hard tap to his shoulder.

“Now who’s giving up too soon?” Hands pause as his eyes catch yours for a long moment. Smiling face beaming up at him, heart beating triple time and not from assaulting you with his hands. Unable to resist the urge to touch your soft skin. Callused fingers come up to barely graze just under your left eye carefully capturing the eyelash on the tip of his forefinger from your cheek, “Make a wish.”

Leaning forward to place your lips close to the offered digit, eyes closed to blow a cold stream, eyelash fluttering away unseen. Keeping your libs lowered for a bit longer torn between what you truly desire and what’s within your grasp. Whiskey roughened voice breaking through your thoughts, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“What you wish for?” Swallowing hard, beloved eyes flutter open to ensnare his in there depths. Catching something simmering just below but disappears quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote.

Clearing yours throat, “Can’t tell ya Deano won’t come true if I do.” Giving a smile, pressing him backwards to raise and grab your duffle bag. Cell phone signaling an incoming text message making you pull the the black case wrapped piece of tech out of your front jeans pocket. Bright smile pulling your lips higher seeing just who’s messaged you. “Catch y’all later.”

“Someone good?” Sam speaks for the first time since coming home. Watching the scene between his brother and best friend. Wanting to strangle the both of you for not seeing what’s right in front of you.

Head snapping up from buried in your phone to stare wide eyed at Sam, “Yes, no I mean it’s nothing but could be something.”

“Will again?” Peripheral catching the dark scowl pass over Dean’s features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference.

Humming sweetly, sparkle lighting your eyes that go back to your phone for a moment. “He’s asking if we can meet up tomorrow for lunch, trying to choose where to eat.”

“What about,” clearing his throat to unclog the emotions choking off the air to breath. “That little diner in town? It’s your favorite and serves the best pie aside yours of course.”

Trapping and tugging your bottom lip between nibbling teeth, head shaking in the negative. “Nope he’s not fond of greasy foods.”

‘Plus that’s our spot,’ unbridled thought slides into your mind and you want to look over at Dean to remind him. But push those thoughts aside with a wave, heading towards the bedrooms carefully making sure not to bump into a wall while responding.

Green eyes follow till you round the corner, heart catching in his throat cursing himself for mentioning your diner. Knowing better yet wanting confirmation without asking if the spot is still special.

“You’re an idiot Dean,” shaggy brown head shaking as he to snaps up his duffle bag to head towards his room. “The foundation is already there start building before it cracks.”

“Thanks Riddler, just cause I’m Batman doesn’t mean you have to be so fucking vague.” Left with his thoughts and the growing feeling he’s loosing you to another man. Dean leaves his stuff lay where it landed glancing over the chair you vacated not five minutes ago then heading towards the kitchen. In need of something harder than beer but settling for the dark brew being the only alcohol in the bunker.

Opening the fridge door, grabbing a brew his fingers brush against the clear plastic container holding a single slice of pecan pie. Eyes unseeing, drifting back into memories when the Mark of Cain still burned into his skin.

2015

Charlie’s dead, beaten, murdered and left in a pool of her own blood. Every time his eyes close she’s there, expressionless sea green eyes staring blankly into his own. Never hearing her snarky retorts, sassy ways or those hugs she gave. Staring into cold brown sludge, hands gripping the mug a little too tightly. Not sure why he chose to come here of all places. When he could’ve started out on his hunt for the Styne’s. Deep down though he knows the reason right as the little bell signals someone’s entered the small family owned diner. Knowing exactly who and trying to ready himself for your present.

Never ready for how your soft fingers brush along his temple, settling on his shoulder for a moment while you slide into the worn pleather covered booth. Trailing those gentle fingers down his black and grey plaid covered arm. Tugging one hand from around the ceramic cup to intertwine your fingers. Head coming to rest on his shoulder, no words just comfort in a time when he needs it most.

“You shouldn’t be here,” dark with hints of gravel and kissed with pain in the tone. Whiskey flicked green obits focus, for the first time on something besides the cup in his hands, landing on the top of your head.

Shrugging, “Where else should I be Dean?” Looking up at him sorrowful eyes meeting right when your other palm comes up to brush moisture from his cheek. Unnoticed tears sliding down cool cheeks, “You’re my best friend there’s no place I’d rather be then right here helping you.”

“You could get killed,” the very through twists his heart till almost bursting. Brings bile to rise in the back of his throat, slithering through his system to settle unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It’s one thing to loose Charlie a heavy casualty. But you, Dean isn’t sure he’d come back from the dark path he’d follow for vengeance.

Soft sad smile turns your lips barely upward, “Not gonna happen I have my knight in shining Impala to keep me safe.”

“I couldn’t keep Charlie safe how can I…”

Shaking your head, finger placed over his kissable lips, “You’ve given me a million reasons already Dean Winchester and I don’t believe a single one of them.” Resting your foreheads together a moment, tenderness skating across your veins for the man beside you, “You might not believe it but your a good man.”

Pie filled plate slides across scared formica table top, metal fork clattering against the ceramic pushed in front. “More coffee,” sweet feminine voice floats from beside you.

Nodding, “Please, sugar and cream too.” Giving her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes feeling Dean stir beside you.

“Black like my soul you know that sweetheart,” slightly chapped lips brush your cheek. A simple thank you for this act of kindness he feels undeserving of. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with you this sweet gesture would’ve sealed the deal.

Breathless gasp parts your lips as you turn finding Dean closer almost invading your space. Leather, motor oil and Irish Spring tickle your nose, eyes locking with those agony drenched obits, making another gasp exist your lungs. Heartache rocketing through your body, colliding with anger directed at the Styne’s.

“Eat your pie Winchester we’ll talk about that soul of yours later after dealing with the Styne’s.”

Heart freezing at the mention of the murdering family, “No,” rougher than intended, Dean grabs your chin twisting your face towards his. Rage hot and potent flaring through those beautiful greens. “No you will stay with Sam I’ll deal with them myself…”

“Dean you can’t be serious…” grabbing his wrist, pleading in your eyes for him to listen. Loosing Charlie splintered your heart, counting her as the sister you’ve never had. Her blood demanding revenge for the grievous act. But loosing Dean would kill you, knowing you never would come back from that agony.

“I am, deadly so. You try and sneak along I’ll toss that sexy ass outta Baby faster than you can pray to Castiel.”

Snorting, pulling your chin from his grasp, “You couldn’t lift me Winchester and you can’t stop me…” but the look he gives you does. Any farther flow of words halt in there bid to tumble out of your mouth.

“No I can’t,” callused palms cup your cheeks keeping you in place. Searching your eyes and making sure you understood, “I don’t want you to come with me Y/N. If there’s anytime to listen its now. I’ve lost one sister I didn’t want.” Bitting those words out to keep from speaking the others which threaten to pour from his being. “I can’t loose you,” resting your foreheads together again.

Nodding, trying to keep yourself from rubbing your cheek into his palm or worse press your lips against his. Lying to yourself isn’t something you normally do and you wouldn’t start now with the realization you were in love with your best friend and worried your going to loose him to the all consuming darkness.

You're giving me a million reasons to let you go

You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show

You're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

Downing the last of his long neck, drawing patterns over the hardwood table underneath with the condensation from the bottle. Eyes trained on that single slice of pie you’d bought him weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you D,” mirth filled voice floats towards him before you reach his side in body.

Hand coming into view grabbing for the container to toss it out. But Dean’s quicker, “If you value your life, you’ll unhand my pie,” thick fingers circle your wrist pulling your plush body down beside him. “It’s not nice to steal a man’s pie woman,” keeping his tone light, playful and away from the looming fate he knows will visit upon his person once you figure out Will is the man you truly want. Deserving of your light, and laughter, the sweetness, of your beauty that Dean only hopes the other man will appreciate.

Gasping in mock outrage, “Who me?” Hand to heart trying to keep the laughter from your tone. “I would never deprive you of pie Deano. But I would that slice since I think it’s become a science experiment.”

Narrowing his eyes towards the offending sweet dessert, “It is not.” Poking twice before pulling the pie forward for a closer inspection. Musical laughter meeting his ears, smothering the smirk threatening to bloom over his lips. “Okay so maybe your right,” turning his pouting face towards you.

“Course I am,” giving him a wink then standing to toss the ruined sweets out. Pausing by the panty, you peek in unaware Dean’s watching you from his seat.

Teasing sway to your generous hips has his eyes tracking every movement. Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how temping you look. Thick thighs encased in blue denim jeans feet bare from wearing those steal toed Dr. Martins during hunts. Body stretching upwards, soft cotton baby blue tank top riding up to bare a silver of delicate skin to his eyes. Your fingers barely snag the sugar container’s edge, pulling it down to clasp against your ample chest.

Chastising himself for the erotic thoughts flipping through his mind on a single film reel. “What exactly are you doing sweetheart?” Carefully keeping his lower half away from your line of sight. Lest you find out the problem currently tenting his jeans, teeth gritting to stop himself from acting on all those thoughts.

“Never you mind Dean Winchester,” tossing over your shoulder, checking for vanilla extract, light syrup, and butter from the fridge. Last stop the freezer mentally trying to remember if you there's a pie shell left or would need to make one. Hoping for at least a single, since checking the flour stock and coming up almost empty. “Start a list for me please and put flour on it,” setting the three ingredients in your hands down. Turning back to open the metal door to peer into the freeze, swaying slighting to a song running through your head. A triumphant “Yes,” exists your lips, a little dance of excitement upon finding the last shell.

Damn near swallowing his tongue so entranced by your movements gulping different words back down to keep from making a total fool of himself. As he utters, “Not till I know exactly what your making over there Betty Crocker.”

“Resorting to blackmail now?” Brow arched, unconsciously licking your lips slowly. Unaware of Dean watching the path it takes across your pump bottom lip, tucking it between indenting teeth.

For distraction purposes, Dean pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Bringing up the list app a suggestion to simplify things you gave him months back. Forcing himself to focus on the small screen in his hands instead of the woman currently dancing around the kitchen. Pulling bowls, pots and pans out, one chance glance has an inaudible groan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your plush ass. Bent over shifting through sheet pans knowing which you look for as arousal flares to life so potent Dean turns quickly hiding his reacting. Planting his face in the palms of his hands, elbows bent to catch the weight. Fingers digging into eye sockets to use the pain and banish the thoughts from reappearing.

Frowning at his actions you come over after putting the pan on the counter. Fingers running through his hair, scraping the scalp with short nails. Pleased smile at the groan you pull from his lips as he rubs his head into your palm like a little puppy. “Something wrong Dean?” Worry dancing through the cadence of your voice other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Fine,” head popping up, forcing your fingers to slide out of his hair. Taking a chance to glance up into your worried eyes. Underserving of your soft touch searing his skin. An itch to run from our presence skitters across his veins. “I’m fine sweetheart just tired.”

Searching his face, those whiskey flecked green eyes so unlike the blue-greens of Will’s, catching something hiding in those deep depths he’s trying to hide. Never fooled by words, always inspecting his actions and those little tells partially concealed though you know them all too well. “You’re covering something up Winchester I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” patting his cheek and stepping away.

‘I don’t want you to go on that date,’ on the tip of his tongue poised to leave his lips he keeps smashed together burying those feelings to not ruin this chance you have at an apple pie life. The very thought tears his heart, rendering another hole in the punched out organ. Though it’s his own fault for giving you a million reasons to keep that boundary line in place. Tip toeing almost across a few times, but always toeing the line keeping himself in check. Head snapping around when something hard hits the back of his head, scowl in place though it’s more playful than menacing. “Did you just…” glancing towards the floor to find a lone pecan on the ground behind him. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed on your face, which is the total opposite of his holding a sweetly innocent look concealing the trouble he knows you’ll cause. “Seriously a pecan? That could’ve done damage Babe Ruth.”

Eyes rolling, snort issuing from your up turned lips, “I don’t know what you speak of Dean I’m just here making a pie minding my own business. Can’t help it if a pecan has it out for you.”

“Possessed it must be,” voice pitched in a poor imitation of Master Yoda, getting a boo hiss from your general direction. “Though something tells me a certain someone threw the poor helpless nut.”

Shrugging, face neutral a picture of indifference with hands on your wide hips ingredients spread out over the counter. “Stop calling yourself names Dean it’s not nice.” Bottom lip trapped for a second to keep from giggling at the way he’s looking towards you.

Enjoying this moment of normalcy you’ve managed to capture in these dark and dangerous times. Thoughts skittering towards Will, if he’s able to put up with the hunters life style? Former Marine, Will knows so little of what truly goes bump in the night making you worry he wouldn’t feel at ease. It’s the reason you’ve hesitated each time he’s asked you out. Not wanting to drag someone else into a life of blood and death. Persistence and patience paid off when you finally agreed on a dinner date for tomorrow night. One your actually looking forward to.

But then you glance towards Dean, seeing the smile grace those soft looking lips, shinning in his whiskey flecked green orbs for the first time in months and you hesitate. Would you want to leave this life for a man who wouldn’t understand you not fully anyway? Or stay and remain the best friend till a hunt takes one of you out? Could you truly leave your home with the Winchesters, with Dean?

His voice breaks through the your thoughts, ruthful chuckle echoing through the room, “Haha sweetheart stop trying to be John Candy it ain’t workin for ya,” bending to scoop up the tossed nut a memory filters through his mind. Opening a wound he thought long since closed over soaked in whiskey and women who’s names he’s forgotten. Shaking the thought away to ask, “You gonna chunk a nut at your boyfriend tomorrow night too? Or is that reserved for me?”

Not sure why he’s even asking or teasing you about it or the fact there’s a bite to the tone. He shouldn’t care about a simple date, yet the thought twists his gut smile slipping from his lips as he looks down at the pecan in hand. Unwillingly letting those images fill and play before his eyes.

If I had a highway, I would run for the hills

If you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still

But you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

December 2011

Run down two room shack a nicer way of putting it truly, you think while pulling up outside next to Baby’s sleek black side. Hands gripping the steer wheel till knuckles hurt and you can focus again through the haze of tears spilling down your cold cheeks. Still trying to grasp the fact Bobby Singer legendary hunter, go to lore man, and surrogate father, dead by a bullet from Dick Roman’s gun. Itching for vengeance you try to quell for another time when you can let all the anger out. For right now you knew he needed you more than any strategy planning or revenge thought.

Remembering Sam’s voice shaking, laced with pain, peppered with rage but above all coated in sadness you could hear over the phone lines. Never hesitating to drop the case — for now — breaking speed limit in the need to reunite with your boys. You’d do anything for family even those who weren’t by blood. Learning a long time ago that family doesn’t end with the DNA flowing through your veins.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind and existing the car only to lean back in and grab the bags from the passenger side. Standing to full height to peer over the top locking eyes with those anger clouded greens. “No I didn’t bring you anything Winchester so don’t bother asking.” Trying to lighten the situation with poorly used humor.

Words fail to leave thinned lips as you pass by, hand holding the creaking barely held together door open for you. Following behind his voice scratchy from no use, “Sam call you?”

“Of course silly why wouldn’t he?” Placing the bags on what could pass for a pile of rubble instead of an island countertop. Turning to face him cataloging each feature, the stone set of his jaw, shoulders tight with tension, eyes those beautiful normally vibrate whiskey flecked greens mute with anguish he tries to hide.

Shrugging, shoulders dropping forward with no will to keep them up, “He shouldn’t have your needed else where Y/N.”

“Bullshit Winchester,” moving with purpose to stand in his personal space. “Bobby was just as much a father to me as to you. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here, for a different reason yes but I’m not leaving so suck it up buttercup.”

Catching the flash of anger tinging the deep greens whether directed at you or himself you’re not sure. “We already salted and burned his body, there’s no reason for you to stay.” Turning away from your softening eyes knowing your going to try and reason with him. Make him see he’s not responsible for what happened.

“I know,” two simple words make him pause and turn back. “I didn’t come to say goodbye to Bobby, I came for you.” Taking one step closer arms wrapping around his slumped shoulders bringing him into the shelter of your embrace. Steady hands running the length of his stiff back, imparting your warm, trying to give comfort knowing he’s unaccepting of such sympathies.

Brows furrowing, frown tipping his lips downward, fists clinching at his sides, Dean tries to keep himself from giving into the solace he so easily could find in your embrace. Warmth sinking into his skin through the layers of clothing he wears, tingling his skin, quickening his pulse.“Why?”

“You need me, your not listening to Sam or Castiel talking about going off to track Roman down yourself,” spitting the Leviathan’s name out like chewed to long gum. Head resting against his strong chest feeling the slightly erratic beat of his heart against your ear.

Back stiffening, “I don’t need you to tell me what to do Y/N I can make that decision on my own.” Low growl rattling through his chest as he pulls from your arms and steps from the warmth evaporating from his body. “You should leave.”

“And get yourself killed?” Hands slamming to your wide hips glaring daggers at your best friend. “What happened wasn’t your fault Dean. Any one of us could’ve taken that bullet, Bobby knew the risks of the mission, accepted them and died…” swallowing the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. “A hero,” ignoring his last words, reaching out to try and take his hand only to have him pull away like you’ve burned him.

“Don’t, don’t try to reason this with me I know better,” turning his back to head for the wall covered in papers trying to figure out just what Dick Roman’s up too.

Shaking your head knowing he’s hurting but not wanting to voice those feelings, to make him appear weak. With a sigh leaving your frowning lips you move silently beside him looking over the wall of weird trying to piece together how everything connects. Brushing your hand against his, pinkie trailing to catch what you think is his forefinger. Wrapping the little finger tightly around his you lean over, “I’m right here when you’re ready Dean, I’m not leaving nor letting go.”

“You should,” not bothering to turn and face you. Memories of Lisa and Ben filter through his thoughts along with Bobby, his father and what he can remember of his mother. “I’m poison and get everyone around me killed.” He doesn’t want to add you to the growing list. Rather wanting you to leave and find a different path for your life.

Tugging on his finger to wrap the middle and forefinger with your ring and pinkie fingers, “Then Sam and I are the antidote to your poison.” Giving a soft sad smile to his side profile, wrapping him up into your arms. Resting your head on his shoulder, voice a gentle whisper of breath upon his cheek and neck,“Those reasons keep tallying up Winchester we’ll hit a million before long.”

Reminding you both of a long ago discussion between the two of you in Bobby’s junk yard while still teenagers. Before angels and demons, vampires thought long dead and ancient Leviathan brought back from the pit of purgatory. When you made the packed to never fall for each other and always remain best friends. To never let go no matter how dire the situation, you’d have each other’s back.

Evaporating memories of long ago, you speak softly still resting your head on his shoulder. “You work on this mosaic of papers you have plastered over the walls. I have a pie to bake,” not giving it much thought you quickly press a kiss to his stubbled cheek then turn to head back towards the passable kitchen area.

Tingles dance over his skin for longer than he wishes, wanting to suppress those feelings bubbling up to try and consume him. Thinking he could bury them under the mounting pain and self hated. Yet, the warmth of your arms, soft press of your lips, your words register and sink into his brain Dean turns to watch you work unable stop a few of those feelings from dancing around his heart. Single thought shocking him in its stark contradiction to his current state of mind, Dean Winchester self proclaimed ladies man has fallen in love with his best friend. A sucker punch to the gut making him gasp and reel that silent declaration in. Stuffing it under the right full emotions of anger and pain. Letting them tap dance through his veins instead, something much safer for the both of them. Something he could understand and deal with.

I bow down to pray

I try to make the worst seem better

Lord, show me the way

To cut through all his worn out leather

I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But, baby, I just need one good one to stay

Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare

It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware

'Cause you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

“He’s not my boyfriend yet Dean,” eyes rolling as you turn to melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Though there is a part of you wishing he could one day fill the role unless a single good reason can change your mind comes your way.

“But you want him too?” Words muttered through presses together teeth. Hating the fact he’s letting something so trivial effect him in such a way. You’ve had other boyfriends, one night stands he’s had to sit through yet this one feels different. As if he could truly loose you this time and those thoughts scare the shit outta him the most. Because yes you’re his best friend for longer than he can remember but above that you’re the woman who gets him, argues with him, sets his ass straight when he’s being stupid and above all or so he hopes, loves him warts and all.

Hands pause at his question looking into the melting golden liquid bubbling silently remembering to flick the tiny knob and turn the heat off. While your head screams to say yes but it’s a little small voice beating quickly beneath your ribcage making you pause. Clearing your throat to gather what thoughts you could from their scattered places. You’ve always spoke with honesty to Dean, unless circumstances dictated other wise, and you weren’t about to change now. Through you wouldn’t turn to face him when you did wanting to keep from seeing his eyes. Finding the reason for his questions in those green depths you’ve fallen for though never spoken the feelings. “Yes, he could…” swallowing to coat your dry throat to spit out the words rotting your stomach. “I could have a chance at happiness with Will, Dean. Why do you even ask?”

“I don’t want to loose you,” ‘Because I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue to tell you, give voice and life to his true feelings. Wanting you to stay and forget about those million other reasons he’s let slip between the cracks in your relationship.

Frozen in place, hands gripping the countertop beside the stove. “You wouldn’t loose me Dean I’d still go on hunts with you, I’d stick around,” lies tasting bitter on your tongue, heart beating triple time wondering if he’ll pick up on the dishonesty your speaking. Always feeling he’d never see you as anything other than his best friend. Never the type of woman to draw his attention, too soft and plush in places most men wouldn’t want and you didn’t pine for a man who’s given you a million reasons to walk away. So you shoved those feelings, the love you held back trying to make it work with other men. To find the one who’d surpass Dean destroying your feelings for the green eyed hunter, giving you the one reason to stay and belong. So why now did he have to put doubts in your mind? Why ask these questions when in years past he’d brush other men away as nothing more than a passing fancy?

Silently Dean stands slowly making his way towards you, taking in the ridged stance of your plush form. Hands itch to wrap around your thick waist and haul you against his chest. Pausing right beside you, brushing his fingers against yours too hook what he thinks is your forefinger with his pinkie. “You and I both know things wouldn’t stay the same between us sweetheart. He’d find a way to take you away from me,” praying you won’t pull away Dean turns to stare at your profile. Taking in the beauty he’s catalogued thousands of times, the curve of your lips when you smile, slope of your nose, eyes bright with laughter or spiting fire when angry usually at him. Softness of your cheeks under his palms the times he’s actually got to cup and caress the skin.

“We’ll remain best friends Dean that’ll never change,” gathering the courage to turn and look into his eyes. Catching the sadness coating those beloved greens making your heart ache. Tongue slipping out to tug back your bottom lip between your teeth indented them to keep from asking the question your heart demands.

Of its own accord Dean’s free hand comes up to brush over your cheek, cupping the soft skin, fingers spread from apple to jaw wanting so badly to draw you in and kiss those tempting lips. “I want you happy Y/N and if it’s possible out of this life, been wanting that for you since Bobby,” sliding his hand to your chin to pinch the end with his thumb and forefinger tipping your face up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”

Eyes lock with stormy greens after he pulls back, soft gasp parting your lips at the simple touch, words sounding like a goodbye instead of their usual see ya later. Grappling for words to say, questions to ask, trying to figure out what’s going on, and why now. But he’s gone before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and your turning to rush after, seeing his back disappear around the corner.

Feet finally responding to command as you quickly follow stopping at the doorway, “Give me one good reason.” Praying he’ll listen and stop, hoping it’s not too late. “Stop giving me all these reasons to leave.”

Back ridged but his mind a flurry of thoughts and answers, more questions than he could shake a stick at. Only one reason comes to mind, “Good reason to what?”

Traveling the short distance to take his hand intertwining your fingers with his, needing him to turn around and look at you. Needing the connection while stating, “Give me a good reason to stay Dean to not go tomorrow night.”

“I can’t,” partly wanting to flinch from your touch, to tug his hand free, and partly wanting to sink into your familiar embrace. Soak in the peace he always finds in your arms, to bath in your warmth and possibly bask in your love. But Dean wouldn’t be selfish he’d let you go even if it meant killing his own heart and soul.

The urge to punch him grows strong but your refrain from using violence, “Why not? Too scared? Or you just don’t care?”

The warmth of your hand disappears from searing into his palm, tingling those long nimble fingers, his eyes close knowing you’re walking away because of that millionth reason. Till the first brush of soft fingers tender in there touch upon his cheek. He gives in to the urge and rubs his slightly stubbled cheek into your palm. “If that’s you Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass dude,” ignoring your questions in favor of basking in your touch instead. Hearing the soft giggle from your lips brings a smile to his own. Eyes finally opening too stare into yours, almost doing a doubt take at what he sees in those beloved depths. “I don’t deserve you Y/N.”

“Stop giving me a million reasons Dean and give me the one that’ll make me stay,” imploring him with your touch, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw. Tracing his plush bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, “I just need one good reason.”

He’d find the situation funny if it’s anyone else standing in front asking the same question. Even Sam would get a chuckle from his lips, but you, his breath freezes, heart thumping wildly in equal measures of terror and excitement. The very thoughts running unrestrained in his mind scare the shit out of him, but only one truly feels right. Snaking an arm around your thick waist pulling you against his strong chest, fitting like missing puzzle pieces. His free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I love you.”

Tears slip from their ducts barely held back till those three simple words spill from his mouth jump starting your heart and sending your emotions swirling. Warm palms cradle your wet cheeks, gun callused thumbs brush hot tears away, you spy the worry and fear your non response sparks. “Do you mean it?” Wanting clarification before handing your heart over to the very man who’s held it for so long.

Knowing what your asking Dean stops waiting and lowers his mouth to yours. That first touch of lips electricity shoots through you veins. Body responding quicker with arms going around his neck to pull him firmly against you not a wisp of space between your bodies. Fingers tangling in the short hairs at the back of his head while you slot your lips against his. Demanding and deep, a tangled dance of tongues. Clashing of teeth, a melding mouths and finding the right angles to draw those delicious moans from each of you. Till air becomes necessary and you break apart panting, “That answer your question sweetheart?”

“No,” smirking when his eyes narrow, “I wanna hear it again.”

No hesitation in speaking those three words, “I love you.” Groaning when your lips smash back to his. Stealing breath from his lungs and a moan from his chest, Dean walks you backward till your pressed against the cool tile wall. Lower pelvis holding your soft body in place so his hands can dance over your cotton covered plush form. Palm’s flat against your thick waist, slowly dragging them around and down to cup your generous ass. Squeezing firmly and making you gasp.

Using the opening as a way to work his tongue back into your mouth, delving in for another taste of your sweetness. Low groan existing when rearranging his mouth to fit differently and snag a gulp of air. Stubble abrading your chin in the most spectacular of ways. Pooling heat low in your belly and making your mind wander in other more salacious directions. Brought back from teetering on the deliciously desirable edge by a sharp bite, his teeth nabbing your bottom lip to tug, letting go with a wet pop. Breath fanning out over your heated cheeks. Eyes once closed now open and locked with yours a pleading undertone to the desire darkened greens.

Knowing what he wants to hear and unable to wait along, “I love you too Dean.” Heart bursting with unrestrained joy flooding your system and making you love drunk.

“Thank fucking God,” groaning, resting your foreheads together still trying to reign in the wild thumping of his heart. Your admission only serves to make the largest muscle spasm quicker. All his pent up emotions, desires and needs flowing to the surface, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing into something too fast. Remembering it’s still fresh and new between the two of you a different path to the relationship already established in friendship.

Giggling softly, you cup both his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his skin, three days worth of stubble abrading your palms. “So,” teasing smirk pulling at your lips, “I better call Will huh?”

“For?” Trying to keep the bitter growl from escaping and giving away his feelings on the sore subject. Tugging your soft body back in place from your wiggles to side free, not ready to let you go just yet.

Sliding one hand down his chest to rest where you know his anti-possession tattoo resides. Tracing the edges with the tip of your finger over the black t-shirt he’s wearing, locking eyes with his, “Seems I’m a taken woman. Wouldn’t want to lead the poor guy on now would I?” Watching how those whiskey flecked greens darken, pushing his lower body deeper into your plush form. Barely heard as you try not to give away the whimper of need his body produces in your own, with his pressed so tightly. Cool concrete keeping you body temp from over heating for the moment.

“No,” clearing his throat leaning in to draw his nose over your jawline. Touring towards your ear, catching the lobe between his front teeth to tug. Low desire filled growl leaving his lips, followed by, “Tomorrow is another day sweetheart and right now you’ve got better things to do.”

Heading tipping over granting access to the parts of your neck he wants, trying to keep the shiver from rolling over your body. Heat flooding your veins sparking a need you’ve never felt with any of the other men you’d previously had relations with. “What,” licking your parched lips, “what better things Dean?” Praying it’s the same idea rolling around your head for the longest time.

Pausing in his mapping of your neck and shoulder with his lips, Dean raises his head to spear you with a heated look. “Me for starters sweetheart, that is of course…” uneasiness has him trailing off the first time in his life. The bitter taste of uncertainty coating his thoughts for a fraction of a second before your lips land back on his.

Teasingly soft presses, little ghost touches of your tongue, playfully dotting his cheeks, chin and forehead with your lips before brushing close to his ear. “Hey Dean,” smiling against his skin, tenderly pressing your lips just south of his ear. Nibbling the found patch of sensitive skin behind committing the spot to memory for later. Breath puffing out quicker feeling him shiver, knowing what the next words would invoke in Dean and his love for the movie. “You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever,” sultry tone added to the cadence.

His eyes close for a moment, heart swelling as you recite the words to one of his favorite movies. Marveling at the fact you’ve remembered the lines perfectly and Dean falls deeper in love with you if that’s possible.

The gentle caresses of your lips against his skin setting fire to his nerve endings, room in his jeans becoming a hot commodity as his shaft thickens and throbs. Finding the distraction almost too much while trying to recall the next line. Teasing giggles reach his ears that he replies to with a deep chuckle. Words coming back to him, “Show me the way home, honey.”

Reaching down to tug one hand from your ass, chuckling with a shake of your head when it doesn’t budge but squeezes the generous globe. Notching himself tighter into your body, smirk appearing as your eyes widen, gasp issuing from parted lips. Bitting the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before the words can escape. “Is that a pickle in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”

“Oh sweetheart it’s a great big dill I can show ya,” flashing a smirk, both of you trying hard not to laugh.

“Preferably,” deep voice tinged with slight offense but liberally coated in amusement. “In your own room so the both of you aren’t bare ass naked in the hallway bumping like bunnies,” having rounded the corner towards the kitchen and catching the intimate embrace. “A vision I don’t want branded into my skull thank you very much,” Sam paused arms crossed in annoyance. Golden dotted green eyes dancing with mirth, catching the playfully scandalous expression cross your features. Glancing towards Dean who buries his face in your neck getting a deep chuckle from his brother.

Try as you might to keep from busting out laughing they just rolled out of your mouth as your eyes lock with Sam’s. Acting stoic but the smile tugging at his lips and the teasing flash through his eyes speak a different story. Only thing holding you up is Dean’s body still pressed heavily against your. The man in question glancing up first to look at you then over his shoulder towards Sam. “Don’t even start Sammy,” grumbling good-naturedly giving him a middle finger salute and the opening you need to slip from between his hard body and the wall. Teasing growl rumbling through his chest at the loss of your warmth. Dean reaches out to snag your arm but you manage to dance out of his reach, giggles echoing off the walls trailing behind your disappearing form.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Dean but Cas owes me fifty bucks,” patent Sam Winchester smirk sliding over his lips. Brow raised at his scoff, “Can’t believe I had a betting pot going?”

Watching you run off happy grin tipping his mouth upward, he looks back at Sam grin still in place. “Just can’t believe it’s with Cas. Rowena maybe, Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna fuck yes but Cas,” incredulous look stealing over his features for a few moments.

“Who say’s the bet’s not bigger than you think,” broad shoulders shrugging same smirk in place, Sam enters the kitchen on that note leaving Dean to stare wide eyed after his baby brother. “Matter of time, always just a matter of time,” laughter tinged voice exists the kitchen, unseen shake of his head at the mess left behind.

Stock still for a fraction of a second till soft giggles echo quietly down the hall, grin turning into full blown smile. Need rushing back through his veins in remembrance of your position just a few short moments ago. Low curse existing his mouth, Dean turns racing off to find which room you’re hiding in.

Nerves tingled through your body, worry interrupting thoughts/memories of short minutes ago. Hard press of his body against yours, warm moist breath fanning out over your skin sending tingles of a different kind to skitter across your veins. But now standing in Dean’s room trying to figure out where to lay or stand that would invoke images of sensuality. You look down at your bare feet toes wiggling against cold concrete. Up wards to thick jeans clad thighs, a baby blue tank top covering your torso, self consciousness went out the window decades ago. After the first serious injuries you suffered at the hands of a vengeful spirit had you damn near stripped naked in front of Dean. Confidence in face of adversity knowing he’s the only one for miles around to patch you up.

Now though is different, same confidence but wishing for sexier clothing something to entice and tease. Small snort issues from the depths of your body knowing damn well you had nothing of the sort in your possession. Flannels, tank tops, t-shirts and jeans hunter’s required staples along with the functional under garments you groan at remembering are mismatched at the present.

“Beautiful even in those rumpled clothing,” deep voice breaking through thoughts and making a squeak sound as you quickly turn to face the lazily leaning against the door jam hunter. Arms crossed over muscular chest, biceps straining the black t-shirt’s sleeves, “I meant what I said before Sammy interrupted us.”

Tugging your bottom lip back under indented top teeth turning to face him fully, “Which part?” Barely keeping the mirth from bubbling over, “That I should show you the way home or you have a big dill?” Easy going banter calming your nerves even the part about feeling ill-prepared clothing wise.

Tender infused whiskey fleck green eyes turn molten with each sweep of your body. “I love you,” words escape as eyes stay locked, Dean pushing away from the doorway. Booted foot catching the hardwood door and slamming it shut behind him. Stocking towards you as a lion would his prey, licking parched lips wanting to devour you. Hands fisting at his side though to keep from reaching out and doing just that incase it’s something your not ready for.

His breath froze upon seeing you walking around his room, something akin to relief floods his veins along with a sense of rightness. Sure you’ve come in hundreds of times to wake him from a nightmare or mornings, to barrow music and to talk. Yet, this time feels different giving your relationship changed moments ago. Catching the indecision clearly written in those beloved eyes that don’t focus on one place too long. For a moment Dean wishes he could read your thoughts but then having hunted and lived together for decades he picked up the situation and cues without having to know your thoughts.

Pleased hum breaks Dean from the wondering trail his thoughts took him on to spy the sweet smile gracing your lips. Hands positioned on your hips one cocked to the side as you stand there waiting expectedly. Restraining himself, Dean opens his palms to bring them up and cup your cheeks dragging you against him. Lips meeting in the tenderest of kisses that he keeps in place while speaking, “You want this, want me?”

Recognizing his vulnerability and what he’s asking with those simple words, arms wrap around his back fisting the shirt tightly to press the two of you together. Love saturated eyes burn into those greens you could drown in, “That’s my question Winchester stop stealing my lines.” Flattening one palm to slide up and into his hair. Pressing another kiss to his soft lips you’ve only imaged kissing till now. The reality so much better than any fantasy you ever came up with.

“Calling me a thief now sweetheart?” Using jokes to cover the fact he’s searching for the right words. Flustered and frustration slither through his veins in a combination Dean’s not accustom, words stammering of unintelligible nature tumble from his mouth. The feel of your blunt nails sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.

Nodding, craning your neck back a few inches but keeping your eyes locked, “You stole my lines and my heart Dean so yes that would make you a thief.” Hand sliding over his back now and settling into the back pocket of his jeans, “I also meant what I said back there.” Catching the cocked brow you elaborate, “Take me to bed Dean I’m tired of waiting, I want to know how it feels to have you inside me.”

Soft groan issues from parted lips. Wanting to act on your words so damn badly his body vibrates with barely contained desire. Forehead coming to rest against yours, strong hands sliding too loosely wrap around and caress your neck. “You know I’m not great at relationships. I could seriously fuck things up.”

“I know but then so could I,” any doubts or insecurities evaporating into the ether with every look.

Callused fingers brush over your bare shoulders sending sensual shivers cascading down your body. Rubbing your thighs together for added friction with the heated look Dean’s fixing you with. Boosting your confidence to step back his hands drop to the side as you own pinch at the hem of your tank top. Slowly pulling it from your body, letting it drop with a barely heard whisper.

“Fucking hell sweetheart,” resolve snapping, reaching for your hips and tugging you back against him harder than intended. Lips sealing quickly to swallow the gasp existed parted lips Dean takes advantage of and slips his tongue inside the warm cavern of your mouth.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, it’s all teeth and tongues, fighting desperately for dominance. Pulling groans from the depths of Dean’s soul as he pulls whimpers and moans from your own. Till air becomes needed though it doesn’t stop your mouth from trailing a hot path across his stubbled jaw. Nibbling towards that little patch behind his ear to flick the tip of your tongue against. Smirking at the shutter rolling through his body, fingers dancing a rhythm over his shirt covered torso. Hem reached you tug twice to which he nods reaching behind him grasping and pulling the garment off to join yours.

Hands, palms flat immediately going to ghost over his rippling tummy. Muscle covered soften causing all moisture to pool south, clit throbbing almost painfully. Sure you’ve seen him bare chested before this time it’s different. For pleasure instead of patching him up. Drawing desired groans rather than pain filled. “I know Sam would abject but I so wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around shirtless.”

Full belly chuckle leaves Dean’s lips, “Sweetheart don’t talk about other men right now especially not my brother.” Possessive hands landing on your naked plush waist, fingers spanning the distance and gripping the flesh in his palm. Dreams having nothing on the real woman in his palms.

“Just stating facts sir nothing more,” trailing your fingers over the slightly hair roughen skin. Brushing pebbled nipples from the cool air and your proximity. Reserving a gasp when you lean forward to lap with the tip of our tongue and nip at the peaked point. Glancing to lock eyes as you switch and give the same attention to its twin giving the same attention getting a hiss from your actions. Dragging you lips upward to trace his tattoo with kisses.

Molten green eyes drinking in the sight of your lips on his skin, shooting desire straight to his cock. Throbbing need demanding attention no matter how good your soft lips feel against his body. “Baby girl,” groaning at the nip you place, eyes close to compose himself. Flying open as air cool brushes his skin inside of the shared heat of both your bodies. Mesmerized by the way you reach back to unclasp your bra, pushing your lushes breasts out teasing his vision, salivating for a taste of your skin.

He steps forward crowding into your space backing you into the bed till the back of your calves hit the edge. Wrapping his arms around your plush form to brush hands away and do the task himself. Finger tips skimming the edges of both straps till reaching the top at your shoulders and drawing them down. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while pulling the garment from your pliant body tossing it behind him. Eyes flicking down on a groan, licking his dry lips at the beauty displayed for his ravenous gaze.

“Lay down for me sweetheart,” meeting your lust blown orbs with his own. “I wanna see you in my bed,” biting off a whimper when you drop onto the edge. Bountiful breasts bouncing teasingly as he watches you slide backwards towards the head board. Hands going to the button of your jeans, low growl pausing your nimble fingers. “That’s for me to do baby girl, just,” swallowing harshly as he looks you over. Partially naked spread out over his bed picture perfect memory for those times when the darkness tries to steal this happiness. “Give me a moment to drink you in.” Unable to decide where to look first, “So fucking gorgeous.” Toeing off his boots, hands going to his own jeans your shaking head pausing the movements.

“I get the same pleasure,” licking your lips slowly while raising up on your elbows. Beckoning him with two crooked fingers, hand resting with the palms up beside your plush body, “Get up here before I get impatience and take matters into my own hands.”

Declaration making him pause a moment low growl rumbling from deep with in his chest. As desire blown green meet yours, smirk gracing his handsome features. One knee comes to rest on the mattress Dean leans forward keeping eyes locked while pressing a kiss to your ankle. Grinning, feeling the quiver that runs through your body. “You wouldn’t dare sweetheart,” adding his other knee to spread your legs and slowly fit his body between.

“Shall we make a bet Winchester?” Using your free foot to brushing the nearest thigh with the flat. Sliding towards the very noticeable bulge busting the seams of his jeans, toes teasing the thick ridge before pressing the flat of your foot against him. Rubbing the length slowly pleased when a growl echos the room.

Grabbing that foot tickling the pad enjoying the way you squirm and giggle. Taking the opportunity to move fully between your legs. “About that bet hum,” fingertips drawing an invisible path of fire down the middle your body. Bracing then both arms on either side of your shoulders hovering over you, warm breath fanning out over your cheek he nuzzles with stubbled chin. Pulling a whimper from your gasping lips.

Of there own accord, your hands slide up the strength of his arms and biceps to clasping fingers together around the back of his neck. Left leg draped over his waist to pull him against your pelvis, breathless moan parting your lips at the contact of his hard length pressing into your dripping center. “I don’t want slow or gentle Dean,” head tipping back to give access to his questing lips that find your wildly thumping pulse, sucking a mark into the soft skin. “We have all night for that I just…” words caught upon seeing whiskey flecked green eyes dilated almost pitch with desire. Cheshire Cat grin tugging kiss swollen lips upward.

“Just what sweetheart?” Humming, brushing your lips together before returning to his last spot. One hand dragging over your soft body cupping the generous globe massaging gently feeling the nipple peak against his palm. Teasingly circling the stiff nub with the tip of his index finger before giving a sharp pinch and making you gasp out. Back arching at the pleasurable pain skittering across your veins.

Grasping what’s left of your mind to try and form coherent words, body responding instead pressing your chest into his large hand. Nails score down his back, one completing the journey to give his ass a tight squeeze. As the other detours to between your intimately pressed body. Happy to find enough space to slot your palm against his erection, cupping his throbbing length and giving short little strokes. Smile blooming with a breathless groan against your collarbone where Dean’s forehead currently rests. Nimble fingers pop the small metal disk, pulling the zipper tab down to slip the hand inside. Warmth enveloping palm feeling him twitch has you slowly licking your lips at the mire thought of getting to taste him.

“You’re killing me Y/N,” rutting his hips into your hand, mouth coming back to claim yours in a punishingly bruising kill. Tangling your tongues together, nipping a little harder on your bottom lip than meaning to but the accompanying moan flows straight to his cock. Making him twitch against your palm that has slowed with the distraction of the kiss.

Breaking for air, panting while trying to form and speak the right words, “We’re both a little over dressed Dean.” Pulling your hand from the tight confines of his jeans, using the one at his ass to help pull them and his boxers down only stopping when you couldn’t reach anything passed his knees. Sigh of relief exists his parted lips making you giggle and press a kiss to his chin. “Feel better?” Bottom lip trapped and nibbled on as your fingers brush his length. Finding your fingers barely wrap around the girth while to stroke, palm sliding over precum leaking head. Hips thrust forward at the sensations tingling down his back gathering low in his belly.

“Now who’s over dressed?” Mumbling the words against your skin. Dean regretfully brushes your hand aside grinning at the annoyed huff that leaves your lips. “Ah sweetheart put that sexy pout away you’ll get a chance to taste me soon enough. Cause if you keep using that soft hand on my cock I’ll cum faster than I want.”

His words presenting so many thoughts to run through your mind only cut off when wet warm heat engulfs your right nipple. Tongue flicking quickly over taut peak, blunt teeth nipping then soothing over with the tip of his tongue. Switching to the twin leaving both sloppy wet and tight, gleaming in the low light of his room. Worshipping at the temple of your body with kisses pressed into your tummy, running scared callused hands over your skin in silent reverence. Eyes taking in very inch Dean sits back on his knees between your parted legs. Tracing his knuckles along the seam of your jeans covered cunt, making you jolt against him.

Pausing to strip your jeans and panties from your body, tossing them and kicking his own off to land somewhere on the floor. Raising up on elbows to finally get a chance to look at him in all his naked glory. Tracing each divot of scars over a broad chest, passing over the middle to admire thick bowed legs spread wide. Lips licked slowly upon landing on his ridge cock, slightly curved and resting against his lower belly. Palm itching for a touch, mouth watering for that taste. “You’re beautiful Dean,” words whispered so low your unsure if he’s really heard them.

Heat blooms over his cheeks at your admission, looking your fill of his adonis body. Dean returns the admiration. Tracing the features of your beloved face, staring a little too long at your heaving breasts, soft tummy he wants to nibble on at some point. Thick thighs he can’t wait to have wrapped around his waist once he’s buried deep inside your wet heat. The very though has his eyes dropping between your parted legs, glistening folds beckoning him forward. Caught in that tempting trance, Dean slides back between your legs. Brushing his lips just above your mound and receiving a whimper from you. Locking eyes, “I think you got that backwards sweetheart, it’s you who’s beautiful.” Dipping to run the thick flat of his tongue through your folds, humming at the tangy sweetness exploding over his taste buds.

Hips cantering against his mouth, your own letting a deep moan free as one hand slides down to card through his short brown locks. Tugging the strands getting a groan to vibrate against your cunt while his talented tongue dances through your soaked folds. Torturing your clit with ghosted touches, one arm wraps around our thigh spreading you open. As the other slips a finger inside your wet channel, finding you squeezing and tight, garnering a deep groan of arousal from the man between your lips.

“Dean,” voice wrecked and he’s barely touched you. When he doesn’t answer or budge from his sensual assault on your cunt. Lips having formed a perfect O around your clit, tongue flicking kitten licks to the tiny nerve filled nub. Pleased with he whimpers and whines that filter through his desire filled mind.

Resulting in you tugging on his hair harder, back arching as a small shock rocks through your body, tingling your belly when he bites carefully on your clit. “Dean please,” eyes rolling back into your head at the added second finger. Crooked and pressing into the little spongy spot you’ve never had anyone touch. Ripping a half scream from the hidden depths of your soul.

Smug smirk tugging over slick wet lips, stubbled chin coming to rest just above your mound. Watching as you heave a breath, breasts catching his eyes for a moment till you tug again. Fingers anything but still as they thrust and scissor you open, working you carefully to fit his slightly above average length not wanting to hurt you. “Yes sweetheart?” Licking his lips from your slick.

Free hand coming up to cover your heated face, “Don’t sound so smug,” gasping the last word when his thumb brushes over your clit making you jump and wither. Heat spreading from that special spot in your belly, where the tight coil starts to wind higher. Thick thighs tremble with each sensation Dean draws out of you. “Need you, please, please.”

Caressing your quivering walls with the gun callused pads of his fingers, massaging your clit as you plead. Breath chocked out on another moan, chest heavy, heat coating your skin as you wither under him. “Ah but I can’t help myself sweetheart you don’t know what seeing you like this does to me.”

Gathering what little strength you have in your limbs to reach down and cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the skin under his eyes. “Why don’t you get up here and show me Dean?” Voice wreaked yet a tender undertone rides through the cadence.

Pressing a single kiss to the pulsing little clit, giving once last flick making your squirm and Dean to chuckle. Slowly pulling his fingers out, stroking twice more your hips chasing the indescribable ecstasy winding its way through your veins. Only to have the tingles dance slower, the coil start to unwind as frustrated huff leaving your gasping lips.

Taking advantage to plunder your mouth, greedy for a sample of the wet cavern and a tongue tango that draws out a sharp moan of need. Especially tasting your tangy sweetness from his lips, sucking the bottom between your teeth to nibble. While reaching blindly over to the nightstand, damn near yanking the whole draw on the ground in his haste. “Give me a sec woman,” huffing out he rolls slightly off you. The noise drawing a giggle out causing him too stiffen, glancing back with a playful glare to refocus on finding his prize.

Using the opportunity to nose the thick column of his neck, taking in the scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil, peppered now with sex and sweat. Addicting and unable to help yourself from sink your teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to leave a small soon to purple mark. Soothing over with the flat of your tongue catching sight of the pause your actions caused. The aroused moan that leaves his lips, head resting on the bed to try and gather himself from your onslaught.

“Something wrong Dean?” Nipping just below his jaw, tracing your fingers along his side. Index finger swirling through the spares, crisp hairs leading a path to what you’ve craved to have inside you for a long time. Nimble fingers surround the base forming a perfect circle that can’t close but tightens. Stroking his length teasingly slow. In return receiving a warning growl — the sound devastating your senses making you throb — from the man currently fishing for a condom and growing frustrated when his fingers come up empty. “Shall I stop my love? Am I distracting you?” Whispered words breathed into his ear, lips kissing the shell. Knowing damn well just how tormenting you are to his senes and body. If his twitching cock your hand currently wrapping around stroking and the shallow breaths are any indication.

“Ha,” triumphant shout of accomplishment, Dean rolls back over you pressing bodies together and into the mattress. “Now where were we?” Flashing that teasing smirk with a hard rutting of his hips against your dripping core and tight fisted hand.

“What to you so long stud?” Biting back the giggles when he fixes you with a scowl.

Breath hissing out through clinched teeth when taking your hand off his cock, bringing those wickedly wonderful fingers to his lips and sucking on each one with a short nibble. Placing the open condom pack in your palm, “Do the honors sweetheart.”

Curling your fingers around the little foil packet, pressing your other hand into the back of his neck drawing Dean in for a tender kiss. Slow meld of your lips, light sips of your warm mouths. Tenderly tugging his bottom lip, to slide your tongue over the bruised skin and into his mouth. Licking and touring the heated cavern, seeking out ways to make his moan and grunt. A moment of forgetfulness while mapping his tonsils and sucking on his tongue, till you break for air. Chasing his mouth for more kisses only to receive a chuckle instead.

Eyes open to spear him with a heated look, foil packet crinkling in your hand a remind of your mission. Slipping fingers from his soft hair, to trace over his body, joining its partner between the two of your heaving bodies. Unlocking your eyes to glance down, hand wrapping back around his thick shaft to stroke twice getting a needy moan from the man above you. Before teasingly rolling the condom on paying special attention to the thick pulsing vein on the underside, mouth watering at the thoughts of getting to taste it later.

Dean grasps one of your hips to bring the leg around his waist, opening you up and feeling your soft skin under his palm. Sliding between your bodies to entwine his fingers with your, pumping his cock together. Different sounds, a hiss from Dean and a moan from you exists on shuttering breaths. Eyes reattach both blown with desire and coated in need, you notch the head of his cock at your entrance pressing the heel of your foot into the small of his back to urge him forward.

Teeth clamping to draw blood from your bottom lip but also to keep from screaming out in pleasure as he slowly sinks inside your quivering depths. Reaching up with his other hand to free your bruised lip, brushing the pad of his thumb over the glistening skin. “I wanna hear you sweetheart don’t hold back.”

“What about Sam?” Breath hitching, mouth hanging open on a moan that’s trapped on the edge of a scream when he bottoms out against you. Bodies flush, joined hands now resting above your head where Dean’s placed them.

Leaning in to press open mouth kisses to your lips and neck letting you adjust to his size, the exquisite stretch thumps through your veins the slight sting only heightening the pleasure. “Never mention his name while we’re in bed sweetheart,” snagging the lobe of your ear with his teeth. Pleased when you nod speechless, though not enough, “Words baby girl I wanna hear that prefect voice of yours.”

Swallowing trying to form words to answer, scoring your nails down his back an impatience mewling whimper leaves instead. Using the leg not wrapped around Dean’s waist as leverage to plant and push your hips up against him. Squeezing your walls tightly around his shaft drawing out a grunt from his lips. “Dean…” going to say more but he chooses that moment to pull out till just the crown rested inside your pulsing channel. “Just you…” hips snapping forward to fill you quickly stealing those words into a loud scream of ecstasy.

Starting a hard punishing rhythm, repeatedly waiting till your fixing to speak and either pulling out or trusting home. Always taking away what your going to say. Knowing your trapped between frustration and pleasure, Dean captures your mouth in another deep kiss. While his hips snap against yours, wrapping the other leg around his waist to angle you differently. Pressing your intertwined hands into the pillow beside your head and breaking the bruising kiss to gulp a lung full of air into both your burning lungs.

Feeling your walls start to quiver around his hammering cock, knowing by the pinched look on your countenance, the quivering of your thick thighs clutching at his trim waist. Heels pressing into the small of his back drawing him forward with quickened strokes that he’s shortened from the long deep thrusts. Notching your legs higher on his waist to press forward, curling his pelvis into your core, determined to make you cum first. Wanting to feel you soak his cock, see the looks of pleasure dance across your features.

Sliding his fingers through your soaked folds to find your pearl pulsing, pressing the pad of his thumb circling to make a gasp fly from your lips. Back arching, tingles no longer gentle but tap dancing a rhythm through your veins. Dean’s name a chant from your dry, parched lips, panting to try and fill your starving lungs. Body vibrating on a higher frequency only Dean’s turned in on as with every snap of his hips, brush of his thumb sends your spiraling deeper into euphoria.

Reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck to bring him back down for another kiss. This one sloppy as the thrusts of Dean’s hips, brief touches of lips, wet slide of your tongues across the other. Eyes sliding closed only to snap back open with a pinch to your nipple soothed over my his teasing fingers.

“Keep those beautiful eyes open for me sweetheart and cum for me I know your close. You just gotta let go for me,” resting your foreheads together, gritting his teeth to starve off his own orgasm. The wet clinch almost too much for Dean to handle. Always wondering but never imagining how good this truly would feel.

“Dean,” breathing out his name, a series of moans and whimpers following. Trying to capture his mouth for another kiss that’s broken off when your orgasm slams into you soaking Dean’s cock in your slick. Eyes rolling back his name a screamed prayer from your lips.

Body convulsing in pleasurable all consuming fire, little sparks of light pin prick behind your tightly closed eyes. Moisture breath fans out over your neck where Dean buries his face, lips pressing into your skin. Chasing that high while working you through your orgasm the wet clinch of your walls prove too much to starve off any long. Giving in with a groan of your name rubbed into your skin as he fills the condom. Circling his hips a few more times to drag out the pleasurable spikes racking his frame.

Collapsing into your arms a welcome weight pressing you into the mattress as you both try to capture your breath. He brings your joined hands down starting to untwine them but the shake of your head stops the actions.

“For a few moments longer,” voice hoarse from screaming out your pleasure. Free hand coming up to card through his sweat drenched hair. Brushing the strands back from his forehead and sliding your lips over his. Brief touches, lingering into something deeper. Tender caresses of mouth’s, nibbling, and sucking softly on bruised skin. Dean starts to move getting a whimpered whine from your throat tightening your arms around him.

“Gotta clear you up sweetheart I’m not going anywhere,” reassuring you with another soft kiss while carefully pulling out of your tender depths. Mesmerized by the slick coating your tights and dripping from your convulsing walls. Brushing his fingers over the reddening swollen skin, gasp reaching his ears, eyes flying up to yours. Then flicking across your body seeing the beard burn on your neck and chest, hand prints blooming over your hips. “Did I hurt you?”

Sitting up to cup his cheeks, “No Dean you didn’t hurt me. If you had I would’ve told you.” Leaning in to kiss him tendering, “Better take care of that mess it’ll get awful sticky otherwise,” giving him a bright smile. Watching while he gingerly takes the spent condom off, tying it closed before tossing it into the waste bin by the night stand.

Raising to walk on shaky bowed legs to grab up the wash cloth from the sink. Wetting with warm water he turns back stunned to find you watching him with a grin on your lips. “Like what you see?”

“Hmm no,” seeing the frown you go to finish. “Love Dean, I see the man I love,” frown switching to teasing smirk as he nears the bed.

Nudging you to lay back and spread your legs, tenderly wiping you clean. Dragging the warm cloth over your folds and inner thighs. Tossing it behind him to crawl into bed gathering your pliant plush body against his hard chest. Back pressed into his front, arms wrapped tightly around your thick waist. Placing a kiss to your shoulder, “I love to you Y/N, get some rest I’m far from through with you.”

Soft giggles vibrate into his chest, “Careful you’re getting old baby you sure you’ll have the stamina?” Toying with the fingers tapping against your tummy sending shivers cross your body.

Low growl accompanies the drag of his teeth over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. Pressing his hips into your generous ass, “Give me an hour sweetheart and I’ll show you just how much stamina your man has.”

[dirty-urie]

Experience

Chapter 9

3k words

Warnings: brief mentions of contagious disease (possibly covid, but I left it vague. Assume everything the characters do is with proper vaccines, tests, etc.), sex

You balk at him. “All the other bands that are supposed to be here are sick?”

“And most of the label bigshots. They all went to some party last night. They want to continue the meetings on video call, but I’m saying hell no. I came all the way to Mexico to figure this out in person. I’m not staring at a laptop all day for a week for a tour I don’t even want to be included in.”

“Asserting your boundaries, I like it. So what’s the good news?” 

“The good news is that we have three days free together in Mexico before we can fly home. Sandy beaches, nice restaurants, and more importantly, spending time with each other.”

You grin at him. “Yes, please. That sounds incredible.” He kisses you happily. “Does this mean we can sleep together tonight? Since you don’t have work tomorrow?” you ask. 

Brendon pauses to consider. “We can, but we shouldn’t right now. Later tonight.”

You pout. “Why?”

“Because I want to take you out to a fancy dinner and a long walk on the beach first. Like a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes. “Brendon, I appreciate the sentiment, but you are gentlemanly enough already. You shouldn’t take this too seriously. I know you grew up religious, but our souls won’t intertwine or anything like that.”

Brendon smiles softly, grabbing your hand. “I don't want to put too much pressure on tonight,” he tells you quietly before pausing briefly for emphasis, “but I don’t want to take it lightly either. It’s not just that I want your first time to be special, although I do, I want our first time to be special. Our first time together. Let me spoil you.”

You blush. “Okay, yes. Fine. Take me out. We can get dressed after our shower.”

He pulls you against him. “Thank you for indulging me, sweetheart.” 

“Anything for you, Brendon.”

He smiles at you warmly. “Are you clean yet, darling?” 

You hesitate. “Should I shave?” you ask shyly, glancing down. Brendon hasn’t said anything about your pubic hair, positive or negative, but you still feel insecure about simply trimming it instead of shaving or waxing it off completely. 

Brendon shakes his head. “Probably not wise to irritate your skin right before I plan to touch it a bunch,” Brendon points out. “Plus, I’ve always appreciated a nice bush,” he smirks. 

“You don’t mind it? Really? You’re not just being polite?”

“I not only don’t mind it, I enjoy it tremendously,” Brendon says, and you remember Kala telling you that Brendon refuses to fake sincerity.

You turn off the water and kiss him. “Okay, let’s get ready to go then.”

You both reluctantly leave the shower, and rummage through your bags. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Brendon pull out a box of condoms and place them on the nightstand for later. 

You whine at the sight, the condoms making it feel so much more real. Brendon turns to you with raised eyebrows. “I’m just excited,” you explain. 

“Me too,” Brendon admits, yanking up his pants and walking over to you. “It’s getting late. How about we grab a snack on the beach, and we’ll have a real meal tomorrow for breakfast?”

You grin. “You’re caving. Your gentlemanly ways are waning.”

“Absolutely. Now let’s leave this hotel room before they vanish completely,” he urges, and you giggle, kissing his cheek. 

“Lead the way, B.”

•••

The wind whips your hair as you stare out at the moonlight reflecting on the ocean. “I love to look at the water at night,” you sigh happily. “It makes me feel so small and insignificant in the universe. In a good way.”

Brendon wraps his arms against you, and you rest your head against his chest. “I get that. The ocean is so deep and dark and chaotic, but we’re safe here on land. It’s peaceful.”

You and Brendon are somehow the only ones on the beach, and it’s silent except for the sound of the waves and Brendon’s heartbeat. “I always feel this sense of calm when I’m with you though. Like there’s so much chaos going everywhere except our little beach together,” you say. “And I know I’ll have to face the chaos eventually, that’s life. But I can always come back to you when I need a break.”

“I do that too. Even when you’re not around. I just picture your face when I’m overwhelmed, and I feel better,” Brendon tells you, stroking your hair. You sit together quietly for a little while longer. “You ready to go back to the room, darling?”

“Just another minute,” you murmur.

“Are you nervous?” 

You shake your head. “Not nervous. I’m just… mentally preparing, I guess. I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but feel like things will change afterwards.”

“Nothing you say is silly. That’s a valid concern.” Brendon entangles his hand with yours. “But maybe things will change for the better. You’re letting me inside your body. That’s a pretty huge deal. We’ll build so much trust and affection and intimacy,” he muses.

“I like that thought.” You kiss his cheek. “Take me to bed, Brendon.”

•••

You suppress an anxious giggle as he approaches you to unbutton the front of your dress. He kisses the side of your neck as he skillfully works down your front, and you moan, tipping your head to the side. 

“Can’t wait for this,” he admits breathlessly. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.” The dress slips off your shoulders, revealing the lacy bra you secretly changed into after your shower. Brendon cups one of your breasts without looking, expecting your usual smooth cotton. 

He makes a choking sound, pulling away your neck. He takes a step back from you, marveling at you in awed silence. “Fuck. Is that-“ His pupils are blown and his chest is heaving. 

“Lace,” you confirm. You’re about to ask him if he likes it when he lunges forward to lock his lips with yours, placing his hand firmly on your back to urge you closer. Your dress slips down onto the floor and he grasps your ass, also covered in lace. 

“You drive me so fucking wild,” he gasps, pushing his hips against you. His cock is clearly interested in your near-nude form.

You moan against his lips. “Oh god, are you-”

“I’m so hard for you, pretty girl,” he confirms.

You gasp and he pulls away, concern evident across his face. “Are you okay?

“More than okay,” you whine, “I just need you. Now.”

He strokes your hair. “You’ll have me. I promise you’ll have me.” 

You drag him by the front of his shirt to the bed. You unceremoniously shed your bra and panties before you lie on your back. 

You look up to see Brendon’s eyes darken and his breathing stutter. He eagerly tears off his shirt and pants until he’s completely naked too, his flushed erection a stark contrast against his pale stomach. “How do you want to do this, love?” he asks calmly, trying to stay focused despite his clear arousal.

You decide not to hesitate. You know what you want. “I want you on top, facing me,” you say quietly, chewing on your lower. “I know that’s cliche.”

Brendon crawls on top of you, leaning in close to you. His lips meet yours, and they move against your mouth slowly, reverently. He breaks the kiss, and you don’t bother to stifle your needy moan. He places a hand on your cheek, gazing at you in sheer adoration. “It’s a classic for a reason, darling.”

You move your hand to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck affectionately. “Thank you, B. We’ll try the fancy positions another time. I promise.”

He lowers his voice to a whisper. “To tell you the truth, most of them are overrated,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Overrated or not, I want to try it all with you. But for right now I just want you to hold me close and thrust in deep, okay?” You wrap your legs around him, sliding your wet pussy over his cock. He leans in ago to kiss you, this time sliding his tongue across your lower lip, asking silently for entrance. You let him nudge your lips apart as you spread your legs for him. “Take me, Brendon,” you whine. 

Brendon grabs a condom from the nightstand and slides off of you onto his back before opening the packet. You watch him roll the latex down his length, studying him in case he wants you to do it yourself one day. He lets his hand wander back between your legs, placing his whole palm against your cunt. “God, you’re totally soaked.” He moves his hand from between your legs to between his own, slicking up his cock. “Do you want me to use lube anyway?”

You bring your hand to your throbbing entrance. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever been wetter. I’ll be okay.” You slip two fingers inside with no resistance. “Oh god, I’ll definitely be okay.”

Brendon rolls back on top of you, lining up the head of his cock with your opening. “You might feel a little discomfort for just a bit. That’s normal, but if you feel any pain at all, tell me, and we’ll stop immediately. Okay?”

You nod. “Of course. I’ll tell you. I trust you, and now you have to trust me.”

“I do.” He kisses your forehead. “Can I push in now?”

“Yes- oh wait.”

“What do you need, love?”

“Can you hold my hand?” You smile sheepishly, slightly embarrassed. Brendon tangles his fingers with yours, and you squeeze his hand tightly, grinning. “Okay, I’m ready.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

Brendon thrusts slowly inside you. You exhale as he fills you, your heart pounding out of your chest. “How does that feel?”

You open your eyes, hesitating. “Good, I think? It definitely doesn’t feel bad.” You feel a little full and a little stretched; it’s satisfying, but you’re not sure you’d go as far as to call it pleasurable. It’s not quite as good as your vibrator or his fingers inside you.

“It’s okay if your mind isn’t blown yet,” Brendon laughs. “I’ve barely moved. You won’t hurt my ego.”

You smile, reassured. “Okay. You can move whenever you’re ready,” you allow. 

Brendon pulls his hips back before sinking in deep. You both gasp, him at the feeling of your pussy completely enveloping his cock, and you at the feeling of him grazing against your g-spot with his tip.

“Oh, Brendon, you’re right by my g-spot,” you cry. “Can you-” Brendon cuts you off by tilting his pelvis forward, changing the angle of his cock inside you. “Yes, fuck, that’s the spot,” you chant. You finally feel, not just not bad, but good. Satisfyingly full in ways you couldn’t get from just his fingers or your toys, and buzzing with pleasure radiating from your core. And the feeling of him on top of you makes your heart swell affectionately. He’s warm and heavy and slick with sweat, and you feel so close to him, both physically and emotionally.

As soon as Brendon knows you feel good, he finally allows himself to revel in some of his own pleasure. He growls and crushes his lips against yours, prying your lips apart with his tongue urgently. You moan against his mouth, letting him in. His tongue slides against yours desperately, and he slides one of his hands to rub your clit, groaning deeply when your walls clench and spasm around him. Each methodical stroke sends shockwaves through your whole body and you can’t help but squeal each time the sensation from his thumb pressing on your clit overlaps with the sensation from his cock. 

“I love seeing you like this. I wish I could fuck you forever just to see you writhing in pleasure,” Brendon marvels, his voice rough from his constant sounds of pleasure. “Don’t get me wrong, you feel fucking phenomenal clenching around my cock. So phenomenal that I’m trying not to come and trying not to die all at once. But even that is not as hot as driving you fucking wild, darling.” You whine at his words, your hips automatically jerking up to meet his thrusts, and urge him even deeper inside you. He chokes, hips stuttering as he tries to retain control of his own movements. “Goddamn. I may have spoken too soon. Your cunt feels so fucking good. I don’t know if I’d rather watch you take my cock or feel you take my cock.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to pick,” you manage between shrieks of sheer arousal.

He chuckles through clenched teeth. “In theory, but I’m having a hard time doing both without coming on the spot,” he admits, grunting when he slams harder into you than he expected.

You cry out in ecstasy at the feeling. “Fuck, I hope those muscles aren’t just for show, Urie, because you’ll need a lot of strength and stamina in the coming weeks. And in the coming minutes.”

“Oh?” Brendon asks, intrigued. 

“I intend to fuck you up down and sideways,” you breathe. “I’m not going to be your cockslut, you’re going to be my pussyslut. Even when you’re working, I want your hard dick inside me, and something on my clit. Preferably your fingers, but I’ll settle for a toy if you make it up to me by eating my pussy as soon as you can. I fucking love you, and I love fucking you. I feel so safe and loved and close to you right now, and I also feel so goddamn good,” you moan, your toes curling and your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.

Brendon’s thrusts halt, and you open your eyes in equal parts frustration and confusion. Brendon’s eyes are wide and dark and his jaw is clenched hard. You feel his stomach muscles tense on top of you. “What’s wrong?”

Brendon shakes his head, panting to catch his breath before he can speak. His cock spasms hard inside you, and for a moment you think he might be coming. “Fuck. That is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life, babe. Use me. However you want. I’m yours.” You squeeze your muscles around his pulsating erection, and his nostrils flare. “But I don’t know if I can keep going like this tonight, love. I’ll happily eat your pussy for hours, or finger you until you scream, but I don’t think I’ll be able to fuck you without going fast and hard and rough. I can try, but I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“You can control yourself, Brendon, I know you can. If you couldn’t, you wouldn’t have sex with me in the first place. You’d never put me in a situation where you know you might hurt me,” you soothe. “But, um,” you bite your lip, “I want you to go faster. Harder. Let yourself go. Drive me wild on your cock just like you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. I know you want to take care of me, but I’m not going to break with a little force. This is how you can take care of me,” you coax, bucking up your hips to slide up his length.

Brendon smiles at you adoringly. “I said this before, but anything for you, love.” He plunges back into you quickly, matching the faster pace on your clit too. You tighten your grip on his hand with one hand, and rake your nails down his back with another. He hisses, and you feel him jerk inside you, so you press down harder, mingling the mind-blowing pleasure with just a touch of pain. He nuzzles your sweaty collarbone while he drives into you desperately, clearly eager to do more than kiss and rub his face against you. 

“Mark me up, Brendon,” you plead.

He nibbles hesitantly on your skin before pulling away. “What if we go to the beach?” he asks, and you’re shocked that he has any semblance of rationality left.

“Then everyone will know that my incredible boyfriend fucked me so good.” Brendon growls in agreement and sucks hard at the base of your neck. You wrap your legs around him. “Oh my god. I’m going to come for you.”

Brendon reluctantly withdraws his lips from your skin. “Me too. I’m surprised I lasted this long. Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head quickly. “I want to feel you. Fill me up with your hot come,” you beg. “Oh my god, now. I’m coming now,” you shriek, all of your muscles convulsing while waves of bliss pulse through your body. You milk Brendon’s cock with your pussy, forcing his own orgasm inside you. He comes for harder and longer than you’ve ever seen him come before, continuously spilling come into the condom. He barely manages to pull out before he collapses, his entire body completely spent. You’ve never seen him so utterly calm and blissed out. Even his cock will normally stay somewhat stiff after he comes, but he’s totally soft.

He ties the condom and tosses it into the trash can before you snuggle against him. He musters up enough strength to squeeze his arm around you. “Was that good for you, darling?” he asks. 

You laugh, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Good is an understatement,” you tell him, and he grins. 

“Good,” he says before yawning. 

You play with his hair. “Are you tired? You worked hard, it’s understandable. We can go to sleep.”

He nods. “That sounds perfect, as long as you don’t mind. Sex is the only thing other than weed that actually relaxes me. Normally there’s a constant irritating buzz under my skin, but it’s not there lying in the afterglow with someone I love.”

You melt in his arms. “That’s exactly how I feel. Goodnight, Brendon.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

[emilycollins00]

A3! Holding your hand. 🌸 Spring and Summer 🔆 Edition

Honestly this is just pure sugar and diabetes I’m throwing out here simply because I miss contact therefore I project hoho.

Enjoy! 💕

-

🌸 Sakuya always holds your hand tenderly with the utmost fascination- like a child holding onto their loved ones before walking on their own onto the world. The touch of his hand fitting in yours make his heart jump every time. It feels like a greeting after being away for a long time, even though he saw you this morning. A squeeze that says welcome home, I’ve missed you. One that makes his chest practically burst from inside. Sakuya could stay by your side forever, so long he could hold onto your hand. Because it really is his favorite place to be, and he can’t be more grateful you offered it to him.

🌸 Tsuzuru’s hand holds yours unconsciously while deep in thought, eyes lost staring at the computer screen. He hums and rubs his thumb softly over your knuckles, letting go embarrassed when he notices. Not much time passes before he usually feels an unexpected touch again, the warmth he has come to distinguish, tenderly interlocking hands with his. He sighs and looks down smiling. It feels like an undeserved reward -yet there you are, next to him. I support you. Lean on me. He proceeds to squeeze back tight. Because there's just so much comfort and strength in your hold, and who is Tsuzuru to deny that.

🌸 Citron’s fingers intertwine with yours with the greatest devotion, welcoming you to his side no matter where you two are. He likes to make you spin, face ending inches away from his while he caresses the back of your palm ever so slightly. He then grips the hold a little tighter, gaining your attention once again. His eyes soften when you look at them, a fullness of soul and serenity staring back. A silence that conveys thank you. Citron lifts your hold, lips kissing and tickling the back of your hand, mentally thanking you for bringing him such happiness and joy, wishing for it to stay as long as forever allows him to.

🌸 Masumi now understands- oh how he does- why people hold hands. He had always thought it might be due to some kind of possessiveness, a physical way to say mine, but it’s much more. It’s about approaching someone with your heart. About speaking without words. An I want you with me and don’t go. His firm yet gentle grip cups your hand everytime he can, dreading the moment he won’t be able to feel you anymore. And always, always at the last moments there’s this last squeeze, brush of lips on your knuckles before he really does let go.

🌸 Itaru’s hold is usually vague and loose- maybe two or three fingers out of all five- yet he doesn’t let go. Even when it’s late into the night and playing one-handed makes it more difficult to rank, the fear that you will ever let him go makes him squeeze from time to time. I’m thinking about you. Because there’s this strange feeling that makes him want to throw away his freedom and tie himself to you, starting with those two fingers in the darkness of the room. He jokes about it in his head, about commitment, still everything disappears when the warmth that comes from you makes him glance your way again. I’m thinking about you.

🌸 It’s not usual for Chikage to hold your hand. He stares and studies in silence your peaceful sleeping expression, sitting carefully next to you, brushing your palm with the tip of his fingertips. He doesn’t know what he’s doing if he’s honest, why something pulls him to take your hand into his. You mumble and shuffle. Chikage’s body somehow relaxes, and a corner of his mouth lifts. Trust in me. Let me be your strength. He stares again. It feels surprisingly warm and a tide familiar. And as he caresses you back with his thumb, he’s never been more sure he’s where he’s supposed to be.

🔆 The way Kumon holds your hand is like an anchor. Your touch helps him feel at ease, releasing his nerves just by knowing you are beside him. A firm message of how hope and joy are possible within one’s reach, because you prove him every day after all. He rubs affectionately his thumb on your knuckles and fingers to call for your attention as he talks, his grip surprisingly bigger and rougher than one might expect. And when you respond back, he involuntarily laughs- adoration filling the air at the closeness, cheeks flushed out of pure adoration. Perhaps it is you that performs the miracles.

🔆Tenma tends to throw a few quick glances before he tries to hold your hand, the unexpected intimacy that comes with such a trivial gesture making him an easy target for you to tease. He grumbles, but never lets go- not really. Because everything stops the moment space closes and your hands fit in his, palm against palm. This sense of belonging, an awkward I’m grateful you found me feeling of fondness that comes with a fast thud of his heart through your touch. Tenma will keep trying to hold your hand next time, and next time too- grumpy and flustered even. He’s not about to let you go.

🔆 Yuki has gotten used to it, to expect your hand always near him. And when he doesn’t find it he frowns looking for it, silently grabbing it while intertwining his fingers with yours, not before pinching your palm or knuckles slightly- a soft scolding so you don’t get used to it. He then drags you along the shop. It never seems like he’s paying much attention, but everytime you try squeezing it, it only takes a few seconds -as if he’s not sure what to do- before he squeezes back. He hides his smile from you, because he knows what that means, No matter what, I’m bringing you along with me.

🔆 Muku loves to lock and curl his pinkie around yours, hanging on it while talking about anything and everything on walks around town -your very own little adventure. It feels safe, nevertheless. You both giggle, a feeling of innocence, wide-eyed wonder, and even more affection when you both meet each other’s hands at the same time. A shared I found you! that’s warm and fuzzy, enveloping his chest. He feels peaceful and quietly wishes for the walk back home to not come too soon.

🔆 Kazunari will happily do everything with just one hand if he gets to hold you with the other. He doesn’t really go for subtle displays of affection when it comes to having you cupped inside his grasp. Your touch feels like fuel, as if the mere contact powered him up, stronger and brighter than anything he has ever felt before. And so he brings you along everywhere. Your hold allows him to be real, and he will do the same for you, I am your spark and you are mine, he says with his fingers intertwined with yours while joking and laughing together. He holds your hand and thinks how right it feels, pulling you once more to try and feel every ounce of you

🔆 Misumi cherishes the feel of your hand into his. His hold is all over the place yet his grip never loses strength, tracing small triangles shapes at the back of your palm with his thumb. Your touch makes him remember what love feels like. What belonging and feel connected to someone is like. He swings your hand along rhythmically on the streets, humming a melody while you two walk together, always securely clasped into his. Your body moves along as he stands in front of you, moving your hand in different directions excitedly, not letting go despite how much you laugh and ask him to slow down. You make me happy. He hopes you know.

___________________________________________________

Hope you all have a wonderful day! 💕

Autumn and Winter Edition! 🍁❄

[systematicfailure]

Counting Days

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You never had a reason to count days when you thought you still had all the time in the world.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, grief

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Wager a listen to Choke by OneRepublic while reading. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy.

You learn to start counting days once she’s gone.

The first few come and go in shock, the piece of you that refuses to believe the truth of it all, makes a second plate of breakfast in the morning and the several that follow. She was going to come back, you were sure of it. You just have to be patient.

Day thirteen is different from the ones before.

Time is precious and grief is suffocating, you finally realize - you feel foolish for never noticing. A more forgiving part of you rationalizes that there was no way of knowing how little of it you had but then the grief sets in, all encompassing - it latches onto your limbs, pulling you further away from the light she so easily brought you. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. The heroes won but if that was the case, then why did it feel like you just lost everything?

Your life turns into a series of maybes and what ifs. You recognize that you’re bargaining, trying so desperately to replay that day to find something to change or tweak, another path that leads her back to you. It hurts more than you care to admit but the record keeps spinning, and in between one alteration and another, you fall asleep in a bed that is now only yours.

You dream of her.

There’s a glimmer in her eyes and you hate that even in your dreams, you compare it to the dull, unseeing emeralds in the haunting dying embers of night. The image is fleeting as she turns slightly, rays of sunlight peeking through half open blinds, illuminating her features. A familiar smirk lays across her face, hands moving up to dust the bangs from her forehead.

“Staring is rather rude, you know?” She teases, a light chuckle touching the tip of her tongue.

“I just don’t want to forget.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at your response. Shaking her head, she follows the movement of your frantic irises, a question rising in the way her mouth crinkles at the corners. You ignore it, standing up from the bed before closing the short distance to her. Nose tucking into her neck, you breathe in the underlying scent of cherry blossoms and tangerines. You know it's just a dream, know deep in your bones it’s not real but as your head cranes back, her eyes of worry tracing each inch of you, you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that when you wake up she’ll still be there.

She isn’t.

When you wake it’s unbearably dark. Your motions are sluggish as you stumble out of the confining sheets and down the elevator to the front entrance of the compound. A scream gains traction in your vocal chords, fighting its way past your lips as you throw your scorching body against the wet pavement outside. How many times were you going to do this? How many times were you going to lose her? How many more days? When was enough, enough? The second the thought surfaces, you feel selfish. The answer would always be the same.

As many times as it took. You freely put the shackles on because there ceases to be a day that exists where she’s not worth every last bit of this agony that swallows you whole.

You carefully right your position, drawing your aching chest into your knees and you remember her.

Dawn is on the horizon when you finally shuffle your weight off the ground. Shivering, you keep your eyes to the floor as you enter the kitchen. What remains of the Avengers linger at your reappearance but do not pose a question when you make two cups of coffee instead of one. They know it’s a habit you’re not quite ready to break yet. Vaguely, your head tilts their way as you exit. You don’t have enough left in you to do anything more.

When you reach your bedroom door, you falter. It’s still partially open from your earlier haste to get away and everything comes crashing down once again. Both ceramic mugs tumble to the concrete when you catch sight of the worn, brown leather jacket. It’s all too much and wholly not enough, rolled into one. You can’t take it anymore. Ghosts are chasing and nipping at your heels; the smell of her lingers in hallways and rooms, random items of clothing hanging in closets and lying atop of chairs, memories bombarding at every turn.

You need to leave, at least for a little while -- not forever but long enough.

A snarky fragment of your consciousness mocks you when you bring a box of her things, lamenting the irony of taking memories you’re trying to leave behind. You huff out loud in response, continuing to put it with the rest of your stuff anyways before shutting the trunk. The rest of the team waits patiently to bid their goodbyes. After over an hour, there’s only Clint left. You eye each other patiently, sizing the other up before identical, miserable grins stretch into place.

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” You say because you really, truthfully mean it. You don’t blame him, not anymore at least but you know a significant portion of himself always will. He gives you a barely perceptible nod, pain licking his eyes in a faint mist. Without hesitation, your arms wrap his shoulders, pulling him close. He seizes at the motion before returning the gesture ten-fold, the strength of it crushing the breath in your diaphragm.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers brokenly into your hair, fingers gripping your sides. Your body tightens around him in a squeeze as a response before you ease away from him. Tears gather and collect in his eyelashes, falling briefly but he’s quick to swipe them dry. A sigh escapes you then, long and drawn out as the backs of your cornea’s burn at the weight of all you both had lost. “As am I, Clint.”

When the compound fades from your rearview mirror, you finally loosen the captive hold you have on your sobs. They come out silent at first but it’s not long before you’re choking on each exhale, chest rattling with the force it takes to regain a semblance of oxygen in your caving lungs.

You think you might never be okay again and it terrifies you.

At first, roaming the world does help ease the ever persistent ache you feel. The days blur and melt together. You never stay in one place more than a week, the constant need to run as far as your legs can take you keeps the thoughts at bay. You avoid Ohio, taking a ship to Ireland instead. Eventually, you find yourself in Italy, in a small rural town with more hills than people but there’s a familiar voice in the back of your mind, prodding you to realize that you’re doing something wrong and you hate yourself for not figuring it out sooner.

You don’t remember when it happened but somewhere between leaving and now, you stopped counting. It’s a betrayal you had no idea you were capable of, it feels like forgetting and the last thing you want to do is forget her.

You force yourself to stop running and the ache you welcome back resembles coming home.

Finally, you visit Ohio. It's gut wrenching and painful but worth it in the end when you find them, her family. They tell you stories you won’t dare forget. You come to the conclusion that people are liars, grief does not lessen or fade, it just becomes more manageable to bear. Your soul is still hollow, ghosts don’t stop nipping at your heels but when you see her in your dreams, you tell her you’ll find her again, in another life, and you’ll get the happy ending you both deserve.

You don’t go back to New York.

You plant saplings in the fields of Ohio, by a house made for two, that you nurture with aging hands and you watch them flourish into breathtaking creatures of nature. Their limbs and branches stretched towards one another, forever intertwined.

You learn to love counting days, especially when it leads you back to her.

[yandere-daydreams]

okay but i love the idea of simeon (obm) trying to keep his darling pure and incorrupt from the demons; if they are corrupt then they can’t follow him to the celestial realm. so instead, he kidnaps them and locks them up until the exchange program is done, he’s constantly teaching them how to be a good person and how to repent for their sins, so once they die they can join him. somehow they escape and are sent to the human world but simeon sneaks his way into becoming their guardian angel.

I figured I should get back to requests with a little Simeon, if only because I’m really, /really/ hoping he’s in some of the new chapters. Consider this self-indulgent, at best, and only loosely related to the actual request, at worst. I like to stay on-brand.

Title: Safe-Guard.

TW: Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, and Mentions of Death.

~

You used to wonder why Simeon prayed.

You knew why Luke did. Whenever he was nervous or scared or more frustrated than he usually was, you could hear him muttering to himself, repeating the same verse of stilted latin until his temper cooled and he could get back to berating the reason for his distress. It was reassuring, to him, an involuntary, familiar way to comfort himself that he undoubtedly thought would show his commitment to whatever higher-power there was to listen. Simeon didn’t need something so childish, though. His prayers were hushed and mumbled, but they weren’t hasty or rushed or symptoms of an anxiety he had yet to grow out of. It wasn’t like Simeon needed to show his devotion to something holy, either, not from your perspective. To you, he was something holy.

He was still something holy, if you were being honest with yourself.

Even after everything he’d done, interrupting his little rituals felt wrong, like your interference would pervert a ceremony you had no right to play a part in. It didn’t help that you were so far below him, like this, sitting on the floor as he perched himself on the edge of your bed, the silver shackles wound around your ankles and wrists only working to cement your situation, the engravings carved into their metallic surface keeping you bound to whatever space Simeon desired you to occupy. Currently, that was one of the spare rooms in Purgatory Hall, one smaller than Luke’s or Solomon’s and far enough from the rest of the bedrooms to make all your screaming and yelling useless. Not that anyone would come, even if they did hear you. If Simeon said you were fine, you were fine. He was an angel, after all, and such a beautiful one, at that. There wasn’t a person in the world who had reason not to trust him.

“Is something wrong, (Y/n)?

His voice caught you off-guard. So deep in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed when his gentle mantras stopped, his beaded rosary falling into his left hand with a limp, ceramic rattle. He was facing you, now, watching as you pulled your knees to your chest and willed yourself to melt into the wall, your mind only bothering to process his questions after it floundered under the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his sudden concentration. You swallowed something jagged and thick, but you didn’t try to stop yourself from replying. You didn’t try to force yourself into disobedience, not when you didn’t have to. “I don’t know,” You mumbled, the answer coming more quietly than you would’ve liked. “I think someone might’ve kidnapped me, but I’m not sure. I think I’m being held hostage when I don’t want to be, and my captor keeps asking me why I’m upset.”

He clicked his tongue, curling his fist around his rosary before tucking it into some unseen pocket of his seamless, draping get-up, but he was smiling, his neutrality akin to pleasant amusement, the expression warm and vaguely condescending. “Such a shame,” He noted, his tone laced with faux-sympathy. “Maybe if you answered this captor of yours honestly, he wouldn’t have to ask so often.”

You pursed your lips, staying silent for a second or two, but a witty response alluded you as swiftly as you lost the will to find one. “I still don’t know why I’m here,” You admitted, somewhat hesitantly. “You said you were afraid the brothers would hurt me, but that wouldn’t drive a person to imprisonment. No one resorts to kidnapping because they’re scared.” You still couldn’t quite bring yourself to blame him, not aloud. He deserved your rage, you deserved to be furious, but for whatever reason, you’ve staved off the anger like an illness you’d never recover from. It was a coping mechanism, you guessed. You didn’t really want to find out if it was anything more than that. “I want an explanation. A real explanation.”

He sighed, the sound wistful, just a little disappointed. With a shake of his head, he stood, taking a moment to survey your position before letting himself fall to your side. Even on the floor, just as low and stooped-over as you were, he held himself with an air of casual grace, his posture strung with such an enlightened levity, he hardly seemed to have to hold himself up at all. It never failed to make you stare, if only for a moment. It wasn’t enough to make you love him, but it made him impossible to resent, your turmoil only getting worse when he bothered to look at you, his small smile instantly morphing into a soothing grin. He didn’t touch you, but you almost wished he would. If it was kind, you could melt into him, find solace in the reassurance that he wasn’t going to hurt you. And if it wasn’t…

If it wasn’t, you could stop hating yourself for wanting to hate him.

“I wasn’t lying,” He started, the declaration weighted despite his apparent light-heartedness. “I am trying to protect you. When I leave this place, I plan to take you with me. The Celestial Realm would make such a lovely home for us, and while I don’t expect you to grateful for the dislocation…” Another sigh, this one more of an unconscious exhale. He trying to be as honest with himself as he wanted to be with you. “You’ll be safe. Your world is difficult, it’s messy, and the Devildom isn’t any better. I don’t trust it to take care of you, not like the angels would.”

Not like he would. His selfishness was well-masked, but it lingered just below the surface. Dark and brewing, but deniable. “You could’ve asked,” You tried, weakly. “This isn’t my world, and I still have months before I’m supposed to go back. The Devildom is dangerous, but the brothers--”

“Demons corrupt.” It was a forceful interruption, one that left you equal parts concerned and confused. You moved to speak, but his hand found yours before you could, silencing you with a slight squeeze. Just tight enough to let you know he wasn’t finished. “Lucifer and the others mean well, but they’re… They fell for a reason. The more time you spend around them, the more you’re tempted to be like them. You would’ve become reckless, bloodthirsty, disobedient. They would’ve taken your soul and ruined it.” He forced himself to stop with a ragged inhale, a deep breath to remind himself not to let his explanation turn into a rant. As rigid and as disciplined as always, even in his moments of weakness. “You can be purified, but their intervention would make it near-impossible. If I let a demon get to you, if I let one touch you, the best I could hope for would be a cold reception. A warm welcome would’ve been out of the question.”

“Even then,” You said, tensing not but daring to pull away. “It’s not like I can stay with you. I’m not a demon or an angel, I’ll have to go home eventually.”

At that, every trace of his inhibition disappeared. “Not as you are,” He corrected, intertwining his fingers with yours in earnest, raising your hand and pushing a slow, easy kiss into the back of your wrist, just above your glinting cuff. If you were being hopeful, you’d call the gesture apologetic, but you weren’t nearly optimistic enough to assume he was remorseful. “Things can change, love. Humans are such beautiful creatures, gifted with the ability to ascend in exchange for their mortality. You’ll need a guiding hand, sure, but I’m patient. We have more than enough time to make the right arrangements.”

“And if I don’t want to be an angel?” It didn’t take a genius to guess what he had in mind, nor did it take any great amount of empathy to understand why you weren’t as pleased with his plans as he appeared to be. “That’s not what I… I’ll have to die, Simeon, won’t I? You’ll have to--”

Before you could finish, his lips were pressed against yours, stunning you into a frozen, paralyzed silence. It wasn’t an aggressive kiss, his touch tender and nothing short of loving as he cupped your cheek, urging you to come closer, nor did he stop you from pulling away when you finally remembered you could move. Rather, he only slipped down to your neck, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He hadn’t denied it, he hadn’t even tried, but you didn’t push him too.

The wide, giddy smile soon pressing against your skin was more than enough of an answer for you.